Eyes that never opened

I can’t. I simply can’t carry on writing if each finger tap feels so heavy. But I will continue....
It was a rainy night when Kiki came into our lives. And we were in awe.

I mean, the kitten was an infant! Jet black fur coat and a white belly, Kiki was so adorable, you could cuddle it the whole day. How she played with the small fur-ball, with her even smaller paws....

Feeding her was the best part of me and my sister’s day. Kiki would move her head this way and that ways as dad fed her milk with an eye-dropper. The sound she made when she made when she meowed while gulping the milk was so funny that one could not stop laughing! Kiki was the light of our lives. But good times were short lived....

With time Kiki developed a sort of raspiness in her meows. Dad said it was nothing. But deep down, even he knew that Kiki wasn’t well.

I was the first one to wake up that day. I always had the habit of checking her belly if it was breathing. That day she was breathing heavier than usual. I rubbed her coat and called softly (I choked), hoping that she would turn a blind eye to heavens gate and return to us, her family.
Kiki died. My sister was inconsolable, dad was gloomy, I secretly cried to myself. Even my mother, who was always a bit edgy about pets, wasn’t upbeat. She had left a large void, impossible to fill. But not before she taught us many things. She taught us to sleep soundly on a rag, she taught us to enjoy stale milk as if it were the grandest of feasts. Kiki taught us to be more humane than we can ever be, to enjoy the little joys of life. TO LIVE.

By the time I am writing this sentence I am almost in tears. I had promised to myself and to Kiki that I would write about her. And now that I have fulfilled my promise, my heart feels lighter. Kiki is and will always be the closest to my heat. I will never ever forget her. NEVER.
Goodbye, Kiki!

20-20-20 and T20

Lights, camera aaand, T20 is born.

Cricket’s newest baby is here to stay. Such has been its flamboyance; no one’s escaped from it. Even the U.S., a nation that scoffed at the gentleman’s game till about a decade ago, is giving a serious thought to it!

Twenty-20, a brainchild of the English, is a rage and is spreading like wildfire. Short game, shorter ground and cheerleaders with even shorter skirts, T20 has got people sit up and take notice of cricket.

But what stings me is the pessimistic reaction of the purists and players (which, to me was a bit surprising…). They state that T20 is all fun and no work, where the basic values of the glorious game are demeaned. In short it’s hardly cricket.

I beg to differ. Here I would like to state that in no way am I trying to disrespect any former greats or current players or The Game for that matter. I for one, will be the first to drool over the prospect of an Indo-Oz test bash, and yet...

For starters, cricket’s hardly a global sport. So, why stop something which is taking cricket places? Countries which were alien to the game are now willing to cash in on its newfound vigour. Imagine the French locking horns with the Chinese in WC2027 semis? The prospect is soul-bathing.

And all the three forms of the game CAN co-exist. I believe that all of them can be the part of the landscape. So, it would be naïve to smell conspiracy.

Let’s not kill the golden-goose. The onus is on us whether we want to play dillydally in our halcyon with a handful of nations or help cricket spread its wings and soar.

Of course there will be setbacks, but we can surely take them. Let’s give the I.O.C something to pain their heads on. What say?