013. Flying Roses

Kingdom of Bahrain

26 December 2009

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Acknowledgement - as always!

Once again, thank you very much for going through, and commenting on  my previous entry - "A Christmas gift!".  I acknowledge my sure-shot readers and new readers - they have not disappointed me.

A big thanks to all those who visited my site, read and commented on.

This incident is churned out from a relatively old memory chip!   Let me muse happily on some of my childhood tantrums and  funny moments!

Walking back to the 80s, circa 1982-83.

This is Ravi Chettan, my eldest brother.

 Ravi Chettan,  was on his annual vacation from the Gulf.     He is a person having varied sports interests.  To the best of my knowledge, football topped his list.  He transformed himself to a strong  anti-cricket advocate,  after he reportedly got injured during a cricket match,  during his childhood.  The following bitter experiences he had, might have forced him to hate cricket like hell!  Cannot blame him at all !

But, neither that part of his history, nor his constant preaching of anti-cricket slogans to us stopped either me or Hari, my neighbour-cum-schoolmate-cum-classmate from playing cricket on the front portion of our house.  A rectangular area, called as muttam (in Malayalam), was our cricket pitch.   The pitch (fully cemented) was a tough "wicket" to play on, due to the presence of  various plants and sensitive (& sentimental)  flowers all over the place!

Our house was located on the side of a main road.  There was heavy traffic of city buses and all other sorts of vehicles from cycle to heavy tankers!  And, to make (our) matters a little worse, there was a bus stop just  in front of our gate.  Almost all the city buses stop there and hence we had to be extra careful to make sure not to hit the ball on to the road.

Rules and regulations were also very funny.

To penalize the batsman for making any "rash hits", we considered the flower pots as fielders.  If a ball fell in to a flower pot directly without touching the ground, the batsman was considered out and our scoreboard said,

- "Renjith    c  FlowerPot        b Hari"   or

 - "Hari       c  FlowerPot        b Renjith"

Similarly to penalize "heavy hits", the batsman was considered out, if he hit the ball on to the road.

With these stringent constraints in place, I challenge, even Sachin Tendulkar would not have played well in our "home pitch".

Flying Roses?

Out of the blue,   a passion to grow roses got into Ravi Chettan's nerves during that vacation of his.  One fine morning,  I saw him bringing home, dozens and  dozens of (additional) flower pots containing roses of different varieties and colours.   Sadly, for us, the "cricketers", he  placed them on the center of our "pitch", disrupting our future cricket matches.  On his face,  I could not see any mercy to the poor cricketers - Hari and me. 

He religiously spent a lot of time nursing the roses.

The "home pitch" was completely closed.

There were no other places approved by the concerned authorities (parents, in this context) in the vicinity of our houses to play cricket.   We spotted many places to play cricket, but our parents cruelly  rejected our plea due to various reasons, better known to them only.

Our cricket matches came to a dead end, almost!
Or, to say the least, we felt like that.

As a stop gap arrangement, we started to play Book Cricket.  (For information, Book Cricket is a game,  which we, children used to play, wherein the "batsman"  randomly opened a thick book; noted the the even page number per turn.  If the page number ended in 2, then he got 2 runs, if 4, then  4 runs, if 6 then sixer, if 8 then a single and if it was 0, then the batsman was declared OUT).  

Nothing to fear.

No physical damage to players or flower pots.

No rain disruptions,

No bad weather problems.

Interesting.

Fascinating.

The beauty part was that -  we could play Book Cricket any time, even in front of our parents,  pretending that we were studying!!

Progressively, Book Cricket became a part of my life.

One night, during dinner, the following was the talk of the hour.

"Ravi,  when are you going to see Ammoomma (grand mother) ?  How long have I been telling you?"  It was Amma, reminding Ravi chettan,  referring to his much awaited visit to our native place, a two hour drive from home.

I crossed my fingers while awaiting Ravi Chettan's response. 
Did I pray silently for a positive answer?  Perhaps.

