I do not want to write this. This is too emotional a subject for me. The title itself makes me go mushy. And you do not write, when you know you are going to be bias, when you know your emotions will win over your logical approach. Yet I do, for the simple reason that this the only way I can pour my heart out.
An exhibition match became worth a celebration when it was confirmed that India’s Mr. Dependable (I like this name. It complements the mannerly, unblemished schoolboy that you have always been) will be walking out to take guard once again at the #3 slot. This game out of nowhere equals a pilgrimage for your fans, Dravidians, as we like to call ourselves. After having withstood your ODI and Test retirement, one odd goodbye isn’t much of a thing. But the fact that this might be your last game ever, sends tingles down the rachis.
Now more than the exuberance of seeing you bat once again, there’s some off-base fear that grips me. The fear of you not finding your form, again. The fear of what your final scores will be. The fear of exodusing amidst the nostalgic concert halls of the Mecca of Cricket, as you turn up. The fear of standing misty-eyed, as you cosset every blade of the grass on the field. The fear of misplacing my nonage once again, as you stop the ticking clock and vamoose into the beguiling alcoves of athanasia.
So how do I groom for such an exploit, emotionally? Even if it’s plainly as a rubbernecker.
