sonu kumar
Posted On: 09-04-2019
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Three mistakes of my life

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One

India vs South Africa
4th ODI, Vadodra
17 March 2000
Over 45
`Why the fuck did you have to move?' Ishaan's scream drowned out the
stadium din on the TV. I had shifted up to a sofa from the floor.
`Huh?' I said. We were in Ishaan's house — Ishaan, Omi and I. Ishaan's mom
had brought in tea and khakra for us. 'It is more comfortable to snack on the
sofa. That is why I moved.'
`Tendulkar's gone. Fuck, now at this stage. Omi, don't you dare move now.
Nobody moves for the next five overs.'
I looked at the TV. We were chasing 283 to win. India's score a ball ago was
256-2 after forty-five overs. Twenty-seven runs in five overs, with eight wickets to
spare and Tendulkar on the crease. A cakewalk. The odds were still in India's
favour, but Tendulkar was out. And that explained the frowns on Ishaan's
forehead.
'The khakra's crispy,' Omi said. Ishaan glared at Omi, chiding him for his
shallow sensory pleasure in a moment of national grief. Omi and I kept our tea
cups aside and looked suitably mournful.
The crowd clapped as Tendulkar made his exit. Jadeja came to the crease and
added six more runs. End of forty-six overs, India 262/3. Twenty-one more runs
to win in four overs, with seven wickets in hand.
Over 46
'He made 122. The guy did his job. Just a few final closing shots left. Why are
you getting so worked up?' I asked during a commercial break. I reached for my
tea cup, but Ishaan signalled me to leave it alone. We were not going to indulge
until the fate of the match was decided. Ishaan was pissed with us anyway. The
match was in Vadodra, just two hours away from Ahmedabad. But we could not
go - one, because we didn't have money, and two, because I had my
correspondence exams in two days. Of course, I had wasted the whole day
watching the match on TV instead, so reason number two did not really hold
much weight.
'It is 5.25 runs required per over,' I said, not able to resist doing a
mathematical calculation. That is one reason I like cricket, there is so much
maths in it.
'You don't know this team. Tendulkar goes, they panic. It isn't about the
average. It is like the queen bee is dead, and the hive loses order,' Ishaan said.
Omi nodded, as he normally does to whatever Ishaan has to say about cricket.
'Anyway, I hope you realise, we didn't meet today to see this match. We have to
decide what Mr Ishaan is doing about his future, right?' I said.
Ishaan had always avoided this topic ever since he ran away from NDA a year
ago. His dad had already sarcastically commented, 'Cut a cake today to celebrate
one year of your uselessness.'
However, today I had a plan. I needed to sit them down to talk about our lives.
Of course, against cricket, life is second priority.'Later,' Ishaan said, staring avidly at a pimple cream commercial.
'Later when Ishaan? I have an idea that works for all of us. We don't have a lot
of choice, do we?'
'All of us? Me, too?' Omi quizzed, already excited. Idiots like him love to be part
of something, anything. However, this time we needed Omi.
'Yes, you play a critical role Omi. But later when Ish? When?'
'Oh, stop it! Look, the match is starting. Ok, over dinner. Let's go to Gopi,' Ish
said.
'Gopi? Who's paying?' I was interrupted as the match began.
Beep, beep, beep. The horn of a car broke our conversation. A car zoomed
outside the pol.
'What the hell! I am going to teach this bastard a lesson,' Ish said, looking out
the window.
'What's up?'
'Bloody son of a rich dad. Comes and circles around our house everyday'
'Why?' I said.
'For Vidya. He used to be in coaching classes with her. She complained about
him there too,' Ish said.
Beep, beep, beep, the car came near the house again.
'Damn, I don't want to miss this match,' Ish said as he saw India hit a four. Ish
picked up his bat. We ran out the house. The silver Esteem circled the pol and
came back for another round of serenading. Ish stood in front of the car and
asked the boy to stop. The Esteem halted in front of Ish. Ish went to the driver,
an adolescent.
'Excuse me, your headlight is hanging out.'
