The tranquillity of a warm Sunday afternoon shook when the crowd applauded. “The hero of the evening deserves a louder applause!”, yelled Mr. Saamy on the old rusted microphone. The crowd applauded cacophonously at his order. “Ajit Kumar, please come to the dais.” I stood up to walk to the dais. My legs felt heavy. As I dragged myself I heard people say, “How modest he looks”, “His parents must be so proud”, “Take him as an example and follow his footsteps.” Sadly in the whole crowd, I was the only one who knew I was the unhappiest person there.
When I was 6 years old, there was to be this eerie dark street called Doom’s Alley that I had to walk through every day on my way back home from school. I was scared of the dark and I used to run the length of Doom’s Alley with my eyes tightly shut. Running through Doom’s Alley became a habit and one day I remember crossing it in under 60 seconds. A proud I sat on my father’s lap that evening and told him about my feat. But he didn’t share my enthusiasm. He said, “The brave don’t run away from their fears. They confront them.” I didn’t understand what he meant. I ignored it and continued my sprint through the spooky Alley every day.
What started off as a way of handling my fears slowly became a hobby and then a passion. By the time I was 12 years old, running became a profound experience. When I ran, the whole world was invisible to me. My friends used to tell me that my legs and arms moved involuntarily in perfect synchronization like I was some kind of a machine. They used to tell me that the fairest girls in the class cheered for me. They used to tell me how nail-biting an experience it was to see my competitors grunt and cuss to take over me. I never remembered any of that. For me, the only proof of running remained the butterfly-shaped patch of sweat at the back of my t-shirt and the pain in my joints. It was the first time I experienced pleasure in pain – yes, running gave me a high – and nothing else mattered.
Encouraged by my friends and empowered by my confidence, I dreamt of becoming an athlete. I spent most of my school days either running for my school or my district or lost in the reverie of representing my country in the Olympics. Then came class 11 – the threshold of career our principal Mr.Saamy referred to it. The predictable happened. My dad asked me to quit running and concentrate on getting admission into a med-school. I told him about my desire to go to a sports college. He protested. I raised my voice. My dad raised his. My mom shrieked. My sister cried. My dad won. My dreams of going to a sports college and running for the country crumpled. “Trust me, Ajit. I have been a doctor for 20 years and I haven’t it regretted even once.” he said. Most problems in this world arise when people assume what is good for them is good for everyone.
So I started studying. I used to sit by the window and gaze at other kids running around the playground. But I forced myself to flake the rust off my brain and study. My grades improved. My parents were happy. I was not. I had an urge to run. So one day I took off. I didn’t just run around the school playground. I ran miles and miles, to the next district where they were having a state-level competition. Who wants to be a doctor and look at sick people all day? I am going to win this race, take home a trophy and tell my parents running is where my heart is. If running through Doom’s Alley was because of my inability to confront my fear, this run I thought was the way of showing my dad that I was brave to stand for what I believed in. My limbs worked fine despite all the months of inactivity. I ran the race to my heart’s content and won. I would never forget the look on my parents’ faces that evening when I returned back home with my trophy –morbid faces that did not show a speck of happiness or encouragement.
I looked at my parents today. Their eyes were gleaming. They sat with their heads held high – contented and proud. Mr.Saamy, the showman of the day spoke on the mike, “For years I have trained my students into understanding that life is race. I tell them, ‘If you sleep for an extra hour, the rivals who are awake would have overtaken you by a few hundred ranks.’ Only a few understand it, follow it and get a good admission. Ajit Kumar here is one such obedient student. Let’s applaud for him on his success of getting into the country’s most premier medical college!!”
The tranquillity of the warm Sunday afternoon shook when the crowd applauded. “The hero of the evening deserves a louder applause!”, yelled Mr. Saamy on the old rusted microphone. The crowd applauded cacophonously at his order. “Ajit Kumar, please come to the dais.” I stood up to walk to the dais. My legs felt heavy. As I dragged myself I heard people say, “How modest he looks”, “His parents must be so proud”, “Take him as an example and follow his footsteps.” Sadly in the whole crowd, I was the only one who knew I was the unhappiest person there. And worse, it was only I (besides Mr.Saamy and my parents )who knew that it wasn’t hours of cramming biological names, physics laws or chemistry equations that got me into med-school. It was my passion for running, a certificate for winning the state-level race and the country’s damned sports quota.
to be continued and completed
Title Courtesy: Iron Maiden
