So, I lost my iPhone a few days back. It was my most expensive purchase ever. An hour of panic, running around and frantic phone calls later I gave up. I was heartbroken beyond measure. I was running my life on that thingamajig.
Despite my colleague’s assurances that it wasn’t the end of the world, I couldn’t gather myself up for dinner. I just stayed in my hotel room and mourned the loss. My eyes were red from holding back the sorrow. It’s silly actually. It was dramatic then because it felt like someone cut my arm off.
Just then something very fitting crossed my mind. I thought of other things I could lose. I thought of my family – the parents, the siblings and I thought of all my friends. I thought of how it would be when I learn that I cannot play football anymore. I wondered blankly how grievous such a moment would be if it arrived. In a movie-like moment, the iPhone didn’t matter that much anymore.
I could always buy a new one, non?
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 08, 2009
that fantastic leather orb
‘Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it's much more serious than that’
A football player, professional or semi-professional, goes through a series of ego shattering drills on the training ground. These drills are designed to test one’s will, patience and heart. They’ll push you to the limit and then some more till you’re reduced to tears; till you wince with pain and are convinced that you cannot go on further. Oh and they WILL push you further over that limit. Strangely though, when it’s all over you feel fantastic. An indescribable feeling that - 'sweet pain' is what I call it. I have often felt sorry for leisure footballers who haven’t gone through this. It is absolute magic I tell you. It’ll kill you and then bring you back to life.
My earliest memories take me back to images of a restless boy imitating fantastic dribbles, passes, free kicks and penalties. Football was, is and will be my first love. I am at peace when I’m on the field for those 90 minutes. The moving ball captivates me, the adrenaline rush of the runs thrills me and the drama of it all swallows me.
It’s been twenty years since I started playing football. It’s been twenty years since 1st grade. As soon as the bell signalling the start of the break went off, we’d get into action. Tiffin boxes were emptied in no time and out we came on to the field. Then we would search for kids drinking cola off cans. Once a can was acquired it was crushed and used as a ‘ball’. Teams were quickly selected and with much intensity our game of footcan was played. We played with tin cans till up to the fifth grade. The only time we’d get to play with a ball was during PT class or on the streets with Arab kids. I remember how our PT sir told us of an inter-class football tournament during the fifth grade. One over-zealous and obviously excited student immediately asked whether we would be playing with a tin can or a ball. The whole class burst out laughing. We never played with a tin can again.
School football was something else. The skills learnt while playing street football in the nights were displayed with panache in school. This was followed by college football - marred by politics and what not. I dearly miss partnering Jill up front. I believe we made for what was probably the most capable yet under rated strike combination. Jill was a spectacular striker with immense upper body strength with which he could easily shrug off the toughest of defenders. What fun we had dispatching many a defences!
What is it about the game that draws me to it? What is it about the game that makes millions watch it with so much passion? Why can’t I sleep the night before a match? Why do I feel like my whole life depends on my performance minutes before a match?
Football for me encompasses all the emotions one feels otherwise - like, dislike, love, hatred, humour, joy, sadness, passion, almost any emotion one could conceive of. Most importantly, it is about discipline. Ah, yes discipline! We terrene mortals are constantly in search of ‘meaning’. None of us really know the meaning of ‘meaning of life’, yet ever so often we indulge in seeking it. We try ever so hard to get away from it all.
I know how to get away from our mundane lives, even if for just a bit. Let me tell you about the beautiful sport of Football…
A football player, professional or semi-professional, goes through a series of ego shattering drills on the training ground. These drills are designed to test one’s will, patience and heart. They’ll push you to the limit and then some more till you’re reduced to tears; till you wince with pain and are convinced that you cannot go on further. Oh and they WILL push you further over that limit. Strangely though, when it’s all over you feel fantastic. An indescribable feeling that - 'sweet pain' is what I call it. I have often felt sorry for leisure footballers who haven’t gone through this. It is absolute magic I tell you. It’ll kill you and then bring you back to life.
My earliest memories take me back to images of a restless boy imitating fantastic dribbles, passes, free kicks and penalties. Football was, is and will be my first love. I am at peace when I’m on the field for those 90 minutes. The moving ball captivates me, the adrenaline rush of the runs thrills me and the drama of it all swallows me.
It’s been twenty years since I started playing football. It’s been twenty years since 1st grade. As soon as the bell signalling the start of the break went off, we’d get into action. Tiffin boxes were emptied in no time and out we came on to the field. Then we would search for kids drinking cola off cans. Once a can was acquired it was crushed and used as a ‘ball’. Teams were quickly selected and with much intensity our game of footcan was played. We played with tin cans till up to the fifth grade. The only time we’d get to play with a ball was during PT class or on the streets with Arab kids. I remember how our PT sir told us of an inter-class football tournament during the fifth grade. One over-zealous and obviously excited student immediately asked whether we would be playing with a tin can or a ball. The whole class burst out laughing. We never played with a tin can again.
School football was something else. The skills learnt while playing street football in the nights were displayed with panache in school. This was followed by college football - marred by politics and what not. I dearly miss partnering Jill up front. I believe we made for what was probably the most capable yet under rated strike combination. Jill was a spectacular striker with immense upper body strength with which he could easily shrug off the toughest of defenders. What fun we had dispatching many a defences!
What is it about the game that draws me to it? What is it about the game that makes millions watch it with so much passion? Why can’t I sleep the night before a match? Why do I feel like my whole life depends on my performance minutes before a match?
Football for me encompasses all the emotions one feels otherwise - like, dislike, love, hatred, humour, joy, sadness, passion, almost any emotion one could conceive of. Most importantly, it is about discipline. Ah, yes discipline! We terrene mortals are constantly in search of ‘meaning’. None of us really know the meaning of ‘meaning of life’, yet ever so often we indulge in seeking it. We try ever so hard to get away from it all.
I know how to get away from our mundane lives, even if for just a bit. Let me tell you about the beautiful sport of Football…
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