Indrajit was beginning to feel a bit fidgety. Sure, there was still a good two hours to go for his 10th-birthday party to start, but there was absolutely no sign of any preparation for the same around the house. No doubt his parents had everything arranged and Dad would swing into action as soon as he returned from work in an hour, but this total lack of activity was disconcerting. Everything was not well, and Indrajit thought he probably knew why.
It was just a minor incident, and it was not even entirely his fault. A week ago he had been playing as usual in the front yard. His usual 'game' consisted of throwing a ball at the wall, and then batting it when it came back on the rebound. He was a disciplined batsman, restricting himself to playing in the 'V' since there was the family car always parked in the square leg position. Hence, he also alway threw the ball in such a manner that the rebound reached him at perfect driving length. On this day, and this fateful 'delivery', the ball had slipped out of his hand during the throw and hit the wall slower than usual. As the ball came back, he watched it pitch well in front, and bounce towards his chest... and his moment of madness. The ball grew in size as it came towards him, and an image of Yuvraj dismissively pulling a ball flashed through his mind. Whack, the horizontal ball dispatched the rubber ball perfectly square. Right into the front windscreen of the car.
That probably could've been avoided, he thought even as he laid part of the blame on Yuvraj for giving him such a beautiful shot to emulate. Perhaps his parents had canceled his party for that? No, he had clearly heard them talk about 'tomorrow's party' to each other last night. Moreover, they hadn't even be very angry when they had seen the windscreen broken. Sure, they had said something like You will understand what it feels like when you lose something similar, but he was pretty sure he wasn't getting a car anytime soon. He smiled a bit to himself at this clever bit of reasoning. As he turned away smiling, his eyes passed over the latch of the door, where all his presents were always kept till the cake was cut. And he froze in mid-turn. The bike!
The only reason Indrajit had been looking forward to his 10th birthday more than any other was because of The Bike. That shiny, red thing with the high seat and curved handlebars that he had fallen in love with at first sight. That thing which his parents had promised him for his 10th birthday when he had begged them for it a month ago. That thing which should be behind that latched door right now. That thing which would be something similar to the car. That thing which, hence, he could lose.
His mouth went dry. They couldn't do this to him. It was such a minor infraction, surely not worth taking away the bike. But it also made perfect sense. He would've noticed at least a small sign that a big bicycle was being moved around in the house. No wrapping paper, no tell-tale tyre marks of cycles being rolled around. And the subdued preparations for the party, after all, no parent likes to deny their child's fervent wish. And yet, what must be done, must be done. Must it?
The time for the party never seemed to come. The two hours was the worst period of time ever in Indrajit's till-now-uneventful life. His mind told him that it had been done, the cycle had been denied to him, and yet his heart failed to accept it. He was just reading into that minor incident too much, hadn't his parents been calm enough about it? Or had they let him off lightly because they were going to do something much worse? He wished he could just burst into that little room with the latched door and end the confusion once and for all. But one of his parents were either always hovering around the room or hovering around him, getting him ready for the party. He absentmindedly slipped into his new clothes, all the while staring at the latch, the door. It was all good for Superman to have X-ray vision, but the people who really needed it were 10-year old boys on the throes of an early-life crisis. He shook his head disgustedly at what he though was an unfair distribution of superpowers.
The guests started trickling in, and Indrajit noticed during moments when he actually looked that the decorations had in fact been organized as well as the last two years, if not better. People crowded around to wish him, hug him, shake hands with him, pinch his cheeks... and his mind registered none of it. His heart felt like it was being squeezed, like he couldn't breathe through the crush of the burdensome wait. He smiled weakly towards his Mom and Dad as he cut the cake and gave them each a piece after the Birthday Song had been sung. That's it, done, let's get to the door, his inner voice screamed, but Indrajit was too well brought-up to let any such thoughts out.
"Shall we?" his Dad asked, holding out his hand for Indrajit to grab. He nodded determinedly, and allowed himself to be led towards the door. His heart was hammering away wildly now, he was surprised that everyone in the room couldn't actually hear it. He tried to read something from his father's expression, but there was no expression there to read anything from. The door loomed in front of him, and Indrajit was sure his heart rate had hit 150. The latch opened and the door flew open.
Nothing, darkness. Darkness that is, in the front part of the room. But at the back, where the light from the shaded window streamed through just enough, he caught a glint of red. He took a tentative step forward, all the while following the outline of the glint of red. His mental faculties confirmed to him that it was indeed what his heart hoped it was and he ran forward with a yelp of surprise. He knelt beside The Bike, running his hand over the perfectly sized medals, moving to the tyres, the rear mud-guards and stood up to reach the seat. As he touched the seat, all the hammering and squeezing his heart had been subjected to finally gave way, and Indrajit put his head down on the seat and started sobbing uncontrollably. He let all the tension of the past two hours release itself through his tears and finally got up and turned to his slightly concerned parents. Then with a broad smile pasted across his teary-eyed face, he flew into the arms of his parents, who had now gone from being concerned to bemused, and whispered into their ears,
Yes, I understand, what it feels like.
