Ish nodded as the Australian batsman reverted to the crease. Ganguly had kept the winning score of 384 required by the Australians at a tantalising level -
difficult yet possible. Australians could have played safe and taken the game to a draw, but that is not how Australians play.
'Hey Mr Mathematician, has it happened? Has it ever happened that the side facing a follow-on actually won the match?' Ish said. He signalled Omi to start urgent, special prayers.
I pulled out the cricket data book from the top shelf. We hardly sold any of these, but the publisher insisted we keep a few copies 'Ok, so it has happened earlier,' I said after a ten-minute search.
'How many times?' Ish said, eyes glued to screen.
'Twice,' I said and noticed Omi close his eyes and chant silently.
'See, it happens. Twice in how long?' Ish said.
'Twice in the last hundred and ten years.'
Ish turned to me. 'Only twice?'
'Once in 1894 and then in 1981,' I read out loud from the page. 'Both times, England won against, guess who, Australia. Sorry buddy, but statistically speaking, this match is so over.'
Ish nodded.
'Like the probability is so low that I'd say if India wins, I will sponsor the Goa trip,' I joked.
'Or like if India wins, you will start believing in God?' Omi played along.
'Yep,' I said.
I told Omi to stop praying too much. A draw would be fine. Ganguly probably did not know the odds. The worst would be if Australia did score the runs.
'161/3,' Omi read Australia's score at tea, which coincided with our own break.
'Let's clean up the shop, guys. The match gets over in a few hours. We may have some customers,' I said. 'A draw is fine. We will take the Australians another time.' Ish reluctantly picked up the mop.
Day 5 - Post-tea
The Indian team must have mixed something special in their tea. Australia came back and continued to cruise at 166/3. Then came five deadly overs that included a hattrick from Harbhajan Singh. Next stop, Australia 174/8. In eight runs, half of the Australian team was gone.
'Ish, don't fucking stand in front of the TV,' I said. But Ish wasn't standing, only jumping.
'Fuck your statistics man, fuck the probability,' Ish shouted in jubilation. I don't like it when people insult mathematics, but I gave Ish the benefit of doubt.
You are allowed a few celebratory curses when you witness history.
Pretty soon, the last two batsmen were scalped as well. Harbhajan, the Surd that Ish kissed on screen (and left saliva marks all over), took six wickets, and India won the match in the most spectacular way ever.
In Eden Gardens, every placard, every poster and anything combustible besides people was on fire. It was impossible to hear the TV commentary, as the crowds roared everytime an Indian team member's name was announced.
Ish stood tall, his hands on his hips and looked at the screen. I could see genuine love in his eyes. Every now and then, I had seen Ish watch the men in blue as if he wished he was one of them. But today, he didn't have any of his own regrets. I think more than wanting to be them, he wanted them to win. He saw Harbhajan jump and jumped along. He clapped when Ganguly came to accept the trophy.
'Two balls quickly please, we have a match,' a boy plonked a fifty-rupee note on the counter. The first customer of the great Indian Cricket Season had arrived.
I folded my hands and looked at the sky. Thank you God, for the miracles you bestow on us.
'We have come to offer solutions, not just sell some balls,' I started.
I had delivered my first line perfect. The preparations until two last night better be worth it, I told myself. We were in the principal's office in the Kendriya Vidyalaya. The office wasin a poor state, with rickety furniture and dusty trophies. Like most government offices and buildings old files piled up high on several cupboards. The lady principal and six teachers sat around a semicircular wooden table. It must be miserable to work here, I thought. It must be miserable to work for anyone else, I thought again.
'Go on,' the principal said, as my pause for effect became too long.
'So we have a district-level champion player who can design a package based on your needs and budgets,' I pointed at Ish and every teacher looked at him.
I passed out sheets that estimated the school's monthly needs based on eight hundred students. I had them laser printed at a computer shop for three rupees a page. A peon brought samosas and tea for everyone.
'How much will this cost?' the administrative head said.
'We did some calculations. Your average cost will be ten thousand a month,' I said.
'That's too much. This is a Kendriya Vidyalaya. Not a private school,' the administrative head said. He shut the notebook and pushed it towards me.
I took a deep breath. I had thought of an answer for this scenario. 'Sir, we can scale down.'
Ish interupped me, 'It is twelve rupees per child a month. Don't you think sport deserves as much as the cost of a fountain pen?'
The teachers looked up from their notebooks and exchanged glances.
'Frankly, no. We get judged on our results. The pass percentage and the first divisions. We have limited resources,' the head said.
'If everyone thinks that way, where will India's sportsmen come from?' Ish said.
