"There she goes! High up in the air and goodness me! She bruised her brow and tamed the beauty of that dame out there in the Grandstand. ( Another voice:) She was the only one around who is more beautiful than this shot, Tony. Sadly, not anymore. Shes off for some medical assistance..".. the television blared out of that window. The window through which he saw me for the first time when he was 5 years and a few months old. The window on the other side of which i saw him resting in peace, every night. The window which is now rusting in peace, day and night.
"This day and night fight might not catch the sight of the night as this light began to show its might. Its Yousaf Pathan!".. He was fondly called You, by his grandparents and friends. It was this place, where he batted, and battered the ground underneath him. That little trench still vacuous to testify the test innings he played then. My job was just to stand behind him, subbing the stumps. That wall, hit by the ball, turned ruddy and muddy for this pixilated kid frescoed every pixel of it. His granma was kind enough to let him whitewash his mischief, but only by whitewashing the wall. Now shes watching him on TV and would be recalling, yet again, how it all began when his granpa, a philosopher-gentleman, first taught him, only when he was asked by You, the quintessence of the gentleman's game one day.
"One day cricket has not seen this before! Seven sixes in an over and the English skipper is at sixes and sevens now while the crowd are in the seventh heaven. (The other voice: ) Wonder if his bat is the eighth wonder and there you see the Indian camp on cloud nine. (The former voice: laughs,) Its all numbers out here. Each of those whopping number of sixes made us number to our senses. Did he have his sixth sense helping him?.. (louder laughter).. "......
"I, like my granpa, like batting. "Batting is battling with eleven at a time" he said. He admired the views of Ramu Gandhi ji, a fellow philosopher and cricket lover, and believed in the love of wisdom and the wisdom of love. " .. was what You had to say to the newspaper his granny is reading now, sitting here in the lawn, awaiting You's return from England. She is happy to know that he personally met the lady he hurt and saw her in wellness. She is probably recalling now, how You, like Ramuji, wished God was a cricketer and knew about the second innings, when his granpa was out in the uncertain nineties.. ..
Not that I can't talk for silence is gold. Not that I can't go places for I would only find my motherland is the best. Not that i thought about having a sex and having sex when I helped You see his love by allowing him to climb upon me and jump into the next house. Not that that species dominates the world. Infact, I hate them for what they do to us. But I have to admit that, sometimes, I wanted to be You for trees rarely make their countries proud. Human innings is such a fascinating play of passion and love, ain't it? And I fail to explain or understand what the two are but can only be passionate about and love them.