sonu kumar
Posted On: 09-04-2019
  1. Home
  2. Story/ Three mistakes of my life/Eight

Three mistakes of my life

client1

Eight

Ali reached practice twenty minutes late. Every delayed minute made Ish more
pissed.
'You are wearing kurta pajama, where is your kit?' Ish screamed as Ali walked
in at 7.20 a.m.
'Sorry, woke up late. I didn't get time and...'
'Do your rounds,' Ish said and stood in the centre of the bank's courtyard.
When Ali finished his rounds, Ish unwrapped a new bat for him.
'For you, brand new from Kashmir. Like it?'
Ali nodded without interest. 'Can I leave early today?'
'Why?' Ish snapped.
'There is a marble competition in my pol.' 'And what about cricket?' Ali
shrugged.
'First you come late, then you want to go early. What is the point of marbles?'
Ish said as he signalled him to take the crease. One of the three other boys
became the bowler.
'We will start with catching practice. Ali, no shots, give them catches.'
Ali's self-control had become better after training for a few months. Ish had
taught him to play defensive and avoid getting out. With better diet and exercise,
Ali's stamina had improved. He gained the strength to hit the ball rather than rely
on momentum. Once Ali faced five balls in a restrained manner, he could sharpen
his focus to use his gift. The trick was to use his ability at a lever that scored yet
sustained him at the crease. One ball an over worked well. Ish now wanted him to
get to two balls an over.
'Switch. Paras to bat, Ali to field,' Ish shouted after three overs. Ali didn't hit
any big shots. Disappointed, he threw the bat on| the crease.
'Hey, watch it. It is a new bat,' Ish said.
Paras batted a catch towards Ali, whose hands were busy tightening the cords
of his pajama. The ball thunked down on the ground.
'You sleeping or what?' Ish said but Ali ignored him. Three balls later, Paras set
up a catch for Ali again. 'Hey, Ali, catch,' Ish screamed from his position at the
umpire.
Ali had one hand in his pocket. He noticed Ish staring at him and lifted up his
hand in a cursory manner. Two steps and he could have caught the ball. He
didn't, and the ball landed on the ground.
'Hey,' Ish shook Ali's shoulder hard. 'You dreaming?' 'I want to leave early,' Ali
said, rubbing his shoulder. 'Finish practice first.'
'Here Ali, bat,' Paras said as he came close to Ali. 'No he has to field,' Ish said.
'It is ok, Ish bhaiya. I know he wants to bat,' Paras said and gave Ali the bat.
And I want to practice more catches. I need to get good before my school match.'
Ali took the bat, walked to the crease without looking up. Disconcerted by this
insolence, Ish rued spoiling the boy with gifts - sometimes kits, sometimes bats.
Ish allowed Ali to bat again upon Paras' insistence. 'Lift it for I'aras, gentle to
the left.'
The ball arrived, Ali whacked it hard. Like his spirit, the ball Hew out of the
bank. 'I want to go.' Ali stared at Ish with his green eyes.'I don't care about your stupid marble tournament. No marble player ever
became great,' Ish shouted.
'Well, you also never became great,' Ali said. Ouch, kids and their bitter truth.
Ish froze. His arm trembled. With perfect timing like Ali's bat, Ish's right hand
swung and slapped Ali's face hard. The impact and shock made Ali fall on the
ground.
Everyone stood erect as they heard the slap.
Ali sat up on the ground and sucked his breath to fight tears.
'Go play your fucking marbles,' Ish said and deposited a slap again. I ran
behind to pull Ish's elbow. Ali broke into tears. I bent down to pick up Ali. I tried
to hug him, as his less-strict maths tutor. He pushed me away.
'Go away,' Ali said, crying as he kicked me with his tiny legs, I don't want you.'
'Ali, quiet buddy. Come, let's go up, we will do some fun sums,' I said. Oops,
wrong thing to say to a kid who had just been whacked.
'I don't want to do sums,' Ali glared back at me.
'Yeah, don't want to field. Don't want to do sums. Lazy freak show wants to
play marbles all day,' Ish spat out.
I felt it was stupid of Ish to argue with a twelve-year-old.
'Everyone go home, we practice tomorrow,' I said.
'No, we have to...,' Ish to said.
'Ish, go inside the bank,' I said.
'I don't like him,' Ali said, still in tears.
'Ali behave. This is no way to speak to your coach. Now go home,' I said.
I exhaled a deep breath as everyone left. Maybe God sent me here to be
everyone's parent.
★
'What the fuck is wrong with you? He is a kid,' I said to Ish after everyone left. I
made lemonade in the kitchen to calm Ish down Ish stood next to me.
'Brat, thinks he has a gift,' Ish said.
'He does,' I said and passed him his drink, 'hey, can you order another LPG
cylinder. This one is almost over,' I said. We did have a kerosene stove, but it was
a pain to cook on that.
We came to the cashier's waiting area to sit on the sofas.
Ish kept quiet. He held back something. I wasn't sure if it was tears, as I had
never seen Ish cry.
'I shouldn't have hit him,' he said after drinking half a glass.
I nodded.
'But did you see his attitude? "You never became great." Can
you imagine if I had said it to my coach?'
'He is just a twelve-year-old. Don't take him seriously,'
