It was a long weiry day. That too for a sixty three year old man, he was too distressed than anyone else. The weather had been cruel in the recent days so as the human tongues. Maniyan Thatha's room is at the south east corner of the house. His room will remain closed whenever he's in. May be he has some secrets within. The room knows no sunlight. Neither the Sun nor the Moon had an opportunity to peep through his window. Things in his room are so less yet arranged with great care. He had lived up to the expectations of the society so far and so long. He studied. He went for an uncool job, He married a woman whom he didn't love, begot children, did the same to them, retired. And now his past keeps on piercing his blood pressured and cholesterol bound heart.
Age 10: Maniyan was a small boy then. He was a passive child unlike others. He doesn't play cricket with them, but he watches them play, observes it heartily and draws what he sees on the pitch. Those boys who were mocked as poor players hit a lofted shot in his drawing and luckily, his drawings had girl players who bowled out boys. He loved it. He never played and became roly-poly. His dad was unhappy that he's obese. He talked to Mani. He shot him with a question - Why aren't you like others..?
and within a year Maniyan was mostly seen on the pitch, not as audience or as an artist but as a player. He was dropping the catches that came to his hands and wasn't that good at handling the bat when compared to the pencil. His drawing notes went unseen later on. He became thin and tall.
Age 18: A period of confusion in his life. His age had gifted him with uneven facial hairs that made him look a bit weird. He was feeling the same pressure that each and every Higher secondary student faces on the day of their results. Maniyan has no courage to open up to his father about the results. He had passed with an average percentage but with an outstanding knowledge. In India, a house on the day of higher secondary result and on a day of someone's death, faces the same problem. Relatives come in, sit beside you, pity you for no reason even when you yourself don't give a shit about your marks. Mani was no exception to that situation.
He had lots to speak to his father who was angry with him and so he was not in a mood to listen. He wished to show his dad something. It was not the drawings this time. Something better, something in which Mani is good at. He hid few notebooks behind his back and went to his dad hesitatingly. "What have you brought now..? stupid boy" his voice was full of mockery. Piling up the notebooks along with his courage, Mani showed his notebooks which bore his chosen words of verses that told about the unseen heaven and much more out of the world ideas and themes.
Angels aren't always with beautiful wings
Sometimes they are burdened with stress
Those are addressed as 'Fathers'
The very word 'Angel' made his dad to think that his son is in love with a girl and he threw the note on his face without even reading the second word. Again he faced the same question - Why aren't you like the others..?. He was made to choose engineering which was not his cup of tea. He thus became an average engineer with zero interest in physics and chemistry.
Age 26: It's been 2 years since he fell in with a private company as an unworthy engineer. Maniyan's memory power bestowed him with good marks but often slapped him tight with poor engineering mind. Sooner he understood that he couldn't love the job anymore but couldn't quit too as there was a girl whom he loved more than anyone. His Love motivated him, Like an eagle in the sky, they glided through their life with Love favouring them as wind. She was the cloud to his rainless sky, and He was the Oasis to her deserted life. They could really have been a long time friends, rather they tagged it as love. There was Love, but not the trust nor the confidence. There was affection, but with more expectation and a pinch of ego. Poison, nevertheless little, is a poison. Hence that ego gave way to random fights that made them doubt their relationship. The question struck again. Both of them, pointing at the happy couples, asked each other - 'Why aren't you like them..?'
Sometimes it is better to avoid some questions that would cost a relationship. So again, the same question played in Maniyan's life. The happy pages of the diary came to an end.
Age 60: Though this happened some three years before, the incident is still green in Maniyan thaatha's memories. He is no more an active man for he's a retired man with some noteworthy pension amount. It's been 7 years since his daughter sought his approval for her love and Manian too inorder to avoid the 'buzzing question' made theirs a simple wedding. They weren't having a child for four years after their marriage, which caused a turmoil in the family. So she insisted and convinced her husband to shift their home to Maniyan's. It was nothing beneficial but a mess. Evil minds planted the idea of sending Maniyan to an oldage home and they both grabbed the idea harder. Do I have to say the root cause of the evil idea..? It was the same old question again. After Maniyan thaatha's wife took an eternal rest, his daughter came to him to speak about her burdens and the urge to inherit the bequest.
In these three years no one came in search of Maniyan thaatha, he lives on his own in a rented room using his pension amount with all his property and wealth being changed to his daughter's name. He was drenched with sweat by thinking about these things for a long time. It had become an ineffaceable regret of his Life. The evening's Sun peeped into his window for the first time. Adoring it's beauty, thaatha realised where it had all gone wrong. The question- it made things weird every time. And he knows that the things he had sown, has now become his harvest and he isn't worried about being alone anymore. He knows that the past can't be changed but then he realised that he could prevent things from getting wrong. He looked at a pack of kids playing cricket through his window. He went out to watch them closer.
First ball of the over- bouncer, the kid doesn't know how to tackle the ball and gets a hit on his neck. Trembling in agony, controlling his tears, he faces the next ball. Yorker, he flicks the bat, one bounce to the fielder in the covers. Third ball, a slower one, he tries to hit but he could just see the disturbed stumps falling apart. Maniyan thaatha was watching all those. He waited till the boy got to the bench on which he was seated in the park.
"New to cricket..?"
mmm-mm
"Don't you like it..?"
But, I like to draw..
"Why don't you draw then..?
Dad complains that I'm not like these guys and wants me to play..
"Why should you be like them kid..?"
Yeah grandpa.. Why should I be like them..?
"Go get your drawing books, let's draw.."
They both started drawing, the kid drew his friends and Maniyan thaatha drew the boy, and in his picture, the little boy has hit the ball beyond the boundary line.