(This is a post about a cricket match that has very little to do with respect to the match and instead puts forth, unnecessarily, the emotions of a Ennaku-cricket-match-TV-la-paarthale-moochu-vaangum-da guy who was forced to play the game.)
"En python script run aaga maatenguthu? Environment variable declaration correct thaana?"
"Sari. Bacteria ku essential genes paathukalaam. Virus ku enna panna porra? Papers refer pannaa thaan solution kedaikkum!"
"Enna da?! Comparative modelling mudikalaam nu paartha mudiyave maatenguthu! Pesaama molecular dynamics serthuruvoma?!"
In the midst of such statements, when you hear something that goes like this,
"Bat, stumps laan olungaa kondu vanthurunga da. Ball puthusaa irukkatum. Naanga laam rendu over thaangrathe perusu. Ungaluku oru oru over'um rendu ball potutu thanni kudikka innings break kekka porom paaru!", as a boy, you would be expected to jump in joy.
What could be more joyous than the prospect of playing against your project guide?
Honestly, I would type down a very long list that includes reading Kafka's stories, watching a Woody Allen film, listening to Rahman's music but there are certain things you promote tentatively to a higher position in this 'joyous' list when your close friend compels you to.
For instance - the game that continues to be played in 10 different but closely located pitches on your college ground with balls whirring past boys in trousers and scares you so much that you prefer to take the longer way to your hostel than being hit by a ball on your face as you cross the ground.
Or simply put, Cricket.
When you are a person who is not talented in any of the three departments of cricket - batting, bowling and fielding - you would be waiting very patiently and happily as your friend explains the field setup to the entire team and discusses the bowling strategy.
(The first indication that you have a match ahead that would be a whole load of fun would be when there is a serious explanation going on, "Nee inga long off la. You stand at long on da. Dai.. nee vanthu.." and one guy interrupts asking, "Mama! Intha T-shirt nallaa thaane irukku?!".)
The patient wait would obviously be for one reason - to have the last laugh at your friend for forcing you to play. But the problem of having a friend who has extensive knowledge on cricket is that apart from knowing the spots where a batsman would tend to hit the ball the most, he would also know very well the spots where a batsman would hit it the least. And there would be no option but to stand at a spot close to the leg-umpire and serve one purpose - help the leg-umpire with the names of the batsman batting and the bowlers bowling so that it could be jotted down in the plain paper functioning as the scorecard.
Of course, when you have your team skipper standing parallel to you and shouting, "Jolly'aa nillu da. Eppidiyum naan'um ball vida thaan poraen.", it becomes a different issue altogether.
As the match progresses and as every ball is being bowled, you would attain a hunched posture (the fielding posture one learns from television) with your right hand held horizontally above your eyelashes to keep the sunlight out of your eyes. And at some point during the match, as you bend down to attain the posture again, would come to your mind, flying, the image of your very old neighbor who would enter your home in a very similar fashion - in a hunched way with the right hand held above the eyelashes to direct the focus - and ask you affectionately, "Enna pa, nallaa irukkiya?! Innum college mudikalaya nee?!".
So much so for saying that playing delays ageing.
After about 11 overs (27 extras would contribute to around 4 overs and of course, the highest scorer for the opponent team) of occasional passionate bowling and tremendously improvised fielding, you would sit down heaving a sigh of relief that you were never required to hold on to a catch. But very soon would start the next horror show. The batting.
You would have no choice but to sit silently amidst your teammates who would be having a friendly fight as to who would bat next. It is, after all, better not to ask for a chance to bat when you alone know the fact that when there was a cricket bat lying around in your house, it was used more by your mom for chasing away rats than by you for cricket.
And when circumstances help you out by not threatening you with a batting opportunity, there would exist no reason to not be happy. Especially, when the happiness is accompanied by the fun you had, trying to imagine in your head the Tamil commentary (as funny and punch-line filled as in the Tamil television channel) for the batting phase of your team till the end.
"Kavignar na vaarthaigal'a vechu velayadi thaan namma paathirukom. Aana intha kavignar bat vechu velayadratha paaka porom!"
"Puzhuthi parakka, manal therikka, ground la neechal adichu antha batsman run-out aagama irukka paatharu. Aana entha palanum illa!"
"Saatharna nayagan nu nenachaa intha kilee pachai bowler oru sagalakala nayagan'aa irukaare!"
Even when everyone starts dispersing after the match, there would not seem to be any overwhelming feeling. But only as you walk slowly towards your hostel with one of your Telugu speaking classmates, his sweaty arms around your shoulders, and his statement, "Romba naal kalchu velyadnthu. Totally tired aachu. But nallaa irunchu la?" in a modulation similar to a new Tamil heroine exported from Mumbai, would you start understanding the importance.
And it would only begin to weigh you down more as you turn to look at the slightly visible golden tinged edges of the cloud covering the sun and your glance falls over a small group parading ahead in a hurried manner.
The messages that would later fill up your class WhatsApp group would provide the final touches and you would lie down on your cot with two important realizations:
"En python script run aaga maatenguthu? Environment variable declaration correct thaana?"
