A Windy Evening

I was standing at point. I had to be alert. The ball could fly anytime in that direction. The captain asked me to go deeper. The bowler asked me to come closer. The batsman was keenly following the field placing. The umpire signalled ready.

I was playing cricket after a long time. The lush green field, the pleasant wind blowing on your face, like minded people of the same age around you, the blue sky above, birds talking to each other while flying back to their nests, the setting sun, I had almost forgotten what an evening meant. A computer and a mouse in an a/c room is an unimaginable substitute for nature.

I felt happy for playing. A few thoughts lingered on in my mind, though. I could not concentrate because of them. I moved here and there. The ball wasn't coming in my direction anyway. I didn't try to concentrate either. I let the mind free. It roamed around.

'Everytime I look at this fibre-assembly, I would think of you', a PhD student in our lab had told earlier in the day. My mind rivelled on the thought.

'Why do people become senti?', I reflected.

I didn't probe the question more. I didn't want an answer. I felt more uneasy.

The wind around was getting stronger. It was getting darker. The dust from the western skies enveloped the field in a few seconds. There was more darkness, more dust. I turned my face away from the wind, so did the others. I ran in the direction of the wind. The wind was strong. I could hardly stand at one place.

In spite of the winds, we resumed the play after a brief interruption.

The thought had just died away. So did the wind, a little while later.

'The winds are not worth worrying', I thought.