'Really?' the boy said and shut off the ignition. He stepped outside and came to
the front.
Ish grabbed the boy's head from behind and smashed his face into the bonnet.
He proceeded to strike the headlight with his bat. The glass broke and the bulb
hung out.
'What's your problem,' the boy said, blood spurting out of his nose.
'You tell me what's up? You like pressing horns?' Ish said.
Ish grabbed his collar and gave six non-stop slaps across his face. Omi picked
up the bat and smashed the windscreen. The glass broke into a million pieces.
People on the street gathered around as there is nothing quite as entertaining as
a street fight.
The boy shivered in pain and fear. What would he tell his daddy about his
broken car and face?
Ish's dad heard the commotion and came out of the house. Ish held the boy in
an elbow lock. The boy was struggling to breathe.
'Leave him,' Ish's dad said.
Ish gripped him tighter.
'I said leave him,' Ish's dad shouted, 'what's going on here?'
'He has been troubling Vidya since last week,' Ish said. He kicked the boy's face
with his knee and released him. The boy kneeled on the floor and sucked in air.
The last kick from Ish had smeared the blood from his nose across his face.
'And what do you think you are doing?' Ish's dad asked him.
'Teaching him a lesson,' Ish said and unhooked his bat stuck in the
windscreen.'Really, when will you learn your lessons?' Ish's dad said to him.
Ish turned away.
'You go now,' Ish's dad said to the beeping driver, who folded his hands. Seeing
that no one cared about his apology, he trudged back to his car.
Ish's dad turned to his neighbours. 'For one whole year he's been sitting at
home. Ran away from the army of his own country and then wants to teach
lessons to others! He and his loafer friends hanging around the house all day
long.'
One sidelong glance at his dad and Ish walked back home.
'Where the hell are you going now?' Ish's dad said.
'Match. Why? You want to curse me some more?' Ish said.
'When you've wasted your entire life, what's another day?' Ish's father said and
the neighbours half-nodded their heads in sympathy.
We missed the final five overs of the match. Luckily, India won and Ish didn't
get that upset.
'Yes, yes, yes,' Ishaan jumped. 'Gopi on me tonight.' I love idiots.
Actually, Ishaan is not an idiot. At least not as much as Omi. It is just that
both of them suck at studies, especially maths, and I am good at it. Hence, I have
this chip on my shoulder. It does sound a bit conceited, but it is the only chip on
my shoulder. For instance, I am easily the poorest of the three (though I will be
the richest one day), even though Ishaan and Omi aren't particularly wealthy.
Ishaan's dad works in the telephone exchange, and while they have lots of phones
in the house, the salary is modest. Omi's dad is the priest of the Swamibhakti
temple, which actually belongs to Omi's mom's family for generations. And that
does not pay well either. But still, they are a lot better off than me and my mom.
My mom runs a small Gujarati snacks business, and the little bit of money I
make from tuitions helps us get by, but that's about it.
'We won, we won the series 3-1,' Omi repeated what he read on the TV screen.
Of course, it would have been too much for him to express such original insight.
Some say Omi was born stupid, while some say he became stupid after a cork
ball hit him on the head in Class VI. I didn't know the reason, but I did know that
maybe the best idea for him would be to become a priest. He wouldn't have much
of a career otherwise, given that he barely scraped through Class XII, after
repeating the maths compartment exam twice. But he didn't want to be a priest,
so my plan was the best one.
I ate the khakra. My mother made it better than Ishaan's mom. We were
professionals after all.
'I'll go home to change and then we will go to Gopi, ok?' I said as Ishaan and
Omi were still dancing. Dancing after an Indian victory was a ritual we had
started when we were eleven, one that should have stopped by thirteen. However,
here we were at twenty-one, jigging like juveniles. Ok, so we won, someone had
to. In mathematical terms, there was a pretty good probability - did it really need
jumping around?
I walked back home.
The narrow lanes of the old city were bustling with the evening crowd. My
house and Ishaan's were only half a kilometre apart. Everything in my world fell
between this distance. I passed by the Nana Park, extra packed with kids playingcricket as India had won the match. I played here almost every day of my school
life.