'He doesn't care man. He has it in him to make to the national
team. But all he wants to do is play his fucking marbles.'
'He enjoys marbles. He doesn't enjoy cricket, yet.'
Ish finished his drink and tossed the plastic glass in the kitchen sink. We
locked the bank's main door and the gate and walked towards our shop.
'It is so fucking unfair,' Ish said, 'I slaved for years. I gave up my future for this
game. Nothing came of it. And you have this kid who is born with this talent he
doesn't even care about.''What do you mean nothing came of it? You were the best player in school for
years.'
'Yeah, in Belrampur Municipal School, that's like saying Vidya is the Preity
Zinta of our pol. Who cares?'
'What?' I said and couldn't control a smile.
'Nothing, our aunt once called her that, and I keep teasing her on it,' Ish said.
His mood lightened up a little. We came close to our shop. The temple dome
became visible.
'Why does God do this Govind?' Ish said.
'Do what?'
'Give so much talent to some people. And people like me have none.'
'You are talented.'
'Not enough. Not as much as Ali. I love this game, but have no gifts. I pushed
myself - woke up at 4 a.m. everyday, training for hours, practice and more
practice. I gave up studies, and now that I think of it, even my future. And then
comes this marble player who has this freakish gift. I could never see the ball and
whack it like Ali. Why Govind?'
Continuing my job as the parent of my friends, I had to try and answer every
silly question of his. 'I don't know. God gives talent so that the ordinary person
can become extraordinary. Talent is the only way the poor can become rich.
Otherwise, in this world the rich would remain rich and the poor would remain
poor. This unfair talent actually creates a balance, helps to make the world fair,' I
said. I reflected on my own statement a little.
'So why doesn't he care? Marbles? Can you believe the boy is more interested
in marbles?'
'He hasn't seen what he can get out of cricket. Right now he is the marble
champ in his pol and loves that position. Once he experiences the same success
in cricket, he will value his gift Until now, he was a four ball freak show. You will
turn him into a player Ish,' I said.
We reached the shop. Omi had reached before us and swept the floor. He
missed coming to coaching, but he had promised his Mama to attend the
morning rallies at least twice a week. Today was one of those days.
'Good practice?' Omi asked idly as he ordered tea.
Ish went inside. I put a finger on my lips to signal Omi to be quiet.
A ten-year-old came with thirty coins to buy a cricket ball.
'A leather ball is twenty-five bucks. You only have twenty-one,' I said as I
finished the painful task of counting the coins.
'I broke the piggy bank. I don't have anymore,' the boy said very seriously.
'Then come later,' I said as Ish interrupted me.
'Take it,' Ish said and gave the boy the ball.
The boy grabbed it and ran away.
'Fuck you Ish,' I said.
'Fuck you businessman,' Ish said and continued to sulk about Ali in the
corner.
It took Ish one box of chocolates, two dozen marbles and a new sports cap to
woo Ali back. Ali missed us, too. His mother told us he cried for two hours that
day and never attended the marble tournament. He hadn't come for practice the
next two days either. Ish's guilt pangs had turned into an obsession. Ali had anapology ready - probably stage-managed by his mother. He touched Ish's feet and
said sorry for insulting his guru. Ish hugged him and Have the gifts. Ish said he'd
cut off his hand rather than hit him again. All too melodramatic if you ask me.
The point was Ali came back, this time more serious, and Ish mellowed
somewhat. Ali's cricket improved, and other students suggested we take him to
the district trials.
Ish vetoed the idea. 'No way, the selection people will destroy him. If they reject
him, he is going to be disappointed forever. If they accept him, they will make him
play useless matches for several years. He will go for selections, but only the big
one - the national team.'
'Really? You confident he will make it,' Omi said, passing us lassi in steel
glasses after practice.
'He will be a player like India never had,' Ish announced. It sounded a bit mad,
but we had seen Ali demolish the best of bowlers, even if for a few balls. Two more
years and Ish could well be right.
'Don't talk about Ali's gift at all. I don't trust anyone.' Ish wiped his lassi
moustache.
'Excuses don't clear exams, Vidya. If you study this, it will help. Nothing else
will.' I opened the chemistry book again.
'I tried,' she said and pushed back her open hair. She had not bathed. She had
a track pant on that I think she had been wearing since she was thirteen and a
pink T-shirt that said 'fairy queen' or something. How can a grown-up woman
wear something that says 'fairy queen'? How can anyone wear something that
says 'fairy queen'?
'I pray everyday. That should help,' she said.
I didn't know whether to laugh or flip my fuse again at her nonchalance. Maybe
if she didn't look like a cute ragdoll in those clothes, I would have lost my temper
