sonu kumar
Posted On: 09-04-2019
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Half Girlfriend

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Two

If she weren’t tall I wouldn’t have noticed her. It is funny how her
height shaped my life.
If she had been four inches shorter, my eyes may never have met
hers and everything would have been different. If I had not been
bored and arrived at the basketball court an hour earlier, it would have
been different. If someone had not missed a pass and the ball had not
come out of the court and hit me on the head, I would have had a
different life.Tiny bumps in time shape our lives, even though we
spend hours trying to make long-term plans. I had no plan to meet the
love of my life on a basketball court. I was there only to kill time and
because I had nowhere else to go.
A small crowd of students, mostly men, had gathered around the
Stephen’s basketball court. Girls’ sports trials always garnered an
audience—-there was no better excuse to check them out. Everyone
spoke in English. I didn’t speak at all. I straightened my back and
stared at the court with a sense of purpose, mainly to come across as if
I belonged there. As ten girls came on to the court, the crowd cheered.
Five of the girls belonged to the existing college team; the other five
had applied for admission under the sports quota.
Piyush came to the centie of the court, ball in hand and whistle in
mouth. As he blew it, the girls sprang into action.
Five feet, nine inches is tall for an Indian girl. It is tall even for a
girl in a basketball team. Her long neck, long arms and long legs held
every guy’s attention. She was a part of the sports-quota applicants’
team. She wore black fitted shorts and a sleeveless sports vest with ‘R’
printed in yellow at the back. She collected the ball within seconds.
She wore expensive Nike ankle-length sneakers, the kind I had seen
NBA players wear on TV. Her diamond earrings twinkled in die sun.
She dribbled the ball with her right hand. I noticed she had long,
beautiful fingers.
‘Ten points for looks, coach,’ a senior student called out as Rpassed the ball. The crowd tittered. Well, the men did. The wisecrack
distracted R for a moment, but she resumed her game as if she was
used to such comments.
The sports-quota girls played well individually. However, they
didn’t play well as a team.
R dribbled the ball and reached the opposition’s basket. Three
opponents surrounded her. R passed the ball to her teammate, who
missed the pass.
‘What the...’ R screamed. Too late.The rival team took the ball,
passed it to the other end and scored a basket.
R cursed herself, inaudible to anyone tise. She then signalled to
three of her teammates to cover specific opponents and jogged across
die court.When she went past me, I saw her sweaty, flushed face from
up close. We made eye contact for nanoseconds, perhaps only in my
imagination. But in those nanoseconds something happened to my
heart.
No, I wouldn’t say I fell in love with her. I wouldn’t even say I felt
attracted to her. But I felt something deep inside, strong enough for my
heart to say, You have to talk to this girl at least once in your life.
‘Babes, cover her. I said cover’ R screamed. Her state of mind was
as far from mine as possible. She passed the ball to her teammate, who
missed scoring a basket again.
‘What are you guys doing?’ she shouted in perfect English. I felt
nervous; how would I ever speak to her? Her face was grimy, dust
sticking to her left cheek and forehead. Yet, it was one of the most
beautiful faces I had seen in my entire life. Sometimes it is hard to
explain why you find a person beautiful. Was it her narrow face,
perfectly in line with her slender body? Was it her flawless skin and
complexion, which had turned from cream to pink to red? Or was it
not about her looks at all? Was it her passion, her being totally
immersed in the game? I didn’t know.
Of course, I never actually thought it would lead to anything. She
seemed too posh to even give me a second glance.Destiny, however, had other plans. For why else, in the seventh
minute of the first half, would the college team captain overthrow the
ball outside the court, where it hit my head as I stood on the sidelines?
Why would I grab the ball in reflex? More than anything, why would
R come to collect it?
‘Ball, please,’ she said, panting. I felt paralysed.
‘I said ball, please,’ she said. I held on to the ball for an extra half
second. I wanted to look at her a bit longer. I wanted to take a
snapshot of her sweaty face and store it in my mind’s camera for life.
I threw the ball at her. She caught it with ease and looked at me.
She could tell from my throw that I knew the game.
‘Change your point shooter,’ I said. For some reason, I had
managed to speak in correct English this time.
‘What?’ she said. She surveyed me from top to bottom. I now
wished I had worn better clothes. I had not changed out of my
interview shirt and pants, both of which the tailor back home had
stitched too loose for me. I looked out of place on the basketball court.
