Frisbee Court

I used to go to the frisbee court everyday. A field I guess it’s called.

The guys..and gals there didn’t want me playing with them cause I’d knock them over when I got the frisbee. I was just so much bigger than them. I guess it’s from growing up in the US with 2% Milk and Kellog’s.

I’m trying to be honest here. They didn’t like me very much. But, I liked playing with some of the guys. They respected me. They loved me in a way, but I was like a ninja on the court.

I’d run from one end to one end and jump in the air as if Krishna was in me. Anna, one Anna, really loved playing with me, and he’d laugh whenever I’d knock someone else over. I know it sounds like I wasn’t dextrous, but I was. I’d win every game.

One guy was on the other team loved winning with me and I trounced his team so hard. I made it a point to win against him.

It was as if I was Michael Jordan. And, they didn’t know who Michael Jordan was cause they were Indian. They probably knew who he was.

I was in India. Did I mention I was in India? Yeah, here I was, trouncing people in India, an American boy, born and bred, proving the point that athletics do not translate across nations.

I guess we just eat something different there. We eat something different.

And, I deleted my Facebook, so I lost touch with a lot of those guys. When you don’t have proximity, that tends to happen.

We eat something different,…and we eat something different. I don’t know what that means. But, it means that we grew up on different stuff — TV, eatings, music, culture.

We respected sports players. They respected Gandhi.

They respect their politicians so much there. It’s ridiculous. My uncle will like watch TV and put up money for a politician so much. And, they’re all corrupt crooks. You think politicians here are corrupt, the ones there…

They take money from poor people and don’t do anything with it. Just fill there cronies pockets up.

And, I don’t want to make this a discourse on Indian politics. I’m just saying what I see.

‘I was a God,’ I was telling my brother on my times in frisbee.

“Yeah, right,” he said rolling his eyes.

‘I was trust me,’ he could see the look in my eyes, trusted me.

“Yeah, but they were Indians,” he said. “They can’t play like us.”

‘Don’t underestimate Indians. You underestimate Indians.’ I said.