Dream of a lanky football player: a tale of a journey through a bumpy road

Part 2

The month of August, 2006, had already cast a dark shadow over the city and the shadow gradually engulfed the entire province. The day turned to be the launching pad for upcoming prolonged political, social and economic chaos which my city had never deemed coming its way. Next day, the usual garbage-burning miasma had changed with the smell of burning tyres. The smoke rising from burnt shops and tyres took over the pleasant view of the sky. Painted dark now, the sky depicted a picture foretelling about arrival of mourning days.

Immature to understand politics and its ins and outs, I remained anxiously concerned about my football practice that was disrupted owing to prevailing chaotic situation in the city.  “What skies haven fallen that I cannot even visit the adjacent football ground for practice,” I cursed everyone, who had done whatever to disrupt my football practicing. Most importantly target of my castigation had been my paternal uncle, who often scolded me when I slipped off school classes. He looked more than a spy who could investigate crimes at any cost so had he promised to trace me wherever I had been.

Unfortunate might it have been for my paternal uncle and those family members who seemed gloomy on my failure in matriculation in 2004, but it was a small affair for me failing in exams! “I am too young to study. I still have time for studies but if I don’t play football I might leg behind in achieving my aim,” I expressed my indifference and shrugged off my shoulders while seeing my result.

“Neither can I be a scientist, engineer nor a doctor,” I thought after seeing the result marked failed in chemistry, mathematics and biology, the leading subjects with which most of my friends seemed obsessed throughout the years.  After I failed my exam, I filled my supplementary form to reappear in exam to clear the subjects I had failed. Thanks to the matric board of Balochistan that provides three opportunities for matric students to reappear in exams to clear their papers. “Huh,” I mocked the board, saying: “it was doing business while providing opportunities to students and extracting whole fee again.” I often thought to throw a lavish party for all failed students, if Behzad, Mohsin, Nazir Alam, and Adil Lodhi, the toppers of my class, once failed in exams! But the guys were strong enough to prove that I was daydreaming!

In 2004, I was in hot waters again. Between the devil and deep blue sea, I had to choose to go either with new local team willing to provide me an opportunity for being part of team squad or take supplementary examination. Fortunate enough to get the opportunity, the team had just received funding from its owner for a tour to Karachi at the time I was offered to play for them. To my 'unfortunate', the supplementary exams had fallen the same month when I got the chance to play for Al Jafar FC, Sibbi. So obvious was the fact that I chose to be part of the team. This made my first tour to Karachi possible. Karachi was one of my dream cities to visit. Some of my tycoon cousins had made me familiar with the name ‘Karachi’. They visited Karachi frequently and, most importantly, could frequently buy t-shirts of international football clubs with names of player pasted on back of the shirts. “Beautiful shirt bhai,” I often said seeing my cousins wearing shirts, “you must have bought three or four shirts, right?”

I used to ask this because I thought if they replied yes, I might demand one for me. But the reply was saddening as they, with a sombre and long sigh of relief, said they did have but had brought for some friends. “I hate your friends,” I babbled while cursing my ‘coincident’ blood relations God had decided with my relatives.   

I was engaged in playing show matches with different teams of Karachi at Sharafi Ghot and Malir. Back at home I had a bad news waiting for me. On my arrival in Sibbi, I was informed that I had failed in exam again. “It was obvious,” I told my cousin who brought me the news, “I did not appear in examination. Were the office bearers of board examination my relatives who passed me even during my absence?” “Had there been my relatives they, too, failed me as they abhorred my attitude and wealth (football),” I thought for a while. “This time,” I resolved, “I would wholeheartedly cheat in exams.”  

I passed supplementary examination. Now I was reckoned among the ‘matric pass’ students eventually. I was glad to pass matric and thought it was enough for me as my goal of life was at odds with education. This was because I had seen football stars speaking in their native languages which made me believe that I could also speak in Balochi and Brahvi when I were a football star too. “There was no need to be a good English speaker. Look! Players of international repute speak their native languages and their education must be matric like mine,” I thought.

Following the ‘grand’ tragedy of 26 August, 2006, people had been picking up pieces of peace which had been shattered by the chaotic blow followed after the tragedy. But there was a ‘grand’ tragedy waiting for me like a dangling sword over my head which, might predestined, was too close to fall  tearing my life apart into two parts—starvation and struggle!

To be continued