'From rich families.' The head took out his glasses and wiped ihem calmly.
'But talent is not distributed only among the rich. We have to expand the pool.'
'Do you know half our classrooms leak in the rain,' the head said. 'Should we get shiny balls or fix the leaks?' He stood up to leave.
I mentally said the F-word a few times. C'mon Govind, save this. You need business, any business,
'Sir, we can do a plan for five thousand a month,' I said.
Ish raised a hand to keep me quiet. I could have killed him.
Ish stood up, to match the admin head's height. 'What are you here to do?'
'To give children an education,' the head said with a straight face.
'And all the education is in these books they read under the plastered roofs?
What about the education that comes from sports?'
'What?' the admin head said.
'Sit down Jitin sir,' the principal said. 'Let us hear what they have to say.'
Jitin-sir, I mentally noted his name as he sat down again.
'Are you teaching your kids a subject called teamwork? Are you teaching them how to chase a goal with passion? Are you teaching them discipline? Are you teaching them focus?' Ish asked. I stamped his foot, signalling him to sit down.
But he ignored me.
'What are you talking about?' This from one of the teachers,
'Sports teaches them all this. And tell me, who will be more successful in life?
The kid who knows all the chemical formulae or the one who knows teamwork, passion, discipline and focus?'
'Sit down, son,' the principal said. Ish took his seat but did not keep quiet.
'I'm not setding for a scaled-down version. Eight hundred kids and they want to keep them locked in classes all day. We will chase useless first divisions but not spend two samosa plates worth of money on sports.'
He pointed to the samosas on the plate. All the teachers stopped eating midway. The pause continued until the principal spoke again. 'Fine, ten thousand is ok for a trial. Let's see how it goes. You are on for six months.'
We stood up to shake hands. Six educated, fifty-somethings stood up to shake hands with me. Yes, I had become a real businessman.
'If this works, why don't you come to a meeting at our Belapur school?' the oldest gentleman in the group said.
'Oh, yes. This is Mr Bhansali, headmaster of the Belapur school. He came for a visit, so I asked him to sit in this meeting,' the principal introduced.
I took his card. I mentally made a note to order business cards and wondered if I could do the fist pumping now or save it for later.
Eleven
Goa, wow! Someone has a good life,' Vidya said with a pin in her mouth. She stood on a stool in her room, fixing a poster of Aamir Khan in Dil Chahta Hai on the wall. I, her tutor, held the pin tray. So much for my position of authority.
'Goa is your brother's idea. I really don't need this break from work,' I said.
'Of course, you do,' she said as she stepped down. 'It will help you get over the earthquake.'
'What will help me get over the earthquake is work, and the money I make to pay back those loans. This trip is costing us three thousand bucks.' I came back to her desk.
She took her seat, opened her book and slapped each page as she turned it over.
'Can you act more interested?'
'I am not a good actor,' she said.
"Very funny. So did you do the calculus chapter in your so-called self-study mode.'
'I did self-study as you did not have time for me,' she said.
'Anyway, I don't understand it. As usual, I suck. What is all this "dx dt", and why are they so many scary symbols?'
'Vidya, you are appearing for medical entrance. Don't talk like...,' I stopped mid-sentence. I opened the calculus chapter. Some spoilt brats have to be spoonfed even the basics.
'Don't talk like what?'
'Like a duffer. Now pay attention.'
'I am not a duffer. Just go to Goa, manage your business, make money, insult people who don't salivate for maths and don't make any time for friends. I can manage fine.'
The last word 'fine' had the loudest volume.
'Excuse me. Is there a problem?' I said after a pause.
'Yes, calculus problems. Can we please start?'
I explained calculus to her for an hour. 'Try the exercises in the end. And read the next chapter by the time I come back,' I said as I finished class.
She kept quiet.
'Vidya, why is it that sometimes making you talk is like extracting teeth.'
I am like this only, you have a problem? Only you have the right to ignore people?' she threw back. Her eyes turned moist and her long fingers trembled.
Before moisture turned to rain, I had to exit.
'I'll be back in four days,' I said as I headed to the door. 'Who cares?' she said from behind me.
'Eat on time and don't stay up late,' said Ali's dad as the train signal went off.
Ali was too excited to care for his dad's instructions. He reserved the top berth for himself and climbed up. Omi said his pre-journey prayers.
'Ali's ammi doesn't care. He is a piece of my heart,' Ali's dad said and his eyes became moist. 'Sometimes I wish I had not married again.'
I wrapped the cash and tickets in plastic and placed it inside my socks.
Travelling with a twelve-year-old, and two other grownup kids, this responsibility had to fall on me.
