Summer vacation is a boon when you are a young teenager. No
school, no books and no waking up early for a solid 3 months. And to top that,
gully cricket in the afternoon and chor-police in the night. Even the occasional
scary dark room, when someone’s parents are kind enough. There were so many
memorable days that it can be hard to pinpoint to just one absolutely amazing
moment. There were days when I single-handedly won the match, either with
batting or bowling, or when I caught every one of the chors, or when I was
never caught in the dark room. But one incident stands out.
I was 12 years old when she moved to my neighbourhood. My
gully cricketing days were in its prime. I was the star of the colony. People
fought to pick me in their teams, and more often than not, let me pick my own
team. I had a loyal group of people who followed everything I said to the Tee.
It was only natural that my recently-adolescent brain had it all figured out. I
was going to ask her brother, one of my most loyal supporters, to somehow
convince her to play a badminton game with me. That was the initial plan,
anyway.
-
We were playing cricket and the match was about to end. Her
brother was looking at me anxiously. He hasn’t batted or bowled; he just stood
in one position for the entirety of the game. When you can’t bat or bowl to
save your life, kids tend to make you do just that. That was our way of showing
power. Telling the less talented kids that the corner boundary was their place.
That they should not move from there. And if they let the ball slip, they can
forget about playing the next match.
He knew I was the only one who will let him bat. I was on
crease and we had one over to go, 2 runs to win. Easy. So I told the guy
batting at the other end to sit down. He glared at me, dropped the bat but said
nothing. He knew I won’t pick him in the next game if he talked back. Kids from
my team were running towards the bat but I called her brother’s name and
gestured towards the bat. I know I was just a 12 year old back then, but I
still remember his stupidly happy face as he was running towards the bat.
I missed the last ball and he came on strike. What followed
helped me gain leverage. He couldn’t touch a single ball. We lost the match by
1 run. Praises for the bowler and abuses for her brother followed. But he kept
looking at me and shaking his head. I think he was trying to say “I tried”; I
can only assume.
-
It was getting late, around 7pm, and most of the kids
already left. Few of us left behind were playing high catches inside the park.
I caught a ball, threw it up in the air and looked around just in time to see
him leaving the gate. I quickly abandoned my post, much to the chagrin of my
fellow high-catching teammates, and ran behind him.
He was basically walking but he was very close to his gate.
I was running with everything I had got. I almost caught his shirt when, out of
no where, his sister arrived. She had her undistinguishable bicycle key chain
which she proudly jangled, despite the tension. Her brother stopped and turned.
I was almost out of breath.
“What’s going on?” her childish tone squealed.
“Nothing, your brother forgot his ball again.” I said with
all the confidence I could muster. Then I turned to him and said with the
sternest look possible, “What are you waiting for? Go, get it.” He didn’t need
reminding again; he ran.
Here was my chance to talk to her all alone, finally. So I
said the words I had rehearsed in my head the whole day.
“I saw you playing badminton today. You were very good at it.
We should play sometime.”
“With you? You will hit a cricket shot and the cock will
disappear.” She said, mocking me.
“No, no. I’ll be careful. You will see for yourself when we
play.”
“But you are always playing cricket. How, then?”
“We can play in the morning. But I don’t wake up till 10.”
“Okay, meet me at 10.30 am here. Do you have a racket?”
Before I could explain to her my cheap racket’s horrible
condition, she answered her own question with, “Don’t worry. I have two with
me.”
“Nice. See you tomorrow then.”
She was grinning and so was I. The mental image of her
smiling face is still stuck in my memory. If someone asked me back then who the
prettiest girl was, I’d have definitely said it was her.
In retrospect, I’m glad her brother never questioned me. One
question and he would remember that we lost his ball in the nearby sewer and
would never have left. I also think he subconsciously wanted to follow whatever
I said just to please me. Only a psychiatrist can verify.
-
The next day I asked my mom to wake me up before she left
for work at 9:30 am, so I can get enough time to look decent. I got ready and
ate breakfast as quickly as possible and I was waiting near her house at 10.20
am. She was late; I guess some 10 minutes but I never had the habit of carrying
a watch.
We walked to the spot and we talked about school. She
recently shifted and was thinking about joining a school. I told her my school
was the best around and that she should consider joining it. I remember her
saying my school was too strict and she didn’t want too much tension. I told
her it produces state toppers each year. She said she didn’t want to be a
topper. Oh well.
We talked about her brother. Apparently, each night, her
brother was depressed because he wasn’t given a chance to play a single ball. I
told her that’s what happens when you don’t play that good but still want to
play. Everyone wants to win. It’s all about bragging rights. Especially for teenagers.
It was going perfectly. My jokes were hitting their marks
and she was laughing gleefully. There I was, thinking nothing could ruin this.
Just then, a ball passed us and I saw one of my supporters chasing it. In a
moment of pure madness, I dropped the racket – which damaged a part of the
threading – and picked up the ball. It was clear to me what to do next.
“What, you started playing early and did not call me?” I
said to the supporter.
“But you were not home. I asked the watchman,” he said,
confused.
“I’m coming now. We are starting a new game.” I said and
just started walking.
She shouted after a few seconds behind me, “What about our
game?”
“Me? Playing with you?” And I burst into the loudest mock
laughter I could manage. As a side-note, this line was from a hit Telugu movie
back then. My supporter was laughing with me because I just fooled a girl. He
was very impressed.
She shouted back, “Don’t talk to me ever again.”
And that was that.
-
She shifted home in 6 months. She never joined my school, of
course. And after a solid 4 years, I found out from another friend that she had
a crush on me. But it was too late. She already left to USA for higher
education. I never tried to contact her anyway.
The whys and hows of this incident still haunt me, though. I
think the main reason was that I did not want to be labeled as the girly guy. And
badminton was/is as girly as it gets. There was another guy all of us used to
tease because he used to sit and talk with girls for hours on end. It was like
this : any kid our age who hangs out with girls instead of hanging out with us
was, in simple words, a kojja. (a telugu
slang which basically means transsexual). And that was the greatest insult you
could give to a guy back then.
Also, I realize I never thought my plan through. How was I
going to play badminton with her in secret without letting the guys know? I
mean, I thought I was stupid but this stupid? Maybe I was subconsciously okay
with being called a ‘kojja’ till the point I saw that kid running for the ball.
A lot mere speculation.
It’s not that I didn’t want her; I did. But I figured it
shouldn’t be at the expense of my reputation. I made imaginary apology speeches
in my head which I knew I’ll never say. I tried to make fun of her some more
whenever I saw her, because that was the cool thing to do. After a point, she
just stopped responding and I stopped trying. All the chances I had to turn it
around and I never took a single one. How I hate my 13 year old self.
However, all this changed very quickly in a span of 1 year.
Our hormones were raging and we couldn’t stop plotting on how to get that girl’s
number or the other. But that is another story.
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