again.
'Don't leave it to God, nothing like reading organic chemistry yourself,' I said.
She nodded and moved her chair, as a bottle fell over on the ground.
'Oops,' she said and bent down.
'What?' I stood up in reflex. It was a bottle of coconut oil, fortunately closed.
'Nothing, I thought I'll oil my hair,' she said and lifted the blue bottle.
I looked at her face. My gaze lasted a quarter second more than necessary.
There is an optimal time for looking at women before it gets counted as a stare. I
had crossed that threshold. Self-consciously she tugged at the T-shirt's neckline
as she sat back up. The tug was totally due to me. I didn't look there at all, but
she thought I did. I felt sick.
'Coconut oil,' I said, probably the dumbest thing to say but it changed the
topic.
'Yes, a bit of organic chemistry for my head. Maybe this will help.'
I flipped the book's pages to see how benzene became oxidised.
'When is your birthday?' she said. '14 March,' I replied. 'Pi Day.' 'What day?'
'Pi Day. You see, Pi approximates to 3.14 so 14 March is the same date. It is
Einstein's birthday, too. Cool, isn't it?'
'A day for Pi? How can you have a day for something so horrible?''Excuse me? It is an important day for maths lovers. We never make it public
though. You can say you love literature, you can say you love music but you can't
say you feel the same way for maths.'
'Why not?'
'People label you a geek.'
'That you are,' she giggled.
She pulled the oil bottle cap close.
'Can you help me oil my hair? I can't reach the back.'
My tongue slipped like it was coated in that oil as I tried to speak. 'Vidya, we should study now.'
'Yeah, yeah, almost done. Just above the back of my neck, please.'
She twisted on her chair so her back faced me. She held up the cap of the oil
bottle.
What the hell, I thought. I dipped my index finger in the oil and brought it to
her neck.
'Not here,' she giggled again. 'It tickles. Higher, yes at the roots.'
She told me to dip three fingers instead of one and press harder. I followed her
instructions in a daze. The best maths tutor in town had become a champi man.
'How's the new shop coming?' she said.
'Great, I paid the deposit and three months advance rent,' I said. 'Fifty
thousand bucks, cash. We will have the best location in the mall'
'I can't wait,' she said.
'Two more months,' I said. 'Ok, that's enough. You do it yourself now, I will
hold the cap for you.'
She turned to look at me, dipped her fingers in the oil and applied it to her
head.
'I wish I were a boy,' she said, rubbing oil vigorously.
'Why? Easier to oil hair?' I said, holding up the cap in my hand even though
my wrist ached.
'So much easier for you to achieve your passions. I won't be allowed to open
such a shop,' she said.
I kept quiet.
'There, hopefully my brain would have woken up now,' she said, tying back her
hair and placing the chemistry book at the centre of the table.
'1 don't want to study this,' she said.
"Vidya, as your teacher my role is...'
'Yeah, what is your role as my teacher? Teach me how to reach my dreams or
how to be a drone?'
I kept quiet. She placed her left foot on her lap. I noticed the tiny teddy bears
all over her pajamas.
'Well, I am not your teacher. I am your tutor, your maths tutor. And as far as I
know, there are no dream tutors.'
'Are you not my friend?'
'Well, sort of.'
'Ok, sort-of-friend, what do you think I should do? Crush my passion and
surround myself with hydrocarbon molecules forever?'
I kept quiet.
'Say something. I should lump these lessons even if I have no interest in them
whatsoever as that is what all good Indian students do?'I kept quiet.
'What?' she prodded me again.
'The problem is you think I am this geek who solves probability problems for
thrills. Well, maybe I do, but that is not all of me. I am a tutor, it is a job. But
never fucking accuse me of crushing your passion.' Too late I realised I had used
the F-word. 'Sorry for the language.'
'Cursing is an act of passion.'
I smiled and turned away from her.
'So there you go,' she said, 'my tutor-friend, I want to make an admission to
you. I want to go to Mumbai, but not to cut cadavers. I want to study PR.'
I banged my fist on the table. 'Then do it. Don't give me this wish-I-was-a-boy
and I'm-trapped-in-a-cage nonsense. Ok, so you are in a cage, but you have a
nice, big, oiled brain that is not pea-sized like a bird's. So use it to find the key
out.'
'Medical college is one key, but not for me,' she said.
'In that case, break the cage,' I said.
'How?'
'What makes the cage? Your parents, right? Do you have to listen to them all
the time?'
'Of course not. I've been lying to them since I was five.'
'Really? Wow,' I said and collected myself. 'Passion versus parents is a tough
call. But if you have to choose, passion should win. Humanity wouldn't have
progressed if people listened to their parents all the time.'
'Exactly. Our parents are not innocent either. Weren't we all conceived in a
moment of passion?' I looked at her innocent -looking face, shocked. This girl is
out of control. Maybe it isn't such a good idea to get her out of her cage.

Categorias

    •