A Tale of Two Midfielders.

I remember sitting down with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of soft drink (a long standing ritual) to watch Chelsea play against Liverpool in the UEFA Champions League a few years back. It promised to be a special occasion, like most of the European encounters between the two sides. We had lost to Liverpool thanks to a goal that never was from Raul Garcia, and then again later thanks to the heartbreak of the penalty shoot out which saw us crash out 4-1. I for one was itching to see us set the record straight. But that wasn’t the only thing on show that night. I and a million other like-minded Chelsea fans were watching on for another, very special reason. One that stretched beyond the tremendously expansive boundaries of football.

England international midfielder Frank Lampard was a Chelsea legend in every sense of the word. I had started watching football because of him, and in the next 9 years of watching the beautiful game, Super Frankie had become an idol for me, just another one of his million star struck fans. So much so that every Chelsea match day would pass with me wearing the same Chelsea shirt with the words “LAMPARD” glistening at the back, every video tribute to the midfield God would be downloaded religiously to my computer, watched a million times without a shade of boredom. All those countless hours of Youtubing and watching Frank play contributed to a greater purpose I realized later, as at the age of 16, I earned a reputation of being an excellent goal scoring midfielder with an eye for a pass, a position that Frankie had made his own in the last decade. I owed Frank a great deal for his contribution to my footballing maturity, but little did I know that that night, would inspire millions beyond any stretch of the imagination.

Less than a week before the Champions League tie, Frank lost his mother Pat Lampard (58) unexpectedly to a sudden and short bout of pneumonia. As the Chelsea fraternity kept her and the Lampard family in their prayers following their irreplaceable loss, they braced themselves for another irreplaceable loss in midfield in a night of impending European drama. But as the hustle and bustle of pre match predictions and analyses subsided, Frank Lampard’s name on the Chelsea team sheet less than a week after his Mom passing away left everyone flabbergasted.

As the game kicked off, both teams looked to press the initiative after a 1-1 stalemate in the first leg at Anfield. Didier Drogba’s 12 yard finish was cancelled out by an equalizer from Fernando Torres, as the tie went into extra time. In the 96^th minute, Michael Ballack rushed into the Liverpool box and was fouled, the penalty was given. I rubbed my hands with glee as I expected Michael Ballack’s immaculate penalty taking to give us the lead, but for the second time that night, I was stunned to silence as Frank placed the ball on the spot. 

I simply couldn’t find the guts to imagine the thoughts that would have passed through Frankie’s head as he stood on the edge of the 18 yard box. And on a rainy night in West London with excitement and anxiousness at fever pitch, Frankie slotted the penalty home as I stood up along with each and every Stamford Bridge faithful, as Frankie ran to the corner, pointing to the heavens at the one fan that he wished would have seen him score. Watching my idol cry in front of the Chelsea fans was a bittersweet experience, as every football fan lauded a superhuman effort on the part of an absolute legend in Frank Lampard.

5 years down the line, last Friday, I stood in the middle of the football field awaiting kick off in my first competitive college game after losing my Mom to cancer at the age of 19. The entire college was watching, among them a few special friends who had helped me through the terrible ordeal. And as I stood there, I remembered the game and Frankie’s will to play. 

All I remember in that entire game was running my socks off, doggedly chasing every pass that I could. I hit the bar once, and the agony of being so close hurt even more. But midway through the second half, a beautiful through ball made its way to me, and I tucked it away into the bottom corner as the crowd exploded into cheers. Trust me, that feeling of raising your finger to the skies is the best in the world, knowing it was a special effort, for an extremely special person. We ended up drawing the game, but the sheer emotional rollercoaster of emotions was even more exhausting than the physical effort of chasing lost causes on the field. I realized how Frank would have felt seeing his biggest fan no longer there in the stands, as I stared at the very same place where my Mom had cheered me on from the year before. It was amazing knowing that the beautiful game, had bought me so close to someone I’d only admired on TV.

