Thursday, September 06, 2007
This was 1993. A man stood on lush green grass. Dressed in a casual bowler hat and black trousers, he wouldn’t have otherwise caused a curious glance. But this was not normal. He did not want to be here. He knew beyond that large wall, there was an ocean and he could hear the waves hitting the coast all morning. That’s where he, Mitchley, wanted to be.
He turned around; he could see distinctly, two – no, make that three, people rushing up to him. Where there were three, there would be more. He sighed. He had been in similar situations, but there was something different about this. He knew it would happen. He dint like it. He had been instructed prior to the assignment about this one specific case. He definitely dint like it. He thought for just a second.
Raising both his arms, he put them together in a manner he had practiced the night before. Were someone to describe what his posture looked like, it would seem he were pointing; curiously enough with both his hands. He put the index fingers together and separated them. He continued the gesture feeling very awkward. He brought them down and brought them together again. Somehow he felt he lost his independence.
He glanced at his pal, Liebenberg. Although he could not see him, he knew he would be there; waiting for this particular moment. But this was not a circumstance to think of him as a pal. It would be inappropriate. Anxiously he waited.
One of the persons who were running towards him patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
“Well, what happens next?”
“We wait”, replied Mitchley
They glanced at that group gathering and particularly at one man. He was short. It would turn out that wasn’t his most descriptive feature. They turned and stared at the newly installed “machine”. More of a contraption – thought Mitchley. They looked just like traffic lights.
Finally, a roar from the group closest to him. Mitchley raised his hand and pointed to the sky. No one looked up. The short man was walking away. The short man is Sachin Tendulkar.