Everybody know, how it means to HIM

The moment described it all. Those tears, the happy tears, as said by HIM, explained it all. Not only to HIM, to all those 1.2 billion souls who worship and bless HIM more than I do.

This moment makes me to look back at all those days. Those days make me realize why I got goose bumps, the time when he was hitting the ball, either it’s a boundary or a defensive shot, it surged out something in me and I was telling again and again to me, I am watching him, live, right in front of my eyes chanting out my heart sachinnnnn sachinnnnnnn!!

That night I was thinking, how long I have been watching him. It’s since the time my brain started to record things around, since the time I was fantasized with the click of switch that lights up the box called TV, since the time when the late hours of night begin to appear and my dad and mom still sitting and watching cricket and me controlling my sleep and without understanding the tactics of the game, managing to watch it with the notion to hear INDIA won.

Huh! That’s a long time, 23 years, and yea it’s very long indeed.

There are times when I sit in silence and recall all those cricket memories of mine, because I don’t want to let go those precious times out of my mind and I wanted them to stay afresh, always.

And now, with me penning this down, I am making sure again that those moments will stay here, forever.

Those days, it was an usual sight watching boys of my age tirelessly playing cricket in the evenings and even I had my turn at hometown playing street cricket with my brothers.

The stories my dad used to say me, about, how he wondered at people keeping radio close to their ears hearing commentary on test cricket. I have laughed a hundred times imagining it.

Then I started to read the beauty of the game and how beautifully this man plays it. He got the heroic position in my mind. Cricket started to be the core topic in school leisure hours. Got new friends who too speak cricket. Played cricket quizzes and continued to feel proud when I win over boys, as cricket was always considered to be the guys game in school.

I started collecting all those pictures and articles that come in next day’s newspaper. I started to recognize other country players, commentators and stadiums and venues.

Making ears sharp and listening to commentaries, clapping, smiling, shouting and getting dissolved in to the game. Finding the meaning of all those techies and terms, learning it, understanding it and started speaking about it.

The first world cup series which I was following seriously was the Champions League 2003. Headed by the magic man Ganguly, I still remember the euphoria I got which didn’t make me to go sleep after India wins every game.

Still couldn’t forget the time when I was waiting for the town bus to go back home and watch the then happening cricket series, and a man in cycle shouting that Shewag has started to hit sixes and that journey of 10 minutes was felt worse as if it was a life time wait.

Still couldn’t control the emotion I got when the then hero Anil Kumble made a ten wicket haul in test match.

Still couldn’t jog out the thrill I got when the same hero, even though being hurt, came to bowl for India with a bid bandage around his head.

Still couldn’t run over the enthusiasm I got when Sachin came to run for Ganguly in an one day match.

Still remember the episodes of pitch doctor, Prof. Deno and Gautam Bhimani, Bhogle, the then ESPN logo and the anticipation.

Apart from the happy times, there were some sad, really sad moments too. But I hardly remember them; think I hardly recall them unlike the moments I said above.

But there is one moment which will never vanish from my eyes, the WC finals between India and Australia, how many prayers how many requests to GOD but India lost. Sad to see Ganguly, Sachin, Zaheer, Nehra the then heros.

Still remember that wacky smile Ganguly got when India was under pressure and a dark cloud came to pour over the ground but vanished in seconds carrying away all the smiles.

That presentation ceremony, uhhh, still can’t take it; Sachin even after being named the Man of the Series came with such a pain in heart and a sad face to pick his trophy. Disappointing time it was.

To my ecstasy in my 10^th matriculation syllabus, there was a lesson in English called “The Cup of Joy” featuring India’s 1983 world cup win. Still are memories of Kala miss teaching it and me sitting in the first bench and paying the most un-scattered concentration.

Still the euphoria continues, with my friend lying in the floor of Tirunagar hostel mess and watching test match on a Sunday noon, fighting for Dhoni’s picture, that precious keychain from VP with Ssachin’s signature on it and now the world cup itinerary still fixed on my bedroom door.

Those gone times, still makes me feel like a kid, badly wanting not to grow up, but be the same with the same delight, with the same grin, but well before the prayer ends, time has rolled, so far, so long, impossible to go back, left with the only option of closing my eyes and picturizing those good old moments, that brings a smile, and those happy tears.

Even, it means to me a lot, a lot more than I want.