home, home again.

and the scruffy blue-and-white board with thums up emblazoned in sad garamond font on the far left flickered into life..... the boys came out with a jug of water, sprinkling the plants that were just beyond the steps...... a few men had walked in lazily, scratching their balls and waiting for history to happen , and be done with itself. a few sweaty athletes came in sporadically, holding an orange spalding ball in their hands, the fumes of heat rising in waves from their bodies, their shoes worn, their wife-beater tees soaked with sweat and the salty residue of the day's game.... the dust over the grounds settled, or began to consider settling down as a good option, in the larger scheme of things; after all, the boys who were kicking a random football around on its baked clay face have walked in towards the board and the light..... as the gathering gloom swiftly took everything in-all of the men, and the few runaways escaped from the paddock across the road, the discerning ear could hear here a stiffled whinny, there a smoker's cough.......
and the bikes roared across the narrow strip of asphalt, over the dusty plains of the deccan, disappearing in a cloud of gasoline smoke and dirt, and the perfume of youth was everywhere.....
and a lifetime stood still, for an instant, for eternity, for as long as u wanted it to be.....
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells