known bt unknown!

scent, strokes, shades,
bees, butterflies, birdies;
everythn goin for it,my eyes too, once or twice, secretly yearns to own a flower,,
bt in d hearts of heart,
i fall fr a leaf!
unnoticed, unseen, untouched,
common, crude, cryptic,
bt d thn it hs gt in it,makes me alwaz surrender,
and i wish,
it remain unnoticed, unseen, n untouched,
and only mine!!

THROUGH HIS EYES (Published in 'The Melange', the Sunday Sentinel on 2003)

I think I got a hint that my son will be a winner when he was just a baby. Ron was three years old and some of our family friends had come over for tea. Among them was my wife's classical music teacher accompanied by her baby girl, who was Ron's classmate. Like most proud parents who like to show off their children's skills, she asked her darling to sing a song for us, thinking she would break into one of the classical numbers she heard her practise every day. However, much to the amusement of all around, she sang the very filmy dance number Piya Tu Ab Toh Aaja. But everyone appreciated and applauded and praised this little girl who was so adorable.

Then one by one all parents persuaded their kids to perform something so that they could show off their children's skill. I felt as if I was watching a Boogie Woogie show, free of cost. It was 'competition' not among the kids but among the adults. Because some of them were so excited that they stood up and began to dance so that their children would imitate them and be the winner of the competition. But anyway, it was really great to see those innocent kids performing.

Seeing those excited parents, I remembered that I, too, am a parent and eyes began searching my dear boy, Ron. But I saw him standing in a corner, looking at all those performances with a disturbing countenance knowing not whether to be happy or sad. When he saw me looking at him, he just changed his glance at once and tried desperately to hide himself, his face, and his eyes from my eyes. He was not afraid of me, but was afraid of my expectations, my wish to see him perform, to see him dance like the other kids, to be proud like the other parents. It couldn't pain the little boy more. I changed my glance and looked away as if nothing happened.

From the time that he was born, it was clear that he was struggling with development challenges. He found words bewildering - spoon, tricycle, crayons, swing, and ball - easy for other children were infuriatingly difficult for him. But I had never seen him crying or giving up. He had a fire, a firm belief that he would win in life. His eyes said that. However my changing the glances didn't mean that no one would notice my ever struggling son. Ms Dixit said, "Ron, why are you standing there? Wont you dance like the others...come on, little master. Boys shouldn't be shy. Men should be men, a hero always, right?"

Those words pinched me. I couldn't digest them. I felt like shouting at God, for being so unjust to my son. There was pin drop silence there. My heart broke when I looked at Ron. He couldn't control more. Another word he heard, he would burst out. His tears that were struggling to come out were quite visible. His face was all red. I knew his heart was burning, he wanted a hug, and he wanted to cry that he was so unfortunate. But he didn't want to give up in front of the people. I desperately wanted to help my brave son. But.....! Breaking the silence, Ms Dixit spoke softly, "I'm so sorry, Ron, I just forgot that you had.....some problems"

I didnt look at Ron. I knew that those struggling, turbulent tears of my Ron, might have won over him and if he happened to see that his parents had seen their son crying, he would be next to dying. But I just began blaming my destiny, for having to witness such a day.

But my thoughts were interrupted by a very own voice, " But I'm not sorry." It was Urmi, my wife, stretching her right arm towards Ron gesturing that she was with him but with her eyes facing Ms Dixit, and her lips adorned with a smile which I've always admired. "I don't think all shining stars of the world are excellent dancers too. I know my son can do what others cant if he wants to do that. He's born to win. He is my hero."

I looked at Ron. He had already won the war against those turbulent tears. Those tears are still visible but they have changed into tears of joy, these tears resembled the tears of some mountaineer when he reaches the mountain peak and nail the flag. He wore a countenance that wanted to shout beyond the sky that indeed he was born to win. He wanted to thank God whom He was cursing for the last few seconds, for giving him his great mother. He wanted to cry wholeheartedly, hugging his mother and admitting everything before her, but no it's not the right time. He won't cry for he knew well, men should be men, a hero always.

He looked at his mother and Urmi just smiled at him, just a smile but it contained everything that he needed. He wanted nothing else from this world at that moment. His mother's smile was all that he wanted.

I too thanked God and asked him forgiveness.

Ron was eight when he decreed his love for soccer. He was at the kitchen table telling, "Most of the kids were playing soccer. Second, third, fourth and fifth standard kids. They are good. They really are."

"Uh-Huh," Urmi responded, "Hmm."

"I love soccer," Ron said, with great emphasis, "I really do."

"You do?" Urmi asked, "You love it even though you have never played?"

"Yeah"

"Why?" Urmi asked genuinely stumped.

"Because I love it," Ron said.

"And I am going to play. I'm going to be good." He looked at her with his huge lit up eyes with great hope and that his dear mother would rely on him and indeed, she did.

The next day, at the pick up time he was forcing his bottom lip to stop quivering by pursuing his upper lip shut.