'It is ok, chacha. See now you can go to your election rally in Baroda,' I said.
'That's right. I cannot leave Ali with his ammi for four days.' 'Are you getting a ticket this year,' I said as I chained our suitcase to the lower berth. The train began to move.
'No, no. I am not that senior in the party. But I will be helping l he Belrampur candidate. Ali beta,' don't jump between berths, Ali...,' his voice trailed off as the train picked speed.
Ish pulled Ali's arm and drew him into his lap. 'Say bye properly,' Ish said.
'Khuda Hafiz, abba,' Ali called out as the train left for sunnier climes.
'Organisers. We have to meet the organisers. Let us go in,' I said. A hairy arm stopped me. The arm belonged to a security guard outside the VIP stand.
'Thirty thousand people here want to go in there. Who are you? Autograph hunters?'
'Say it,' Ish said to me in a hushed voice.
'Get your senior. I want to talk to him.'
'Why?' the hairy guard said.
I flashed out a card. It said 'Zuben Singh, Chairman, Wilson Sport,' Pandit-ji had once met the chairman of the biggest sports company in India. I had borrowed the card from his trunk.
I own Wilson Sports. We want to talk about some endorsement deals. Now will you cooperate or...'
The security guard broke into a sweat and called his manager, I repeated the story to him. He called the senior-most security person who came in a suit. I made a fake phone call pretending to talk about ten-crore-rupees business orders. He remained sceptical, I ended another call in Gujarati and his face softened.
'Gujarati?' he said.
I stared at him, trying to decipher the better answer. In India you don't know whether someone will like you or hate you because you are from a certain place.
'Yes,' I said guardedly.
'Oh, how are you?' he said in Gujarati. Thank God for India's various regional clubs.
I just landed from Ahmedabad,' I said.
'Why have you come without an appointment?' he said.
'I came to see the match. I saw the Australians play and thought maybe we could find a brand ambassador.'
'Why Australian? Why don't you take an Indian?'
A totally irrelevant question, but it hinted at his growing belief is us. 'Can't afford the Indian team. The good players are too expensive. The bad ones, well, tell me, will you buy a bat endorsed by Ajit Agarkar?'
The guard nodded. He spoke into a microphone hanging from his ear and turned to us.
'One of you stay with us,' the security head said.
'He will,' I said and pointed to Omi.
'One guard will accompany you. What about the kid? He has to go?'
'Oh yes, he is in the campaign. You see, we are doing a coach and student theme.'
The gates creaked open. The guards frisked us to the point of molestation.
Finally, we made it to the enclosure. We walked through the posh, red fibre-glass seats and sat down in an empty row. We had the best view in the stadium. We came after the Indian innings had ended. Australia would bat now. Apart from the batsmen on
crease, their team would be in the stands soon.
'Omi will be ok?' Ish whispered. I nodded.
'We will wait for the Australian team to come, ok?' I said to the security guard lest he became suspicious again. He nodded.
'Are you from Gujarat?' Ish asked him.
'No,' the guard said. He looked upset, as if a Gujarati girl broke his heart.
'Hey, look slowly five rows behind,' Ish said.
I turned. There was a young Sikh boy in a burgundy turban wearing the Indian team dress.
'Sharandeep Singh, the twelfth man. He may be in the team noon. Should I go shake his hand?'
'Don't be nuts. One suspicion you are star-struck and they will kick our asses out of here,' I said.
'Can I take that?' Ali said as waiters in white uniforms walked a round with soft drinks.
'Pretend you own a two-hundred-crore company. Go for it Ali,' I said.
Soon we were all drinking Fanta in tall glasses. Thank God lor sponsors.
Murmurs rippled in our stand. Everyone turned back to see men in yellow dresses emerge from the dressing room. Ish clutched my hand tight as he saw the Australian team members. They came and sat two rows ahead of us.
'That is Steve Waugh, the Australian captain,' Ish whispered in my ear. I could hear his heart beat through his mouth.
I nodded and a deep breath. Yes, everyone was there - Bevan, Lehman, Symonds and even McGrath. But we didn't come here to check out the Australian team like awestruck fans. We were he for a purpose.
'Ish bhaiya, there is Ponting, in the pads. He is one down,' Ali's scream ruined my effort to act placid.
A few people noticed, but looked away as Ali was a kid. True VIPs never screamed at stars even though they liked to hang around them.
A young white man, whom I did not recognise came and sat one row ahead of us. He wore the Australian team shirt, but had a pair of casual khaki shorts on.
With curly hair and deep blue eyes, he could not be more than twenty.
