I like being single...

This is such a pleasure. He would be seeing Switzerland on a blackboard; she would be admiring her pretty face on a utensil. While he would, actually, be at his classroom listening to mundane lectures and she would be washing her cooking vessels.Yes, I am talking about this four-lettered feeling, love. Isn't it such a pleasure?!!!

A lot has been said about it. Heaps of poems, loads of stories and as many as uncountable novel numbers have explored this feeling. Yet, a lot still remains unsaid about love. That is the magic of this feeling. 

I once heard Tamil speaker Barathi Baskar say, "Poets, writers and invariably all creators are beggars to love in order to make a living." How true..!

I could try and put to words how does it feel like to be in love. But, I know I would miserably fail to do justice even. No, I am not a poor writer; such is the feeling, words hardly help. 

Yet, I shall try and put forward my one-liner on love. It is simple and complex; It is as light as a feather and as strong as rock. I am sorry, the line is as lame as it gets. Cliched by any standards. But I will stick with that definition; cliches are cliches for a reason.

Having said what I have about being in love, I wonder why I have never felt an urge to fall into a marital love yet. After serious soul-searching, here I am blogging on it.

To start with, marital love is not something someone goes on a hunt for. It happens without a reason for a reason. While I totally endorse that viewpoint, there needs to be an urge from within for that happening to happen. The lack of which is what I am debating myself on.

If you are already thinking that I have no taste for beauty nor do I like the idea of love, you can't be more wrong. No one can escape the feeling of love; and I am no exception. That's the very feeling that made me a writer-creator, if you readers acknowledge I am one. 

So I feel love yet I like to be single. How do I explain your next obvious question which is, "why the hell would you not want to have a girl friend?"   

True love often is not seen in a human figure. It is always around; in the air, somewhere there. Just that small-minded mankind tries to give a definitive shape to what is everywhere. 

I have often witnessed how even honest love vaporizes once we bottle up such a magnanimous feeling of love into a confined entity. What happens is, we get bored of seeing it in the same form; and end up targeting our emotional baggage of life to that bored and fed up entity which we call the only love. 

Love is forgotten to be in nature, in God, in good music, in language. These are not something we ever get bored of, the reason being they are all formless and everywhere.

Its hard to blame human beings for being human and feeling love in human forms alone. After all, even religion gives us a figure shape for God to make us follow. That is religion understanding what mindset humans are made of. No human is an exception to not be human. Certainly not I; so I will fall to the trap of figurative love too one day. But I would know at the back of my mind, love has other different forms too. 

So maybe as I feel love already as different entities, there is no real urge for me to pick a girlfriend as yet. That is keeping me waiting for an arranged marriage where I shall open up all the bottled love sourced from the other forms of life to my special her. Marriages are made in heaven; I shall leave my choice and destiny to the God I love through my parents. I cannot stop myself from quoting my favourite poet Kannadasan here to compliment my argument,"Manaivi amaivathellam iraivan kodutha varam". 

When I have told friends that I like to be single and gave the reason that I have given above, people have asked if figurative beauty hasn't attracted me at all. To them I replied, there was never a moment when I have let feminine beauty go unnoticed from my eyes. I enjoy beauty in all forms, the beauty possessed by my opposite sex tops the list of all. I only maintain that, it doesn't make me a candidate to fall in love with one such. 

I agree that love affairs initiated by a strong mutual liking to physical appearances have gone on to become epic ones. I understand mutual admiration to beauty and lust are the much needed fodder for love to take firm roots. I believe, only lust can form the medium to make the two into one, both physically and psychologically. Lust is like the oxidant on the tip of a match stick which gives the ever-lasting fire of love. 

So I have nothing against being committed, it is just that I like being single.

I also feel it is important to be single for a considerable while, because it helps develop a craving sense of affection to the partner we are to find. I often get the idea that the feeling of love is something that is definite. The human mind needs to have a cause for exhibiting love. I say mind, and not heart; because heart can pour indefinite love. But unfortunately, it is the mind that controls human activities in most cases for most individuals. Mind likes playing tit for tat. It argues why should I smile when she stares. So, that is when this being-in-single-time comes in handy. It makes us feel the importance of a companion and value the relationship. That is when the heart unknowingly takes over the mind to make sure it gets the love it desperately wants.

