remoh197 x

Fantasy

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remoh197 x

Fantasy

My Dream

My Dream

7 mins
19.7K



What is a dream? Is it a manifestation of your deepest desires? Is it a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep, as google so blandly and unromantically puts it? Or is it an idea or vision that is created in your imagination that is not real (Thank you Merriam-Webster!)?

So at 2AM in the morning when I am dealing with such deeply philosophical and partly existential questions, I go to the one person who is as revered as Don Bradman in the annals of cricket- Mr Sigmund Freud. Freud says that dreams are all forms of wish fulfillment. Something you wished for, like saving the most beautiful girl in your college from the evil Lord Voldemort and sweeping her off her feet for butter beer at Hogsmeade. A wish that makes you smile, makes you feel like a hero, and as I like to define it, something that gives meaning to your existence on earth.

I have a dream. If you picked up on the Bradman reference in the above paragraph, then yes indeed, it’s got to do with cricket. I dream of playing in the iconic Lord’s stadium one day. The stadium that is worshipped as the Mecca of cricket, that honours all that is best about the Gentleman’s sport. It’s a stadium whose rolls of honour board has a special importance and any cricket fan would love to step on the field, hold the bat and imagine hitting Courtney Walsh for a six.

Why this dream you ask? If you’ve come this far and are not yet yawning, then let me take you to a day in my seventh class where the seeds were sown. I was playing cricket with my classmates and they included me in the team because I had asked permission from the Science teacher to play. (I was Leena madam’s favourite student). It was the last over and my team needed some 15 runs to win. We were eight down and I was sent in to bat, more as a courtesy than with any hopes of victory. In front of me was Shivshankar, a feared bowler in my school, who shot off balls like bullets. He ran from the boundary line like the Rawalpindi express and bowled a ball so fiery that even Malinga would be proud. I managed to put bat on ball and survived it. He returned back to his bowling mark, slightly red that he couldn’t get the number 10 batsman out on the first ball. This time he ran from the basketball court behind the boundary line, full of steam, and I kid you not, I stepped out of the crease and whacked it over his head for a six.

Ah the adulation. The claps, the cheers, the hoots, the pats on the back. My classmates suddenly started to look at me with the feeling of a messiah. He is the chosen one they said. Till then no one had dared to hit “the Shivshankar” for a six. I stepped forward and did the unthinkable. Shiv was a decent guy, he smiled, went back and rattled my stumps the very next ball. But it did not matter. Claps were heard as I walked back, my captain promoted me to opening batsman the very next match. Harsha, the cricketer, was formally born.

I had played cricket before that day. I was a decent enough batsman, but my class mates did not know it. And there was nothing to lose. So I swung and fate connected. Beaming with pride, I narrated the entire incident to my dad. I asked him, “Dad, which is the most famous cricket ground?”

“Eden Gardens” he replied.

“Where is it?”

“Kolkata, West Bengal”

“No. Tell me in the world”. See I had global aspirations. After all I had hit a six.

“The Lords, London”.

“I will play there one day and hit a six”. I vowed. My dad just smiled.

As days passed, I slowly ascended the ranks of my team as a player. Bowlers did not take me lightly now. Captains used to discuss tactics to get me out. And I enjoyed every bit of it. The dream remained, to play in Lord’s one day, preferably in India Blue.

As you age, maturity comes knocking. And with maturity comes logical thinking. I realized that logically, I had zero probability of playing for India. Studies took over and the effort and dedication that one had to put to own an India jersey was, alas, not there. So while I grappled with physics, chemistry and mathematics, straight drive and cover drive became the stuff of old memories. Still the love for cricket remained. The dream remained.

It was not just the romantic feeling of adulation that hooked me to this particular dream. It was and still is the feeling that I get when I hold the bat in hand. It’s the closest I get to feel like a Chiranjeevi, a Spartacus, a King Leonidas, a king set on a quest to win the world. It’s this feeling, magnified over a million times once I step onto the field that is oh so holy to something that I am deeply passionate about, that I would like to experience.

I do not wish to make a fool out of myself, especially not at Lords. So I take up the bat and ask for a chance to play at every instance I get. It usually takes me one chance to prove to the selection committee that I am a serious player. I have been a part of my college cricket team and captain for a term. I played a few matches for my corporate company too. I hopefully get to be a part of the IIM Trichy cricket team (selections in progress, fingers crossed). With every passing day, with every passing challenge in life, with every love, every breakup, every change in deadlines, with every stress and with every other variable, the one constant that has stayed with me is the love for cricket and the dream to play at Lords.

The good kind hearted people at Lords know this. They realize that there are people sitting thousands of miles away who are awake in the middle of the night practising their drives with an imaginary bat and a heroic swagger. And for people like these, they have packages to host matches and tournaments at Lords. At a not so expensive price of 15 pounds per person for a match or 325 pounds per person for a tournament. Affordable enough you would think. So what’s stopping me? Why is this still a dream and not a reality?

I do not wish to play wannabe kids on Lords. I do not wish to play bowlers who get tired after two balls. My first six was off the bowling of one of the best bowlers of my school. I wish to play with people who share my passion and love for the sport, with people who have put in some effort throughout their lives, with people whose only reason for not being able to professionally pursue their dream, was circumstances. I wish to play with such like-minded cricketers and the quest to find them is still on. There is also the hiccup of logistics, cost, flying to England after matching schedules and a plethora of other major and minor issues. But hey, why have a dream if it’s not challenging enough to accomplish? Where is the story that I would tell my kids and grandkids if it had no challenge, no sweat, and no sense of pride?

I am 25 years old, and till now my effort towards my dream has been to hone my skills and to realistically pursue it. By realistic I mean in monetary terms. I would love to have a roof over my head, earn enough to secure a future for myself before I jet off to London to hold an English willow and attempt to negotiate a swinging Duke’s ball.

The great APJ Abdul Kalam had once said that a dream is not something you see while you sleep, but something that does not let you sleep. I find great resonance with his statement. I have had other dreams, to get into the institute of my choice, to win over the girl I so desire, to own a Royal Enfield bullet but the one that has stayed with me till now, and something that I am sure, I will accomplish in my life, is the dream of playing cricket at Lords. Fifty years down the line, when I look back at my life, I wish to remember me all padded up, in whites, facing a fiery bowler who runs in full steam, bowls a delivery at 140kmph and I would straight drive it pristinely, a la Sachin-The God-Tendulkar, at the mecca of cricket.


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