Even today, when I see Frank raise his finger towards the sky after a goal, I realize why they call football the beautiful game. And as he closes his eyes and looks up to the heavens, I feel the exact same emotion rushing through my head, of remembering the one person who made me what I am today. Frank will probably tell you the same.

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x7xh1o_lampard-2-1-liverpool-penalty_sport

The Complete Misfit.

Last night’s dinner party at home had gone on till 1 in the morning, which was pretty late by the standards in place at home. I was hoping the miserable cold I had would have decided to subside by morning, but I woke up with a nose so badly blocked that had I awoken 2 minutes later, I would have died on choking on my own phlegm. ((How many times has that happened? Ugh.)

Anyway, my head was throbbing pretty badly, felt like those times when my sister would involuntarily start to sing. I seriously didn’t feel like sitting on that ancient scooty of mine and going to college, it was quite hot and I was quite cold, so um... if that conveyed any logic, thats the reason I decided to sit back home. Mom had other plans for me though, it’s a universal problem with all mothers, you sit down and immediately some or the other errand crops up. She told me she wanted to go for her mammography scan, so I immediately agreed (if she would have sent me to buy veggies I would run head first into my bedroom wall).

Anyway, we headed towards Yashoda hospital, where Mom has her chemotherapies. The place is depressing to say the least, people from everywhere are crammed inside, patients are lying around on beds in the open and the amount of noise is deafening. Add to that the repulsive smell of hospitals... the medicines, the disinfectants, bleaching powder... I hated it. Fortunately, the nurse told us we’d have to wait for 2 hours, so we decided to go to the Secunderabad Diagnostic centre, which also conducted the aforesaid scan.

As I parked my scooty, I noticed that this place wasn’t exactly a hospital, but more like a clinic. Dainty little place hidden in a lane, but it stood out in terms of being posh. We walked in, I thanked God for the blast of chilly AC air that iced my sunburnt skin. Having an allergy to the sun which NEVER goes away is no less than a curse, but I guess enduring it for 14 years has taught me to be extremely patient. Anyway coming back to the topic, we took our seats in a corner, I took my headphones and started listening to the new songs I’d downloaded, while mom took out her IPHONE and played Angry Birds. Gosh... talk about calling parents the outdated generation.

As I joined Mom in playing the game, I saw an old lady from my side walk up to the both of us. She held a wad of 10, 50 and 100 rupee notes in her right hand, along with a receipt of some kind. She folded her hands, looked at us and said something in Telugu, something I couldn’t comprehend at all... I mean, sometimes, even an alien language makes sense... body language, expressions, gestures are universally spoken languages. I told her that we couldn’t understand Telugu, she told us in broken Hindi that she had cancer, but not enough money for treatment. She pointed to her hip, something that made me almost jump up in my chair. An unmistakeable lump was protruding out, ugly but unmistakeable. No chance that she was feigning it. She folded her hands and asked again.

It’s at times like these I feel torn. Humanity resides in everyone, undoubtedly. But in some people it lies dormant, unstirred and unmotivated by their own experiences. I felt an instant urge to help, but I knew me and my Mom were both helpless, Mom had borrowed just about enough money for her scan  from me, I was sure she had nothing to spare. My Mom shook her head, I knew it was easier for her considering she was a cancer patient too, but I felt terribly out of place. I looked around me, there were 6 different families sitting in the same room. I wondered how many of them too were facing an equally tough battle?

It’s at times like these that you realise that God can make you feel so small. You can talk to 50 people a day, text 100 people and have a few 1000 odd friends on Facebook but all that pales in comparision when you feel so painstakingly isolated from the people immediately around you. I looked at the security guy walk up to the lady, telling her “Not here Aunty.” and escorting her out of the clinic. The slow hesitating ambling of her footsteps faded into the distance, I felt gutted for being rendered helpless by something I didn’t have.

