'Basu' – this is how most of us in the neighbourhood knew him as. He was challenged physically. He could not walk and had growth rate poor than many. He was not in normal schooling but he was one among us. The number of winter and spring he had seen – was more than all of us who used to gather in the playground in the evening. Those days it was only winter, when Cricket was played. Post Benson & Hedges series we used to have one in our playground too. It was a yearly affair.
Five to six teams of boyzz from standard five to ten used to fall in place, not sure how, but you could guess the constituencies and the strength of lobbies. Big bullies used to treat this week long sports as power game to rule the ground for next one year. Basu due to his apparent disability was a mere audience from the veranda of this house. His veranda was gallery to many like us who were never enrolled into those matches.
Awards for performance and recognition for glory - made all on ground perform to the best of their abilities. The story continued for a few years. Old heros gave away to new. Basu had nothing to achieve yet his participation was no less. He used to narrate every action on the ground and beyond in the joy of doing it – novice like us used to just shout following his humorous commentary punched with vigor for every four and six or bold-out and wide.
With growing academic aspiration lost touch with playground. Story was same for many of us. Years later some of us chanced to meet in the same neighbourhood and to make quick trip to memory lane had walked down to Basu’s place in the evening. Most of us had gone with a sense of pity in mind assuming he was stuck back to the same playground from his veranda; while all of us have moved on to unfurl our potentials.
All of us noticed the playground was very different than what we left. It had a professional look. Basu was still the jolly man on a wheelchair. One of us asked – “How are you?”
He pointed to the playground and said “These days we have matches across the year”. Continued with the same old exuberance to share - " I never played but at one point realized to have known this playground more than any player. Became the gardener. That was the beigining." While we were all busy exploring our talents to build career, he had put in his creativity into action. That evening we all signed the alumni register which had a few old nick names, and a hoard of new names - all players who played on that ground.
From a barren land to a sports club, from a handicap to a powerful visionary – a bunch of able youth were stunned to believe what ears heard and what eyes saw.
Five to six teams of boyzz from standard five to ten used to fall in place, not sure how, but you could guess the constituencies and the strength of lobbies. Big bullies used to treat this week long sports as power game to rule the ground for next one year. Basu due to his apparent disability was a mere audience from the veranda of this house. His veranda was gallery to many like us who were never enrolled into those matches.
Awards for performance and recognition for glory - made all on ground perform to the best of their abilities. The story continued for a few years. Old heros gave away to new. Basu had nothing to achieve yet his participation was no less. He used to narrate every action on the ground and beyond in the joy of doing it – novice like us used to just shout following his humorous commentary punched with vigor for every four and six or bold-out and wide.
With growing academic aspiration lost touch with playground. Story was same for many of us. Years later some of us chanced to meet in the same neighbourhood and to make quick trip to memory lane had walked down to Basu’s place in the evening. Most of us had gone with a sense of pity in mind assuming he was stuck back to the same playground from his veranda; while all of us have moved on to unfurl our potentials.
All of us noticed the playground was very different than what we left. It had a professional look. Basu was still the jolly man on a wheelchair. One of us asked – “How are you?”
He pointed to the playground and said “These days we have matches across the year”. Continued with the same old exuberance to share - " I never played but at one point realized to have known this playground more than any player. Became the gardener. That was the beigining." While we were all busy exploring our talents to build career, he had put in his creativity into action. That evening we all signed the alumni register which had a few old nick names, and a hoard of new names - all players who played on that ground.
From a barren land to a sports club, from a handicap to a powerful visionary – a bunch of able youth were stunned to believe what ears heard and what eyes saw.
Gyan 7 – Zooming on personal enabler, empowers to exceed contraints of life.