'He doesn't hit much. He changes direction of the already fast ball. The energy in that ball is mostly yours.'
'Have you seen other gifted players like him?' I wanted to know.
'Not to this degree, this boy's brain is wired differently. Some may call it a defect, so I suggest you don't make a big noise about it'
'He is Indian team material,' Ish said. 'Dr Multani, you know he is.'
Dr Multani sighed. 'Well, not at the moment. His headaches are a problem, for instance. While his brain can analyse fast, it .ilso tires quickly. He needs to stay in the game. He has to survive Until his brain gets refreshed to use the gift again.'
'Can that happen?' Ish said.
'Yes, under a training regimen. And he has to learn the other aspects of cricket.
I don't think he ever runs between the wickets. The boy has no stamina. He is weak, almost malnourished,' the iloctor said.
I am going to coach him,' Ish vowed. And Omi will help. Omi will make him eat and make him fit.'
'No, I can't,' Omi refused as all looked at him. 'Dr Verma, tell I hem why I can't.'
'Because he's a Muslim. Multani, remember Naseer from the Muslim University? Ali is his son.'
'Oh, that Naseer? Yes, he used to campaign in the university elections. Used to be a firebrand once, but I have heard that he has toned down.'
'Yes, he is in politics full time now. Moved from a pure Muslim to a secular party,' Dr Verma said.
Ish looked at Dr Verma, surprised.
'I found out after you guys left yesterday. Sometimes I feel I run a gossip centre, not a clinic' Dr Verma chuckled. 'Anyway, that's the issue then. A priest's son teaching a Muslim boy.'
'I don't want to teach him,' Omi said quickly.
'Shut up, Omi. You see what we have here?' Ish spoke.
Omi stood up, gave Ish a disapproving glance and left the room.
'How about the state academy?' Dr Verma said. 'They'll ruin him,' Ish said.
'I agree.' Dr Multani paused. 'He is too young, Muslim and poor. And he is untrained. I'd suggest you keep this boy and his talent under wraps for now.
When the time comes, we will see.'
We left the clinic. I took out four marbles from my pocket and called Ali.
'Ali, time to go. Here, catch.'
I threw the four marbles high in the air towards him. I had thrown them purposely apart.
Ali looked away from his game and saw the marbles midair. He remained in his squat position and raised his left hand high. One, two, three, four - like a magic wand his left hand moved. He caught every single one of them.
Six
He won't agree, I spoke to him already,' Ali huffed. We reached the end of Belrampur to get to his house. He lived in a particularly squalid pol. Ali pressed the bell. I noticed his father's nameplate had a motif of the secular political party.
Ali, so late again,' his dad said as he opened the door. He wore an impeccable black achkan, which contrasted with his white beard and a tight skullcap of lace material. He looked around sixty, which meant Ali came late in his life.
And who are you gentlemen?' he said.
'I am Ishaan,' Ish said. And this is Govind and Omi. We are Ali's friends.'
'Friends?' Ali's dad said, underlining the absurd age difference.
'Yes abba, they came to play cricket at the school. They have a sports shop. I told you, remember?' 'Come in,' Ali's dad said.
We sat in the living room. Ali's mother, wearing a brown-Coloured salwar suit, brought in glasses of roohafza. Even though a dupatta covered most of her face, I could make out that she must've been at least twenty years younger than her husband. She scolded Ali for not studying for his test the next day. I think Indian mothers have two tasks - to tell children to eat more or study more.
'We wanted to talk about coaching Ali,' Ish began after Ali left the room with his mom.
'Cricket coaching? No, thanks. We are not interested,' Ali's dad said in a tone that was more conclusive than discussion oriented.
'But uncle...,' Ish protested.
'Look above,' Ali's dad said and pointed to the roof, 'look, there are cracks on the ceiling. There is this room and one other tiny room that I have taken on rent.
Does it look like the house of a person who can afford cricket coaching?'
