The day the park was inaugurated we were overjoyed and our enthusiasm knew no bounds. Our park was wonderful as we had a lovely ground where we could play cricket, without breaking Sharma Uncle's window every time we hit the ball hardly and Sharma aunty screaming her lungs out on us. I would also have fun at the swings that were put in the park, though I would only enjoy them when nobody was seeing, after all only girls were supposed to take swings and it was very un-manly of a boy to do such a thing. The only person who knew about my little secret was my best friend, Anshu. He would give a push on my back, which would make the swing go higher and higher. I wanted him to take the swing as well but he was afraid of sitting on the wooden plank hanging by two thin iron chains. The winters had not set in yet and most of my evening was spent enjoying the lush green park. It was a wasteland at first and the only inhabitants used to be the pigs and some stray dogs, unfortunately the local authority had decided to build a park for the welfare of the people or that is what I heard my parents talking to each other. I was perplexed because no one had thought about the welfare of the pigs and the dogs but those worries were lost when I saw the wonderful playground.
The sun setting behind the trees had always been a beautiful site and it seemed so even after 30 years. The only problem was that I could see some concrete jungle along with the natural trees - some of the trees had not been fortunate enough to draw the attention of the so called Non Governmental Organizations dealing in environment protection. I looked around, there was Mr. Sharma, now 65 years old, walking his new dog; Mrs. Pandey chatting with her equally fat daughter while they tried to walk some distance; young guys in their 20's coming on their bikes into the Gym center located in the center of the park. The marked absence of younger children in the park confused me. As I watched the sun setting on the dusty mountain of sky my mind traveled even farther back into time.
It was 5.00 by my watch and since winters were setting in fast, it would get dark by 6.30, which left us just about an hour and half to play. I shouted at top of my voice "Anshu, come down, let's go to the park." I was expecting Anshu to come tumbling down the stairs, which is what I always said because he was a good 35 Kilos while I was a good 10 kilos less than him. When after some time the ball did not roll over, worry took my hand, just like my class teacher before she used to cane us when we would do some mischief. I puffed my way up to Anshu's flat door but found that the bell was some way up beyond the reach of my outstretched hand. I jumped up and tried to reach the bell and it was only after my 5th jump that I succeeded in touching the bottom of the switch. Much to my dislike Anshu's mom opened the door, she was a grumpy lady and I did not like her serious face.
"Aunty, Where is Anshu? Why is he not coming to play?"
"Beta, he is down with fever and he will not be coming to play today. You go on your own." the grumpy face replied.
"Aunty, can I see him?"
"No, he is asleep and you will disturb him. You go and play while he takes some rest."
I felt like stamping her feet with all the power I had but she was Anshu's mother so I decided against it.
The cricket game was good and the other team had won the match despite our best efforts. My parents would always tell me that it is the participation that matters and not whether you win or lose. I liked the idea and always enjoyed a game irrespective of the result but could not understand why the other boys would quarrel over minor things and would feel bad whenever they lost a game. I tried explaining to them the principle that my parents had taught me but they would always reply back, " All that is crap, if one has to play then one has to play to win. You are a loser if you do not win and there is no place for losers."
I walked to the swing while thinking about the whole argument in my mind. How is it possible that one has to play to win? Isn't it that participation matters? And even if everybody wants to win, both teams cannot win - there can be only one winner? Does that mean that losing team should not fight back again? Questions ran across my mind like a marathon runner fresh at the start of the race. Since Anshu was not there to give me a swing I simply sat on the wooden slab and I was so absorbed with my questions that I did not hear the footsteps behind me.
They say that you only get heart attack when you are old enough to die but I felt I was getting a heart attack. My heart was pounding on my chest as if it wanted to get out of my body; it was begging to be freed from its cage. I had literally fallen out of the swing I was sitting on. I looked up at the man standing in front of me. I suddenly felt the mist closing in on the playground fast, as if to close the park's very existence from the rest of the world. Standing before my very own two little eyes was a man wearing a kurta and pyjama, whose colour I could not tell because of the fog and the poor light, his hair was long and disheveled like a sparrow's nest and white strands of hair reflected both the receding sunlight as well as the new born moonlight. His binocular eyes looked out of his spectacles and his thick moustache was like a thorn bush harboring a porcupine. I felt my throat go dry and wanted to say something but apparently the words were also afraid of the man in front and stayed back in my throat. I fumbled and skidded to get back on my feet. I could smell the 19th Century Man as clearly as I could smell my cricket sweat.
