Talegaon, is a village that makes it all look so easy.
Be it climbing a small hill on a Sunday afternoon with friends or cycling 10 miles by a lake side to the town, the place never lets you feel tired. And I love it for that. But the one thing that it makes really hard for one is to wake up early on a cold misty morning.
But I did it sometimes. Some cold mornings in the monsoons of 2007, I woke up to the drizzles on my hostel room windows and lazily wiped off a few drops from my wooden court shoes, packed up my squash bag and headed to the courts.
I would be all alone there on a Sunday morning, when the 1000 member strong hostel would be tightly cuddled to a blanket. But I went there precisely because I was all alone.
Squash , to me, was like falling in love serendipitously. All my life I had been prepared to marry this woman called “cricket” only to meet this girl called” “squash”, who would take my breath away as as quietly as she came into my life in 2004.
I loved the smell of the moist wood from the squash courts.
I loved the soft thumping sound of the ball against the wall and into my racket as I practiced my parallel shots. It was like meditation to me.
I even loved the feeling of a drenched T-Shirt as I got out of the court after every session.
I loved it all.
As I revisit yet another Indian monsoon, this time in Chennai after 4 years, I can not help but be nostalgic about how I could really use a game of squash right now just to get my spirits up and running.
Sometimes you just need to be thankful that you have something to help get your spirits up, that you have some friends to get you to see what life comes down to eventually, that you have family who can support you while you dare to achieve what your mind ideates and that you at least have the chance to be thankful.
For that , I am today.