'We won't be charging Ali,' Ish said.
I glared at Ish. I hate it when he gives discounts at the shop, but a hundred per cent off is insane.
'What will he do with cricket coaching? Already school is difficult for him after the madrasa. This is the first time Ali is studying maths. And I can't even afford a maths tutor...'
'Govind teaches maths,' Ish said.
'What?' Ali's dad and I said together.
'Really, he is the best in Belrampur. He got hundred per cent marks in the Class XII board exam.'
I double glared at Ish. I was fully booked in tuitions and I already taught his clown of a sister for free. 'But Ish, I can't,' I said.
'Maybe we can do a combined deal. If you allow him cricket coaching with us, we will teach him maths for free,' Ish said ignoring my words.
'How can I teach for free? I have paying students waiting,' I said.
Ish glanced at me with disdain as if I had shot down his mission to Mars.
'For free?' I mouthed to him.
'I will pay whatever I can,' Ali's dad said in a muffled voice.
'I am sorry, but this is how I earn my living. I can't...' I said, in a desperate attempt to salvage my asshole image.
'Just take it from my salary, ok? Can you let me talk?' Ish said with great politeness.
I wanted to get up and leave.
I get a small retirement pension. How much do you charge?'
'Four hun...,' I started to say but Ish interrupted with 'Why don't we start and see how it goes?'
Everyone nodded, even Omi because he did whatever everyone else was doing anyway.
'Right, Govind?' he said to me last.
I gave the briefest nod possible, a five-degree tilt.
'Stay for dinner, please,' Ali's dad implored as we stood up to leave.
'No, no,' Omi said, horrified at the idea of eating in a Muslim home.
'Please, I insist. For us, hospitality is important. You are our mehmaan.'
I would have disagreed, but I wanted to get something for the free maths-and-cricket coaching programme.
We sat on the living room floor. Ali's mom brought us two extra large plates, one for the three of us and another for Ali's dad. The plates had simple food -
chapattis, daal and a potato-cauliflower vegetable.
Omi sat down. He did not touch the food.
'Sorry I can't offer you meat. This is all we have today.'
'I don't eat meat. I am a priest's son,' Omi said.
An awkward pause followed. Ish jumped in, 'The food looks great. Dig in guys.'
To share a single plate is strangely intimate, lsh and I broke off the same chapatti. His long fingers reminded me of his sister's. Damn, I had to teach her again the next day.
'They don't teach maths in madrasas?' I asked for the sake of conversation and mathematics.
'Not in this one,' Ali's dad said as he spooned in daal. 'Maths and science are forbidden.'
'That's strange. In this day and age,' I said. I thought of a business opportunity, a massive maths tuition chain outside every madrasa.
'Not really,' Ali's dad said. 'Madrasas were not even supposed to be schools.
Their role is confined to teaching Islamic culture. Here, have some more chapattis.'
'And that's why you had him switch schools?' lsh said.
'Yes. I would have done it earlier, but my father was adamant Ali goes to a madrasa. He died six months ago.'
'Oh, I am sorry,' Ish said.
'He was unwell for a long time. I miss him, but not the years of medical expenses that wiped me out,' Ali's father said. He drank a glass of water. 'When I retired from university, I had to leave the campus quarters. The party wanted me to move here. The Belrampur Municipal School was close, so I put him there. Is it good?'
'Yes, we studied there for twelve years,' I said.
'Omi, you didn't eat anything. At least have some fruit,' Ali's dad said, offering him some bananas. Omi took one, examined it, and gobbled it in three bites.
'Why are you so keen to teach Ali cricket?' Ali's dad said.
The question was enough to light up Ish's face. He spoke animatedly. 'Ali has a gift. You see how he blossoms with my training.'
'You play cricket?' Ali's father said.
'In school and now I have a sports store. I've seen players, but none like Ali,'
Ish said passionately.
'But it's just a game. One guy hits a ball with a stick, the rest run around to stop it.'
