Analogikal

He has his face in his hand. He knows that the tears are just around the corner. He can sense the blood rush, shortness of breath. Right now, I know this is the on-set of Amygdala Hijack. However, fifteen years back, that scrawny kid didn’t know that it was just a mental reaction to unfavourable news. News that he is not invited to play football with his friends. I would like to whack him across the face and tell him that he would go on to play the sport for a longer time than he can think of. But right then, he needed to cry and let it all out. Realise that football is not just a game, it is also the foundation of his identity and belongingness in that school. He cried. He struggled for a few weeks. Then he got to play. He wasn’t great. He scored a goal and celebrated it as if that goal had decided the world cup. He couldn’t sleep for the next few days. He relived that goal. Sometimes breaking into spontaneous celebrations in the middle of a meal or while walking down the street. He was a weird kid. So it didn’t matter much. Smiling for no apparent reason is a good thing to grow up with.

He has gotten way better at the game. However, he is not as good as the kids who play for the school football team. He cycles every morning to watch the football coaching that happens near the rail tracks. He recognises all the great footballers from his school. If only he could train with them and get better. I would like to tell him that he need not worry about getting better. He will be good enough. But at that time, he has to go through the insecurity. Growing up in the football mecca of Kerala, it was important to feel that nothing is adequate. No matter how good you got, there was always someone who is going to be better than you. Accepting that opportunities might not come your way is a huge part of growing up. Also finding ways to make those opportunities is what ends up defining you. Most people attribute a lot of credit to luck. Luck is just a function of probability. The more shots you take, the more your chances of scoring. The better shots you take the better your chances of scoring. He learnt that the hard way. As a kid he didn’t leave too many doors un-knocked. As a kid there were hardly any games he said no to. As a kid there was hardly any time he didn’t squeeze out of his schedule to play or watch people play.

He is on the field. He is a grown up now. Can grow a half convincing beard. He is not scrawny any more. He is not insecure, well may be a little. He is the captain of the football team. But he is just learning that it doesn’t count for anything. He has had his heart broken and his identity questioned by the girl whom he thought he loved. I wanna punch him in the face for what he is about to do. What he is about to put himself through. But he has to go through it. I watch him play football for three hours a day while fasting through the day and then barely sleeping. At times, the reasons that help us sleep are the reasons that keep us awake. Yet, he keeps going. He keeps playing every day. Regardless of how tired he is or how lost in thought he is, he is always on the field when the clock strikes 5. A feint glint of happiness in his eyes. Crushed and crumbled jerseys and shorts. The parrot green shoes that has become a part of who he is. The first pair of football shoes he ever owned. It took him 23 years to own his first pair of football shoes. He flops around on the field with that tall awkward frame making passes and taking shots. He thinks he has the elegance of an ice skater. In all reality he has the elegance of an ice skating cat on stilettos. It doesnt matter what he looks like doing it. As long as he keeps on doing it. He had gotten used to pain. He is making friends with the remedy. At this point, all I want to tell him is, keep playing.

He’s in an unknown land. Thousands of miles away from home and anyone he loves or associates with. Does not speak the language. He has friends but he doesn’t belong there. All that he build himself up to be is irrelevant now. He sees a friend standing with a football in his hands on the green lawn outside his hostel. They pass the ball to each other and have a laugh about how life in that place is hopeless. They don’t see the irony yet. The next week there’s three of them. Soon there were enough of them to be divided and fighting amongst them as football teams. There was camaraderie, belongingness and memories to be had. He falls down, recoveries take longer. He is not fit any more, playing gets harder. It is not as hard as loneliness. During those 90 minutes, everyone on the field is in the moment. Their mind has nothing else to think about. They all belong there. They all are having a shared experience. Regardless of which team wins or loses, they all collectively defeat isolation everyday. People keep coming and going. Keeping the games going gets harder. The only thing he tells himself is, keep playing.

He’s down and out. The sweet beads on his bald head are glistening in the night light of the football turf. His breath is heavy, so are his feet. The opponent is formidable. The task at hand is hard. His team is down, so is he. His mind is all over the place. This won’t be the first defeat. This definitely won’t be the last. The thing about defeat is, you never get used to it. He has been here before. It’s a familiar place. A place inside his head. A place where good feelings go to die. The place between giving up and helplessness. Getting out isn’t easy. It’s not impossible. His mind crawls back up. His body follows. He turns around to his team. Shoulders open, bold faced, breathing calmly, he screams ‘KEEP PLAYING’!