A dry May and a dripping June bringeth all things in tune. Such are the ways of childhood; some sunshine and some shades and what you get is a perfect blend of life in return. During my growing years, I tried my hands at every possible sport. And as I did that I found as if I was having a look at my own inner world, from different dimensions and varying focal lengths, of course. I used to be the ace shooter for my basketball team and contributed heavily in a series of triumphs in various tournaments. Playing basketball gave me that urbane edge, that stylish connotation. I used to play cricket also; my primary role was that of an off-break baller, though I fitted in the skin of an all rounder perfectly; I loved to keep the wickets on ‘as and when required’ basis. I used to score runs when in need, used to be electric in field and used to rough up the umpire on an odd day.
I was this typical Indian teenager, full of fracas and froth. The days gave enough reasons to be jubilant, and the night gave enough reasons to sleep tight. As the final exams of 9th class were approaching, my jig at sports blessed me with fractured patella bone (right sided), and to my apprehension, I had to miss the classes for a good two months. It came as a shock, as an eye opener you may say. It was so difficult sitting at home and not doing any activities that mention sports; it was like arriving at a screeching halt from a full throttle ride. It was one of the palpable Kafkaesque experiences of my life, and I can still feel the gloom that used to haunt me then.