"How was school?", Urmi asked seeing the sight of sadness in his eyes.

"Fine," he answered abruptly. There was a silence after that. I turned around at the second red light to get a good look at him, "Did something happen?"

No sound came from the back seat. After we had covered several kilometers, Ron admitted, "Its hard, Soccer's hard."

Ron was pure persistence. From his birth, the offices of therapists, the dismal predictions of so-called experts were the stuff of his childhood. Only one person, in the end could expel the spectre of his challenges. It was Ron, and only Ron, who masterminded his own survival.

Now Ron was eight and he was academically sound and he had friends. He had won. Indeed, he is his mother's hero. But he is also my little boy, and my first thought when soccer started troubling him was to drive him away from it. After all he faced a lot of hurdles. For heaven's sake, why my boy is enamoured of a sport that required hustle, agression, warrior tactics.

"I really love Soccer," Ron said when we're home. After some noodles and a glass of milk, he said it again, "Soccer is the game that I like."

We began playing with him. When the ball came his way, Ron used to ready his feet, lift his leg, aim and smack the grass with the sole of his shoes. But alas, the ball used to skip past him.

 We got books and videos on soccer. We invited soccer-minded school mates to play. We did whatever we could to help our son.

Still, I could always see the sight of sadness in his face at pick-up time.

After a few weeks, while having dinner, Ron said, "They make fun of me. They say that I dont know the rules. They say that I shouldnt play. This game is not for me, they say so."

"And what do you say Ron?" I managed to ask quietly.

"I say I just want to play, just want to kick the ball once in a game, see what it feels like." His words came through a hailstorm of tears.

"Oh Ron, " I wish I could help him.

More books, more afternoon practice sessions, more studied videos. Still more recess tears, more tearful stories. One day while having dinner, I saw Urmi sitting still. I asked her what the matter was but she didnt react. She might be deeply involved in some thoughts.

Thinking that its better not to disturb her, I continued with my meal. After sometime, Urmi spoke, "Sunil, I start to understand that soccer is no longer a sport for Ron"

"Why?", I got up, "I mean Urmi, how can you say so? I have never seen you giving up. Then what happened today?"

"I dont know, but my sin is struggling so much."

"Urmi, you have always been my support. Do you remember how on the college sports day, just before the match you came to me and ....."

"Yes, I remember all those. I know my son, he can win. But if by chance he loses then....?"

"Then, what?"

"You know Ron is very...., what to say, means if he loses, his heart will break. So I am afraid."

"Hmm!"

"But Urmi, shall I suggest something? I believe if he becomes a winner in your eyes, even if he fails in the game, his heart wont break."

"Means, if he can prove himself to be the hero in your eyes?"

"No, not ours, your eyes."

"Why only me? Is it because I am his mother?"

"No, no. I'm not saying a winner in his mother's eyes. I 'm saying a winner in your eyes, Urmi Baruah's eyes."

"Really?" with a thin smile struggling to escape through her lips but overshadowed by a question mark, she asked, "And how can you say this so firmly?"

"Experience, dear."

"Ha....?"

"Urmi, I want you to give Ron the same support that you gave me."

Ron was not giving up. He practised every afternoon, studied his soccer books as if preparing for the exam. One day he announced that he had solved the problem. "I 'm going to join the real soccer league. I'll not be teased there. I'll be taught as a student. I am going to get good that way. Going to get a trophy maybe. "Eyes glittering with far away dreams, he said that. "

"Are you sure, Ron? I hear its tough."

He rolled his eyes, "How am I going to get better, Dad, if I dont sign up and play?"

We didnt live in the township that sponsors Ron's chosen league, but his friends father promised to see what they could do.

After several weeks Ron was selected in the league. He was given a navy blue shirt and a matching pair of pants, the player's uniform. He was number 7. This was the bif tim. He became a regular student. Now, three months later, there was the grand competition and Ron was in it.

There was one practice to go before the first game. We arrived early, and Ron rumbled out of the car, his long ilk legs disguised with thick socks and padding, his feet unsteady on their plastic cleats.

The game started. Kids headed the ball, knee the ball, dribble it fiercely past their team mates. Ron couldnt get a hold over the ball. He skipped up and down the sidelines, solo as a kite.

"Oh God, have mercy," Urmi cried. We were sitting next to the playground. Ron looked at us, then at the ball and just ran after it. He just got hold over the ball and so prepared himself to kick it, but alas, he needed to be more quick, his friend took over him. He almost lost the balance. The coach asked him from a distance if he needed a rest. Ron shouted on his way to standing straight, "No Mom, I can!" Maybe he thought his mother was asking him that, maybe he was more conscious of his mother's piercing yet hopeful glances. Finally he stood straight all be himself, ran after the player, this time with renewed vigour, with great enthusiasm, got hold over the ball again, but kicking the ball that day was not in his destiny. The bell rang, time's up. Everybody came to the pavilion. He waited there for sometime.