The when-am-I-going-to-find-my-one and who-is-going-to-be-the-one feelings are also a thrilling part of being single. Trust me, there is nothing like falling in love. And so, there is nothing like having to wait for it.

So, I shall happily live with being single for now. This is also a feeling that should be enjoyed as much as the feeling of being in a relationship. 

For committed detractors who think we are to be pitied I end by saying, 'Sorry, we are having a blast; by feeling love in all that we sense.'

Cheers,

the-happily-single-vikinagapps!!!

    

The league of Cricket

The hammer had come down on the winning bids; Millions of Dollars exchanged hands to determine the owners of the IPL teams. The year 2008 was given the luxury to give birth to a tournament which every cricket fan dreamt of. Every Indian cricket fan had another team other than the Indian national team to root for. Cricket meant business is every way possible.

The gentleman’s game had a few questions unanswered from its younger generation of followers. A freakish quick fun form of their beloved game was the forefront of their demands. Promptly catering to their demands, and much more, T20 cricket originated. Cricket could now very-well serve fans with five intensive classy days or bundle that all up into one or even make it a 3 and a half hour dug-out watch. The IPL was born in the latest format and gave cricket its version of the EPL. Young fans thrilled with only speed, now not only had Soccer, but also a faster-than-soccer version of Club Cricket with IPL.

As a die-hard fan of cricket from my childhood days, I most welcomed the club form of cricket. Cricket with only 10 odd competing countries on a regular basis needed a bit more diversity on the field. The circuit of tours became routine and nevertheless felt repetitive within the 10 countries. Unfortunately for a fanatic who thrives for variety in his sport, countries like France and China remain on a cricket field only as The French cut and the China-man.

As someone who sees the game with a classical eye, I needed the display of different skill sets on the field to keep me spell-bound. Only that in-fact would do justice to the beauty of the game itself. Naturally one can only expect different geographies to bring different dishes of food to one’s plate. The Windies are heavily built by body and are good athletes in nature helping them to exhibit a raw form of adamant cricket. So they run up and bowl fast, hit the deck hard, with a carefree attitude towards batting and a celebratory mode of athletic fielding. The Australian mindset is to dig-in, be gritty and bring in their die-hard ways into the field. The Asians love to keep things easy, not run around too much. Rather their natural physiques doesn't allow them to as much as the Africans. So the intend to fox with spin, play with wrists, display elegance more than arrogance. The inventors of the game are quite different as well; they play flamboyantly even as they stay true to their coaching manuals by playing technically correct. The pitches and weather also have helped in the evident differences in the playing styles of the different countries as well. To my delight, the IPL has filled this void of not many cultures in the game by mixing up cultures and creating new-brands of cricket on the field of play. To me personally, this is the best gift that the IPL has given the game’s followers.

You now have a team set fielding benchmarks, while some others set those for team-effort, strategies and the like, in more scales than just the 10 different ways by the teams in the international scene. All this boils down to add to the interest levels of the millions of the game’s lovers. 

Ultimately every sport is a business. Rather every move on earth, when looked with a microscope, is made with a business motive. I see international cricket being a business as well. There is no place for pride. How can it be in a case when it isn't an international event like a World cup, or a champion’s trophy? Mere repeated bi-laterals are just no fodder to playing for pride under the country’s name. They are just planned and aimed at turning over revenues for the respective boards. In India’s case, BCCI is not even a government entity. It is using its tag as the country’s cricket controlling board, as appointed by the Sports ministry of India, to name the team as a national team and generate revenues with the sport for the nation. So let IPL be commercialized the way it is; being commercialized will only do well to the game in the country.

For a fan, I would say, commercialization of the league would help to engage him better with the game. He would follow the business transactions of his team. The picks they opt for and the prospective worthiness of the bid would drive crazy the business mind of a cricket geek. He feels he owns the team. He buys their merchandises, plays their songs, and wears a thinking cap on him to help his captain on the field through his TV room. All his team needs to owe him back is, to play spirited cricket on the field.The IPL prospers in developing new friends, and foes too. The fellow Indian team fan would now have turned a competitor when their teams take on each other. It all adds to the fun and intensity of club cricket. I atleast hope, one day IPL like EPL would dominate international fixtures; the reason only being, it engages its viewers a lot more than the mere namesake pride riding on an international game even if it originally wasn't meant to be a battle for pride.  But for now, the IPL is here to stay and stay in our hearts forever.

