Night of 25TH

CHAP 31: Playing Childhood Again

Past:

Shubman

A week had elapsed since my return home from the eventful two-month tour. The adrenaline from the intense cricket matches and the cherished moments with my friends were now treasured memories, and the familiar sights of my room offered a comforting sense of homecoming.

I found myself lying lazily on my bed, my smartphone firmly grasped in my hand, and I was engrossed in the endless scroll of my social media feed. It was a much-needed respite from the continuous action on the cricket field and the constant travelling, a moment to reconnect with the world outside the boundary ropes. As I flicked my thumb across the screen, each post evoked a smile, reliving the highlights and candid moments of our tour.

The images were a visual diary of our journey, capturing the elation of our victories, the hearty laughter shared during off-field escapades, and the occasional pranks we played on one another. The comments and messages from fans and well-wishers served as a heartwarming reminder of the immense support and love that enveloped me throughout my cricketing journey.

However, my digital reverie was abruptly interrupted by a soft and gentle voice that permeated the room, pulling me away from my virtual world.

"Puttar, tu pura din phone pe laga hai jabse aya hai ghar pe ya soya rehta hai, kahi bahar ja, dosto se mil," my mother said, her tone brimming with concern.

I briefly looked up from my phone, acknowledging her presence with a distracted nod. "Ha, Mumma," I replied lazily, returning my gaze to the screen, my thumb hovering indecisively over the "like" button for another post.

My mother's patience wore thin as she observed my deep immersion in the digital realm. She made one more attempt to get my attention, her voice now carrying a hint of sternness. "Shubman, mein tere naal gal kar rahi aa."

Despite her increasingly serious tone, my apathy seemed to have reached its peak, and I responded to her with an uninterested, "Ha, mummaaa," barely sparing her a glance.

That was the final straw; my mother had reached her limit. Before I could even react to a meme sent by Jugnu, my phone was snatched away from my hand with a swift and practised motion.

"Mumma, please phone do na," I protested, reaching out for it as she held it behind her back, effectively keeping it out of my grasp.

My mother stood her ground, her expression resolute and unwavering. It was unmistakable that she had reached the threshold of her patience, and it was high time for me to redirect my full attention to her and the real world around me.

"Nahi milega bas, ghar se bhar ja thoda ab," she repeated, her eyes conveying her determination as she pointed toward the door.

I sighed, realizing that my mother wasn't going to let me off the hook easily. I folded my arms across my chest, a slight frown on my face, and my nose scrunched up in mild annoyance.

"Mumma, sab mere dost kahi busy hai toh koi nahi hai saath ghumne ko," I replied, trying to reason with her.

She remained steadfast, her stance unwavering. "Toh jaa niche bacho ke saath cricket khel le, lekin gharmei mein ab nahi baithega tu."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, not expecting this particular suggestion. "Mumma, bacho ke saath mein khelu, kuch bhi?" I asked, emphasizing the fact that she was asking an international cricket player to play with random kids from our building.

My mother's words resonated with me as she gently poked my nose and encouraged me. "So, what? Yeh mat bhul, mat tu bhi un mein se tha ek zamane mein," she said, reminding me of my own journey as a young cricket enthusiast. "And the kids were asking for you the other day, ke Shubman bhaiya ke saath khelna aur cricket sikhna hai."