The Eden redemption

Saturday, April 2, 2011

The script could have been more perfect. Just because it could have doesn’t mean it should have.

I have dreamt about this night. It’s been years. It’s an archaic feeling. It didn’t take me much time for it to sink in. It’s been a long time coming.

Feelings, unmatched, by the sheer intense grit of the passion that burst through the seams holding the seemingly tied-down being. The cacophony surrounding the path to illuminated euphoria drowned amidst the tears of joy. The men have found their heroes. The heroes have found their glory. I have found my redemption.

This love story of mine, which began at the Eden with a certain bespectacled gentleman named Kumble snapping up six and outclassing a sublime Lara, which found its first heartbreak at the same ground with the collapse of a colossal Tendulkar and a hopes of an entire nation, which reached the epitome of brilliance much in the same way you get hallucinated on a high with the unforgettable 2001 saga, which sowed the first seeds of the journey to the billion man’s dream at the Wanderers, finally peaked with The Redemption. I call it the Eden Redemption.

I can’t help but deny, there has been this sense of destiny, a statement corroborated by the man behind the scenes himself. He wanted the Cup. But maybe, he needed it more. It means more than mere statistics. It means more than just a piece of gold plated silverware adorning the awards case. It means more than just a nightlong celebration. It means more than the adulation that comes your way. It means more than scaling a peak which others have scaled before. It means more than being crowned with a tag. It’s something more than my words could ever describe.

He has never played for himself. The critic of him, I have been, I still would say, he has sacrificed everything for a team. A team, which now calls itself, Team India. He was the first one I saw who sported his country’s flag on his helmet. He wore it with pride. And it’s not hard to believe the petty politics dominant more than redundant in this country led to him being chided. He was barred from sporting the tricolor. All those games he was but a shadow of himself. And then, when one fine morning everyone wakes up to a reality, and he is allowed to wear the nation on himself, he is a changed man. He inspired the rest to do the same. Others have vouched for the passion and commitment that one small act has inspired.

He is an enigma, yet his life is an open book. He soars, yet he buries his feet deep in the ground. He dreams, and he turns those dreams to reality. He dreamt for a nation for 21 years, all alone trying to carve those dreams into a true reality. As another 22 year old said, “It’s time we carried him on our shoulders.”

If this had to happen, it had to happen for him. As I say, “It had to.” It’s destiny. It’s redemption.

This victory is about the common man’s dream. It’s about a dream which never died. It’s about a journey which will lead to your utopia but which comes with the voices telling in your ears, “Dream. Persevere. Aspire. Never let go.” It’s about a fight, a fight I take part in as much as you do and he does and she does. It’s about never giving up. It’s about doing your bit. It’s about taking a small step the RDB way, “No country is perfect. We have to make it perfect.” When everything all around you is breaking down, take a moment out. Remember this time, remember this moment. Savour it. Breathe it. Live it. And you won’t be the same again.

Maktub.