With my folder of certificates, I resembled a hero from those Hindi
films of the seventies—the one who could not find a job. I have a
Bihar state team T-shirt, I wanted to tell her. Of course, in the middle
of a game, and as a first conversation, this was a terrible idea.
‘Your shooter is useless,’ I said.
The referee whistled to commence the game. She turned away and
forgot about me faster than her throw reached her team member.
‘Here, pass it to me,’ R shouted as she reached the opposition basket.
Her point shooter held the ball and looked around, confused.
‘I said here’ R screamed so loudly that pigeons flew off the trees in
the lawns.The point shooter passed the ball, R caught it and took a
shot from well beyond the three-point line.
Whoosh! 'The ball went through the basket. The crowd cheered.
They already had a soft spot for R anyway.
The referee announced a break at the ten-minute mark. The college
team led 12-5. R huddled with her team, figuring out their strategy forthe next half. As her team meeting ended, she wiped her face and neck
with a towel.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I forgot I had my own trial in less
than an hour. I only wanted to figure out a way to talk to her a bit
more. Maybe I could tell her she played well. I wondered how to tell
her about my state-level game without coming across as a show-off.
And, more than anything, how would I go beyond five words of
English?
She caught me staring. I wanted to kill myself. She continued to
jgnli directly at me, the towel still around her neck.Then she walked up
to me. A shiver ran down my spine.
I didn’t mean to stare, I wanted to tell her. I wondered if she
would scream at me like she had done during the match.
Flunks,’ R said.
She had walked across the court, to thank me?
She was breathing hard. My eyes were glued to hers.
Look away, Madhav, I scolded myself and turned away.
'That was a good tip,’ she said to my left profile.
'Welcome... You...are...good,’ I said. Uttering each word was like
hitting a brick.
'Any other suggestions for the second half? We’re losing.’
Yes,’ I said, turning to face her again. I wanted to give her more up
but couldn’t in English.‘You speak Hindi?’ I said.
She looked baffled. Nobody in St. Stephen’s had ever asked
anyone that question.
‘Well, yeah, of course,’ she said.
‘Okay,’ I said, and explained in my language,‘they have two strong
players. Cover them tight. Don’t fix formations for your players. Two
of yours should move with them. You become the shooter. Of the
other two, one is your defence, the other supports you.’
The whistle blew again.
‘Got to go,’ she said. ‘Catch you later.’
I didn’t understand what ‘catch you’ meant. Did it mean she wouldcatch what I had said later? Did it mean she didn’t understand what I
had' said? Or did she mean she actually wanted to catch me? Like, she
liked me so much she wanted to catch me? Of course, this seemed
unlikely. But then I had given her good tips and you never know with
these modern people.You see, my mind has this overdrive switch,
especially when it’s excited. It starts to get ahead of itself and thinks
useless thoughts when I could actually be doing something
constructive, like watching the game or finding out that girl’s name.
The game restarted. The referee’s whistle, the sound of the players’
shoes as they run across the court, the shrieks, the yells and the cries
of victory and defeat—few things in life match the excitement of a
sports court. Basketball, underrated as it might be in this country,
packs it all in half an hour. I cannot understand why Indians don’t play
this game more. It doesn’t take up too much space, doesn’t need much
equipment and a big group can play it all at once.
‘Yes!’ she screamed as she scored a basket.The hall went in without
touching the ring, making the most beautiful sound in a basketball
game—the soft ‘chhciak’ when only the net touches the ball. S\?eat
dripped off her face as she ran back to her side of the court.
The match ended 21-15. The newbies had lost, but still kept pace
with the college team—a considerable achievement. R, however,
seemed disappointed. She wiped her face with a towel and picked up
her blue Nike kitbag. A few boys tried to make eye contact with her
but she ignored them, i wanted to speak to her. However, no boy from
Dumraon has ever had the guts to approach a high-class girl from
Delhi. I wanted her to watch my game.There was nothing else I could
impress her with. Coach Piyush went up to her. They became
engrossed in a conversation.This was my chance. Underconiident guys
need a go-between to speak to a girl. I ran up to Piyush.
‘My trial now. I change, sir?’ I said to him.
Piyush turned to me, surprised, I don’t know whether at my
English or my stupid question or both.
