Tuesday, March 8, 2011

8


I was thinking that the number 8 has been unlucky for me recently.
But why? When I first started following Manchester United, Nicky Butt used to clad the number 8 jersey. Not my most favorite player in the world, but he did what was required from him. In came one Wayne Rooney to take over the number 8 and hit the right chord in me. When he moved on to number 10, Anderson took over the number 8. That is one for the future.
I tried harder, had to be something worse. But no matter how deep I went, there seemed to be nothing wrong with the number 8, except of course, for 8th March, International Woman’s Day.
You might be tempted to think what could be wrong about the day, but 8th March has actually been a memorable day in my life. It was the day I first confessed my feelings to the only girl I ever fell in love with. I proposed and got disposed, sadly. But, with some divine intervention probably, what followed was a memorable 8 years together, which unfortunately could not proceed to the 9th. So now, the ghost of 8 haunted me, banishing the number 8 forever as ill fated.
As the date approached this year, suddenly I was losing all my restraint. I was turning into an immature lump of overflowing hormones and hyperactive heart. To make matters worse, Manchester United lost two consecutive matches away to Chelsea and Liverpool on 1st March and 6th March. United had just lost two matches prior to that all season. Even East Bengal started losing matches suddenly, after staying unbeaten and untouchable for so long.  This made me realize how my passion for football was helpful in keeping the blues at bay for all these months. This was it, I realized. I was doomed.
As I always do, I turned to two of my closest friends. He was excited, because the rival supporter bugger long hibernating inside him was making victory laps now and why not. His team Arsenal was in contention for a first league title win in probably 9 long years and also Mohan Bagan supporters always enjoy East Bengal losing (and vice versa). After exchanges of our full vocabulary of swear words, I hung up on him. She was more supportive and listened to me, advised me and showed me the brighter side as we talked at lengths. Both made me feel better in their own special ways for the time being, but I knew the inevitable was just around the corner.
Yet with time, things change. You forget all the bad memories, nightmares fade. Only the goodness of a person persists. I looked back at that day and smiled now. It all happened so fast. So many essential parts of the day that shaped my life was long gone. My Hero Bicycle, who was part of that ride to ecstasy and then agony, was stolen 2 years later. The 3 poems I had written and delivered, which said all I wanted to say and a lot more, never came back to me. The princess who was once mine, how nervous She was that day..
It’s funny how some things work out and some don’t. It is funny how taking separate roads makes for such an intense, ever-changing emotional journey. You start with hatred, wrath, take a U-turn to sadness, despair and agony and finally, realization hits you slowly. Then you just smile, because you know you have spent some unforgettable moments with a special person, you have had a good time and that shall forever remain that way.
So on 8th March this year, ironically, I broke my numerical 8 jinx. Instead, I closed my eyes and went back to that day, that noon, the copying of the verses on a clean paper with my best handwriting. That wait for the indication that school was over, that afternoon ride on my violet-blue double shock-absorber Hero Rock-shock. This time, I felt the wind blow into my face, I saw people on both sides of the road, I realized I had missed so much in the excitement of the moment. I turned a corner, and there she was, walking back from school alone, that grey and white dress…

3 comments:

  1. Again a touching article.. poured with tender and balmy..melancholic feelings..
    but, at last u did the best thing.. ignoring ur 8-jinx and remembering those sweet memories !

    ReplyDelete

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