Cheers and regards,

nagappstheblogger!!!

A day with my specs...

The alarm bell rang loud at the stroke of 7'o clock in the morning, "Oh no, it is morning again", I told myself.

The frustration was over breaking a nice and sound early morning sleep on a cold day. The day might have lots to offer to us. But nothing is worth it than the sleep we get after putting down the sound of our alarm.

'Snooze', I pressed on my mobile.

I curled into my blanket and enjoyed the early morning air on a beautiful morning.

After six snoozes and two shouts from my mom all the way from her kitchen door, I finally woke up for the day. It was 8 on the clock.

I fiddled round the corner of my bed to grab my spectacles and pushed in to the rest room to pick up my toothbrush and paste.

From now on, my spectacles will narrate the story, rather its journey through the day...

I moved out of the rest room sitting firming on the nose of my boss as he took me to the kitchen once done with his morning duties.

The kitchen was with its early morning very busy look to it. I scanned through the dishes in preparation for the day. They had a nice blend of color among them. My boss requested mom for some coffee and took me out to the balcony...

I checked out the clouds and the greenery on view across the balcony door. It was a nice and bright day. The lush grass and the small bamboo tree nearby was just perfectly beautiful. I couldn't believe I was treated so well. Thanks to my boss. He is my man.

His mug of coffee arrived and he was set to read the day's newspapers. My day to work had started then...

I skimmed through the papers on his orders. I read about India's name-sake democracy that is in place, raising rape cases and assaults, political issues surrounding religion, caste and the like, India's increasing fiscal deficits and Sachin Tendulkar being urged to retire for the umpteenth time.

I soon thought, 'I must be an idiot to think I am treated well', this time thanks to the news in the society.

The last sip of the coffee mug was tasted, signalling the end of newspaper for the day.

I was removed and placed in my box and had to wait for my man to finish his bath. Well, I surely needed that rest to freshen up as well.

Hot idlys and red hot chutney was served for breakfast. I could only treat on the visual appeal of the food and appetize my man. I enjoyed the food my way though!

Both of us were done and time had arrived to start for his office.

My boss wiped me to take away any dirt I had accumulated as we trodded down the stairs. We got into our car and started our ride.

The traffic in the city was as usually insane. To whichever side I turned to I saw vehicles, only vehicles and nothing else. The car inched its way as pedestrians overtook us. The pollution in the air was uneasy too. Thank God I didn't have means to listen to the noise of honks of different frequencies. Else I would have cried no doubt.

"The first file of the day", he said as we sat down on our office cubicle.

I was back to my reading assignment once again. It was a long day ahead. Files weren't as bad as the newspapers though. So I was okay with it.

The one good thing about being specs to the eyes of a young man who is just into his twenties is that he has an eye for beauty. He helped me romance with the eyes of young women. Oh boy!!! almost every woman had artistic eyes and a beautiful smile. Maybe the age of my man had its effect on this opinion of mine. But I didn't complain.

I cheated my man to check out girls the way I shouldn't be doing. It was easy for me. No man has control over his brain when doing this. He doesn't listen to anything but the stimulus of the girl around him. I think girls are no different. And I am sure the girls would agree with me on this.

As I feasted on the the dark eye-brows, sharp eye-lashes, the cute curly hair running around the ears periodically put back and forth by long thin feathers of fingers, I didn't think I needed to shut down even for a minute.

It was 6.30 in the evening. It was time for another coffee. This time to denote the end of the day's work.

My man is a quite a romantic unlike many others in the world who only let their work and self, dominate the many pleasures of the world. He took me to the beach in the evening after the work day.

I took a stroll on the sands of the beach as my guy enjoyed the fresh wave of wind hitting his face slightly moving me from my seat as well. It was refreshing though it carried a few particles of sand along with it.

We reached the sea. We saw it covered by the sun-set sky. It had a mixed bed of dull white clouds with pale red rays of sun. The blue sea extended to this sky; the sky extended to the horizon and that was the end of the world-the simple world that we are complicating so much.