The VIPs clapped as Adam Gilchrist hit a six. In the general stalls, there was a silence of misery. Ish wanted to curse the bowler, but sense prevailed and he kept silent.
The Australian team hi-fived at the six. The curly haired boy-man in f&nt pumped his fists.
Ali finished his third Fanta.
'Go talk. I have done my job,' I prompted Ish.
'After a few overs, let the match settle,' Ish said.
Australia lost their first wicket of Hayden at a score of seventy and there was a dignified applause in the VIP enclosure. Ponting was cheered by teammates as he went out to take the crease. Srinath dismissed Ponting three balls later.
Ish could not contain himself any longer. 'Yes, go Srinath go,' Ish cheered as I stopped him from standing up on his chair. A few people smirked at the quality of lowlife making it to the VIP stands these days. Bevan, already padded up, left for his innings. The curly haired boy-man turned around to look at Ish.
'Go, India go. We can do this. Series win, c'mon we are 2-2,' Ish said to himself.
The boy-man stared at us. Ish became conscious.
'It's ok. Good on ya, mate!' he said.
'Sorry, we...,' I said.
'I'd do the same thing if it were my team,' he said. Here was a chance to talk.
Maybe he was a team member's brother or something.
I nudged Ish with my elbow.
'Hi,' Ish said. 'I'm Ishaan, we have come from Ahmedabad in Gujarat. And he is Zubin, he owns Wilson sports. And this here
is Ali.'
'Good to see you Hi, I am Fred. Fred Li.' 'You play in the team?' I asked Fred.
'Not right now, back problem. But yes, started playing for Australia a year ago.'
'Batsman?'
'Bowler, pace,' Fred answered.
'Fred, we need to talk. About this boy. We really need to talk,' Ish said, his breath short with excitement.
'Sure mate, I'll come on over,' Fred said and lunged over to sit next to Ish.
The security guard relaxed as he saw us with someone white. We must be important enough after all.
Ish finished his story in an hour.
'You want me to test him? Mate, you should show him to your selectors or something.'
'Trust me, if Indian selectors were up to the job, we wouldn't lose so many matches to a country with one-fiftieth the people. No offence.'
'We are a tough team to beat. There are several reasons for that,' Fred said slowly.
'Well, that is why I want you to test him. I have groomed him for almost a year now, and will continue to do so. We travelled twenty-four hours to meet someone in your team because I trust you.'
'And what would that do? What if I told he was good?'
'If you say the boy has world-class potential, I will give up my life to get him out there, I swear. Please, just bowl a few balls to him.'
'Mate, if I started doing that to everyone that came along...'
'I beg you, Fred. Sportsman to sportsman. Or rather, small sportsman to big sportsman.'
Fred stared at Ish with unblinking blue eyes.
'I played for my district, too. Never had the guidance to go further,' Ish continued. 'I wasted my studies, fought with my parents, threw away my career for this game. This means everything to me. Not everyone coming to you will be like that.'
Fred smiled at that. 'Mate, you Indians are good at this emotional stuff. Trust me, I gave up a lot for this game, too.'
'So you agree?'
'Four balls, no more. After the match. Stay nearby,' Fred said and loped back to his seat. 'And you better hope Australia wins so I remain in a good mood to keep my promise.'
Ish's smile froze. I can't do that. I can't wish against India.'
'Kidding mate. You guys are better at emotions. But we take the-piss better,'
Fred winked.
Half the Aussie lingo was beyond me, but we smiled anyway.
'Call our friend, we need him,' I said firmly to the guard.
Two minutes later, Omi joined us. He came in so thirsty he grabbed Ali's drink.
'What the hell were you guys doing? 1 waited two hours?'
'Making friends,' I said, smiling back at Fred as Australia hit a four.
Australia won the match, but Ish didn't have time for remorse. He had to pad up Ali.
We came to the ground half an hour after the final match ceremonies.
'He is a pace bowler.' Ish turned to Ali, 'Do you want a helmet?'
Ali shook his head.
'Wear it.' Ish strapped the helmet on to Ali's head.
'Ready, mate?' Fred called from the bowler's end.
Ali nodded. Ish took the wicketkeeper's place. Fred took a ten-step run-up with a ferocious expression. The ball zoomed past Ali. Ish stepped back to catch it.
'Gifted?' Fred said to me as he prepared another run-up.
'Hey, what's up Ali?' Ish said.
'I cannot see. The ball is white. And the foreigner makes scary faces.'
'Ignore the face. Look at the ball,' Ish said as he pulled out the helmet. Omi ran to adjust the black screen on the boundary.
Fred bowled a perfect second delivery. Ali struck this time. The bat deflected the ball forty-five degrees. The ball stayed low but did not bounce until it crossed the boundary. Six.