We still come here sometimes, but now we prefer the abandoned bank branch
compound near my home.
A tennis ball landed at my feet. A sweaty twelve-year-old boy came running to
me. I picked up the ball for him. Nana Park is where I had first met Ishaan and
Omi, over fifteen years ago. There was no dramatic moment that marked the start
of our friendship. Maybe we sized each other up as the only six-year-olds in the
ground and started playing together.
Like most neighbourhood kids, we went to the Belrampur Municipal School,
hundred metres down Nana Park. Of course, only I studied while Ish and Omi ran
to the park at every opportunity.
Three bicycles tried to overtake each other in the narrow by lane. I had to step
inside Qazi restaurant to let them pass. A scent of fried coriander and garlic filled
the narrow room. The cook prepared dinner, a bigger feast than usual as India
had won the match. Ishaan and I came here sometimes (without telling Omi, of
course) for the cheap food and extraordinary mutton. The owner assured us
'small mutton', implying goat and not beef. I believed him, as he would not have
survived in the neighbourhood if he served beef. I wanted to eat here instead of
Gopi. But we had promised Gopi to Omi, and the food was fantastic there as well.
Food is a passion here, especially as Gujarat is a dry state. People here get drunk
on food.
Yes, Ahmedabad is my city. It is strange, but if you have had happy times in a
city for a long time, you consider it the best city in the world. I feel the same
about Ahmedabad. I know it is not one of those hip cities like Delhi, Bombay or
Bangalore. I know people in these cities think of Ahmedabad as a small town,
though that is not really the case. Ahmedabad is the sixth largest city in India,
with a population of over five million. But I guess if you have to emphasise the
importance of something, then it probably isn't as important in the first place. I
could tell you that Ahmedabad has better multiplexes than Delhi or nicer roads
than Bombay or better restaurants than Bangalore - but you will not believe me.
Or even if you do, you won't give a damn. I know Belrampur is not Bandra, but
why should I defend being called a small-town-person as if it is a bad thing? A
funny thing about small towns is that people say it is the real India. I guess they
do acknowledge that at one level the India of the big cities is fake. Yes, I am from
the old city of Amdavad and proud of it. We don't have as many fashion shows
and we still like our women to wear clothes. I don't see anything wrong with that.
I stepped out of Qazi and continued my way home, turning in the pol towards
Omi's temple. Of course, we called it Omi's temple because he lived there, but the
official name was the Swamibhakti temple. As I entered the by lane, two people
fought over garbage disposal around the crammed pol.
There are things about my small town neighbourhood that I want to change. In
some ways, it is way behind the rest of Ahmedabad. For one, the whole old city
could be a lot cleaner. The new city across the other side of the Sabarmati river
has gleaming glass and steel buildings, while the old city finds it difficult to get
rubbish cleared on time.
I want to change another thing. I want to stop the gossip theories people come
up with about other people. Like the theory about Omi becoming stupid because
a cricket ball hit him. There is no basis for it, but every pol in Belrampur talksabout it. Or the theory that Ish was thrown out of NDA and did not run away. I
know for a fact that it is not true. Ish cannot handle unquestioned authority, and
even though he was really excited about the army (which was his only option), he
could not stand some Major ordering him around for the next two decades of his
life. So he paid the penalty, cited personal reasons like ailing parents or
something and ran right back to Belrampur.
And of course, what I want to stop the most - the weirdest theory that I became
emotionless the day dad left us. Dad left mom and me over ten years ago, for we
found out he had a second wife across town. As far as I can remember, I was
never good with emotional stuff. I love maths, I love logic and those subjects have
no place for emotion. I think human beings waste too much time on emotions.
The prime example is my mother. Dad's departure was followed by months of
crying with every lady in every pol coming down to sympathise with her. She
spent another year consulting astrologers as to which planet caused dad to move
out, and when would that position change. Thereafter, a string of grandaunts
came to live with her as she could not bring herself to stay alone. It wasn't until I
turned fifteen and understood how the world worked that I could coax her into
opening the snacks business. Of course, my coaxing was part of it, the rest of it
was that all her jewellery was officially sold by then.