The sea waves rose and hit the shores and our feet. It went back, rose and reached us again. And again. It was unrelenting. It held a huge potential force in it seemingly teaching us the way to lead our lives. I concentrated on the waves; followed its movement from its origin to our feet. Nothing that I had seen earlier had been so fulfilling.

By that time, the night had descended and the crescent moon gave a shy look to the sky as if it was romancing the waves beneath it. We had seen the best and that set us on our way back home.

Once him and I reached home, he gave me a break to wash his face and put me back on.

His sister brought him a glass of deliciously looking Orange Juice. In an anxiety to quench his thirst he splashed a few drops on me and only wiped me off after his drink.

I am not sure what it was- the girls, the sea waves or the juice, that set his mood right for writing something. Perhaps it was the combination of all three that made him take his pen and pen down that night. I must say he is a good writer. Rather when in such a good space of mind, most people are good creators.

That is how I got to narrate my story of the day to his readers. You will have to tell him how well I did that. That apart, I am narrating to make a point; that you should serve your lenses well with goodness, only that would help us to serve you with happiness in return. My day's experience would help tell what my kind-the specs and eyes, would like to be seeing. Please don't deprive us of our rights. We would pay back most appropriately with soulful peace of body and soul.

As I finished telling you my case on the writing pad, he signed his name on it and closed his pen. He then folded and placed me facing him on the pad; "I love you", I said and smiled a good bye to him until he woke me up for the next day. It was a marriage I never wanted to break with him.

Cheers,
nagappstheblogger!!!

    

 

 

I too have a daughter...

"Keep these files upfront on my table, they need some follow-up", I informed to one;

"And these can be sent across to our branch office", directed another;

"Can't this simple thing be looked after by you, don't be expecting your pay if I end up doing your work", I finally lost my temper.

No it wasn't my employees who were at fault. It was my anxiety over an expected call which gave in to my anger. Poor fellows had to take in my shouts along with the pay I had on offer for them.

"yes...Tell..me..uncle", the call I was expecting had arrived.
"Did every..th..ing go on wel..ll?" I bit every word too eager to know something;
"You have a girl", my uncle replied living and cherishing each and every syllable he meant to convey.

I closed my eyes and allowed a tear drop that filled my eye descend down my cheek.

"Thank you Uncle!", I cried the words out.
"Is Meena fine?!", I enquired about my wife.
"She is so full with joy!", my father-in-law beamed.
"I can't wait to get there. Take care of her. I shall start right away", I said as words didn't have my control and ended the phone line.

As I placed the phone on its seat, I went completely lost; didn't know the world around me;

I shut my office; Kept foot after foot reiterating what had just happened. The feeling hadn't sunk in yet. I have become a dad. Yes, I have a daughter.

It is a practice in our part of the world where wives head to their mother's place to seek the necessary care and attention when they are to deliver a child. That had kept me away from Meena for 5 months now. I missed her so much that moment;  more than ever before.

I had to get to her immediately somehow. Fly, drive or atleast run to reach her that very moment.

It was evening already and I had to look for tickets to Kumbakonam where my queen and princess were.

I managed to find a place for myself bribing the TTR with a hefty sum. For once, bribing wasn't such a bad thing to be doing. I got to my seat and laid down thinking. Thinking was all I did and could do that night.

How should I bring her up? What will be her name? How will she look? the seamless such questions kept coming through the journey.

"I should give her the best possible in life", I told myself.
"She should have the best education", I added.
"She would one day be proud to call me her father", I puffed out my chest and said; the parent in me had found birth.

In the middle of all these thoughts, the sun came out the next morning...

I headed to the hospital well-received by my in-laws at the station; that's the best part of the Asian culture, you have family around in every important moment of your life. To cry, fight or laugh you can always have a company around.

"Dhanlakshmi Hospital", I read as I entered the hospital and approached our room with increasing anticipation on every step that I took.

More than I wanted to see the baby, I wanted to see the fulfillment on Meena's face.
I envisaged how she would react on seeing me!

The first step into the room brought me eye to eye with Meena.

I hadn't seen so much joy in someone so far. She didn't intend to give me a smile at all, I just knew it from her deep eyes, unruly hair, motionless lips and the hidden teeth beneath them that she meant so much more than what a smile could possibly convey.

She moved her hands across her forehead to gather her falling hair and rolled it behind. She was in the hospital clothing, yet was picture perfect beautiful that moment. The best that I have seen her since marriage.

