One of my friends has a natural affinity for sports. A fortunate god-given ability to simply get on the field or pick up a racket and be good at it. Nay, better than most people. His greatest passion is football. Not a weekend TV-watching, console-playing type either. No, he likes the blood and thunder of an energetic kickabout. He was a key midfield cog at a prestigious Pune club for years, represented India in 5-a-side tournaments, supports Arsenal madly (bound to pay off in spades now that Arteta is in charge) and once famously opted to find a beach football game in Goa while friends lounged around drinking beer at a shack nearby.
Blessed with innate sporting ability he may be but said friend's body has reached that state of middle age where it doth protest a bit too much at his enthusiasm. Christiano Ronaldo reputedly posseses the fitness levels of a 23-year-old at 34 but our man's body is stubbornly behaving like a 36-year-old's. Coincidentally, my friend is also 36. As most enthu-cutlet Puneri-Punjabi chaps are wont to do, he turns a deaf ear to any signals from his long-suffering appendages or creaking joints and continues to play football with nary a care. Or should I say, 'continued'. To no one's surprise (Including his own as I suspect the la-di-da attitude is an act), in a recent game, an innocuous-looking tackle quickly took a turn for the worse, his knee following suit. Surgery, said his doctor.
Professional needs dictated that my friend has been living in another city for about a decade. This surgery was conducted in Pune last week and will be followed by a month-long physiotherapy schedule. He's in quite a bit of discomfort of course and needing to flex the knee regularly only adds to the pain.
But, here's the thing - right now, he is home in Pune during our winter. There is a large window next to his bed and the view is of sunlight streaming through the branches and leaves of hoary neem trees swaying gently in the breeze. Perhaps a squirrel or grey hornbill will make an appearance. The sky is a happy blue shot with wisps of white clouds. From about 2 - 5pm, it will be quiet enough for my friend to hear the thumps of his own heart, should he so wish. The setting sun will paint the sky alight in glorious colours before night will come with a susurration that's almost tactile. This will happen every day for at least another week, if not more. And, if my friend doesn't fight it, the joy of being home in Dec-Jan Pune will flood through him.
He simply has to decide if it's the best of times or the worst of times.
Song for the moment: Air - Lucky & Unhappy
Blessed with innate sporting ability he may be but said friend's body has reached that state of middle age where it doth protest a bit too much at his enthusiasm. Christiano Ronaldo reputedly posseses the fitness levels of a 23-year-old at 34 but our man's body is stubbornly behaving like a 36-year-old's. Coincidentally, my friend is also 36. As most enthu-cutlet Puneri-Punjabi chaps are wont to do, he turns a deaf ear to any signals from his long-suffering appendages or creaking joints and continues to play football with nary a care. Or should I say, 'continued'. To no one's surprise (Including his own as I suspect the la-di-da attitude is an act), in a recent game, an innocuous-looking tackle quickly took a turn for the worse, his knee following suit. Surgery, said his doctor.
Professional needs dictated that my friend has been living in another city for about a decade. This surgery was conducted in Pune last week and will be followed by a month-long physiotherapy schedule. He's in quite a bit of discomfort of course and needing to flex the knee regularly only adds to the pain.
But, here's the thing - right now, he is home in Pune during our winter. There is a large window next to his bed and the view is of sunlight streaming through the branches and leaves of hoary neem trees swaying gently in the breeze. Perhaps a squirrel or grey hornbill will make an appearance. The sky is a happy blue shot with wisps of white clouds. From about 2 - 5pm, it will be quiet enough for my friend to hear the thumps of his own heart, should he so wish. The setting sun will paint the sky alight in glorious colours before night will come with a susurration that's almost tactile. This will happen every day for at least another week, if not more. And, if my friend doesn't fight it, the joy of being home in Dec-Jan Pune will flood through him.
He simply has to decide if it's the best of times or the worst of times.
Song for the moment: Air - Lucky & Unhappy
Comments
THANKS SO MUCH FOR THIS POST
CHEERS,
Kshitij