Her snacks were great, but she was no businessman. Emotional people make
terrible businessmen. She would sell on credit and buy on cash - the first
mistake a small business can make. Next, she would keep no accounts. The
home spending money was often mixed with the business money, and we
frequently had months where the choice was to buy either rice for our
consumption or black pepper for the papads.
Meanwhile, I studied as much as I could. Our school was not Oxford, and
emphasis on studies was low with more teachers bunking classes than students.
Still, I topped maths every single year. People thought I was gifted when I hit a
hundred in maths in class X. For me, it was no big deal. For once, the gossip vine
helped. The news of my score spread across pols, and we had a new source of
income - tuitions. I was the only maths tutor in Belrampur, and bad maths
scores had reached epidemic proportions. Along with khaman and khakra,
trigonometry and algebra became sources of income in the Patel household. Of
course, it was a poor neighbourhood, so people could not pay much. Still, another
thousand bucks a month was a lifestyle changing event for us. From fan, we
graduated to cooler. From chairs, we went to a secondhand sofa. Life became
good.
I reached Omi's temple. The loud rhythmic chime of the bell interrupted my
thoughts. I checked my watch, it was 6 p.m., the daily aarti time. I saw Omi's dad
from a distance, his eyes closed as he chanted the mantras. Even though I was
an agnostic, there was something amazing about his face - it had genuine feeling
for the God he prayed to. No wonder he was among the most liked people in the
community. Omi's mother was beside him, her maroon saree draped along her
head and hands folded. Next to her was Bittoo Mama, Omi's maternal uncle. He
was dressed in a white dhoti and saffron scarf. His huge biceps seemed even
larger with his folded hands. His eyes, too, were transfixed in genuine admiration
for the idols of Krishna and Radha.
Omi would get into trouble for reaching the aarti late. It would not be the first
time though, as matches in Nana Park were at a crucial stage around 6 p.m.
'How was the match?' mom said as I reached home. She stood outside the
house.
She had just finished loading a hired auto with fresh dhokla for a marriage
party. Finally, my mother could delegate routine tasks like delivery and focus on
her core competence - cooking. She took out a dhokla piece from the auto for me.
Bad business - snucking out something from a customer order.
'Great match. Nail-biting finish, we won,' I said, walking in.
I switched on the tubelight inside. The homes in our pol required light even
during daytime.
'If I have a good Diwali season, I will get you a colour TV,' mom vowed.
'No need,' I said. I removed my shoes to get ready for a shower, 'you need a
bigger grinder urgently, the small one is all wobbly'
'I will buy the TV if only the business makes extra money,' she said.
'No. If you make extra money, put it back in the business. Don't buy useless
things. I can always see the match in colour in Ishaan's house.'
She left the room. My mother knew it was futile arguing with me. Without dad
around, it was amazing how much say I had in the house. And I only hoped Ish
and Omi would listen to my proposition as well.
My love for business began when I first started tuitions. It was amazing to see
money build up. With money came not only things like coolers and sofas but also
the most important stuff - respect. Shopkeepers no longer avoided us, relatives re-
invited us to weddings and our landlord's visit did not throw us into turmoil. And
then there was the thrill - I was making money, not earning it under some boss or
getting a handout. I could decide my fate, how many students to teach, how many
hours per class - it was my decision.
There is something about Gujaratis, we love business. And Ambadadis love it
more than anything else. Gujarat is the only state in India where people tend to
respect you more if you have a business than if you are in service. The rest of the
country dreams about a cushy job that gives a steady salary and provides
stability. In Ahmedabad, service is for the weak. That was why I dreamt my
biggest dream - to be a big businessman one day. The only hitch was my lack of
capital. But I would build it slowly and make my dream come true. Sure, Ish
could not make his dream of being in the Indian cricket team real, but that was a
stupid dream to begin with. To be in the top eleven of a country of a billion people
was in many ways an impossible dream, and even though Ish was top class in
Belrampur, he was no Tendulkar. My dream was more realistic, I would start
slow and then grow my business. From a turnover of thousands, to lakhs, to
crores and then to hundreds of crores.