We came home, had our dinner. Before going to sleep, Urmi went to Ron.

"Ron."

"Ya Mama"

"Hmm....You're the bet. You're  winner......you know why?"

"why"

"Deary, winning doesnt mean winner of a match. Winning means knowing yourself, your limitations, your priorities and then trying your best to achieve what you think you can, using all your potential. Winning means facing and standing against all odds that will come your way when you goto achieve your aim; winning means being contended with yourself, with what you're doing, with your life, Winning means smiling even if the whole world is against you and you're struggling. Winning means believing in yourself when the whole world doubts you. Winning means fulfilling the purpose that God has sent you for. And finally, dear, winning means the winner in your own eyes."

And my dear, I call you a winner because I've seen these traits in you when you were very small. Dear, no matter what happens in the next hour or so, but you have already beaten more miserable odds. I like it. Try to remain the same. Never give up.

"You are a winner. Today I believe it and tomorrow seeing your performance, the world will believe it. Am I right?" She got a tight hug from Ron in return.  

So, finally the most awaited day arrived. The coach came and blew the whistle. The kids ran to him. Ron couldnt keep pace with them. He was at the last of them all.

"Ron," Urmi called. But he failed to hear. Just then he lost his balance or stumbled at something. God knows what happened, but he fell down pitifully with his face towards us.

Urmi put down her purse, and stood up knowing not what to do next, but just looked straight at his eyes instead of looking at the condition he was at.

I saw Ron getting up all by himself, busy with himself without showing the least awareness that all the eyes were fastened upon him. He managed to stand up and just rushed to the ball and gave it a bold kick. He tapped the ball three times. Three times, in a real league game. He played his part, while all the people screamed. Our voices got lost in the wind.

I knew Ron would be very happy and contended now. I knew, he was desperately wanting to give a look at us to see our state of mind, but I knew his shyness might have barred him from giving us a look. Oh God, I desperately wanted to see that twinkle in his eyes which says a lot of things, which I understand. I feel. Oh dear me, I want to see his that momentous look, his eyes under the dark frills of hair in his forehead.

Just then after the third and final kick, I saw him raising his head and giving a look. My heart sank. But before I culd read his face, a fly came between our eyes and my eyes got distracted and before I  managed to throw it aside, he had already completed his part and again concentrated in his ball. My heart broke. I missed that. But without further delay, I looked at Urmi's eyes, with a hope of seeing his image on hers. But just then Ron fell down for the second time and alas, i failed again. I had to look at the pitch again. But this time he managd to get up quickly. I looked at Urmi again but I saw a different look at her which I saw sixteen years back in the same eyes when I was in Ron's place. How can I forget them? In fact this is the look that has always helped me to be a winner.

"This time you are not getting up," Urmi's friend sitting next to her asked her when Ron fell for the second time.

"My son, donot need me, to shield him from failure, only cheer him from the sidelines" With a proud smile she said this boldly.

Suddenly my heart sank. My thoughts found their own way, were not in my control. I got afraid. My mind repeatedly trying to say no to what I am thinking. Is Ron more bent towards his mother? Is he? Ofcourse she deserves it, but he's also my son. Does Urmi firmly believe, does she really mean when she says my son is best. What does she mean when she says 'my son'. Does she really think that he has inherited only her qualities. Does she think so? Ron is always a pure persistent, a gallant hearted boy but its also true, I personally admit that Urmi is the one behind this because she is the one who had fired the flame in him but still....

No, I've to clarify it; with the same intention, I looked at Urmi and said, "Our Son has made it!"

She said, "I know my son, he can do it. He is my hero."

She said this without looking at me. I couldnt digest. My doubt was on the path of becoming a belief.

I said, "Urmi, You always refer to Ron as your son. Isnt he my son too?"

She didnt reply. I thought that I might be becoming too sharp and rude. So I softened and with a thin smile said, "OK, no need to adress him as my son solely but atleast while speaking about him, say 'our son'."

I waited for a reply. I was looking at the pitch where Ron was playing but my whole concentration, my ears, my mind, soul everything was waiting for one, two, three.......ten seconds. She didnt reply. She didnt even look at me. Its too much. My doubt was giving its way to a firm belief. I was so angry. She didnt give any heed to what I said but I know she had heard me and felt me too. I know, she had even felt the smoke coming out of my burning heart. I know it by seeing her smile. I knew her, she knows me too. Then why is she doing this to me?

No too much, I turned her face towards me with my hands and looking at her eyes, asked her,

"What is this that you've so much pride, so much confidence in your son. Why, I mean, how do you have so much faith in him...?"

"....because he is your son", She interrupted with the smile which had always defeated me. I blushed. My tongue refused its office. I knew not what to say next. I just changed my glance. I was disturbed. More disturbing was having those bold eyes following me, I couldnt stop smiling and her eyes were shining; it was so unexpected, so wonderful.