'Bloody hell! Where did that come from?' Fred said.
'Two more balls,' I said. I was aware of what was happening inside Fred's head.
The feeling of being trampled, mutiliated and vanquished by a mere boy had only begun.
Fred's third ball went for a four and the last one for a six. His face looked more humiliated than scary. And no matter how many times he said 'mate', his tone had turned from calm to anxious. He looked like someone who had been shaken of all his convictions about cricket.
'How did he do that?' Fred muttered, tugging at his curly hair.
We looked at Ali. He sat down on the floor and held his head.
'You ok?' Ish said. The pressure had gotten to Ali. 'What's up?' Fred said.
'Being extra focused takes a lot out of him. He needs to recoup after a few big hits. I taught him to play a full innings in the neighbourhood but today...'
'Stress, mate, all that travel and you shove a scary white guy in his face,' Fred said.
'He has to face this,' Ish said. He bent down to remove Ali's pads.
'Yep, needs stamina and training, but will go places,' Fred said.
'You think so?' 'That's Fred's verdict.'
'Hey guys can you hang on, I need to make a call.' Fred said and stepped away to dial a number on his cellphone. I couldn't hear Fred but he had a ten-minute animated conversation before he returned to us.
'Thanks, Fred,' Ish said. I could see the pride in Ish's face.
Goodonya. Why don't you guys bring him down to Australia for a while? Hang out and practice in my academy,' Fred invited like going to Australia was as simple as taking an auto to Navrangpura. 'Really?' Ish said.
Yeah right, I thought. We had scraped to get second-class tickets for Goa. We were leaving the same night to save money. Yet, Ish wanted to go to Australia.
'We can't, Fred,' I intervened.
'Why?' Fred asked.
'Can't afford it. I don't own a cricket business.' 'What?'
'I run a small cricket shop. We lied to get into your enclosure for this.'
The air became tense.
'Holy Moly,' Fred smiled, 'You guys! Some gumption. Anyway, I am no rich guy either like your Indian team players. So that's cool by me. But you could have got into trouble there if caught.'
'I had to make sure Ali gets tested by the best,' Ish said.
'Then get him to Australia. I leave India tomorrow. How big is your business?'
'It is kind of small,' Ish said. 'And tickets are expensive.'
'Well, one of my ex-girlfriends works with Qantas. Let me see what I can do,'
Fred said as we walked back. 'It is just Ish and Ali right?'
'That's fine,' I said quickly.
'No, we are partners Fred. Either we all come together or not. We need four tickets,' Ish said.
'Hang on,' Fred said as he stepped away to make another call.
'All right,' Fred said as he returned, 'I can do four tickets.' 'Wow,' Ish exclaimed,
'look Ali, this is because of you.'
Ali smiled.
'But July is better,' Fred said, 'it is winter in Australia and tickets are cheaper.'
'July works,' I said. 'We can't come in the summer vacation, that's peak sales season.'
I figured apart from the tickets, there would be expense on passports, visas and living expenses during the trip. I needed some time to save for that. I didn't have to do it, but it's not every day you get to go international.
Twelve
There is some junk around here. But it will be a great store for your shop,'
Mama said, opening the door of a dilapidated godown.
Sunlight hit the room for the first time in years. Two rats scurried across on unsteady legs. We navigated our way through empty gunnybags, stacks of bricks and abandoned masonry.
'It will take weeks to organise this. Omi, we will need six lights on the ceiling,' I said.
'It's fifteen feet by fifteen feet. A good size,' Mama said.
'Mama, what rent do you want for this?' I said.
I had decided to go into wholesale business. I was quite certain that the recent cricket series would increase demand bigtime. As long as I could secure goods on credit, I could make money.
'Nonsense. A father does not take rent from his son,' Mama said.
I hated such form of benevolence. I had estimated the godown's rent as half of the shop. It had no frontage to make it suitable for retail.
'And speaking of sons, I want you to meet my son today,' Mama said and shouted.'Dhiraj! Dhiraj!' Dhiraj, Mama's fourteen-year-old son, came running from the temple compound. His Spiderman T-shirt and jeans contrasted with the plate of vermillion and saffron paste that he was carrying in his hand.
'Baba, here you are. Let me put the tilak,' Dhiraj said.
Dhiraj put a tilak on Mama's forehead. 'Meet your brothers, Mama said.
'Govind, Ishaan and, of course, Omi.'
'Hi,' I said.
'The cricket shop owners. I love cricket,' the boy said in a voice that had just broken into adolescence.
'So young, yet he helps me with my campaign after