Knowing him, I was sure about his night stay with Ammoomma,  whenever he visited her.

"I will go sometime next week", Ravi Chettan replied to Amma, which the latter rejected, categorically.

"No, it is too late.  You should have visited her during the first week of your vacation itself."

"Ravi, you should try to go tomorrow, if it is possible.  Moreover, it is a Sunday, so there would not be much rush in the bus.".   That sounded like an order, this time from the father.

Ravi Chettan nodded his head - affirmative.

I slept that night praying for a quick sunrise!  Because,  I somehow wanted to see off Ravi Chettan to our native place, summon Hari, play cricket for two days, continuously, starting from the very morning!!

I was so excited!

When I got up the next day morning,   the first thing I did was to search for Ravi Chettan.

I checked his room.

I checked the verandah, where he used to spend hours, reading newspaper.

I checked his "nursery".
I checked him near the rose pots.

I checked the full house.

I asked Amma.

Great!  I confirmed that he left for the native place.

Relieved.
Very much.

Quickly brushed my teeth, jumped the wall across to Hari's house.

Hari was sleeping.   No worries, I woke him up.
Told about Ravi Chettan's absence from our "pitch" for two days. 
Hearing that, he too got excited.

He also brushed his teeth.

We both jumped the wall across back to my house.

In a few minutes, we cleared the pitch by shifting the rose (flower) pots to either sides of the pitch.
After a laborious task, we certified the pitch, "cricket enabled"!

Sheets of paper were torn from our notebooks to make the score sheet.
Neatly, with utmost care, we drew lines on the paper and made a beautiful score board.
Impressive!  No doubt.

We anticipated shouting from either of our parents for playing cricket from the very morning, and that too, without having breakfast.

So, we decided to give a sample dose.

We bounced the ball on the "pitch", made the sound of the rubber ball audible to our parents.
No response.
That meant to us, that they would not come out, scold us and stop the match.

Sure?  Yes, go ahead.

Gradually, the stumps were placed.  

Using red stone and some chalks, the creases were marked.

We tossed a 20-paise coin to select the first  batsman/bowler.

One of us, obviously won the toss, don't remember who!
The photograph above is view from the wicket (batsman) side.

Hari started batting.  He took stance, like Sunil Gavaskar.
Imitating Kapil Dev (one of my cricket idols those days), I rubbed the ball on my shorts, as if we were playing cricket using a cricket ball!   Like Kapil Dev, I used long run ups (within the available space!!) and bowled to Hari.

As usual,  Hari hit a sixer.   He was like that.  He scored many centuries and half centuries against me in my "home pitch". 

He was in good "form" (lending cricket commentators' words).
No way!  I could not take his wicket.

Finally, I decided to change my strategy!
I bowled over a loose ball to him.
He came out on front foot and hit the ball.

It was not just a hit, but a HIT.

I could not believe my eyes.
"Are my eyes getting blurred?
Am I becoming blind?
Black out?"

In slow motion, I could see the ball travelling like a bullet, hitting the stem of a rose, "disconnecting" the rose flower from its stem,  straight to the wall................

Four runs!

For a split of a second, due to the impact, I could see the rose accompanying the ball, like Siamese twins, before falling on the floor.

A flying rose!

Oh! my God! 
What to do?

We both became panicky.

Looked around.  No way, we could wash off this "crime".
Luckily, there were no "witnesses".


"He must have definitely counted the blooming flowers that day morning, before leaving for native place".  I said to myself.   Because, I knew that Ravi Chettan, maintained a brilliant mind-inventory of his rose pots and flowers. 

"Renju, what to do, now?",  Hari's question accelerated my panic.

"Can we hide this rose pot in my house?".   Hari shot an idea.
"No, Ravi chettan would be having a count of pots", I did not buy in his idea.

Sadly, we decided to stop the match.
Because, we feared witnesses.  We feared blackmailing from any corner!

Before anybody came out of the house,  we re-arranged the flower pots back to their original positions, without wasting any time.