'It's more than that,' lsh said, offended. 'But if you have never played it, you will never understand.'
Ali's dad said, 'You know I am a member of the secular party?'
'We saw the sign,' I said.
'Would you like to come and visit our party sometime?'
Omi suddenly stood up. 'Do you know who you are talking to? I am Pandit Shastri's son. You have seen the Swami temple in Belrampur or not?' His voice was loud.
Ish pulled Omi's elbow to make him sit down.
'How does that matter, son?' Ali's dad said.
'You are telling me to come visit your party? I am a Hindu.'
'We won't hold that against you,' Ali's father grinned. 'Ours is a secular party.'
'It is not secular. It is suck-ular party. Suck-up politics, that is all you know.
No wonder Muslims like you flock there. Now Ish, we are leaving or not?'
'Omi, behave yourself, we came for Ali.'
I don't care. Let him play marbles and fail maths. If Bittoo Mama finds out I am here...'
'Bittoo is your Mama?' Ali's dad said.
'He is your opposition. And a suck-up party will never win in Belrampur.'
'Calm down, son. Sit down,' Ali's dad said.
Omi sat down and Ish massaged his shoulder. Omi rarely flared up, but when he did, it took several pacifying tactics to get him back to normal.
'Here, have a banana. I know you are hungry,' Ish soothed.
Omi resisted, but took the banana.
'I am also new to secular politics, son. I was in a hardline party,' Ali's dad said and paused to reflect, 'yes, I made a few mistakes too.'
'Whatever. Don't even try to convert people from our party to yours,' Omi said fiercely.
I won't. But why are you so against us? The party has ruled the country for forty years, we must be doing something right.'
'You won't rule Gujarat anymore. Because we can see through your hypocrisy,'
Omi said.
'Omi, stop,' Ish said.
'It's ok, Ish. I rarely get young people to talk to. Let him speak his mind,' Ali's dad said.
I don't have anything to say. Let's go,' Omi said.
'The communal parties aren't perfect either,' Ali's dad said.
I guess even Ali's dad loved to argue.
'There you go. Here is the bias, you call us communal. Your party gives preference to Muslims, but it is secular. Why?' Omi said. 'What preference have we given?' Ali's dad said. 'Why can't you let us make a temple in Ayodhya?' Omi said. 'Because there is a mosque there already'
'But there was a temple there before.' 'That is not proven.'
'It has. The government keeps hiding those reports.'
'Incorrect.'
'Whatever. It is not an ordinary place. We believe it is the birthplace of our lord.
We said, "Give us that site, and we will move the mosque respectfully next door."
But you can't even do that. And we, the majority, can't have that one little request fulfilled. Parekh-ji is right, what hope does a Hindu have in this country?'
'Oh, so it is Parekh-ji. He taught you all this?' Ali's dad almost smirked.
'He didn't teach us. Our cause is labelled communal, it is not Cool to talk about it. But because Hindus don't talk, you think they don't feel anything? Why do you think people listen to Parekh-ji? because somewhere deep down, he strikes a chord. A common chord of resentment is brewing Mr Naseer, even if it is not talked about'
A lot of Hindus vote for us, you should know,' Ali's father said.
'But slowly they will see the truth.'
'Son, India is a free country. You have a right to your views. My only advice is Hinduism is a great religion, but don't get extreme.'
'Hah, don't tell me about being extreme. We know which religion is extreme.'
I wasn't sure if Omi really believed in what he said, or if he was revising lessons given by Parekh-ji. He never spoke about this to Ish and me, but, somewhere deep down, did he also feel like Bittoo Mama? If Ish's passion was cricket and my passion was business, was Omi's passion religion? Or maybe, like most people, he was confused and trying to find his passion. And unlike us who never took him seriously, perhaps Parekh-ji gave him a sense of purpose and importance.
'Can we please make a pact to not discuss politics?' Ish pleaded as he signalled a timeout.