I came out of the shower and dressed again.
"Want to eat anything?' my mother voiced her most quoted line from the
kitchen.
'No, I am going out with Ish and Omi to Gopi.'
'Gopi? Why? I make the same things. What do you get at Gopi that I can't give
you at home?'
Peace and quiet, I wanted to say.
'It's Ish's treat. And I want to talk to them about my new business.''So you are not repeating the engineering entrance,' my mother came out of the
kitchen. She raised dough-covered hands, 'You can take a year to prepare. Stop
taking tuitions for a while, we have money now.'
My mother felt guilty about a million things. One of them was me not making it
to a good engineering college. Tuitions and supporting my mom's business meant
I could study less for the entrance exams. I didn't make it to IIT or any of the top
institutes.
I did make it to a far-flung college in Kutch, but it wasn't worth
it to leave my tuition income, friends, cricket at Nana Park and mom for that.
Not that I felt any emotion, it just did not seem like the right trade. I could do
maths honours right here in Amdavad University, continue tuitions and think
about business. The Kutch college did not even guarantee a job.
'I don't want to be an engineer, mom. My heart is in business. Plus, I have
already done two years of college. One more and I will be a graduate.'
'Yes, but who gives a job to a maths graduate?'
It was true. Maths honours was a stupid course to take from an economic
point of view.
'It is ok. I needed a degree and I can get it without studying much,' I said. 'I am
a businessman, mom. I can't change that.'
My mother pulled my cheeks. Chunks of dough stuck to my face.
'Be whatever. You are always my son first.' She hugged me. I hated it. I hate a
display of emotion more than emotion itself. 'I better go.'
That is your tenth chapatti,' Ish told Omi.
'Ninth. Who cares? It is a buffet. Can you pass the ghee please?'
'All that food. It has to be bad for you,' Ish said.
'Two hundred push-ups.' Omi said. 'Ten rounds of Nana Park. One hour at
Bittoo Mama's home gym. You do this everyday like me and you can hog without
worry.'
People like Omi are no-profit customers. There is no way Gopi could make
money off him.
'Aamras, and ras malai. Thanks,' Omi said to the waiter. Ish and I nodded for
the same.
'So, what's up? I'm listening,' Ish said as he scooped up the last spoon of
aamras.
'Eat your food first. We'll talk over tea,' I said. People argued less on a full
stomach.
'I am not paying for tea. My treat is limited to a thali,' Ishaan protested.
'I'll pay for the tea,' I said.
'Relax, man. I was only joking. Mr Accounts can't even take a joke. Right, Omi?'
Omi laughed.
'Whatever. Guys, you really need to listen today. And stop calling me Mr
Accounts.'
I ordered tea while the waiter cleared our plates.
I am serious, Ish. What do you plan to do with your life? We are not kids
anymore,' I said.'Unfortunately,' Ish said and sighed. 'Ok, then. I will apply for jobs, maybe do
an NIIT computer course first. Or should I take an insurance job? What do you
think?'
I saw Ish's face. He tried to smile, but I saw the pain. The champion batsman
of Belrampur would become an insurance salesman. Belrampur kids had grown
up applauding his boundaries at Nana Park. But now, when he had no life ahead,
he wanted to insure other people's lives.
Omi looked at me, hoping I'd come up with a great option from Santa's goodie
bag. I was sick of parenting them.
'I want to start a business,' I began.
'Not again,' Ish said. 'I can't do that man. What was it the last time? A fruit
dealership? Ugh! I can't be weighing watermelons all day. And the crazy one after
that, Omi?'
'Car accessories. He said there is big money in that,' Omi said as he slurped
his dessert.
'What? Put seat covers all day. No thanks. And the other one - stock broker.
