We were down at 13 for 5 at the end of 5 overs, chasing a target of 71 in 10. This situation couldn't have been any significant, unless you consider the fact that we were facing the juniors for the first time and a loss here could mean an abatement of our respect, which is putting it lightly. With their combined blitz of a bowling attack, all our batting might was given the bite, and I was left with an enthusiastic yet quietly alarmed non-striker, simply known as Pattasu, at the crease. At this point, many interjections where flying around which might have included quite some expletives and it did nothing to help the already heated setting.
In the course that followed there were many a hard clouting and smooth drives, that it made myself to ponder, how and why do I play the way I was playing at that time. With my team mates cheering and the excitement growing, it was an exhilarating and rousing feeling inside which could only be felt at breathless moments like this. Though it might seem a bit of vaunt when I talk about it myself, i always took pride in the sport I played and looked at cricket and batting as an art with a lot of bravado. Soon after, we established supremacy over the match with 4 balls to spare, which eventually reposed the trust and respect that was long due to us from our juniors.
* * * *
A few months back, after a hectic and meaningless schedule of a 10 hour class routine, I was at the ground running around with few friends and a flying Frisbee. I saw my brother coming towards me and as he came nearer he called me aside and told me something that made me feel numb and empty. That night, with a feeling of discontentment spreading inside, I sat and thought about two persons who introduced and influenced me towards the game of cricket at the tender age of 3. Yes I was three when I started playing the game and took to it like a fish to the water or a bird to the sky. The brothers had such brilliant knowledge about the game that even their argument would be interesting to listen to. The older brother was more of walk the talk guy and he was a medical student back then. The younger was rusty, yet gave the older a good fight even if it is for the sake of it. The older brother had such an aura around him that everyone in our group, from mixed ages, looked up to him. I being the youngest always derived a special interest and cheer from him. He encouraged, taught, corrected, practiced the preach and made me realize how good I am at my own game. Such, the childhood memories of him were flooding me as I was sitting on the stone bench under the pleasant star filled sky.
Many questions were intermittently buzzing inside my head. Could it be true? How could it be? It is just unreasonable and confusing. I still could not believe what I had heard from my brother, for all that he said to me was “Venkateshanna erandhutaram da”. Later on I came to know that he had died due to a dreadful cancer in his chest. The oldest’ s age was 34 then, and unmarried. I came back home for a short break from college and, as this had happened a few months earlier and we came to know of it only recently, some of our friends decided to visit his parents. Thus we braved ourselves to face them, and what we heard from them made us cower with grief. The middle class family lived a few kms bordering the ever growing Chennai. It was a newly built house in a calm locality. As we went inside, his parents received us with tears in their eyes.
That’s when they started narrating the story of what had really happened to him. He had become a doctor, a good surgeon, and was working mostly at government centers all around the state. The younger brother, being a civil engineer, worked for a contractor overseas and both of them had saved to build the new house. A few days later the oldest had complained of chest pain. To much of everyone’s shock it transpired to be a cancerous tumor. They told us how they struggled to save him from then on. The therapies, treatments, chemos’ failed him one after the other. The cancer growth was so fast that the treatments remained ineffective. He being in the medical circle, friends one and all put in their best to save him, bringing in and taking the advice of the bests in the world. None of it worked. He was so upright a person that he never drank or smoked and was a thorough professional. No one could explain how the grievous disease had injured him fatally. The raising medical bills were managed by getting loans, insurance, medical aids from colleagues, well-wishers, and finally even led to mortgaging the newly built house. For a middle class family, they spent nearly 2 crore to save the dear life of their beloved. Alas.
I came back to college with a heavy heart and couldn't really fathom the reasons of such a thing happening to a person like him.The more you try to reason it out, the more grievous and disoriented you become. As days went by, the arduous college course structure and other activities made me slowly forget the sadness.
* * * *
Now, after this infinitesimal accomplishment over the juniors, as everyone was appreciating me for my batting, my thoughts took me back to the person who taught and guided me. He was a person who stood by what he believed in, always talked about doing the right things and one who didn't encourage ravenous thoughts about fulfilling the so called short lived desires of smokers and dipsomaniacs.
But here as I walk back to my room I see my fellow mates blowing clouds of poisonous fume, taking gulps from a chilled decanter as the justifications for them are a strewed plenty and none of them will withstand the test of time. I thought to myself, it is a disease that takes away your beloved and strangles everyone around you, and yet you invite it with open limbs. How could we be so heedless?