"Hari, tell me, what to do with this rose?"  I asked.
Hari did not have any answer, or he must have kept quiet  anticipating my rejections to his ideas.

Hari was thinking.
I was thinking.
We both were thinking like nobody's business.

"Got it!  Can you bring a cellotape?"  I asked Hari.

"Should be having one.  But, what are we going to do with it?"  Hari was keen to know my idea.

"Hari, I will let you know.  Please bring one, fast." I ordered out.

Hari jumped across the wall, went to his house. 
He returned through the same path,  by the same mode, with a cellotape in his hand.

Looked around.
Ensured nobody is around.

Like a surgery, with maximum care, we glued the rose on to the stem using the cellotape. 

"Amazing, Renju."  Hari appreciated my idea.

"Thanks.  Oh ! Thank God!.  Think we are safe.  From a far distance, it all look normal, isn't it?".  I sought for Hari's reassurance.

To make the whole "crime" error-free, we placed the "accident rose pot" to the farthest corner.

In Oracle language, we did a ROLLBACK.
In English language, we reversed all our "wrong doings".

The stumps were withdrawn from the pitch, leaving no clue of a cricket match ever took place.
The cricket bat was placed back under the bed.
The scoreboard was torn out and thrown to the dustbin, near the kitchen area.
No evidences were left to the public.

When things go wrong, things go completely wrong!!  Because, much to everyone's surprise, Ravi Chettan returned home within an hour.  I heard him saying that he waited at the Bus Station, but did not get a direct bus, due to Sunday. 

"We were lucky, isnt it?  Think of a situation, if he caught us red handed playing cricket, on a re-designed pitch?"   I thanked God.

I did not have the courage to face him.  So I hid myself in my room, pretending doing my homework.
Through the partly opened window of my room, I saw him scanning his "nursery".
I could not normalize my heart beats. 
Heart started to, literally, run out!

Till evening, I tried avoiding him. 
Evening, I saw him scanning the garden!

"Amma, who changed the flowers from here?" . He asked Amma on a loud tone, suspecting that she would have rearranged the pots.

I continued watching him through my window.

He was moving towards the accident rose pot.
It dawned on me that I would soon be caught.

He spent relatively more time watching the particular rose.  Because, the rose had lost its freshness and was hanging out.  It was clearly visible by then !

I saw him inspecting the particular rose and the pot from top to bottom.  He also looked at the sky, as he was suspecting some UNO or something as the culprit!
"Why is this rose like this?"  I heard him talking to himself.

"Renju..... Renju.... come here!",   Ravi Chettan called me, on a fiery tone.  Through my window, I found him near the "accident rose" with the cellotape ripped off the stem!

Jokes apart.

Rest was history. 
I remember, there was a "light & sound" show, immediately.

The flying rose created a big impact on the little Gavaskar and Kapil Dev.
What followed thereafter was a complete ban on cricket on the "home pitch".
There was also a blanket ban on Hari's jumping the walls to my house and vice versa.

The ban was meant indefinite at the beginning.
Eventually, it got diluted.

After a month or two, Ravi Chettan returned to Gulf, post vacation.

Before leaving, he lovingly advised me about nursing flowers and narrated his story of how he wasted his time playing cricket and reaching nowhere in his life through cricket. 

On his advice, I became the custodian of his roses. 
No roses flew thereafter, at least for some more time.
At least,  till the commencement of summer vacation, from when we resumed our cricket matches, but with utmost care.


Today
By mid of 80s, Ravi Chettan returned from Gulf  for good and is now settled in Trivandrum.  He is still fond of flowers and plants, like before.   He designed a house himself,  allocated more than enough space for his beautiful garden. 

I visited him early this month. 
He owns an impressive garden.
Different plants, flowers, trees!

But, there is no space left for a cricket pitch!
Hence, no more flying roses !

Wish you all a very Happy New Year!
Renjith P Sarada
(C) 2009-2012 Renjith P Sarada.  All rights reserved.