It was just a minor incident, and it was not even entirely his fault. A week ago he had been playing as usual in the front yard. His usual 'game' consisted of throwing a ball at the wall, and then batting it when it came back on the rebound. He was a disciplined batsman, restricting himself to playing in the 'V' since there was the family car always parked in the square leg position. Hence, he also alway threw the ball in such a manner that the rebound reached him at perfect driving length. On this day, and this fateful 'delivery', the ball had slipped out of his hand during the throw and hit the wall slower than usual. As the ball came back, he watched it pitch well in front, and bounce towards his chest... and his moment of madness. The ball grew in size as it came towards him, and an image of Yuvraj dismissively pulling a ball flashed through his mind. Whack, the horizontal ball dispatched the rubber ball perfectly square. Right into the front windscreen of the car.
That probably could've been avoided, he thought even as he laid part of the blame on Yuvraj for giving him such a beautiful shot to emulate. Perhaps his parents had canceled his party for that? No, he had clearly heard them talk about 'tomorrow's party' to each other last night. Moreover, they hadn't even be very angry when they had seen the windscreen broken. Sure, they had said something like You will understand what it feels like when you lose something similar, but he was pretty sure he wasn't getting a car anytime soon. He smiled a bit to himself at this clever bit of reasoning. As he turned away smiling, his eyes passed over the latch of the door, where all his presents were always kept till the cake was cut. And he froze in mid-turn. The bike!
The only reason Indrajit had been looking forward to his 10th birthday more than any other was because of The Bike. That shiny, red thing with the high seat and curved handlebars that he had fallen in love with at first sight. That thing which his parents had promised him for his 10th birthday when he had begged them for it a month ago. That thing which should be behind that latched door right now. That thing which would be something similar to the car. That thing which, hence, he could lose.
His mouth went dry. They couldn't do this to him. It was such a minor infraction, surely not worth taking away the bike. But it also made perfect sense. He would've noticed at least a small sign that a big bicycle was being moved around in the house. No wrapping paper, no tell-tale tyre marks of cycles being rolled around. And the subdued preparations for the party, after all, no parent likes to deny their child's fervent wish. And yet, what must be done, must be done. Must it?
The time for the party never seemed to come. The two hours was the worst period of time ever in Indrajit's till-now-uneventful life. His mind told him that it had been done, the cycle had been denied to him, and yet his heart failed to accept it. He was just reading into that minor incident too much, hadn't his parents been calm enough about it? Or had they let him off lightly because they were going to do something much worse? He wished he could just burst into that little room with the latched door and end the confusion once and for all. But one of his parents were either always hovering around the room or hovering around him, getting him ready for the party. He absentmindedly slipped into his new clothes, all the while staring at the latch, the door. It was all good for Superman to have X-ray vision, but the people who really needed it were 10-year old boys on the throes of an early-life crisis. He shook his head disgustedly at what he though was an unfair distribution of superpowers.
The guests started trickling in, and Indrajit noticed during moments when he actually looked that the decorations had in fact been organized as well as the last two years, if not better. People crowded around to wish him, hug him, shake hands with him, pinch his cheeks... and his mind registered none of it. His heart felt like it was being squeezed, like he couldn't breathe through the crush of the burdensome wait. He smiled weakly towards his Mom and Dad as he cut the cake and gave them each a piece after the Birthday Song had been sung. That's it, done, let's get to the door, his inner voice screamed, but Indrajit was too well brought-up to let any such thoughts out.
"Shall we?" his Dad asked, holding out his hand for Indrajit to grab. He nodded determinedly, and allowed himself to be led towards the door. His heart was hammering away wildly now, he was surprised that everyone in the room couldn't actually hear it. He tried to read something from his father's expression, but there was no expression there to read anything from. The door loomed in front of him, and Indrajit was sure his heart rate had hit 150. The latch opened and the door flew open.
Nothing, darkness. Darkness that is, in the front part of the room. But at the back, where the light from the shaded window streamed through just enough, he caught a glint of red. He took a tentative step forward, all the while following the outline of the glint of red. His mental faculties confirmed to him that it was indeed what his heart hoped it was and he ran forward with a yelp of surprise. He knelt beside The Bike, running his hand over the perfectly sized medals, moving to the tyres, the rear mud-guards and stood up to reach the seat. As he touched the seat, all the hammering and squeezing his heart had been subjected to finally gave way, and Indrajit put his head down on the seat and started sobbing uncontrollably. He let all the tension of the past two hours release itself through his tears and finally got up and turned to his slightly concerned parents. Then with a broad smile pasted across his teary-eyed face, he flew into the arms of his parents, who had now gone from being concerned to bemused, and whispered into their ears,
Yes, I understand, what it feels like.
4 comments:
wow.
lovely story da.
"It was all good for Superman to have X-ray vision, but the people who really needed it were 10-year old boys on the throes of an early-life crisis."
ROTFL!!!
V Baaj,
Thanks ra. Nalla make-up-as-I-go most of it was, I only had the last para in mind when I started :)
good stuff! Was thinking of reading it later but the part on playing that game where you hit the rebound caught my fancy! It was my favourite "sport", followed by book cricket!
Nice writing, kept me interested till the end. Specially reminded me of a nice story by Chekhov, where the funda was children have complex thoughts but people tend to underestimate them.
Liked the part that bhaju has pointed out. Also liked the bit on smiling weakly at his parents and that para in general.
Middle,
Thanks da. I know, kids get under-estimated so much... I think the world's lost a lot that way :)
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