The last walk

The last walk – a small and humble tribute to a big man, The GOD

With that little edge from the corner of my Kashmir willow, the twenty-four-year long journey comes to an end. My heart beats as fast as it can, hoping that the captain, Tino, standing at the first slip misses it but I know he will not. The gracious gesture from him of not celebrating my wicket does little to control the outburst of my emotions as I look up at the sky to thank my father, one last time.

A small tear rolls down my moist eyes. My mind had been thinking about it since so many days now, wanting it to never happen; if only I could stop time till eternity. All those who have wanted me to retire since so many years now will finally sleep in peace while the talks, the debates and the social media updates about my retirement will all be gone for good.

My face becomes unnaturally pale, my feet tremble and my teary eyes try hard to escape from the jaws of the thousands of shutterbugs present inside the stadium, as I clasp the bat close to my chest and slowly take the last walk to the pavilion; the national flag on my helmet still standing firm.

As the crowd indulges in the luxury of vision and chants my name again and again, I felt their hands clawing up my chest and choking me to death. People have always been kind to me. I do not know if I have deserved all the love and attention that I have received over the years. They are kind enough to call me GOD but I am not one. GODs don’t falter, ever, and I have on numerous occasions. I am just a simple human being who has only and only thought about playing and doing well for the country and nothing other than that.

While my body follows the motion, my mind wavers into the narrow dark tunnel of old memories. This ground has given me everything in life.

It was the very same ground where I had played my first Ranji Trophy match twenty six years ago, as a substitute fielder, having been so fortunate to play alongside the big stalwarts of the game whom I have worshipped since so many years now. It was the here where we had fought our way to win the world cup a couple of years ago; the best thing that had happened to me since I started playing. With the glorious shot from MS, the dream of being the world champions was finally fulfilled.

As I manage to sneak a quick glance at the commentary box, I see my friends standing there with humbled eyes; Dada, Jam and Lax. We had played together for years and the sense of nationalism over everything had made us such close friends. In that short phase of life that spanned almost a decade, we played, slept and dreamt of the game and making the nation proud of the team.

Amidst all the frenzy, I somehow manage to make it to the narrow hallway of the dressing room that has grown quiet by now and bolt the door of the restroom from inside. The tears that have become a flowing stream by now refuse to die down. They know that my time is over now and I will not be doing anymore the only thing I have learnt to do since my childhood – play for my country. After a century of centuries and thirty four thousand international runs, I know my body has finally given up and I do not have much to offer to the game as age gets the better of me.

With the presentation ceremony only a few minutes away, I manage to scribble down a few names as I make up my mind to thank all those who have helped me become what I am today. It is only and only because of these people in life that I have been able to forget everything else in life and just focus on giving my best for the country.

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The above is a work of fiction from someone who has been a die hard fan of the legend since years now 🙂