Guilt

This story is from a long time ago. I was a little boy then. And, like most Indian kids, I was crazy about cricket. More crazy about Mohammed Azharuddin than about cricket, really. He was my hero, and like all heroes, he was born with the inability to do anything wrong. There was at that time some cricket tournament happening in India, and someone in school told me that there was going to be an India-England match in Bangalore in a month. (!!!) This piece of intelligence sent me right over the moon! I asked Dad about it that very evening and he promised to get tickets.

Promise or no, I still pestered him every day until finally, one week before the match, there it was: a shiny colourful ticket that would admit me into Chinnaswamy Stadium. Sadly, though, Dad couldn’t go along. I don’t remember what exactly, but I do remember that it was something quite unavoidable for him. Anyway, one of Dad’s friends was going too, and he had promised to take me along. I was particularly fond of this Uncle, so there was no doubt in my head that this match day would be the greatest day of my life.

Match day came. I will not go into details about all the ecstasies that I was transported to, while I was there. This story is about something else that happened that day. Quite something else. So, Uncle and I found our seats, and were enjoying the show. The crowd was unbelievable, at that time, for me. I had never seen so many people. I had never been pushed for space like I was that day. Finally, the players came out, and I was pointing out each one to Uncle. I didn’t realize then, but now I know, because of the gift of hindsight. Uncle quickly got bored with my nonsense prattle, and his eyes kept straying to the pavilion stand, where the drinks were being served.

When Uncle couldn’t stand it anymore, he pushed a sweaty hundred rupee note into my hand, said “Get yourself something with this. I need to meet some friends and I’ll come back”. Even then, I had questions about how he will find me in this crazy crowd. About what exactly I could get for myself, in the middle of this crazy crowd. But hey! The match was just starting, so I let it go.

It was a good match. I think England batted first, and then there was a break. Throughout the break, I was too hesitant to get up from my seat. I was getting hungry, but there were just too many people around who would grab my seat as soon as it was vacated. Besides, there was a sea of humanity between my seat in the stands and the food stalls in the back corridors. Break over, and India came in to bat. Some twenty overs into the innings, I got really hungry, and there was no sign of Uncle yet. I just decided this is it, and took off to find something to eat.

I pushed and stumbled towards the food stall. I think it took me about fifteen minutes just to reach there. I bought a cold (and quite sticky) sandwich and gobbled it up right there. Then I bought a pepsi to take back to my seat, without an iota of insight into how stupid that purchase would turn out to be. I started the long arduous journey back to my seat. I only knew the direction, and had either forgotten or was completely confounded about more details on the co-ordinates.

It was impossible to push between all those knees with this Styrofoam cup of pepsi in my hand. I made up my mind and decided to down that too. Just while I had finished half of it, I was pushed violently, and fell down. My pepsi was now adorning the shirts of many angry grown-ups around me. All this was too much. I was alone, I had just lost my pepsi (and all my money, I realized), and I didn’t know where my seat was anymore. I had even forgotten the direction by now.

All this was too much for me, and I started to bawl. I gave it full vent and I was crying! I heard some people around me ask questions like, “What happened?”, “ Do you want something?”. There was also a man I overheard, who said, “He looks too old to be crying like a baby”. Little did he know. When I turned up to find the speakers of these questions and that ugly statement, I saw that everyone was suddenly looking away. There was nothing else for me to do but to cry some more.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard a voice, “Come, come!” I looked up and immediately recognized the man. His seat was to the left of my seat (when I did have one). I remember being creeped out by him. I remember thinking only half an hour earlier how bad he smelled of sweat. But now it didn’t matter. One kindly voice among sixty thousand. So, immediate trust was automatic, and without hesitation.

He carried me through the crowd, and found two seats for us. These seats were better than the ones we had before. I remember immediately feeling completely comfortable. So much so that I forgot to ask the man’s name. Soon, we were exchanging ‘nonsense prattle’ with equal enthusiasm. I really did have the time of my life back then, for the rest of the match. And it did help that India won the match. My stranger friend stayed back until Uncle came back (swaying happily, face flushed) to find me. A simple wave of goodbye and a word of thanks, and the stranger was lost in the crowd again.

I didn’t tell my parents anything about this episode. And my parents didn’t say anything either. I did notice, however, that this Uncle was no longer in favour at home. How exactly my parents knew, I had no idea.

A week later, we were off to visit some ‘family friends’. This family had two obnoxious boys, both around my age, and both of whom I absolutely detested. Once the usual grown up parley was over, us kids were left to ourselves. I went off to the gate and started swinging on it, studiously ignoring the other two goofs. They, however, danced up to me, and started with a sing-song voice: “Cry baby! Cry baby!” I wanted to keep ignoring them, but my curiosity got the better of me. It turns out that I was on TV a week ago. The live telecast of the cricket match. Bawling my very face off. For a few seconds really, but that was enough.

I was horrified. Now the whole country knows I am a cry baby. All my friends know I am a cry baby. I didn’t want to go on living anymore. I was thinking all this while swinging on the gate with more and more ferocity. The swinging was calming me down a bit. Just then, I heard the tinkling of a cycle bell. “Hello!!” the voice called out. A voice that I only half recognized. I looked up and saw, just outside the gate, my stranger friend. This brought back again all the anguish that was starting to abate a few minutes ago. All of it, somehow, was now this man’s fault. I sneered at him and shouted “Go away! I don’t know you.”

The expression of his face just went dead. He turned his head away, and his bicycle took off.

I have never stopped feeling guilty about that incident. I have done so many bad things after that, but somehow, every time I think of the word ‘guilt’ my stranger friend’s face appears. Maybe, I got a chance to meet my guardian angel face to face, but... :(