The Locked Door

A bright sunny day it was in winter. There was no fog and it was a Sunday. Children were playing cricket out in a field. A small boy of about ten years old was geared up for the ball coming towards him. He flicked the first ball away and it was out of the boundary. It was a six. The next ball he pulled away for another six. This continued for the next four balls and all were hit for sixes. It seemed that the ball was flying in the sky after kissing the bat of the boy. All his friends were shouting, “Our Sachin Tendulkar”. Their team captured the first prize with a massive victory over the other team in the final match. The whole arena was cheering him with thunderous claps.

Rajeev was watching this from a distance. Everyone in the crowd was happy except him. He was deeply engrossed in some thoughts, deep to the bones. After all, he was the father of the boy. He should have been happy, but he was not.

The boy was named the best player in the tournament. With effervescent excitement, he hurried to Rajeev and hugged him tightly. Rajeev patted his back but didn’t say anything. Staring at his stone-faced father he didn’t dare to utter a single word and was prodigiously confused. He had a lot to express but stood like a dumb. They went home.

After reaching home, the kid showed the trophy to other members of his family. All of them were happy. After some time, he took a douche and came back. Rajeev was sitting at the dining table, waiting for him, to talk about something.

Rajeev asked, “How many players play for team India, in cricket?”

“Eleven”, replied the boy.

“How many kids want to play for team India”, asked Rajeev.

The kid said, “Millions”.

Then Rajeev said, “You play well, but it doesn’t mean that you can be one of the eleven players who are going to represent the Indian Cricket Team. Be practical and focus on your studies.”

Before the boy could say anything, “If wishes were horses beggars would ride”, said, Rajeev in a sarcastic way.

The kid felt hopeless and downhearted. He looked woebegone, thought all his dreams getting butchered in a slaughterhouse. He felt like he was in hell at that moment. Cried a lot without a single drop of tear. But gathered himself after a while. Stashed all his cricketing gears in a room and locked it.

Suddenly he heard someone calling him, “Rahul, Get up. You are getting late for office.” To his surprise, it was only a dream. Rahul is no more a kid. He is a grown-up man. All his dreams had been shattered a long time before, at least two decades. He thought to himself, “Dreams are also locked in the rooms. We don’t even have the freedom to dream. In fact, we are taught not to dream.” With a discombobulated face, he headed towards the washroom.