Tap.Tap. Dhoom...Dhoom...Dhoom. Tap. Tap...
My steps quicken as I make the cold walk towards the auditorium, where the floor is teeming with musky smelling men and pretty, smiling girls.
The men move nimbly to the sound of trumphets, horns and bassoons, while the ladies watch each other in amused delight. As if partaking in this rainbow of activity, the floors squeal in delight when the men trample across their backs.
Exactly ten men dressed in pitch black and white, move hither and thither weaving graceful patterns and elaborate choreos. I watch without blinking at the intricate moves, the brilliant sequences, the joy of seeing the subtle understanding that develops between partners, the taunting motions, the bright smiles and the twinkle in their eyes, as they execute their plans to perfection. The rest sit on the sidelines eagely awaiting their turns, with utter impatience: afterall, seven minutes can seem like eternity when you are tormented by love. I figure their theism is questionable. But if you ask them, they cry in unison "In soccer, we trust". As some wise man said, divinity does indeed come in many a strange shade!
Unnecessary, digressional words of wisdom: When men make their first moves with the genteel members of the fairer sex, they are usually a bundle of nerves. Tormented by the fear of failure, the humbling wisdom that flowers out of copious rejections, and the madly enchanting smell of success (usually an Estee Lauder), they hesistate, soul-search and scramble to find all the bravery they never thought they had; to, as it usually happens, miss the boat in the end to a jackass, who figures his love out, searches for his sole, puts his foot in the mouth and even in this situation of perplexing discomfiture, drools out his passionate lust.Focus and Revert: Back in the soccer field, we fearlessly make our first move. The mid-fielder is unmarked and receives the ball from the goalie. Seeing a pattern flash across his mind, as it has for a million times in the past, he pushes the ball through a minimal gap in the defence to the right-forward to connect the first dots in this game of goals and gloves. The right-forward gracefully receives it, dribbles around a thug and makes the cross across to the left-forward (who is now breazing towards the goal), with a timing that would put the Swiss to shame. The left-forward picks up the ball as it slowly rolls in front of his feet. Together, they fake a scram to the left, but move in perfect unison to the right as he gently lets the ball waddle through tiny gaps in a forest of hairy legs. The destination is finally reached by this deft and complete outmanouver of opponents. And to top it all, this burst was bloody quick! Half the men on the floor are speechless, two are jubiliant and the remaining three exchange glances with triumphant smiles: 5-a-side football
can be beautiful at times is beautiful.
After a remarkable 2 hours of soccer, we walk out of the indoor court into the corridor. The story would have ended here, rather tamely, but for the pretty girls who walked out of their practice at the same time. Have I told you that they play the orchestra across from our entrance? Probably not, unless you still remember the sounds of the trumphets, horns and bassoons. And one of these days, I am going to walk home with a genteel member of the fairer sex: the stinking me in dirty shorts and the pristine her in a yellow dress. Alone, together.
And thus, I end the story of my life, ladies and gentlemen.
And before you leave, please keep in mind that girls do play a pivotal role in the fantasies of my good clan.... But mostly....
ITS ALL ABOUT SOCCER!
It will break your prejudices. 
Vanishing Faith: Vinayagar, Charcoal on canvas
