I Am Alive

History and I have a come a long way till now. Countries have united, allied, separated with me in the centre stage. People have inhaled joy, shed tears, loathed me, cherished my fine pitch. I have seen a proud man crushed seeing his dreams shatter. The unknown has become known, famous, hero, legend, God. ‘The Theatre of Dreams’, ‘Young Man’s First Love’, ‘Mother’s Dream Come True’: all these have been my different names across the globe today. The game has been claimed as the most followed trend present in the farthest of lands. Two goalposts at the ends, 1 ball among 22 men and life’s experiences complete in those 90 minutes.

He was one in those millions who saw dreams in me. Today, we are together for fourteen years now and it feels like that speck in the sand. Never has there been a day when he didn’t think of me, returning back to me; to shed out all his anxiety, to relive his joy, to consume all the memories we weaved together, the plethora could define eternity. Shooting balls tearing past the net is his way of saying I am alive. Speeding past men trying to stop him is his way of saying I am alive. Shredding muscles after a bad day is his way of saying I am alive. Putting beyond his maximum heart rate is his way of saying I am alive.
It seemed like yesterday when he thought of me trying to fathom why people cried on me, what pained them so much, what gave people such glorious satisfaction after stepping out of me? The fool never knew it was impossible, so he tried it. He used to sleep with his kit next to bedside and wait for the first rays so that he could jump out of the bed, ready to take on the world. He was the first one whom I would meet in the morning. I loved how he screeched through all the soft dew which the night cooled me with. It felt home when he never used to forget to bow to me praying strength before entering. I loved how he got that widest smile seeping in the aroma of my lush green body hair. Looking in retrospect, it still hasn’t changed till now.

It was never love at first site, now both of us think. It has been that scorching relationship which had fall outs at every stage, promises made-broken, doubts raised-removed. We even drew lines of do’s and don’ts. I have felt his feet at every part of my body, how each thump used to pray for more thrust and spearing speed to kill down his fears of losing. I have seen him being raised on shoulders with trophies, days when he has questioned his passion, when he couldn’t feel that flow in himself. I still remember that day when he had burnt his entire kit not to return back to me ever. My beloved fool, he was wearing his burnt shoes the next day.

Success, disappointments, learnings have all been the threads of the rosary which we have prayed with. What makes him unique is his duty of gratefully acclaiming me as the doer for everything he does in life even if it is not I, but he playing all the cards.
I pray oh Lord, must not forget me. Make him remember when days go dark how he used to get past every hurdle. Make his blood pump as he used to while with me. My grass has grown with the sweat he has poured out. My roots have grown strong with his passion to return back all what he has derived from me. We have grown, hard and strong, together. For all those who say real men don’t cry haven’t played football so far, he always told me. Come back tomorrow, I have a tale to share, I used to say. There is no tale, I know. Neither has he asked for one. He still comes. Maybe he is that tale!

• Aditya Bhayana