The Tackle

Azman waved his arms in enthusiasm, signalling for the ball to be passed to him since he had ample of free space to have a decent go at goal.

At that time, I was in possesion of the ball so I sent a through-ball to him that split the opposition’s defence and paved the way for him to score a goal from a well-taken shot five yards away from the goalmouth.

We celebrated the goal with utter jubilation. The scoreboard read: Malaysia 1-0 Brazil. How’s that for a start?

Thereafter, there was a frenzy of action at either side of the field. The Brazilian team squandered numerous gilt-edged chances, while we Malaysians were riding our luck.

During the first half-hour or so, our most outstanding player was surely our goalkeeper, Alfred Tan. The lanky six-footed bloke was the saviour of the national team as he saved quite a few magnificent shots taken by the Brazilian strikers from point-blank ranges.

As the match headed towards half-time, I began to feel tired. Fatigue crept in and I wasn’t able to perform at my best. This was not the case for me only as it was the same for most of the other players too. Therefore, it was no surprise that I drew a sigh of relief upon hearing the half-time whistle being blown by the referee.

Both teams drew first-blood as soon as the second-half got underway. I for one missed an open goal, and with that a chance to put the Malaysian team two-up against one of the most glamorous footballing nations in the world.

I took that miss very hard on myself. I struggled to keep my emotions in check, and my focus on the match was wavering after that. Worse still, Malaysia were by now on the back foot as Brazil kept on plundering on our goalmouth time and again in search for the inevitable equaliser.

In addition to that, the tension was unbearable at the stadium. The fans of both teams were jeering the opposition players whenever they got hold of the ball. And amid this tense period of time –some sixty-five minutes into the game – I lost my head and made the most reckless of tackles.

A Brazilian player was controlling the possession of the ball when all of a sudden, due to the frustration that was creeping into me, I tackled him. It was a heavy lunge that floored the player, and he was agonising in deep pain.

Inside my heart, I cried “Noooo!” But it was too late. I hoped the clock could be turned a minute. I hoped that this was all an illusion. However, the reality was that this was no illusion. I walked off towards the stands solemnly, my head looking down to the ground, as I was anticipating a direct red-card to be shown by the referee.

Incredibly though, to my, as well as to almost everyone’s disbelief, the referee blew his whistle, signalling me to make my way back to the field. And as I walked back, he flashed a yellow card at me. Only a yellow card, can you believe that!

I accepted that as a chance to redeem myself, as well as some lost pride. But the player whom I had tackled earlier was evidently imbued in pain, and this had an adverse impact on me. I just couldn’t get that scene out of my head. Luckily though, the player got back onto the field after some extensive treatment on the sidelines.

As the clock ticked away, and as Malaysia headed for a historic win against the six-time world champions, disaster round two struck for me.

Instead of clearing away a dangerous in-swinging cross for a corner, I rammed the ball into the roof of my own net. I sensed my world falling apart. I collapsed to the ground, with my head in my hands.

Now, due to my misgivings, the match was dragged into extra-time. But since I felt that I was not in the right frame of mind to continue playing, I made a plea to the gaffer to substitute me. His reply though was a harsh one. “No way! Get your arse up on the pitch now and do your country proud, you idiot!”

Unable to muster the strength to go against the gaffer, I headed back onto the pitch for extra-time. As I made my way there, I caught a stare from the player whom I had tackled earlier. He had a sinister smile on his face. This sent a cold chill down my spine. I sensed vengeance; a personal vendetta against me.

I brushed my fear aside and recollected myself. I looked up on the heavens on the starry night, but I had a strange feeling that luck was not to be with me that night. Before I knew it, the referee blew the whistle for the start of the first-half of extra-time.

The first few minutes were tentative, with no team willing to expose themselves to a counter-attack from the opposition. Just then, out of the blue, I got the inspiration to do something great.

I collected a pass from my teammate at around the middle of the park and dribbled past an onrushing Brazilian defender, turned round another and was about to take on a third when my feet crumbled to the ground.

I crashed down just like how the Twin Towers collapsed on September 11 2001. I held my feet, my pain terribly unbearable. I saw the face of the player who tackled me – it was the same guy whom I had tackled earlier.

My vision was blurring. And when I did get up again, I realised that I was at the hospital. “Mr. Singh, you have a broken right leg. Well, I am afraid to say this, but there will be no more football for you,” said the doctor.

*This is a fictional essay.

The Ideal Sikh That I Want To Be

I am currently a young but a quickly growing Sikh teen. When I grow older, I aspire to be as perfect a Sikh as I can be; one who would be an exemplary role-model to youngsters and whom they can look up to.

The best way, or rather the most conventional path to undertake is that I will subscribe to the teachings of the Sikh institution. Actually, it is not that I have not subscribed to those teachings yet. It is just that as I grow older, the thought of being a great Sikh will inspire and spur me on to lean onto the finer, more intricate teachings of the Sikh ideology.

For a start, I have taken ‘Amrit’, something that is a rarity given the age that I had taken it – 11. Well, there is ample of room of improvement there, and truthfully, albeit with much haste of my consciousness, I will improve there.

In addition to that, I also do my ‘Rehraas Sahib’ path on an almost daily basis. Speaking of that, I had started doing ‘Japji Sahib’ in the mornings but God forbid for some reason or another, I could not sustain it.

