Sliding Doors - I
Dear Son, I want you to watch out for that voice in your head. This voice is the one that gives you seemingly innoccuous suggestions but forces you to make foolish decisions. I have listened to that voice on more than one occasion and have paid the price. Most of the time, the consequences have been quite harmless to the point that I can't even recollect the incidents. Some still linger in the dark recess of my mind - the oldest one I remember being invariably tied to cricket. I was in middle school at that time. We kids used to play until dusk and then head back home. On weekdays, we played in this narrow space between our houses. There were a lot of rules peculiar to the space available for us to play in. Off-side runs were limited to square of the wicket because beyond that the ball if hit would be lost. We lived in a compound housing two identical houses. Behind the houses is what I'll describe as an abandoned plot of land. This piece of land being inundated with weeds that go by the name Parthenium, consumed most of the empty spaces in our locality. Beyond the dense parthenium shrubs, in the distance was the wall that separated us from a multi-storey apartment and the vast backyards of homes similar to ours. In this version of street cricket, whole games seldom lasted more than a few overs. The absolute game stopper would be if we lost the ball to the parthenium overgrowth in the backyard. On the day my mind wanders to now, it was my ball that was being used for the game. A typical intense session of cricket got underway. After being tied down without scoring, one of the players, just let loose on the off-side, and the ball disappeared into the overgrowth. Play stopped for the day. There was no consensus in searching for the ball, and a replacement wasn't available. We were to resume with a new ball the next day. Quite a bit disappointed, I was climbing the stairs to our house when that voice spoke up. Why not search for the ball one last time? So I went back. Now, no one knew where I was. At home, they assumed I was still out playing. The friends in turn had seen me climb the stairs before going on to their homes. Walking through the undergrowth, ignoring the mosquitos and bugs and the scratchy weeds, I began searching desperately for that harmless ball. Once you heed to the voice, it keeps feeding ideas to you. Go here. Search there. Unknown to me, I had waded quite deep into the dense parthenium field. It was now getting darker, and I could hardly see beyond my outstretched hand. My feet touched a concrete slab, and I decided to scratch my itchy limbs by resting my legs on it. Done with the deed, I was about to side step when I heard something rustling. It shook me from my maniacal reverie with the cricket ball. I had a sudden realization of where I was. My body responded by sending a sharp tingle that started from the pits of my stomach and settled in my throat. I stopped mid-stride. There was silence. I listened hard and peered sharply into the growing darkness. I waited for the rustle or its source to present itself. I looked at our house in the far distance and became anxious to get there. My stance at this point was a little awkward and to balance I was about to take a step back, but my foot did not land on the ground I hoped it would. That brief moment when my foot dangled there and pulled my body down, I somehow managed to push myself forward and stumbled into the parthenium in front of me. I ran blindly through the thick weeds with the cricket ball completely abandoned. I didn't stop until I reached the front door to the house. My mother heard me and said something to the effect of asking me to wash my legs before doing anything else. Slowly, in familiar surroundings, within the safety of our home, the fear left my senses. I would have probably forgotten that incident but I was reminded of it a few days later. Later that summer there was a move to clean up that empty lot. We kids watched as the laborers cut and razed the parthenium which were becoming a healthy haven for more mosquitos. Quite a few treasures turned up. I saw the concrete slab in the far distance. My mind brought back a part of that fear. Mesmerized, I walked towards the spot. The concrete slab was the lid of an abandoned septic tank; a tank that was half open. I stopped in front of it and peered in recollecting the way my feet had dangled over it. It was dark and appeared bottomless. One of the workers who was piling up the cut parthenium noticed me and shouted 'Paaththu Thambi!'. He went around me and moved the slab until it closed the abyss. I blinked, and the old tingle returned. My mind went back to that day. If I hadn't heard that rustle and had in fact taken one more step in the wrong direction… No one knew where I was. Watch out for the voice. My wish is that you ignore it enough times so that it leaves your thoughts forever. In my case, I heard that voice a few times after that day. Did I survive it? You tell me.