I didn't take my eyes off her even for a second until she cupped our baby girl from her bed and held her up against me. Before I could get introduced to my daughter, for some reason I kissed Meena on her forehead.

Amid the giggle of my in-laws about the kiss, Meena couldn't hide a sheepish smile. And so, I couldn't hide one either.

I took our daughter into my arms and couldn't react for a second or two. You never know what to do when happiness engulfs you, do you?

I made a silent prayer to God then and derived the courage to bring up my daughter by being an ideal dad.

I whispered to her ears, " I am not sure what fate has written under your name, but I promise I will see to that I will correct all the not-so-happy lines in it".

She was asleep then, but I knew she would have heard me loud and clear. I put her back on her cradle.

All close relatives had gathered by then and made warm comments about the looks of the baby. The grandparents began, "She is so beautiful, she is gonna get a great looking groom".
Others replied, "Yes, she is gonna make the guy run after her".

"The Indian family can be unduly exaggerative, fortunately or unfortunately", I murmured more to myself.

"Every 'baby' looks cute", shrugged off my 12 year old niece in a matter-of-fact tone. It all added to the beauty of the occasion.

By the evening the dad-feeling had sunk in. I had become more responsible. I atleast seemed so.

"I shall go and get milk and the other things needed for the mother", I pitched in to help my in-laws.
"I'll join in", my brother-in-law Muthu offered to help.
So both of us started out;

Milk was first on the list and it was supposed to be Meena's diet for the day and thus for my little girl too.
So I was very particular about the quality of the milk, with it being my first ever deed as a father.
 
"Lets buy from here", Muthu said it the 10th time showing as many tea-shops.
"Not clean; Not hot; No packeted milk", were my alternate replies for the 10 occasions.

"I regret to have wanted to accompany you", Muthu must have thought.
I wasn't ready for an acceptance even if it seemed to be the best available.

That defines not only me as a father by each and every parent.

Leaving me-being-a-dad-and-having-a-daughter story here, we as kids have similar duties towards our parents. To do anything and everything to protect their happiness and peace has to be the foremost of responsibilities in our lives.

About such a great relationship that transcends generations, I can never say enough about. So I end here with me wanting for the day when I get to be a dad to come very soon.

Parenthood is the proudest and heartiest feeling of life. I wish every one of us is blessed to have a kid and be called Appa or Amma. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can match that feeling.

From,
nagapps-the-appa!!!
  





    

Its tough having an heart...

We are all living a life. We wake up every morning in an attempt to live it. How easy is it to be doing that? How many questions are we asked by our heart every second? Is it this I want? How do I get it? How do I impress? Should I be doing this? Why shouldn't I? What will make me happy? Why is this making me sad? To how many of those we have answers to. Living is not very easy. Living with an heart, constantly expecting something from us, is certainly not very easy. One who has had control over it, has never been unhappy in life. But one such is no mortal.

Everyone's heart is a crook which cheats itself to a big fall. Once it gets what it desires it multiplies what it needs, while once it fails to get something, it hits back on us to put us in doom. It brings sadness in the name of happiness. It gives happiness in the name of falsity. It is the reason for our world to flourish and will be the only reason for the world to crumble. The world is indeed too small to the size of the heart.

If it can do what it is supposed to be doing, pumping blood to the organs, we wouldn't be having so much to think about. It can drive us mad working up different permutations of questions and answers in no time. Our brain is supposed to be the master of us. The mind, though, is the perfect slave to the heart. How many times rational thoughts lose their case to an emotional heart. Every single time, I would say. If we had tried to keep our heart away from our everyday problems and give the mind its way, the problem would solve itself, I bet. Oh yes, the problem wouldn't have occurred at the first place.

This being as tough as it can get, it makes it even tougher by giving us joy to handle. Pleasure of women for a man and that of men for woman is a joy which knows no bounds. No, I haven't seen one who can handle it too well.  Joy of success, not good either. To keep it short - every heart knows to laugh and cry, both of which is injurious to life.

But hey, what do we do without an heart? without emotions? Whatever makes the heart tough to carry is the beauty of it all. What is its weakness is its strengths. Without it we are made into walking machinery. All what the heart has to offer is bundled into a term called 'life'.