Furthermore, I do not indulge in anything that is strictly prohibited in my religion. To put it to perspective, I have unshorn hair and many of you would be amazed, my unshorn hair measures a little longer than 165cm.  I also do not consume intoxicants such as liquor and cigars. There are other prohibitants too, but these are the key ones. 

As a result of that, the thoughts of me cutting my hair or consuming alcoholic beverages do not even cross my mind. Moreover, I shall, throughout the entirety of my life, thank God for whatever he has in store for me as well as whatever he blesses me.

I shall also work hard and live by the three golden rules put forth by Guru Nanak, namely; living an honest life by earning by the sweat of my brow and the strength of my back, resonate on the name of the Lord Almighty on every breath I take and lastly, share my earnings with the less fortunate and needy.

If, by God’s grace, I be a millionaire or something to that tune in the future, I will build institutions for the less fortunate and shelter the homeless. I will, essentially, do as much as I can do with the power within my hands to change the lives of the many needy people that are scattered all around the globe.

After helping these people get a firm footing in life, it is my hope that they would in turn help their needy brethren, and so on and so forth. If this cycle continues, the chances of finding helpless folks on the streets will diminish little by little year after year.

So much chatter but no work will make this piece of writing awfully redundant. I will, henceforth, stick to what I have said I want to be in the future. They say, actions speak louder than words, and for that reason, it is my duty to walk the talk, the sooner the better that is.

After all, I want to strive to be as compassionate as Guru Nanak, as great a learner as Guru Angad, as great a sacrificer as Guru Arjan and Guru Tegh Bahadur, and also as commanding a leader as Guru Gobind Singh was. That is my perception of the ideal Sikh that I want to be.

*This is the core of an essay that I had written for the end year 'Sikhi' assesment test of my Punjabi School.

If I Were A Millionaire

I wake up in the morning, and with my eyes barely open, I smell French toast and get the sight of a avant-garde Estonian sparkling wine. Just here, on my bed, one of my maid serves me breakfast on a silver tray. I eat quickly, for I have important agendas on later in the day. In a split-second, I am in my bathroom having a hot sauna bath. Oh my, it really is way better having a sauna bath than a cold shower.

Then, I get dressed in one of my favourite tee. I put on some Armani bodyspray around my upper body, hoping not to get anyone to faint throughout the course of the day. Before leaving my house, I make a quick visit to the altar to say thanks to God for another wonderful morning. I fetch my HS-Z600 car keys, and as soon as I am in the car I drive off.

As I arrive at the Munich High Golf Course, I take out my golf bag while awaiting my playing partner for the day. I was all in a hurry for I am going to have a round of golf with the Mercedes-Benz Group chairman. I make sure I am at my best. Sooner than later, I meet him, exchange conversation, and we take to the golf course.

By noon, the sun is blazing hot, and we decide to end the game. It is a draw. Anyway, I treat Mr. Daimler to lunch at the grandest restaurant in downtown Munich. Well, reservation in itself had cost $2000.We both discussed on business opportunities over lunch. I opine that he is not too bad a bloke and I am sure he thinks the same of me.

Our discussion is deep and it has already been a couple of hours. I decide I better get going to catch up with my agenda for the day. I foot the bill for it is my treat, and I leave a hefty tip for the waitress. She is bewildered by the sum I give her, but I told her “You can keep that”.

Just as I am making my way from the golf course, my best friend calls and sort of on top of his voice scream to me, “Hey mate, you were supposed to be here by what, 20 minutes ago?” I can understand Marx’s despair, but luckily the movie is going to start half-an hour’s time only.

“Well, gone!” I think to myself. No time for us both to have our customary chat over a cup of coffee. I beat a red light to get to ‘Times Square-Squared’ mall as quickly as I can while keeping my fingers crossed that Marx is still there. No choice because the movie tickets cost a lot of money and I did not want it to go to waste.

The movie was great. Marx sort of cooled down over the course of the movie and he is normal now. I have to leave so I say good bye to him and wish him luck for his endeavors in marketing his new tyre brand ‘Marxy’ in the region. He says it is going to be the best tyre brand in the world, and I say, “Why not?”

Already this is turning out to be a hectic day but I cannot go back home just yet. My team is in the finals of the Europa League later this evening, and so as the team owner, I have to be there early. Bayern Munich is a German club that I bought last year and seeing them in the finals of a tournament of this stature is a great feeling. Already my brand, HS, is now renowned all over the world, and this is due to the fact that I do not get shirt sponsorship for my team, instead my car brand is stamped on the Bayern Munich jersey.

Many people have thanked me, and still are thanking me as I approach the air-conditioned director’s box at the Allianz Arena for returning the glory days back to the club due to my heavy investment in it. The match gets underway and I am following the game with great interest. My team wins in the end, but I cannot indulge too much into it. I congratulate the manager and players before making my way home. It is almost a quarter to two, and that means a little rest for me. With Sunday supposedly being a rest day for many, including for me, this turns out being the complete opposite.

I reach home, reply some important e-mails, undress and slump into my super cozy Uzbek cotton pillow and with the quilt made by my mother over my body, I doze off into deep sleep.

I wake up in the morning, realising my father was on the verge of pouring a bucket of water over my face. I rush to the bathroom to have my shower and get ready for school. Wow, I then thought to myself, that might have been a dream, but I promised myself I would make that dream come true, the dream to live like a millionaire, a multi-multi millionaire that is.


*This essay, entitled 'If I Were a Millionaire', is an essay that I had written in school.