‘Aise kheliyega? Trial-va hai ya mazaak?’ he said in Bhojpuri, noteven Hindi. He meant: will you play like this? Is it a trial or a joke?
I regretted knowing him.
‘I...I...’
Then R interrupted. ‘Oh, you are also sports quota?’
Piyush looked at both of us, surprised at the familiarity.
‘Yes,’ I said, one of the few English responses I could give with
confidence.
‘State-level player. Watch this Bihari’s game and go,’ Piyush said
and guffawed before he left.
I could have taken offence. He had used the word ‘Bihari’ as if to
say 'Watch, even this poor little Bihari can play’, despite being a Bihari
himself. However, he had helped me without knowing it, so I was
grateful. She looked at me and smiled.
‘No wonder you gave those tips.’ she said.‘State level, my God,’
‘What is your good name?’ I blurted out, without any context or
sense of timing. Also, who on earth says ‘good name’ these days? Only
losers like me who translate ‘shubh naarn’ in Hindi to English.
‘Good or bad, only one name. Riya,’ she said and smiled.
Riya. I loved her short little name. Or maybe when you start liking
people, you start liking everything about them—from their sweaty
eyebrows to their little names.
‘Your name?’she said. For the first time in my life a girl had asked
my name.
‘Myself Madhav Jha.’
That was my reflexive response. It was only later that I learnt that
people who construct sentences like that sound low class.You see, we
think in Hindi first and simply translate our thoughts, word for word.
‘From Bihar,’ she said and laughed. ‘Right?’
She didn’t laugh because I was a Bihari. She laughed because
Piyush had already revealed that fact about me. There was no
judgement in her voice. I liked her more and more every second.
‘Yes.You?’
‘From Delhi itself.’I wanted to continue talking to her. I wanted to know her full name
and her native place. That is how we introduce ourselves in Dumraon.
However, I didn’t know how to ask her in English, the language one
needed to impress girls. Plus, I had a selection trial in a few minutes.
The coach blew his whistle.
‘I have my trials now, will you watch?’ I said.
‘Okay,’ she said.
I ran—rather, hopped—in excitement towards the changing room.
Soon, I was back on court and Piyush started the game.
I played well. I don’t want to brag but I played better than any
player on the college team.
‘Basket,’ I shouted as I scored my fifth shot. As the crowd dapped,
I looked around. She was sitting on one of the benches, sipping water
from a bottle. She clapped too.
I had a good game, but her presence made me play even better.
The score inched forward; I pushed myself harder and scored a
few more baskets. When I took a tough shot, the seniors patted my
back. Piyush blew the final whistle. Final score: 25-28. We had done it.
The newbies had managed to defeat die St. Stephen’s team.
My body was drenched in sweat. I felt drained and exhausted.
Players patted my back as I struggled to catch my breath. Piyush came
running up to me in the middle of the court.
‘You scored 17 out of 28. Well done, Bihari,’ he said. He ruffled my
sweaty hair. I walked out of the court deliberately towards Riya.
‘Wow, you really are good,’ she said.
‘Thanks,’ I said, still panting after the game.
‘Anyway, I have to go,’ she said and extended her hand. ‘Nice
meeting you. Bye.’
‘Bye,’ I said, my heart sinking. My head had known it would end
like this. My heart didn’t want it to end.
‘Unless we are both lucky,’ she added and grinned. ‘And the higher
powers here admit us.’
‘Who knows,’ I said.‘Yeah. But if they do, then see you. Else, bye.’
She walked away. I realized I didn’t even know her full name. As
she became more distant with every step, I wanted nothing more than
to get admission to St. Stephen’s. '
I walked up to Piyush.
‘You cracked it. On fire on the court, huh?’ he said.
‘Sir, but the interview... My English—’
‘Sucked,’ he said.
Disappointment slammed into me. His expression suggested
‘sucked’ meant something nasty.
‘But you play bloody good basketball,’ Piyush continued. He patted
my back and walked away.
I stood alone in the middle of the basketball court. Everyone else
had left. I saw the brick-coloured buildings and the greenery around
me.
Is this place in my destiny? I wondered. Well, it wasn’t just about
my destiny. It was our destiny.
That is why, one month later, a postman came to my doorstep in
Dumraon with a letter from St. Stephen’s College. He also wanted a
big tip.

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