"Sari. Bacteria ku essential genes paathukalaam. Virus ku enna panna porra? Papers refer pannaa thaan solution kedaikkum!"
"Enna da?! Comparative modelling mudikalaam nu paartha mudiyave maatenguthu! Pesaama molecular dynamics serthuruvoma?!"
In the midst of such statements, when you hear something that goes like this,
"Bat, stumps laan olungaa kondu vanthurunga da. Ball puthusaa irukkatum. Naanga laam rendu over thaangrathe perusu. Ungaluku oru oru over'um rendu ball potutu thanni kudikka innings break kekka porom paaru!", as a boy, you would be expected to jump in joy.
What could be more joyous than the prospect of playing against your project guide?
Honestly, I would type down a very long list that includes reading Kafka's stories, watching a Woody Allen film, listening to Rahman's music but there are certain things you promote tentatively to a higher position in this 'joyous' list when your close friend compels you to.
For instance - the game that continues to be played in 10 different but closely located pitches on your college ground with balls whirring past boys in trousers and scares you so much that you prefer to take the longer way to your hostel than being hit by a ball on your face as you cross the ground.
Or simply put, Cricket.
When you are a person who is not talented in any of the three departments of cricket - batting, bowling and fielding - you would be waiting very patiently and happily as your friend explains the field setup to the entire team and discusses the bowling strategy.
(The first indication that you have a match ahead that would be a whole load of fun would be when there is a serious explanation going on, "Nee inga long off la. You stand at long on da. Dai.. nee vanthu.." and one guy interrupts asking, "Mama! Intha T-shirt nallaa thaane irukku?!".)
The patient wait would obviously be for one reason - to have the last laugh at your friend for forcing you to play. But the problem of having a friend who has extensive knowledge on cricket is that apart from knowing the spots where a batsman would tend to hit the ball the most, he would also know very well the spots where a batsman would hit it the least. And there would be no option but to stand at a spot close to the leg-umpire and serve one purpose - help the leg-umpire with the names of the batsman batting and the bowlers bowling so that it could be jotted down in the plain paper functioning as the scorecard.
Of course, when you have your team skipper standing parallel to you and shouting, "Jolly'aa nillu da. Eppidiyum naan'um ball vida thaan poraen.", it becomes a different issue altogether.
As the match progresses and as every ball is being bowled, you would attain a hunched posture (the fielding posture one learns from television) with your right hand held horizontally above your eyelashes to keep the sunlight out of your eyes. And at some point during the match, as you bend down to attain the posture again, would come to your mind, flying, the image of your very old neighbor who would enter your home in a very similar fashion - in a hunched way with the right hand held above the eyelashes to direct the focus - and ask you affectionately, "Enna pa, nallaa irukkiya?! Innum college mudikalaya nee?!".
So much so for saying that playing delays ageing.
After about 11 overs (27 extras would contribute to around 4 overs and of course, the highest scorer for the opponent team) of occasional passionate bowling and tremendously improvised fielding, you would sit down heaving a sigh of relief that you were never required to hold on to a catch. But very soon would start the next horror show. The batting.
You would have no choice but to sit silently amidst your teammates who would be having a friendly fight as to who would bat next. It is, after all, better not to ask for a chance to bat when you alone know the fact that when there was a cricket bat lying around in your house, it was used more by your mom for chasing away rats than by you for cricket.
And when circumstances help you out by not threatening you with a batting opportunity, there would exist no reason to not be happy. Especially, when the happiness is accompanied by the fun you had, trying to imagine in your head the Tamil commentary (as funny and punch-line filled as in the Tamil television channel) for the batting phase of your team till the end.
"Kavignar na vaarthaigal'a vechu velayadi thaan namma paathirukom. Aana intha kavignar bat vechu velayadratha paaka porom!"
"Puzhuthi parakka, manal therikka, ground la neechal adichu antha batsman run-out aagama irukka paatharu. Aana entha palanum illa!"
"Saatharna nayagan nu nenachaa intha kilee pachai bowler oru sagalakala nayagan'aa irukaare!"
Even when everyone starts dispersing after the match, there would not seem to be any overwhelming feeling. But only as you walk slowly towards your hostel with one of your Telugu speaking classmates, his sweaty arms around your shoulders, and his statement, "Romba naal kalchu velyadnthu. Totally tired aachu. But nallaa irunchu la?" in a modulation similar to a new Tamil heroine exported from Mumbai, would you start understanding the importance.
And it would only begin to weigh you down more as you turn to look at the slightly visible golden tinged edges of the cloud covering the sun and your glance falls over a small group parading ahead in a hurried manner.
The messages that would later fill up your class WhatsApp group would provide the final touches and you would lie down on your cot with two important realizations:
- You have been part of something that would not be forgotten so easily.
- If something similar happens another time, it would be intelligent of you to opt out of the team and act as the Tamil commentator instead.
"Vala vala nu pesa mattum thaan theriyum nu nenachom. Aana Annamalai padathu la varraa maari 'Vetri nichayam' nu jeichutu poitaanga professors team. 'Vayasu aanalum vegam innum koraiyala'ngra punch dialogue inga naan solliye aaganum!"
No comments:
Post a Comment