02.03 Aarcha RS, Hyderabad.
young spoken word artiste (16)
The human mind is excellent at connecting places, things and memories.
And hence each time I whizz past the basketball court enclosed by netted walls,
I remember all my bitter-sweet memories, held so far as dormant chemicals.
My first fall, my first wound, my first defeat, my first win.
All the skinned knees and cut hands I tended to. All the kids I had to love unconditionally, just so they stay and listen to the coaches. All the kids who loved me back and still remember to love me each time I go to the court.
The sound of over a twenty balls kissing the worn out cement floor. Sometimes the sound of crisp leaves crushed by orange balls.
I remember the sun setting behind the Frangipani trees as we raced each other wielding our weapon- the ball.
All the matches that we played in the monsoon rains, ending up with soiled hands and clothes and a wet self to attend to.
All the monsoon times we spent in the small shed that echoed with the sound of rain and our chatters.
My first tackle from an ace, my first shot for the team.
All the treats and crazy times, all the friends added to my map of life.
Dear court, stay right there, let me savour these memories each morning as I drive past you.
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