Sometimes I think my hopeless devotion for bound books has become questionable. Sometimes. In all these summers spent, alone and in the company of close ones, I never thought that could be a possibility. Yet, here I am, with a slight doubt about this devotion which has been with me for more than a quarter of a century. I sit down and wonder what could have brought such unforeseen irony.
I spent my life as a teen reading classics and drowned myself in the world where words arose emotion, where words explained everything I have ever wished to wish. And just about when teen life reached its zenith, those same words introduced a desire to know the manifold possibilities of how life itself can be manipulated, and how events past can be written to follow desires and perspectives. It brought a realisation that the saying ‘knowledge is power’ has a predecessor, words create power. Bold statement. Today, I still find myself in the hope that I would master this power. I have been so involved with it. At times, I’d miss so many important and interesting things around me because of these bound companions. It made so many things meaningful. Yet, somehow I realised something in the recent times had found a loop in this addiction. I shudder to ponder. At the same time it is too exciting to be wilfully ignored.
Here I am enlightened by the sudden discovery of the ray of doubt over my passion. The welcoming world of fatherhood. This new turn of event has breached my hopeless devotion to books, and has pervaded all my thoughts. Though I have yearned to master words for my own advantage, I declare in all honesty, that they fail to describe what I would be for the coming days of my life, a dad.
Here is the statue of the man Bill Shankly. Any avid fan of Liverpool FC will know how important this man was and is to the club. My endeavour here is not to detail at length his achievements let alone his biographical details. During our recent visit to the museum and stadium at Anfield ('our' refers to me and the lovely wife), I came across a very wonderful weapon employed by the late Shankly to visiting club players. It is in every football lover's intellectual capacity to know that both teams have to walk toward the field from their respective changing rooms. In doing so, they have to pass through the tunnel pictured below, with the poster saying in bold letters 'this is Anfield'.
When Shankly put up the poster, he had two thoughts running in his mind; one, to weaken the opposing team, and two, to encourage the home team, obviously. Shankly knew that in approaching the field (with the loud cheering of the fans outside echoed in the tunnel), this poster would remind the opponents where they were playing. It was to shake as much confidence from them as possible. In the meanwhile it was to forecefully tell the home teams that 'this is where they belonged, where they are in control, that Anfield was theirs'. Imagine the opposing players, probably the newly signed and the young players, coming to play here, with the crowds awaiting to jeer, had to look at this before reaching the grounds, it will never be the best feeling... exactly what Shankly had in mind.
