Last play

About the very first time, I remember this - Walking into a lush green park, through a revolving gate, not knowing what is planned by those 11 other kids. I was 6 and I had never played football. So I was promptly put in charge of the goalkeeping department in a six-a-side game of football. The defender of the space between two trees.

And if you think I was just standing there, picking my nose - you are wrong - I was picking up the game. I was superman, I flew here and there, threw myself to do my duty. I was a celebrity within 15 mins. My eyes became bigger at the sight of the ball coming towards me. And slowly I started realizing that I am not a goalkeeper. It's not only the eyes, my feet started to itch, to leave the haven of the box which gave you the privilege of using your hands. Just then I saved another goal and this time I was about to revolt. Some folks would remember that there used to be wonderful term called "flying goalchie". Fly I did. I don't remember how long, but I ran, ran and ran past everyone. All I could hear is the sound of the wind, just running like mad. And just as I was about to score, BAM ! Someone knocked me to the ground. But that experience was such an adrenaline, I wanted more.And thus began the long affair.

From being a goalkeeper , I progressed to being a striker. A striker does as much watching as a goalkeeper does. He waits. Like a beast in the bushes, waiting for that right pass. What's that right pass? It's not every ball that comes your way. These are those, when you know the ball is going to run with you. It's almost calling you to run with it and carry the momentum. When the boot slides over the grass , it makes this slight noise, which makes you feel like mincing your teeth. The right kick just takes out some amount of grass out, sends these comforting vibrations to your sole. The feeling of being correct. More than science of it , its like knowing the earth you are playing on.Like you know every pit and every yard. Knowing that when you hit that ball, it will take the path you thought in your mind. The touch is important, the timing , the delicacy, the dance before you sent it rolling. And then when the ball leaves your feet, time freezes. Everything goes to mute, there's almost nothing you hear. Just air.

As I remember , I was the happiest not when the ball used to go inside the goal, but when it used to hit the post. I don't know why that rattling noise aroused a sense of pride. That I scared someone but did not disappoint them. That I will be back.

There was a time when I was crazy about the game. When I mean crazy about the game - I don't mean following some club, worshiping some player or waking up at 1 in the night to watch a game; I mean crazy about playing it. How crazy ? I used to come to school 1 hour early, just to play. I carried change clothes on muddy days. I brought football boots everyday to play during lunch. I had 7 sets of uniforms, as I would soil them everyday. I loved to run hard and fall. I didn't mind putting all in there. I never discussed club transfers, star players - I just planned ahead to play every day.

Playing football as a kid is not that easy, you need to motivate people who prefer to play cricket. You need to build a gang. You need to discuss every splendid run of play to keep the excitement for the day alive. I haven't discussed this for a long time now. I haven't drenched in sweat for 5 years. I haven't tanned my skin , because now I wear only leather boots. I wear trousers and feel ashamed to discuss the game. I betrayed my love by not keep on playing.

I am not the greatest player, I am not the most passionate, but I am surely one who is the happiest when playing. I have my last pair of boots, unused for 5 years. Maybe someday I will take them out.