A 5 year old kid in an orange shirt sat right across me. He was looking straight into my eyes, I looked at him and smiled, but got a stoic expression in return. A cruel but realistic thought that hit me was that he might be a patient too, God forbid... It was after a few minutes I realised that I was looking as blankly at him as he was at me. God knows how many other people outside this clinic lost themselves trying to find a way out of the abyss of problems that cancer pulls them into. How many had lost their lives? How many more were going to? The numbers and statistics I’d read here and there, but reality has a habit of striking when you ignore the gravity of a situation. There were millions of people suffering right now, out of those the 6 in this room were causing my head to spin.

Being sensitive and empathetic is one thing, actually doing something about it is a whole different scenario. I knew how hard it is, knowing one of your most prized possessions is plagued by cancer, I also knew that the lady’s family, would feel no different than what I felt now.

Mom came back from the scan after 45 minutes, and I was not surprisingly, more than relieved to leave the place. I winked and then smiled at the kid in the orange shirt one last time, but his eyes immediately tore away from mine. All I could do was wonder why.

God forbid.

Meeting Shadows

I wrote this one when me and a few friends decided to visit orphanages, old age homes and homes for the desolate and dying, to try and spread a little festive cheer. It was one of those experiences which makes sure you keep your feet on the ground, one which shows you how stupid your own little problems are before the ones which these people go through everyday.

Night had started to overpower the day, the light was losing its sheen,

I got out of the car and stretched my legs, where a guitar had lain in between.

We’d all traversed a fair few miles, covering everything from far and near,

Singing in orphanages, old age homes, spreading some good old Christmas cheer.

Guitar strings tweaked a final time, a few coughed to keep voices steady,

A few minutes later everyone was convinced, that the final act was ready.

Hushed whispers went up a few notches, as guitar strums broke the calm,

I could see heads turn at the window, some of them were visibly alarmed.

We stepped into a narrow corridor, what I saw shattered my heart to pieces.

I saw people like you and me, rendered desolate by different diseases.

Faces destroyed beyond recognition... Still beautiful in a terrible way,

Desperate souls lay all around, waiting for the dawn of a different day.

Eyes blinded by fate and faith alike, bodies physically punctured at so many points,

Some were unable to move their limbs, made utterly lifeless by failing joints.

For the very first time in my whole life, I felt so many eyes upon me resting,

I saw half of the audience expecting rare joy, half of them looked at me detesting.

How could an 18 year old boy like me, understand the devilish schemes that hampered,

Each one of those people everyday, when I in comparison was so heavily pampered?

We kept on going right down the middle, the centre of attention of a sea of gazing,

Being one who was never expected to perform, the impetus that I felt was amazing.

Blank expressions and beaming faces greeted me, as I folded my hands and smiled,

Hoping to bring the happiness, with which, they’d struggled an eternity to reconcile.

I tried to keep up the cheerful demeanour, as we continued walking to the other part,

But I sensed with every step that I took, something inside me was breaking apart.

Harsh reality was staring straight at my face, then how could I just let it be?

When I know the man on one of those benches, in another life could’ve been me?

Shocked and humbled we all had agreed, that the world had nothing worse to show,

Then we saw more faces and I slowed down...this was somewhere I didn’t want to go.

I’d seen enough of life’s forgotten books, now I couldn’t bring myself to turn a page,

The scene in front was one I’d seen before, just this time they were younger in age.

The childlike innocence was undiminished, their eyes shone so bright and eager,

Even when all that the world could offer, was way below the definition of meagre.

But as the first notes of music touched the air, for a moment they forgot their pain.

The pure ecstasy so clear in their laughs, like a little girl caught in the years first rains

They danced without a care in the world, free from all that held them shackled,

Forgetting the past’s infinite horrors, the future’s unknowns yet to be tackled

I struggled to hold my emotions back, a barrage of tears was blurring my vision,

I knew if I ever wrote a poem on this, all my other work would pale in comparison.

To me all of them were absolute legends, the finest proponents of teaching,

Of how to live and lead by example, to inspire even without even preaching.