'You still fine with sending your son?' I asked Ali's dad, wondering if he had changed his mind after Omi's outbursts.
'Don't be silly. We are communicating our differences. That is what is missing in this country. It's ok, I trust you with my son.' |
We stood up to leave and reached the door, lsh confirmed the practice time - 7
a.m.
'Come, I will walk you boys to the main road. I like to take a walk after dinner,'
Ali's dad said.
We walked out of Ali's house. Omi held his head down, probably feeling ashamed at having raised his voice. Ali's dad spoke again. 'I am not particularly fond of my own party'
'Really?' I said when no one said anything.
'Yes, because at one level, they too, like all political parties, spend more time playing politics than working for the country. Creating differences, taking sides, causing divides - they know this too well.'
All of us nodded to say goodnight. But Ali's dad was not finished. 'It is like two customers go to a restaurant and the manager gives them only one plate of food.
And if you want to eat, you must fight the other guy. The two guys get busy fighting, and some people tell them to make amends and eat half plate each. In all this, they forget the real issue - why didn't the manager provide-two plates of food?'
I noticed Ali's dad's face. Behind the beard and the moustache, there was a wise man somewhere.
'Good point, the fight is created. That is why I am never big on religion or politics,' I said.
'Once a fight is created, it leads to another and so on. Youl can't really check it,' lsh said.
'You know I used to teach zoology in college,' Ali's dad said. 'And I once read about chimpanzee fights that may be relevant here.'
'Chimpanzee fights?'
'Yes, male chimpanzees of the same pack fight violently with each other - for food, females, whatever. However, after the fight, they go through a strange ritual.
They kiss each other, on the lips.'
Even Omi had to laugh.
'So Hindus and Muslims should kiss?' I said.
'No, the point is this ritual was created by nature. To make sure the fight gets resolved and the pack stays together. In fact, any long-term relationship requires this.'
'Any?' Ish said.
'Yes, take any husband and wife. They will fight, and hurt each other emotionally. However, later they will make up, with hugs, presents or kind understanding words. These reconciliatory mechanisms are essential. The problem in Indian Hindu-Muslim rivalry is not that that one is right and the other is wrong. It is...
'That there are no reconciliatory mechanisms,' Ish said.
'Yes, so that means if politicians fuel a fire, there is no fire brigade to check it.
It sounds harsh, but Omi is right. People feel inside. Just by not talking about it, the differences do not go away. The resentment brews and brews, and doesn't come out until it is too late.'
We had reached the main road and stopped next to a paan shop. I figured out why Ali's dad had come with us. He wanted I lis after-dinner paan.
'Tell Ali to be on time,' Ish said as we waved goodbye.
The image of kissing chimpanzees stayed with me all night.
Ali came on time in a white kurta pajama. He held his maths books in one hand and his cricket bat in the other.
‘Cricket first. Keep the books away,’ Ish said.
The boy looked startled by the sudden instruction. I took him upstairs and opened the vault. Ali chose an empty locker and put down his books. Paresh and Naveen, two other kids had also come for cricket practice. They were both Ali's age but looked stronger.
'Boys, run around the backyard twenty times,' Ish ordered in his drill sergeant voice. His decision on how many rounds the kids must run was arbitrary. I think he enjoyed this first dose of power everyday.
I went upstairs to the vault to look at Ali's books. The notebooks were blank.
The maths textbook was for Class VII, but looked untouched.
I came out to the first floor balcony. The students were on their morning jog.
'What?' Ish said as Ali stopped after five rounds.
'I ... can't ... run,' Ali heaved.
Omi smirked. 'Buddy, people here do hundred rounds. How are you going to run between the wickets? How are you going to field?'
'That is why ... I don't ... like cricket,' Ali said, still trying to catch his breath.
'Can't we just play?' Ali said. 'You have to warm up, buddy,' Ish said. Ali had more than warmed up. His face was hot and red.
