Indian Ameri

After teaching the real way it is supposed to be, I looked at the bystanders surprised stare. The questionable nod about the reason for the stare brought back her reply, "Seeing a ten year old in you all the time, I sometimes forget how good a father figure you really are." The immediate nautanki brought a dejected facial transformation and the comment, "And the ten year old is back again. sigh...."

The short sprint back to the occupation was long enough for an anonymous feeling to set in. And I knew instantly from the single past experience, the perils of an open book.............. Things will be the same - "to keep things different" :)

It seems to be ages that I penned a post on something thats apart from the random glow bulbs of philosophy, and especially on something that would become a grain of memory in the vast sands of a memorable life. Anyways, digging into the reel......

The train of life has brought into perspective many travelers with whom I've spent quite some time. In the context of showing emotions to bugs/insects/animals specifically, I've seen a myriad of villainous characters ranging from stone kill a stray dog to electric heating a bed bug (both by very close friends). But rarely I see a few who really care about their living non-human neighbors. One of the cricket games from the past few weeks was a special one in witnessing such a character.

Handling my batting stance with calm composure, and meditating the phrase, "Move your feet and watch the ball" like for the millionth time, I watched my first tap of the bat on the pitch. My eyes caught up on the moving speck, and the realized mind stopped the meditation, broke the composure, and eventually halted the arm in doing the second tap. Obviously, I moved from my stance, and palmed the bowler to an abrupt fitful stop. To the sudden roar of the mind-game sledging, I went onto my knees, arched my back, and blew the speck to 'repeated' safety. Then rose up to the opponent captain and apologized for delaying the game. There was one fielder - soft in his youth, hard in his voice, and confident in his character who walked up to the turf, squatted on the crease, watched the ant completely walk out of safety, rose up, said to me, "Nice save yaar!!" in the typical cricket jargon, and smiled back to his fielding position. While, the mind was playing games in deciphering the intent of action as, if it was sledging or genuine character, the friendly heart hoped that it was the latter. To my surprise, he reached his spot and then wished me "Good luck!" just confirming that the heart won yet again over the stuffed mind.

For five straight years, I've been prodded by my own team mates for wishing my opponents good luck as I keep. I've even been lectured on the disadvantages of doing it - the main point being that it shows our weakness. BS is what the heart muted my mind with when I hear such conversations from my own pillars. And in five straight years for the first time, I was not mocked in my attempt to save one of the several ants that pass over the batting crease at the home field. After the single I took from the very next ball, I felt like I just had a century to my belt. I was happy for witnessing something genuinely good after a really long time in life. And am grateful for being instilled with such a character. To whoever you were, and whatever was your name kiddo, I honor you for proving me with this memorable moment....... :)