I was walking along with my friend across the playground of our college, last Sunday. He was about to vacate his hostel room and leave the college two hours later. An excellent corporate job awaited him.
Between the two of us, we had a little game. A game we always played whenever we walked across our college playground.
Between the two of us, we had a little game. A game we always played whenever we walked across our college playground.
At any time of the day, there would be, at least, 3 cricket matches being played amongst our college boys on the ground. My friend would select a particular match and ask me if the batsman on strike then, would hit a sixer or not within the time-span we crossed the playground. On many occasions, I would reply positively and at times, my answer would be on the negative side. If my prediction turned out to be right, I would win and if not, my friend. But it was the victory prize that mattered.
If I won, it would mean that I would be the first person (between the two of us) to get committed in a relationship and if my friend won, he would be the first.
"Yess! Yess!! Six adichitaanaee! Saavu da!! Commit aagi, daily night, un kannu munaadiye 5 mani neram mokkai pottu kadupethraen paaru!" I would shout happily, if I won.
"Hello!! En pa!! Yaaravathu intha six'a paathingala?! Ayyo.. Ayyo.. Dai! Unnaku ithula kuda rasi illa da! Nee kadaisi varaikum solo performer thaan! Duet laan out of syllabus!!" my friend would say, if he won.
The two statements above, as I typed them now, seemed very childish. But the game, for the two of us, would always be a very dear memory. The prospect of leaving the fate of our romantic lives to the batting skill of an unknown person, an equal 50-50 probability for success and failure - such factors seemed more than tempting.
And I always felt that the reason we loved the game was because the two of us knew very well that there was a very bleak chance of romantic success in either of our cases and we could carry on the game till the end of our college.
Which brings me back to last Sunday.
The two of us had had our evening snack at our college canteen and were returning to our hostel. We had started walking across the ground and I who had been speaking to him in length about how people would be more competitive in a corporate environment, was suddenly caught off guard when he uttered this statement,
"Anga oru red shirt batting panraan paathiya.. Antha pitch! Enna sollre?! Six pogumaa, pogaatha?!"
It took me a few seconds to process his statement and I replied smiling, "Pogum da! Kandippaa oru six pogum!".
We continued walking and we would have not taken even five steps ahead before which the red-shirt wearing guy hit a huge sixer on his off-side. I looked at my friend with a broad smile. His eyes had become watery.
"Inime intha maari laam velayda mudiyaathu la?!", he said.
My heart sank, hearing his statement. He was right. We had played our last game.
But I knew I had to change his mood.
"Dai! 4 varusham mottai pasangalaa irunthathu pathaadha?! Innum vera velayadanuma?!", I asked him.
He let out a laugh, wiping his eyes. We continued our walk towards our hostel with my friend happily recalling our earlier games.
About two and a half hours later, as I stood at our college entrance to bid him goodbye, I tried remembering our evening and I wished in my heart - probably for the first time I can truly remember - that I had lost the game.
(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)
If I won, it would mean that I would be the first person (between the two of us) to get committed in a relationship and if my friend won, he would be the first.
"Yess! Yess!! Six adichitaanaee! Saavu da!! Commit aagi, daily night, un kannu munaadiye 5 mani neram mokkai pottu kadupethraen paaru!" I would shout happily, if I won.
"Hello!! En pa!! Yaaravathu intha six'a paathingala?! Ayyo.. Ayyo.. Dai! Unnaku ithula kuda rasi illa da! Nee kadaisi varaikum solo performer thaan! Duet laan out of syllabus!!" my friend would say, if he won.
The two statements above, as I typed them now, seemed very childish. But the game, for the two of us, would always be a very dear memory. The prospect of leaving the fate of our romantic lives to the batting skill of an unknown person, an equal 50-50 probability for success and failure - such factors seemed more than tempting.
And I always felt that the reason we loved the game was because the two of us knew very well that there was a very bleak chance of romantic success in either of our cases and we could carry on the game till the end of our college.
Which brings me back to last Sunday.
The two of us had had our evening snack at our college canteen and were returning to our hostel. We had started walking across the ground and I who had been speaking to him in length about how people would be more competitive in a corporate environment, was suddenly caught off guard when he uttered this statement,
"Anga oru red shirt batting panraan paathiya.. Antha pitch! Enna sollre?! Six pogumaa, pogaatha?!"
It took me a few seconds to process his statement and I replied smiling, "Pogum da! Kandippaa oru six pogum!".
We continued walking and we would have not taken even five steps ahead before which the red-shirt wearing guy hit a huge sixer on his off-side. I looked at my friend with a broad smile. His eyes had become watery.
"Inime intha maari laam velayda mudiyaathu la?!", he said.
My heart sank, hearing his statement. He was right. We had played our last game.
But I knew I had to change his mood.
"Dai! 4 varusham mottai pasangalaa irunthathu pathaadha?! Innum vera velayadanuma?!", I asked him.
He let out a laugh, wiping his eyes. We continued our walk towards our hostel with my friend happily recalling our earlier games.
About two and a half hours later, as I stood at our college entrance to bid him goodbye, I tried remembering our evening and I wished in my heart - probably for the first time I can truly remember - that I had lost the game.
(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)
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