After exercises, Ish did catch and field practice. Ish stood in the middle with the bat as everyone bowled to him. He lobbed the ball high and expected everyone to catch. Ali never moved from his position. He could catch only when the ball came close to him.
'All right, let's play,' Ish clapped his hands.'Paresh, you are with me. We'll bowl first. Naveen you be in Ali's team and bat first.'
Naveen took the crease and Ali became the runner. Naveen struck on Paresh's fourth ball. Ish ran to get the ball. It was an easy two runs, but Ali's laziness meant they could score only one. I'aresh took a three-step run-up and bowled. Ali struck, the ball rose and hurled towards the first floor. I ducked in the first floor balcony. The ball went past me and hit the branch manager's office window.
Paresh had the same shocked expression as Ish, when Ali had hit a six off his first ball.
'Hey, what? You hero or something?' Ish ran to Ali. Ali looked puzzled at the reprimand.
'This is not a cricket ground. We are playing in a bank. If the ball goes out and hits someone, who will be responsible? What if things break? Who will pay?' Ish shouted.
Ali still looked surprised.
'That was a good shot,' Paresh said.
'Shut up. Hey Ali, I know you can do that. Learn the other aspects of the game.'
Ali froze, very near tears.
'Ok, listen. I am sorry. I did not mean to...,' Ish said. 'That is all I know. I can't do anything else,' Ali's voice cracked.
'We will teach you. Now why don't you bowl?'
Ali didn't bat anymore that day. Ish kept the practice simple for the next half an hour and tried not to scream. The latter was tough, especially because he was an animal when it came to cricket.
'Get your books from upstairs. We will study in the backyard,' I told a sweaty
'Ali.
He brought his books down and opened the first chapter of his maths book. It was on fractions and decimals.
Omi brought two polypacks of milk. 'Here,' he gave one to Ish.
'Thanks,' Ish said, and tore it open with his mouth.
'And here, one more,' Omi said.
'For what?' Ish said, after taking a big sip.
'Give it to your stick insect,' Omi said. 'Have you seen his arms? They are thinner than the wicket. You want to make him a player or not?'
'You give him yourself,' Ish smiled.
Omi shoved the milk packet near Ali and left.
'You have done some fractions before?' I said.
He nodded.
I told him to simplify 24/64 and he started dividing the numerator and denominator by two again and again. Of course, he lacked the intuition he had in hitting sixes in mathematics. However, his father had tried his best.
'See you at the shop,' Ish told me and turned to Ali, 'Any questions on cricket, champ?'
'Why do people run between the wickets to score runs?' Ali said, nibbling the end of his pen.
'That's how you score. It's the rule,' Ish said.
'No, not that way. I mean why run across and risk getting out for one or two runs when you can hit six with one shot?'
Ish scratched his head. 'Keep your questions to maths,' he said and left.
'I have figured it out. The young generation from the Sixties to the Eighties is the worst India ever had. These thirty years are an embarrassment for India,' Ish said as we lay down in the shop.
We had spread a mat on the shop's floor. A nap was a great way to kill time during slow afternoons. It was exam time and business was modest. Omi snoozed while Ish and 1 had our usual philosophical discussion.
'Not all that bad,' I said. 'We won the World Cup in 1983.'
'Yeah, we played good cricket, but that's about it. We remained poor, kept fighting wars, electing the same control freaks who did nothing for the country.
People's dream job was a government job, yuck. Nobody took risks or stuck their neck out. Just one corrupt banana republic marketed by the leaders as this new socialist, intellectual nation. Tanks and thinktanks, nothing else,' Ish said.
'And guess who was at the top? Which party? Secular nonsense again,' Omi joined in, opening one eye.
'Well, your right-wing types didn't exactly get their act together cither,' Ish said.
'We will, man. We are so ready. You wait and see, elections next year and Gujarat is ours,' Omi said.
