27-12-2025, 11:55 PM
(This post was last modified: 28-12-2025, 04:30 PM by garamrohan. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
All eyes were fixed on me; full of hope. It was the last ball and I had to drive it across the boundary to win. I had beaten a good 16 runs on the last five balls, and this victory would have been celebrated for days, if it happened. I could feel my palms sweating as I reassured my grip, whirled my eyes to look for the gap, as the bowler started the run.
“Common Rohan… You can do it man,” Cheering from the team standing by the boundary on the other side.
I concentrated, took a deep breath, and positioned myself to take a big hit. Unexpectedly; it came as a full-toss, and I struck it with full might. The crowd chirped like anything - clapping, yelling; and I started running – relieved – looking at the ball that was bound to cross the line as a fielder hopelessly followed it.
And suddenly he came as an obstacle!
“Iski maa ki…” He signed.
(“Aaah fuck..” He signed.)
The opposite team started laughing and dancing next to us, celebrating the saved boundary and I started walking, frustrated, clutching my teeth and holding the bat tight, thinking of giving that bastard some good whipping.
“That the fucking Rambo guy it seems… that bastard.” A couple of my team members fiercely ran toward him and I followed. By the time I reached him, my friends were tussling with him and he was pushing them apart. He wasn’t saying a word and just hissing as he pushed them while my friends were slagging on him.
“Matherchod… match hara di tune,” my friends were cursing him.
(“Motherfucker… you caused us to lose the match.” my friends were cursing him.)
I whirled my bat in full force and I was to hit it on his leg and suddenly our eyes met.
His eyes! There was something odd and wild in his powerful eyes that paralyzed me. I was standing like dumb as my heartbeat rose up.
And I just stood there watching him. Dressed in old and torn clothes, and discoloured dirty jeans, that broke-man, whom the boys used to tease as a Rambo , walked carelessly on his path, flicking away my friend like flies. He didn’t appear particularly hygienic. His skin was rough, and scaly, probably due to extreme weather and his own negligence. White hairlines were visible on his messy hair, but still it was difficult to guess his age, especially due to the physique he has got. While it was pun to say him Rambo, he has got lean and strong build like a martial artist. While he used to beg, I had also seen him picking up grain sacks in the market.
I left the ground with my friends, full of grief and a strange feeling of curiosity about that man.
“Common Rohan… You can do it man,” Cheering from the team standing by the boundary on the other side.
I concentrated, took a deep breath, and positioned myself to take a big hit. Unexpectedly; it came as a full-toss, and I struck it with full might. The crowd chirped like anything - clapping, yelling; and I started running – relieved – looking at the ball that was bound to cross the line as a fielder hopelessly followed it.
And suddenly he came as an obstacle!
“Iski maa ki…” He signed.
(“Aaah fuck..” He signed.)
The opposite team started laughing and dancing next to us, celebrating the saved boundary and I started walking, frustrated, clutching my teeth and holding the bat tight, thinking of giving that bastard some good whipping.
“That the fucking Rambo guy it seems… that bastard.” A couple of my team members fiercely ran toward him and I followed. By the time I reached him, my friends were tussling with him and he was pushing them apart. He wasn’t saying a word and just hissing as he pushed them while my friends were slagging on him.
“Matherchod… match hara di tune,” my friends were cursing him.
(“Motherfucker… you caused us to lose the match.” my friends were cursing him.)
I whirled my bat in full force and I was to hit it on his leg and suddenly our eyes met.
His eyes! There was something odd and wild in his powerful eyes that paralyzed me. I was standing like dumb as my heartbeat rose up.
And I just stood there watching him. Dressed in old and torn clothes, and discoloured dirty jeans, that broke-man, whom the boys used to tease as a Rambo , walked carelessly on his path, flicking away my friend like flies. He didn’t appear particularly hygienic. His skin was rough, and scaly, probably due to extreme weather and his own negligence. White hairlines were visible on his messy hair, but still it was difficult to guess his age, especially due to the physique he has got. While it was pun to say him Rambo, he has got lean and strong build like a martial artist. While he used to beg, I had also seen him picking up grain sacks in the market.
I left the ground with my friends, full of grief and a strange feeling of curiosity about that man.
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