The Dream

After a yet another day of gruelling practice session on the football field, satisfied and at peace,  touching the turf and chanting a milli-second prayer, i make an exit towards home. With sleep earnestly trying to bind me into its grasp and muscles fatigued to the limit of breakage , I feel rather excited ,imagining myself playing alongside the legends of football Rooney,Giggs and Scholes at Old Trafford . What would it be like when Sir Alex rebuked the shit out of you when you made a mistake?Or when Giggs came upto you and said that you were amazing? These two questions ,assisted by several other similar questions always reverberated in my little head , and to find key to these questions was always my dream.

"Football is of no use,its a total waste of time," declared my mum before the University finals. I never expected her to wish me luck ,but I was happy that she knew about it;not many people understand  the obsession and addiction of football.
So, there I was , beaming with confidence and hoping to cross in a few awe-inducing balls into the box .The match ended in our favour , yes,we were the new CHAMPIONS! They say that one closed door opens another,well,i never agreed to that , and always thought that this proverb was coined by someone who dint achieve his dream ; I gained more confidence in this self made theory of mine when i got a call from a scout who had arranged to give me a trial at United. Apparently, he loved the way I played in the University tourney and thought United needed a winger like me. So , one open door led to another open door here, as we won the finals ,and I earned myself a trail at red part of Manchester!

The trials were due in three week and I was on top of the world. I was already ready to go with my surprisingly excited mum packing everything needed.'Mothers love their children more than themselves' ,well at least they got that right. Everything was set and seemed perfect ,but then that bit of imperfectness stealthily crawled in and I realized that I needed a new pair of shin guards. In a wink of the eye I left my house ,making steady marches towards the sports shop. I was bored on the way ,and fortunately my best friend phoned to congratulate me. I was trying to convey my level of excitement and crossing the road when a car with no headlights,camouflaged with the dark, unnoticed ,and accelerating like a cheetah, took me down.

I found myself in the hospital the following day , and just when the thought of the trials came to my head, the nurse dressed in white told me that I won't be able to play any sport in this life. A metal rod was fitted in each of my legs that saved my legs from being amputated. I was in a state of shock ,I felt like my life had been snatched away from me. The only thing that I loved the most was just gone. It was too much to handle,and I wondered how I would even survive.

I  work in a bank till four in the evening,hit the gym ,stop at the field and make it home in time for supper. This has been my routine for the past ten years now. The maximum connection I have with football is those 15 minutes I spend on the field watching people play(live their dream);and I think I 've forgotten how to even kick a football,but even now. We don't find the key to all our questions,and its not often that a dream is achieved,but when I shut my eyelids and put my body to rest, I dream . .I dream about Giggs   hugging me after a goal;I dream about Sir Alex teaching me new techniques . .I dream about playing football.

Home gantries home

A sample post written for a newsletter with the keyword gantries .


Dusk battles its way in;the clock srikes seven ;and we take our seats behind the huge lights.Peeping down from our home,the GANTRIES at the 'Theatre of sounds',provides  with a dazzling entertainment as we just drown in the mesmerizing ocean of varied sounds.These concerts,as the two-legged call them,are nothing less than temple like ceremonies where a few dedicated preachers paint beautifully on the canvas of silence. My wife and me consider ourselves very fortunate, as not many chipmunks in the world get a chance to experience and get hypnotized by such a worship of music.

These GANTRIES mean everything to us.From shelter to entertainment,they provide us with everything.After the concerts, we are often seen jumping into a bin through a ventilating window to have our supper. A king's meal we expect,and a king's meal we always have.The human race either cares too much for us or all the humans of the world have had their meals to satiety because the bin is always full of scarcely eaten ,and sometimes untouched eatables."They entertain us,as well as feed us.The human race is devoid of any flaws,"sermon I to my wife at the end of every supper.

One evening as we habitually took our seats ,expected to be greeted by soul appeasing sounds,we experienced tremors and such disturbing and pinching noises that even Satan wouldn't have approved.These noises came from the machines,which were earnestly endeavouring to demolish the Theatre.

Within minutes the machines,operated by humans to my wildest disbeliefs,brought down the building.Our home,the GANTRIES,was all gone with a wink of the eye;and all that was left were the rubbles that once structured a temple of music.

This demolition was nothing but another form of deforestation,which too destroyed homes of many.

This concrete deforestation reflected the cruel side of this world;and standing by the rubbles with tears running down,I said to myself ,"Everything has flaws after all!"

An hour from St. Valentine's day ...

This post is totally on a different path . It is a supposed  poem in which I take the help of an hour from the precious Valentine's day to bring out the irony lingering on this earth . Hope its worth your time :D

                                    An hour from St. Valentine's day ..

                                              'Tis 7:00!
                               
                                     Ring Ring Ring. .
                                    "Happy Valentine's day "
                                    "I love you.."

                                    "I love you too,honey ! "
                                             "you know what ...."
                                             And talk'st they thus..


                                               'Tis 7:15!
                                 
                                    The moving box of metal makes it way;
                                     halts a mile before its stop to take its fare.
                                             Unorganized and stampeadial a fair is what it creates;
                                              a zoo of "cultured" animals is precisely what it makes.
                                 
                                    The inverse experienced one finds the jungle too wild;
                                    'survival of the fittest ' is not the game of a child.
                                               Uphill a task is well achieved on entering the metal box;
                                               touching his back he realizes his wallet is lost !


                                              'Tis 7:30!
                               
                                      One red light and all the rpms drop;

                                      the two and four strokes come to a standstill stop.

                                                The two legged then use the crossing of the zebra;

                                                a coin is blackmailingly requested by the deprived mames of the Gera.

                                       30 minutes of tick-tok is his limit,
                                       "courier of pizzas" , is what with which he is knighted.
                                                 Halted he too by the red light,he takes his stop;
                                                 when a new arrival to the pack takes away his stop.

                                        Off he is thrown his bike ,and on the road;
                                        his most used leg crushed under the four wheeled Ford.                                    

                                              'Tis 7:45!

                                      Noisely-serene is the environment,
                                      with the sick and wounded stretched away to the diagnostic compartment.

                                                 The intellectuals prefixed with 'Dr.' are the preachers here;

                                                  saving the lives of humans is their prayer here.

                                      A group of blood-related people anxiously wait;
                                      outside a theatre in which operations are made.
                                                   Off switches the red light ,and out comes the preacher;
                                                    and staright he goes to the teenaged creature.

                                     Shaking his hand he makes a face;
                                     "Your father is no more" ,is what is says.
                                   

                                               'Tis 8:00!

                                    "Baby ,its eight and I need to go!I love you"
                                    "It's okay..I love too ,and happy Valentine's day again!"                                                

                                    And thus they hang up..
                                                       "The day can't get any better",thinks she.
                                                       "An hour better than heaven ",feels he.

                                  And they both sink into the percepted beautiful munificence of the past hour...