The Dream (Epic fail at a romantic poem)

There's this dream that recurs, quite frequently in my head
Usually at times when I'm all alone, lying exhausted on my bed.
I'm sitting alone on a stone bench, at someplace I don't recall seeing
Seems the middle of nowhere, there’s no sight of another human being.


The night is serene yet intimidating, I hear the sound of a flowing river
The cold infused in every breeze, effortlessly makes me shiver.
But then you appear from the dark, radiating perfectly the moon's pale glow
You smile but you do not speak, you just keep walking nice and slow.


I melt into your glimmering eyes, which could compliment the darkest night
You keep smiling and I stare, stunned out of any kind of words outright
You keep your head on my shoulder, a warmth instantly touches my spine
The way my skin feels soothed , when its kissed by early sunshine.


I tilt my head and close my eyes, wishing God would put time to a pause
Freezing this moment for eternity, overturn the laws of time because
when I’m with you in this... trance, its like I can’t imagine putting anything better,
Everything.... just about everything, seems perfect to the very last letter.


Its unfortunate that I already know, that in time it’ll all be forsaken,
Because I’m living in and off dreams, from which I know I’ll soon awaken.
But I loved the way your black hair, drew invisible lines across my cheek,
I loved the way you sitting next to me, made it impossible for me to speak.


All I wanted to do at that moment, was just lose myself to lies,
The desperation with which I wanted to stay I guess itself implies...
How badly I wanted for once... just to know how amazing it'll be,
Away from lives that hold us back, far away... just you and me.


But then you start glowing brighter, and then the realisation starts to sink,
That all this is some latent fantasy, which I’ve lost in the span of a blink.
I've felt this so many times before, I've stopped bothering about what’s broken,
Always hoping that tomorrows dream, is when I'll tell you all thats unspoken.


You start to fade into the night, pure black at its magnificent best,
I manage to see you smile a last time, before the last of you regressed.
I know I'm drowning neck deep, in dreams which are just too good to be true,
But I guess I'm learning to smile from loving, these wishful meetings with you.

Love of a Mother

I watch you fight an invisible force, everyday you grapple with it to speak
Then I can't make out what you're saying, tears come rolling down my cheek.
I pray to be able to read your thoughts, do the things your mind has planned
I beg to be able to be a good mother, to be able to understand.


Understand all your beautiful intentions, which Autism has so painfully tainted
I wish I could see the lovely pictures, which your mind has so delicately painted
It pains to see you trying to convey something, when the world around you swirls
It pains when I can’t find a bridge, to reduce the gap between our worlds.


Your cries hurt me more than they hurt you, because I can't perceive your signs
I break down when we sing songs together, and you can't remember the lines.
I weep my eyes red when I can't tell, whether you even like whatever I cook?
I cry when I have to read you a story, but I don't know your favourite book.


But even when I can’t stop my tears at times, there are moments of absolute magic
Moments which seem to balance the worst, all the other times when it seems so tragic.
Like when you forget to say the right words, and you find yourself in a total muddle
You smile, you walk slowly towards me, then wrap your arms around me and cuddle


You've taught me not to cry anymore, turned my tears into spell of hysterics
At those times we sing at nights together, and you can't remember the lyrics.
You've taught me that we might struggle, but we're only strengthening our bond
With every second that we spend together, even when neither of us can respond


You mean the whole wide world to me, nothing can beat the love I have for you
So let all these problems rot in hell, hold me close and we'll make it through.

Infinite Darkness.

Sometimes I sit down to think, if I'm satisfied with my living

If my life would have differed, If God was a little forgiving?

I ask Him why I should be happy, when all my dreams he tore

Why should I be satisfied, when I know I could have had more?

I stand up in anger from my chair, wanting to try if I could sense

my way around my room for once, even if it was false pretence.

I was clumsy, disorganised... like a bird who's wings never flapped

But I was desperate, to shake off the feeling... of knowing I'm handicapped.