'Anyway, screw politics. My point is, that the clueless Sixties to Eighties generation is now old, and running the country. But the Nineties and the, what do they say...'
'Zeroes.'
'Yeah, whatever. The Zeroes think different. But we are being run by old fogeys who never did anything worthwhile in their primetime. The Doordarshan generation is running the Star TV generation,' Ish said.
I clapped. 'Wow, wisdom is free at the Team India Cricket Shop.'
'Fuck off. Can't have a discussion around here. You think only you are the intellectual type. I am just a cricket coach,' Ish grumbled.
'No, you are the intellectual, bro. I am the sleepy type. Now can we rest until the next pesky kid comes,' I said, closing my eyes. Our nap was soon interrupted.
'Lying down, well done. When rent is cheap, shopkeepers Will sleep,' Bittoo Mama's voice made us all sit up. Now what the hell was he doing here?
'It is slow this time of the day, Mama,' Omi said as he pulled out a stool. He signalled me to get tea. I opened the cash box and took some coins.
'Get something to eat as well,' Mama said. I nodded. Now who the fuck pays for Mama's snacks? The rent is not that cheap, I thought as I left the shop with a fake smile. I returned with tea for everyone.
Mama was telling Omi, 'You come help me if it is slow in the afternoons. Your friends can come too. Winning a seat is not that easy. These secular guys are good.'
'What do you want me to do, Mama?' Omi said as he took the tea glasses off the crate and passed them around.
'We have to mobilise young people. Tell them our philosophy, warn them against the hypocrites. During campaign time, we need people to help us in publicity, organising rallies. There is work to be done.'
'I'll come next time, Mama,' Omi said.
'Tell others, too. If you see young people at the temple, tell them about our party. Tell them about me.'
I stood up, disgusted. Yes, I could see the point in targeting temple visitors, given the philosophy of the party. But when someone comes to pray, should they be pitched to join politics? I opened the accounts register to distract myself.
'You will come?' Mama turned to Ish.
'Someone has to man the shop. At least one person, even if it is slow,' Ish said.
Smartass, that was supposed to be my excuse. 'And you, Govind?' Mama said.
'I am not into that sort of stuff. I am agnostic, remember?' I said, still reading the register.
'But this isn't about religion. It is about justice. And considering we gave you this shop at such a low rent, you owe US something.'
'It is not your shop. Omi's mother gave it to us. And given the location, the rent we pay is fair,' I said.
I alone am enough, Mama. Dhiraj will come as well, right?' Omi said, to break the ever escalating tension between Mama and me. Dhiraj was Mama's fourteen-year-old son and Omi's cousin.
'Look at his pride! This two-bit shop and a giant ego,' Mama said. 'If Omi wasn't there, I'd get you kicked out.'
'There will be no need. We are leaving soon anyway,' I said without thinking. I couldn't help it. I wanted to tell him only at l lie last minute, just before we moved to the Navrangpura mall. Hut I was sick of his patronising tone.
'Oh, really? Where, you will pull a hand-cart with these bats and balls?' Mama said.
'We are moving to Navrangpura mall. You can take your shop back then.'
'What?' Mama exclaimed.
'We will make the deposit next month. Possession when it opens in three months. This two-bit shop is about to move to a prime location sports store,' I said.
Mama's mouth remained open. I had dreamt of this expression lor months.
'Really?' Mama turned to Omi.
Omi nodded.
'How much is the deposit?' Mama said.
'Forty thousand. We saved it,' I said.
'You pay one thousand a month for this shop. If you were paying the market rent of two, you wouldn't be able to save this much,' Mama said.
I kept quiet.
'What? Now you are quiet, eh?' Mama stood up.
What was I supposed to do? Jump and grab his feet? I was also giving his nephew employment and an equal share in my business. Sure, Omi was a friend, but given his qualifications, nobody would give him that stature. A cheaper rent was the least he could do.
'Let me know when you want me, Mama,' Omi said.