The times our heart cries and craves become the most memorable moments of our enjoyable lives. The single tear drop dripping down the corner of the eye conveys the very beauty of life. The show of teeth beneath the lips, each time, signifies the purpose of our birth in this world. We may not need brains to lead a life, but without heart there is no life. 

We shall have to take 'heart' in everything and not lose 'heart' in anything to lead the best possible lives. One's heart must be able to accept anger, pain, joy, sorrow, frustration, hatred, insult, honour, lust, sacrifice, and love in a way not reading too much into it. If it has that 'its' okay' attitude about it, then it is sure to reap rich treasures. When one dictates what his/her heart should feel like at every instance, he/she is the conqueror of the world. I have been trying to tame my heart. That is what bought me to writing what I am now. It is really tough having an heart indeed. To round it off, our heart is like our spouses- what we like to be having, but what we find it tough as hell to be managing. And yes, both of which we can't do without having.

'HEART'y wishes,
nagappstheblogger!!!

   

To my love.,

You are by my side,

Though you aren't now.,

I haven't known you yet,

Is that why this is so beautiful?

It is you! when

music makes sense; when I

sit down to write; when 

its my morning coffee; when I

relate anything to beauty; when

I am I and not.

I can feel you,

from when my life began;

in small little things, in

a walk aside a beach, in

a lonely dinner, in a choice,

and in a care.   

You are there;

Somewhere there.

Just that you are in no human identity yet,

Besides, you are everywhere. 

You should be thinking as I do,

Here I am for you.

You may wonder if all the love that

I hold for you now, would seem less

with worldly hazards, as with others.

Seamless it would be, as you would see.

All my love cannot be told 

with three mere words - I love you.

Neither can yours, I know.

So let us not tell each other that, anytime.

Life is uncertain,

So, love is too;

Our life and love may have gone,

But these words of mine to you never will.

To my love,

Vignesh Nagappan

When we didn't know the letter 'I'

"Vigneeeeeeeeeeeeessh" yelled jean, from the balcony of his house opposite mine.
It was the signal for me to know that it was time to play cricket.

Everything else around me looked non-sense when I heard him go "Vigneeeeeeeeeeeeeessh"

I was memorizing and narrating to mom, the maths formulas starting with (a+b)^2 = a^2 +b^2 +2ab when he yelled for play that day.

"You are not going today unless you finish your homework of maths", amma sounded strict.
"I promise it is done after cricket before bed", I toned between pleading and harsh.

Karthick took the baton to call out for me from his younger brother, "Daai! Come out". Every time Karthick chose to call out, it signals desperation. I began to get more and more itchy.

I fiddled with my book in hand, looked up to the lights and fan, showed disinterest until amma finally said, "Okay. Go Play"

"Play Hard. Play Fair. Remember your time to be back and to finish your homework." She went on. Needless to say, I hardly heard anything after she uttered the two most beautiful words for a twelve year old - GO PLAY.

I ran to my balcony and looked at theirs, "Daai, Bloody hell, be here before I bring down the bat and ball", told jean verbally, what Karthick conveyed visibly with a stare.

I ran helter shelter, down my stairs to pick up my improper bat, strictly for runner's end use, and then cross the road to reach Karthick's house.

For a few hours of togetherness and fun we had to fulfill a host of assigned tasks. I had to eat an extra idly. Karthick had to buy vegetables for his mom when needed. Jean had to do few more of his Std five maths problems. Raja, the eldest of us all, had to balance his special classes for 10th Std with his time for cricket with us.

With the always inadequate time for cricket, we were hard-pressed to not lose time on assembling to Karthick's house and setting things for us to bowl the first ball. So we had a standard setup of stumps, crease and teams. The concrete pillars of L-138, Karthick's building, forming the unbreakable stumps; the paint markings, the non-erasable crease lines. We saw it as our cricket pitch and not as the flat's car parking lot. After all, cricket was everything we knew during those days and even now. It was a hay day when a few of his tenant's cars were out on the road. It meant we had few more places to score from.

To top our problems Karthick's dog, Blacky, would be edging to play with the ball we played with. To put him in his shed and try not to hit the ball near him was a game in itself.

"So it is Raja who is making us wait", I stressed to let not the brothers feel I was.
"It is him too", the little Jean said more to himself, throwing the ball up in the air.

