The Blood Brothers
We sat one cozy night outside of that small house in a small village in the small yet vast, empty spaces of road stretching up to a place called Bagan Datoh. We looked at each other, and shared a cordial smile. Because we knew these moments are hard to come by. For all of us to be at the same place at one given time was a big ask. And that too we were there, at that same house where we had all the times of our childhood, the house that stockpiles all the good memories of childhood that all four of us have. The 'we' were four of us. The four who grew up together. The macho tall guy, the glass man, the VIP doctor, and me, Jones.
All of us are busy chasing life-fed aspirations now, busy seeding the plant so that it could grow tomorrow, busy finding our calling card and making it big in life. But these are those rare rare moments when you just dump all those aspirations to a temporary recycle bin, you just want to stand still and fully immerse in a given moment.
And here in this space, I try to recollect the best of memories we have shared since our childhood.
Accidents
Glass Man is the prominent hero among the countless number of 'accidents' or simple nutty mishaps that have happened when we were small. That's why he is a glass man, because he has developed a constant ability to run into mishaps since a kid. I can't possibly remember a person who had taken more physical bruises and falls than he has. And you could tell them all with a big smile stretched on your face, because they were just that- funny. Once he dropped a coin in a stand fan which is on and running at full speed and was utterly confident that he would be able to retain it without turning the fan off. 'Don't be crazy, will you?'- I said. But he was just that. He tried anyways. And next thing you knew, he was reeling down the stairs calling out for his mom with two of his fingers drenched in hardcore red liquid. Probably even his mom has got used to all of that.
He and doctor were on a bike once, touring around that sandy, rocky road within the village- and glass man was convinced he knew a new trick that would make him seem cool on a bike. On a corner full of rocks, he set to do a skid turn with his father's motorbike with the doctor sitting behind. 'Hey, hey, look. I can do this'- he said. Next thing you knew, both of them went screeching down, tumbling and laying flat on the ground. A great stunt was just performed. Classic. And yet would stand up, arm drenched in red liquid which so often likes to emanate from his body; and say- don't tell anybody. We didn't tell anybody of course, but the red liquid called blood on the entire arm and on the elbow told the story. Enough was said.
Glass Man didn't change much. He lives up to his reputation every now and then. After not meeting for full two years, we met again at the village house, and he added another mishap memory that will be hard to diminish. 'Still getting yourself into trouble often?' I asked; and he took his ball and start juggling the ball to show off his skills to me. 'No, not that much'- he said. 'Play farther a bit, be careful, you might break the window'- his mom shouted. He nodded in approval, extremely confident that there's no room to mishap. Five seconds later, an attempted volley went wrong later, the ball smashed two windows into pieces. It was less than a minute after his mom has heeded out the morning. 'Didn't I just tell you??' she shouted. And I didn't stop giggling in laughter for sometime. I laughed so hard I cried.
And few weeks ago when we had our latest meeting- and saw him with an arm's length in dried blood, resulting from motorbike fall-down incident (again) two weeks prior to that. That's why he is the glass man.
Brawls
Well, what is teenagehood without brawls and fights. Between us, the distance that occured came somewhat naturally, Mr. Macho has always been a tad distant from the rest of us- the three of us were pretty tightly knit together so to speak. First came somewhere in early 2002, when Glass Man decided to switch loyalties from being a Manchester United to being a Liverpool fan. And it was me who took offense of that situation, blasting and reeling him off continously for consecutive days because of that. We hardly spoke. Until he did the Houdini act with the fan.
The next was lame to say the best. It was me and Doctor this time. It was at my old house in Manjung, which was located so strategically behind the Manjung Bus Station. Strategic not actually because of that, but rather because we had an entire green field for ourselves. It wasn't a playground, it was indeed a field with short grass, perfectly ideal to play football without even being bothered by anyone else. Those were the great footballing days. We'd look forward almost everyday for the time to tick so that we could stroll out of the house and just play football, play our hearts out. And one fateful day, he bodychecked me on the way to scoring a goal- and I perceived it to be grossly unfair. The consequences of that little argument we had in that field is something no-one could have ever imagined. He packed his bags and left the following day itself, and the distance we created between us lasted a good two years. Today we look back and we could only find one word in the vocab to describe that fight and the consequences of it- stupid.
Ahoy!
We wrestled in that old wooden house, jumping on beds and automatically switching off and pretending to be just sleeping when the elders came in checking out what has been making all the noises- we were like corrupted politicians, everyone knew what were we doing, yet couldn't catch us because of a lack of evidence. We tried to camp outside the house, pretending to be soldiers.
We often set up challenges on whether we could stay up all night, smacking in glasses of coffees in a bid to stay awake till the morning, only to collapse on the bed once the sun showed up in the morning. We made almost any available space as a footballing field, the front of my previous houses, and even study tables. Anything was good enough to be a football, even a pin pong ball and tennis ball were all used. No wonder we are nuts about the sport. Anything was on for us, such was our enthusiasm. Anything was a challenge- who could run faster, who could win in a game of chess, who could win in scrabble, everything mattered. We would collapse a small stool and leave it hanging on the gate, so that we could play basketball, by using a football that is.
If we were in a car travelling, we would count the amount of cars that overtook us and the amount of cars we overtook (of course the driver was one of the uncles as always), sometimes these counting becomes so insanely important that on some trips, the person on the wheel really took our spurring on seriously and was intent to get good overtaking numbers. Passion was everywhere, young minds which were constantly searching for anything that could spur passion in mundane daily routines. And today looking back and all that childhood adventures- I realize the greatest gifts in life is indeed that zeal, that undying passion, that undying willingness to run a risk, even though later on we do get hurt by comitting them, they never really hurt, when the price we pay for all of that are these precious memories.
And they are not a distant away either.
The same cozy night, all three of us went together to watch football. Glass Man's favorite team played. Then my favorite team played. And right after, Doctor's favorite team played. And we just enjoyed the fact that we had a marathon which fulfilled the zeal for each of us.
And when we were all pretty adamant and eager to get together for a game of football a week later, I knew very few had changed. We have it inside us to re-kindle the child, the passion, the endless notoriety and risk-taker for each other. If I find it hard to re-kindle them ever, I know that they would be able to bring me back that lost edge of childish passion.
Whether it's in eating an ice cream and just talking a walk or getting lost in middle of KL and walking aimlessly; or even buying a PC from Low Yat Plaza and carrying it all the way home to Shah Alam in a motorbike- the best things that makes you say 'this is life' without a negative undertone, without a tone of resignation, but rather with a positive outlook, with a serene satisfaction- these best things don't come in grand packages.
Life's greatest pleasure does indeed lie in its smallest details. And that, I will never forget.
Ram Anand.
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