a player to wear them. Me and my brother were fans of the sport from days going back to school. It began by wearing out sport shoes made out of canvas. (A mandate in school then) No studs back then. Recently, he moved to Bangalore after getting placed post his masters in business administration. And what he did with his first salary left me spellbound. Sitting at home with the box which screamed Puma! on my lap, all the years came back in a flash. In the box were placed one of the most amazing studs Ive seen. Not because they were the most expensive or the most feature ridden but because and SIMPLY because they were a branded pair of studs gifted to me by my kid brother.I remember him getting his first pair from my late uncle. Red in colour with a white sole. They didn't last long but boy did they ignite a fire in him. One which lasted forever. The way he played took off. He was always the better player between us. More hungry to win. More aggressive and more focused. I remember us defying dad's "no football-only study" policy. Hunting for cobblers who would agree to stitch the shoes when torn beyond repair. We had to make sure the shoes lasted till we had saved enough to buy another pair. Most cobblers would tell us, "Tumhi ata navin boot gya." Beat that! We go to a cobbler who otherwise sits on the roadside jobless and he shoos us off telling us us to go buy new shoes and repairing it is beyond him. Then came the innovative ways that he came up with to make studs last for a per-match basis. Feviquick! Worked most of the time but more often than not right in the middle of a match your entire foot would leave the confines of your shoe completely. Mom used to periodically try to throw the shoes away saying they looked worse than what the maid wore. It had reached such a stage when we used to discard shoes unfit and keep the one which we could fix and use in case of an emergency. As a result we had a pile of only rights OR only left foot studs of various makes piled under the table in the living room. Then the Oh-so-memorable District league finals! My brother steps on the pitch with one white shoe and the other blue and at the end of the match the opposition leaves half black and half blue. (figuratively) My first league winners trophy and etched in stone.
Crazy days those. Find ways to earn pocket money so that we could contribute for team jerseys buy a ball or repair shoes. I used to roam about on my TVS scooty doing odd marketing jobs and at times selling "raddi". He was still in school then so working was out of the question for him and I was in 11th. But he unfailingly covered my backside whenever needed at home. After all he was studious as well and always managed to score well in exams too. Moreover lets say he had his way to get mom and dad to see things his way. Then came his "HISTORIC" talk after his boards when he went up to dad and said, "Dad, I want to become a professional football player." Legendary event!!! And dad stood mum for a moment however I'm sure in his mind he
went, "Why you little %$#@!$#@!%$#!#$@!$#!!!!!! What the f#*# are you talking about." The longest family dinner ever. Dad trying to reason his way out being as civilized as possible even if inside he wanted to solve the issue the old school way: by beating the shit out of the fellow. And "our little man" had done more than just ground work. He had already gotten a place to stay in Goa, a mentor-who was a national award winning coach, a plan of action, amount of time it will take and the returns such a move will bear. Actually now that you think of it. Wanting to become a Professional footballer was quite an upgrade for someone who wanted to become a 'farmer' when he was a kid. And I wanted to become a 'Truck driver'! Mom sat there looking alternatively at dad and him. And I sat there not saying a word but silently laughing my guts out at the situation.From there, to coming home every third day and bothering mom with everything from twisted ankles, bruised face, broken bones and the rare deep gashes needing stitches to seeing mom's face light up every time a newspaper carried our name or a rare picture. The years are riveted with countless such memories and bookmarks.
I am brought back to me sitting with the Pumas in my lap and the funny situation it is.
The irony of the whole thing is this, just when I
was thinking of hanging up my boots and not play anymore, I am presented with this. Playing tournaments neither excite me nor drive me anymore like they used to. And the person who sends me this has many more years of football in him and can play better than me on any given day. He presents ME this but is himself denied an opportunity to even watch an interesting encounter on television at leisure.So, here s what I conclude. Let me not fool anyone. Football is NEVER going to go out of me anytime soon. Whether in the form of a kick with the old gang or a friendly or seeing if I still have "IT" by training for that one last tournament. For the good times that were and the many more to come, I will don these and step on the pitch. Wear them out. Play to my heart's content whenever time allows me. Play. Sweat. Score! Because a bright red box sitting on my lap reminds me what those moments were, the one that has engulfed me is and each of the countless moments to come are.......A present!