Usually the ball we played with was a hard plastic one, which didn't endanger the outdoor glasses in the building, yet called for hard-skilled cricket. Each ball cost us three and a half rupees then and served us for just more than a week. The deal being Karthick, Raja and I had to contribute a rupee each and Jean since was a little one was excused with 50 paise. The irony of it all would be our phone call to remind each others to bring the rupee would cost each of us as much as well.

"So Raja is here. It is time we start hitting", Karthick shouted out to the heavens, as a quarter of our play time was gone.

Karthick and Raja were a team as always against Jean and I. We had been playing together since our toddle days. It was for long a battle between they the invincibles and we the underdogs. Of late we had begun to start winning on and off. It had become interesting as much as it was aggressive all the time. Strategies and Game plans had been in preparation since the last hour classes at school in my mind as anticipation grew close.

"In" guessed Jean as I asked him to call for the toss.
Karthick opened his fists to show that the stone was actually 'In'.
"We 'll bowl as always", I said as Jean ran to the bowling end to bowl.
Raja took the bat; Karthick had to wait.

After 15 minutes and 30 runs, Raja hit to the glass window which meant that he was out as per the rules of our cricket. Not to mention he just escaped from hitting the ball out of the gate for the second time earlier which again would have meant that he would have been out.

Karthick began brisk with a few boundaries. Then came the moment...

I bowled a ball which Karthick missed and hit the concrete pillar, our so called stumps. We had a black mark which level-indicated as the accepted height of the stumps.

"Out!!!", Jean high-fived with me.
"It hit above the stumps", Karthick argued so confident pointing to a place above the black paint mark as if he had seen the replay on a TV.
"You do this all the time", I threw the ball down in disgust.
"Raja you saw it; It is your take", Jean bet on Raja's honesty.
"I didn't see it from here", Raja played it safe.

All of us had seen this enough number of times and so we knew none of us were going to budge from our stand.

"I am not going to bowl a ball until Karthick agrees that he is out", I declared.
Karthick coolly took a stroll around the crease as if to imply 'If I don't get to play, so do you my friend!'.

The stalemate continued and continued. Karthick waited and waited. Jean fumed and fumed as Raja and I pondered and pondered on lost play time.

Finally Karthick burst out, "If you guys aren't gonna trust me, I am not gonna play with you any more".

It was curtains for play that day as Karthick ran up his stairs. Raja whisked away fed up, on his cycle.
Jean the unworried little kid asked me, "Come let us atleast play catches" to which I threw the ball at him for one last time and said "Poda Daai...."

The next evening arrived; I heard it again,"Vigneeeeeeeeeeeessh".
This time I knew it was from Karthick, in his same desperate tone.  
I dodged amma to reach the balcony to find out. Karthick stood and gave his customary stare.
I knew it meant "Daai, Bloody hell, be here before I bring down the bat and ball" as usual.
I ran helter shelter, down my stairs to pick up my improper bat, strictly for runner's end use, and then cross the road to reach Karthick's house.
We didn't look apologetic. Least so did we remember that we didn't get down well enough last evening.
We as usual waited for Raja to pedal his cycle and took jean by his neck to bring him down from his evening nap.

Raja arrived; the three one rupee coins and Jean's 50 paise were all pooled in to buy us the ball, the toss was done. Karthick again batted. karthick again disagreed.

Somethings don't change. Somethings don't have to.

We were at an age, then, when we didn't know what egos were, what 'I' meant. It wasn't the cricket that united us. It was 'we' that did. It is 'we' that is. It is 'we' that will forever.

How different it is as adults. Adulthood is where small fights take ages to sort out even if they do; where 'self' kills love; where 'I' betrays peace; where 'egos' lead all of us to being a hypocrite.

Just listening to a conversation between two kids tells us two things. One, how simple life actually is. Two, how difficult we have made it to be.

I wish I get to be child again more than I wish for anything else. Those were the ever-memorable days when we didn't know the letter 'I'. 

I now know that wish is always granted by God if the thought to be so prevails,
Vignesh Nagappan.A

To Karthick, Raja and Rajamani(Jean),
I am not sure if we are devotees of cricket as much as we are devotees of each other. Guess if not for each other, the cricket we played together is of no value.