What is that anyway?' Ish shrugged.
'So what the fuck do you want to do? Beg people to buy insurance? Or sell
credit cards at street corners? You, Ish, are a military school dropout,' I said and
paused for breath. 'And you got a compartment in Class XII, twice. You can be a
priest, Omi, but what about us?'
I don't want to be a priest,' Omi said listlessly.
'Then, why do you oppose me even before I start? This time I have something
that will interest you.'
'What?' Ish said.
'Cricket,' I said.
'What?' both of them said in unison.
'There you go, nice to get your attention. Now can I talk?'
'Sure,' Ish waved a hand.
'We are going to open a cricket shop,' I said.
I deliberately left for the rest room.
'But how?' Omi interrogated when I returned. 'What is a cricket shop?'
'A sports store really. But since cricket is the most popular game in Belrampur,
we will focus on that.'
Ish's silence meant he was listening to me.
'It will be a small retail store. Money for a shop deposit is a problem, so I need
Omi's help.'
'Mine?' Omi said.
'Yes, we will open the shop right inside the Swami temple complex. Next to the
flower and puja shops. 1 noticed an empty shop there. And it is part of the temple
land.'
'A cricket shop in a temple complex?' Ish questioned.
'Wait. Omi, do you think you can arrange that? Without that our plan is«a non-
starter.'
'You mean the Kuber sweet shop that just closed? The temple trust will rent it
out soon. And normally they let it out to something related to temple activities,'
Omi said.
'I know. But you have to convince your dad. After all he runs the temple trust.'
'He does, but Mama looks after the shops. Will we pay rent?''Yes,' I sighed. 'But not immediately. We need a two-month waiver. And we
cannot pay the deposit.'
'I'll have to go through mom,' Omi said. Good, his mind was working.
'Sorry to ask again, but a cricket shop in a temple complex? Who will buy?
Seventy-year-old aunties who come for kirtan will want willow bats?' Ish scoffed.
The waiter had cleared our tea and presented the bill. By Gopi protocol, we had
to be out of the restaurant in two minutes.
'Good question. A cricket shop by a temple does sound strange. But think - is
there any sports shop in Belrampur?'
'Not really. You don't even get leather balls. Ellis Bridge is the nearest,' Ish
said.
'See, that's number one. Number two, the temple is a family place. Kids are
among the most bored people in temples. Where are they going to hang out?'
'It is true,' Omi said. 'That is why so many balloon wallahs hover outside.'
'And that is where Ish comes in. People know you were a good player. And you
can give playing tips to every kid who comes to buy from us. Slowly, our
reputation will build.'
'But what about Christian or Muslim kids? They won't come, right?' Ish said.
'Not at first but the shop is outside the temple. As word spreads, they will
come. What choice do they have anyway?'
'Where will we get what we sell?' Ish said.
'There's a sports equipment supplier in Vastrapur who will give us a month's
credit. If we have the space, we are good to go without cash.'
'But what if it doesn't run?' Ish asked with scepticism.
'Worst case, we sell the stock at a loss and I'll cover the rest through my tuition
savings. But it will work, man. If you put your heart into it, it will.'
Both of them remained silent.
'Guys, please. I need you for this. I really want to run a business. I can't do it
without partners. It's cricket,' I appealed to Ish.
'I'm in,' Omi smiled. 'I don't have to be a priest and I get to work from home.
I'm so in.'
'I won't handle money. I'll focus on the cricket,' Ish said.
I smiled. Yes, he was coming around.
'Of course. You think I will let you handle cash? So, are we partners?' I
stretched out my liand.
Omi hi-fived me and Ish joined in.
'What are we going to call it?' Omi said in the auto.
'Ask Ish,' I said. If Ish named it, he would feel more connected to the project.
'How about Team India Cricket Shop?' Ish suggested. 'Great name,' I said and
watched Ish smile for the first time that evening.
'Two rupees fifty paise each, guys,' I said as the auto stopped near my pol in
Belrampur.
'Here you go Mr Accounts,' Ish said and passed his share.

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