Every day I wished I was born, with a pair of eyes to glimpse

at all the things I've heard about, away from this eternal eclipse.

God knows how many times I think, about all the closed choices

about never before seen colours, the faces behind all these voices.

I try to envision being able to walk, without having to use this cane

I try to perceive what It'd be like, to look at nights kissed by the rain.

I wonder if I'll ever be able to see, all the food and drinks I savour

If I'd be able to do things on my own, instead of asking for favours.

The heart cries for this and more, not a single day can I breathe

God punish me if I'm lying, or if this has any undertone of greed.

But you know what puzzles me? Sometimes I think I'm blessed.

That I don't have to see my own kin, when they are sad or depressed.

It’s because I can't see I think, I've appreciated everything double fold

I'm happy hearing the rain, feeling the sun on my skin when I'm cold.

I'm grateful that I can't observe, all that is the Devil's property

The ugly face of terrorism or war, and the sadness that is poverty.

Sometimes I confuse myself too... What is it that I'd rather hold?

The ability to open my eyes at last, or keep them as they are... closed?

There's a rift inside to what I want, am I with this blindness, gifted?

Or perhaps I'm learning to live, until this infinite darkness is lifted.

Act of Random Kindness

There are numerous times in every person’s life when a friend, dear or distant, does something out of the blue- a call or a text message, a small note in your bag... that just lifts your heart. That small act of kindness leaves an imprint much stronger than anyone anticipates, a memory among memories, which keeps the bond of friendship ever so fresh and strong. But imagine yourself in a situation where you are struggling (and I mean big time), struggling to hold focus, to motivate yourself, to put yourself back together. You choose to keep these facts hidden from the people dear to you, afraid... that it might evoke needless sympathy and worries, which in turn will hurt you more. Then you realise, that the people closest to you are stuck in their own lives...  entangled in the fine and sticky webs they spun around themselves. Who, or what then, do you look forward to?

I was walking back from college at 8:30 P.M on a Wednesday night, another tiring 12 hour workday which started at 8 in the morning. A gruelling 2 hour football game had been preceded by 6 hours of work, without the help of breakfast or lunch to fuel the body which was by now, violently complaining for food. To make matters worse, it had started raining... and just this morning, fooled by a harsh sunny day I had removed my raincoat from my bag. Bravo Shamir... Bravo.

So here I was, literally dragging my feet in the rain, head bowed with the tiring routine when I heard a voice say “You need a lift son?”

I looked up, and saw an old man on a run-down moped from the early 1800’s I think... The kind of gift I expected from my sister for my birthday. I smiled, (very very appreciatively) and said “No thank you sir, I just have to walk about 600 metres to the bus stop. Please do carry on, thank you so much.” (I think the look of disgust on my face when I said 600 metres said it all).

But he shook his head and gave a patronising nod. “You won’t get too far in the rain in shorts and a torn football jersey. Hop on, I’ll be passing the bus stop on my way home.”

I looked at my right sleeve and true as he said, there was a big hole. The cold rainwater had been irritatingly giving me mini chills, so finally giving in, I gratefully agreed.

In the 10 minutes that the ride took, we swapped names, and a little bit of info on where we worked and where we lived. Seeing the bus stop in proximity, he stopped and then bade me a good night. I shook his hand with a new found respect for a complete stranger, a warm, genuine admiration for his random act of kindness.

The rest of the trip was a 50 minute-8 km trip in torrential downpour, but I wasn’t bothered. A little humanity from a fellow human being had filled my mind with a resolve that the world had a lot of unseen kindness to give. The best part is, I didn’t even have to find it... it walked up straight to me. Where my close friends had failed to see I needed a small dose of the “feel-good” pill, a stranger had unconsciously injected it in me. That’s the power of a random act of kindness... something that inspires me even today to do the little things... even when they seem they aren’t needed, hoping that I cheer someone else up in the process. In times of peril a little empathy, from anywhere, goes a long way...