It was an unforgettable match. The inter club tennis finals were being played on my home court and I was pretty excited to be a finalist, my opponent was a junior level coach-Rafiq, who had a mean game, as he was playing since a decade. He lived in a slum, nearby our town. Tennis was his only source of income and he wanted to win this title badly. I am no bunny rabbit, when it comes to Tennis as I put in all my strength and wisdom into the game. My head coach remarks that I play Tennis like Chess! Rafiq was aware of my game, prayed to Allah before the match.
The match began on an even keel but soon I started dominating the game and Rafiq started wilting under crowd pressure. A few right shots would finish the match in my favour, much to the delight of my ego and pride. I was a dark horse and played without a care, Winning or Losing was not my concern in this particular match. At the drinks break, I saw an old lady sitting in the stands, wearing a passed on sari praying fervently to Allah for her son's victory. A win would mean a promotion for her son and recognition , which meant more money to run her over sized under fed family. Her plight and anxiety were palpable.
I would get only, an applause from the stands after the victory and a small trophy which would lie in some corner of my home. Tennis was not my profession and my livelihood was independent of it.Besides, I had just won the all state medico singles title which had given me good media coverage and fame.
At the victory podium, Rafiq was proudly standing with his cherished trophy, which would bring a change in his status and salary. His mother too joined the celebrations with tears in her kohl lined eyes and praying, paan stained lips. Allah had listened to her prayers.
I lost the match. I had to.
Mansi, who was watching the match closely, came to me with moist eyes.
She understands me very well, she understood my sacrifice for Rafiq.
She said 'Well Played' Ajay!
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