This fictitious story was originally written by my very good friend in recent times- 'Butterchicken'., albeit aeroyogi has a teeny weeny role in the making of this creative gibberish. :) So i take the liberty of adding it on to my blog too! This has been an experiment at least for me.. so do post in your comments about it.
Dunk..miss..dunk..miss.. It was impossible not to miss the sudden replacement that my body, my heart to be precise, had taken to in this chronicle of a life that I’m living in. The lub..dub..lub..dub that methodically ran my circulatory system had undertaken a new Dunk..miss..dunk..miss style of working.
I hated it. Every special moment now rang a Dunk..miss..dunk..miss bell. It all began as a sincere mistake that I made, when I watched him play. Dunk..miss..dunk..miss.. To the power infinity!
The bizarreness of this rhythm began when ‘he’ dunked and the other ‘he’ missed. When he dunked again and the another ‘he’ missed . I watched this eye popping entertainment with utmost ardor and now I am a victim. I, who fervently lived a life that had an ‘absence of guilt’ tag on it until recently, was overridden by guilt. During this episode, I developed a feeling of animosity toward my always so charged, thumping pal, my heart! I noticed how every time he was around, the Dunk..miss..dunk..miss rang louder than before. I feared being heard, especially by him. It was hard enough that I didn’t exist for him.
Everyday I watched him play. As I got nearer and nearer to the front seat in the stadium, I noticed how the reaction on his face felt like a new one every time he dunked . He may have played a million games, some of which could have been wonderful and some atrocious by nature, but he wore an expression of ease and satisfaction in the end. Charm came to him easily, everyone noticed that. But what people dint notice was how he strove for perfection with each game he played and how he smiled at the end of it all, even when he missed and the other he dunked. People comprehend basketball as only a game, but I saw it as an art. An art that he brought to life, being the infallible artist that he was.
My guilt stuck to me.. He came... Dunk..miss..dunk..miss.. He left! The guilt became an overbearing torture, when he dunked at his ball game but missed noticing how I sat there earnestly watching him play. I told myself it dint matter. I was just a fan. I admired, I appreciated and I also aspired to know him. At the end of the day I somehow convinced myself that I was there only for the sheer joy of the game and to support the only able basketball player that ruled the court. This knowledge brought about pensive sadness, that wrapped me like how my moms hand had wrapped itself around my two year old fingers, when we went for a walk.
My love of the game kept me near the front seat almost everyday. I came to understand that maybe because I wasn’t noticed by him, unlike the others, I was lucky enough to share this space of a never like before understanding with the unparalleled player. This point of view that made me beam with happiness brought me to the stadium on a day when I should’ve not wanted to miss my classes. Our college team played the visitors on this day, a day that marked the beginning of a saga that I became a part of. I thought of it as the perfect day to acknowledge my appreciation, as a true fan. I owed him that. ‘Congratulations, dude’, ‘congrats, pal’, ‘good work, buddy’.. I rehearsed. Everything seemed fuzzy, as a matter of fact on that day even fuzzy logic seemed so clear! I decided at the end of the game, after their victory, I will have it worked out somehow. That’s when they lost. He lost. He missed and the other ‘he’s’ dunked. What made it worse was his smile. Although the other girls went crazy seeing it, I noticed the essence of melancholy that it had brought with it. I was disheartened, owing to many reasons. For starters, I missed out on that opportunity to talk to him, I’d never rehearsed a ‘well played, dude’ or a ‘next-time it’ll be you man!’. I hated myself. I turned back, swearing to wriggle out of this whole basketball obsession that I had coated myself in. Enough was enough, I told myself! That’s when he called out my name. I couldn’t have missed that. If I had a basketball right then, I swear to god I would have made a dunk shot. He smiled. I hated that. It was so alluring, so beguile. Unparalleled. I mustered courage enough to say a hi. He apologized. I cant exactly describe my reaction to that, I now don’t really remember how it could have been. But anyway he apologized. He said he was sorry, that he let me down and that he’d planned to win this game and talk to me. Alas things hadn’t worked that way he said, but we’d still talked, rather he’d talked. He also told me, how he kept wanting to play, whenever I was in the stadium, just so that I could stay there a little bit longer. My heart leapt with joy.. As a kid I’d always imagined the earth spinning as fast as a top. As crazy as it sounded then I‘d dreaded just the idea, but I wished for it to happen now. However at that moment, time, that always had been too busy speeding up, bothered to wait for me. I don’t know how long it took, for me to touch base with planet Earth and then with my numbed brain. He was still standing anticipating nothing in particular. That’s when it happened.. Dunk..miss..dunk..miss.. My heart steadfastly began sounding its favorite rhythm. It felt like I’d crossed the finish line to win the race I’d always been running in my subconscious mind.
I smiled. I had to.
A great ball player that he was, he was more than that on the inside. He was brilliant with words as astounding as he was with handling the ball. He played around with his brain in a speed just as he dribbled the ball; even one with the most acute eyesight could never follow his hands to the second. His zest for life was better than any of his famous 3 pointers and he could easily sweep anyone off the floor as gracefully as he went for a drive in shot. His annotates hit the home just as every ball that flew off his hands went smashing through the rim.
Three years hence, I now see how he’s done it all for himself. He has gratified life’s ups and downs as though they were some form of a high-spirited merriment. What made him a different kettle of fish was that no matter how garrulous or significant whatever you had to say was, he always listened. I was surprised how his not so mellifluent singing ability failed to drive any of us away. We’ve become the best of friends now. If there’s anything more, might join up sometime or maybe not. Whatever the relation , I wouldn’t know if there’s ever been a friend like him. And I must remember to confess, I still am a true fan.
The Dunk..miss..dunk..miss.. I cant live without now!
Butterchicken with a teeny bit of aeroyogi..