"Little boy, what is your name?" the man asked. My thoughts were running faster than the Shatabadi Express, which my dad tells is the fastest train in India, but apparently my body was still numb from the shock of coming face to face with the 19th Century man. I myself did not understand what I mumbled in my mouth but I was sure that the man in front of me could read everything in my heart. " Son, it is getting late and I think you should not roam alone as it is not safe. It is better if you get back home." I was stunned by those words and found myself in a trance; apparently the man in front of me did not know that he was the danger for not roaming alone. "Yes, haanji, I think I should be home", I managed to the man "I think I will go."
The sudden gust of wind brought me back to the present. I rolled back my lose hair and made it into a pony tale. The winter was indeed coming. I could feel the chill in the air as I folded my arms to protect my body from the blowing winds. I looked around, the number of people in the park had definitely subsided, and it was as if I had gone back in time for a longer period than I had thought I would be in the present. The park was a nice place to be in - nobody recognized me here, not the famous writer. They just knew me by my name and they were very much confused as to what I did for living. My servant always brings to me the daily gossip he has discussed with other servants working in different households and the way I hear it from him, I am a very important aspect of everyone's lives. One day I am a smuggler, on the other a pimp or a vagabond or a jerk or a door-to-door salesman. On the really good days I would be considered a consultant, so I was living multiple personalities within each household irrespective of the fact that I was nothing more than a creative writer, whose books usually sold well, at least to the lower strata of the society who could identify with the characters in my books. But then Hindi, had never been the language of the middle class or the upper class, they only understood English.
I watched the shadows beginning to form and trying to compete with each other to occupy as much place as possible on the earth. All of them had a common ally and enemy - the lights. Though the lights gave these shadows an extended life, they also took away from them they ability to cover as much area as possible. The lights acted as the kingmaker. And looking into the lights and the shadows, I looked back 30 years into the same shadows but without the lights.
"Nahi, Nahi beta, it is unsafe to go alone, let me walk you home", the 19th Century man said. It was an invitation to disaster and I knew that my parents would never hear of me ever again but I don't know what made my head believe otherwise because it was nodding in agreement to the apparition. Then the head began rationalizing the decision; after all I hadn't disappeared even though I had directly looked into the eyes of the phantomlike figure in front of me. "Young boy, I saw you playing cricket. You play good", the figure said. I was overjoyed that someone liked my game, unlike all my teammates who thought I was a loser, I questioned unbelievingly "I do? But all my mates think that I am a loser." I was amazed at myself, it was for the first time that I had heard myself clearly in our whole conversation and at the same time my mind rearranged the facts, it meant that the 19th Century man was watching us play from the hidden shadows and now I was sure that my parents would never ever miss me as the man would appear to them as me. We were walking slowly and the fog also seemed to be following us at the same pace. The park lights had come on and I was feeling much more secure walking with the longhaired, bespectacled, kurta-pyjama man beside me. The thorn-bushed moustache spoke "You know, playing is not about winning all the time, it is the spirit in which you play the game which matters."
I was pleasantly surprised to hear those words, as it was a virgin time that besides my parents, some other person had spoken the same words and believed in it. I again fell into a dilemma, how is it that the man knows the exact words that my parents spoke, he may after all have read my heart and was simply speaking my feelings through his mouth. I kept walking silently and dared not to look into the eyes of the man beside me, lest he get angry and make me disappear. "You are a quiet kid, you know, you shouldn't think too much as it is harmful for one's health. You should simply relax and enjoy the beauty that God has given us in the form of life", the man said. He was oblivious to the fact that I was not enjoying the moment because of him. "You know, I too used to play cricket when I was young", he continued. " I used to play just like you." A lump formed in my throat - that would mean that even my friends would not be able to tell the difference between the 19th Century man and me. I was now certain that I would disappear any moment, into the 19th century man's world where all the disappeared people would stay, hidden from our world.
The short walk home seemed like a year of my life but when the houses started appearing I ran for my life and did not stop till I reached home. While pounding at the front door {my hands in the hurry had forgotten that there was a doorbell also} I looked back at where the 19th Century man had been standing. I was shocked to see or rather not see the apparition there. It was as if it had disappeared into thin air. I don't know if I had run fast enough or it was that the figure had disappeared voluntarily but doubts began creeping into my mind - what if I was not in this world anymore? What if the 19th Century man himself opened the door I was pounding on? The door opened and I sighed with relief on seeing my mother's face.
It was beginning to get dark and I stood up to get back home, after all I had another deadline looming if front of me. I was supposed to submit my next book to my publisher by the next week; moreover I hadn't even titled my book, which was a collection of short stories. Just as I started walking I heard rustling in the bushes behind me and I could also hear the hushed whispers of children. Without letting them know I got closer to the bush by pretending to pick up a flower and then I heard what those hushed whispers were said - "Look, there goes the 19th Century man. Keep still otherwise he will know we are here and do not look into his eyes otherwise you will disappear instantly." I turned back onto the regular path and walked away into the lights, happy that I knew the title of my next book.
THE END
