Love Across The Continents



  EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Cover by N Jhala

  Cover image: courtesy Michael Smith & Dreamtime.com

  LOVE ACROSS THE CONTINENTS

  Copyright 2012 by Rani Jhala.

  Special thanks to Indian Link for their permission to reprint my short stories. This is a work of fiction

  Index

  1.The ‘over’ is never over.

  2.Choosing a chef.

  3.I envy you, your moment.

  4.The language of love

  5.The struggle for independence.

  The ‘over’ is never over.

  The fence creaked as he leaned forward and put his weight on it. Jay was a spectator now, having long retired from the game.

  He had a seat in the member’s stand but a group of friends had come to watch and he had chosen to sit with them. The excitement grew in the stands. The toss had decided which country would bat first and his son was going to make his ‘debut’ as an international cricketer. His son, not yet nineteen, was already showing the signs of a world champion. Yes it was a proud moment - a father seeing his son, stepping into his footstep and already doing a better job.

  Jay turned towards the pavilion as a movement caught his eye. His son had just stepped onto the ground. He knew how his son would be feeling. The heart would be racing. The anticipation would be at its highest and the hope of success would be all pervading. The walk to the pitch was a walk towards personal victories and it was always welcomed. It was the walk back that everyone dreaded, for it brought with it the ending to that day’s dream.

  Suddenly his son stopped and looked directly at him. Then he raised his bat in the air and lowered it in front of his dad. Misty eyed he saluted back. Whatever happened, as far as he was concerned, his son had already won!

  The opposition was already strategically placed around the ground. His son moved to stand in front of the wicket. It was a sign that the game would shortly begin.

  Jay moved back and took a seat. It was then that he saw her. Standing behind a column with her back to him, she stood looking towards the pitch. No, not at the ground! She was watching his son. He saw red. How dare she come to ruin the most important day in his son’s life. Did she not realise the damage she had already done?

  He began a slow walk towards the lady. As each step brought him closer to the woman, he began to debate about the wisdom of a meeting but just as he was about to turn back, the lady seemed to sense his presence and looked at him. Both stilled. Ten years seemed to fly away. The hurt and the ache seemed to bury itself. All Jay now felt was the pain of watching his wife in tears.

  ‘Go back Jay, he will look for you in the stand.” Her first words had the same effect as a bucket of iced water.

  Instead of complying with her request, Jay moved closer. “For the next over, his eyes will be on the ball and I only need that much time to ask you a question.”

  “Where have I been? Is that what you wish to have answered?” she asked.

  “No. I just want to know why you have returned?” he spoke.

  “I never left Jay.” she answered.

  “Never left? Ten years ago you walked away. You left your home, your husband and your child. You gave no reasons and you left no contact numbers. Is that not leaving?” He cut in.

  The over had ended and the wicket keeper was changing ends. Jay looked toward the crease just as his wife hid herself behind the column. He would have to wait until his son faced away again before he could continue the conversation.

  “So why did you?” he asked.

  “Because another, had become more important” She replied.

  “No woman has ever been more important than you. You and my son were everything to me.” he barked.

  “Yes, there was us, and then there was your cricket.”

  “CRICKET! You left because of my game?” he questioned in disbelief.

  “Jay, maybe the fault was mine to have under estimated your commitment to the game or to have expected more than what you were willing to give. When we married, I saw only the glamour and fame that came with your success. I even enjoyed it. But no wife should be expected to give up so much of herself to make her husband whole. I watched you take part in ‘those bonding sessions’ when you and the team would lock yourselves away before each game. I silently waited at home while you spent months away on tours. I held our baby night after night as he burned with temperature, only to see your photo splashed across the morning paper with a woman’s arm around your neck. I saw your name linked time after time, with woman after woman. I cried lonely tears while you boasted to the press, of your love for cricket. I took calls from strangers who spoke of familiarity. I shared your worry at selection time and I hurt when success walked away at intervals. I heard you moan when the game went badly. I rejoiced when your team won. And I did it all for love but not once did…”

  “A love that did not make it past the first inning.” he cut in.

  “My love survived many games Jay, it just was not able to survive the ‘Doosra.” she responded.

  “Why did you not speak up earlier? I thought this was what we both wanted.” He spoke in a gentler tone.

  “Would you have given up cricket?” she questioned.

  “Have I played since you left?” he queried in return and then watched as his wife broke down and cried. His arms automatically reached in comfort, surprising even him.

  “Six!” someone shouted. Jay and his wife looked up to see their son lift his bat in acknowledgement to the cheering.

  “What now?” he fearfully asked.

  “Now? It is time for me to give in to this sport.” she smiled back.

  “I have always loved you.” he whispered.

  “But I have always loved you more.” she replied.

  “How can you say that?” he asked in surprise, for wasn’t it she who had left him. Him and their child!

  “I left you your son, and I silently watched as you made him into a cricketer.”