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

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Three

Apart from cricket, badminton was the other popular game in Belrampur. In
fact, the girls only played badminton. It was an excellent turnover business.
Shuttle cocks needed to be replaced, rackets needed rewiring and badminton
rackets didn't last as long as cricket bats.
School stationery became the other hit item in the following weeks. Only some
kids played sports, but every kid needed notebooks, pens and pencils, and
parents never said no to that. Many times, someone buying a ball would buy a
notebook, or the other way round. We offered a total solution. Soon, suppliers
came to us themselves. They kept stuff on credit and returnable basis - chart
paper, gum bottles, maps of India, water bottles and tiffin boxes. It is only after
you open a shop that you realise the length and breadth of the Indian student
industry.
We kept the cricket coaching and tuitions at the same price -250 rupees a
month. Customers for maths tuitions were easier to get, given the higher demand
and my track record. I taught at the SBI compound building in the mornings. Ish
used the compound grounds for the two students who signed up for cricket
tuitions.
They were the best players in the Belrampur Municipal School and had fought
with their parents to let them try coaching for three months.
Of course, we still spent most of our time in the shop.
'Should we do greeting cards?' I wondered as I opened a sample packet left by a
supplier. At five-rupee retail price and two-rupee cost price, cards had solid
margins. However, people in Belrampur did not give each other greeting cards.
'This is in-swinger, and this is off-swinger. By the way, this is the third ball in
two weeks. What's up Tapan?' Ish asked a regular customer. Thirteen-year-old
Tapan was one of the best bowlers of his age in the Belrampur Municipal School.
Ish gripped the cricket ball and showed him the wrist movement.
'It is that nightmare Ali. Ball keeps getting lost with his shots. Why did he move
to our school?' Tapan grumbled as he rubbed the ball on his shorts.
'Ali? New student? Haven't seen him here,' Ish said. All good players visited our
store and Ish knew them personally.
'Yes, batsman. Just joined our school. You should come see him. He wouldn't
come here, right?' Tapan said.
Ish nodded. We had few Muslim customers. Most of them used other Hindu
boys to make their purchases.
'You want to sign up for cricket tuitions. Ish will teach you, he played at the
district level,' I could not help pitching our other service.
'Mummy will not allow. She said I can only take tuitions for studies. No sports
coaching,' Tapan said.
'It is ok, have a good game,' Ish said, ruffling the boy's hair.
'You see this. That is why India doesn't win every match,' Ish said after Tapan
left.
Yes, Ish has this ridiculous theory that India should win every match. 'Well, we
don't have to. It won't be much of a game otherwise,' I said and closed the cash
box.
'Our country has a billion people. We should always win,' Ish insisted.'Statistically impossible.'
'Why? Australia has twenty million people. Yet they win almost every match.
We have fifty times the people, so fifty times the talent. Plus, cricket is India's
only game while Australia has rugby and football and whatever. So there is no
way we should be defeated by them. Statistically, my friend, Australia should be a
rounding error.'
'Then why?' I said.
'Well, you saw that kid. Parents will spend thousands teaching kids useless
trigonometry and calculus they will never use in real life. But if it is sports
coaching, it is considered a waste of money.'
'Don't worry, we have them covered. Our shop now offers both.'
'It is not about the business Govind. Really, is this just about money for you?'
'Money is nice...'
'These kids, Govind. Look at them, thirteen-year-olds holding their bats with
pride. Or the way they want to learn to bowl better. They have a fire in their eyes
before every little match at Nana Park. When India wins, they dance. They are
they only people Ij see with passion. I like being with them.'
'Whatever,' I shrugged.
'Of course, in two years time they will reach Class X. Their bats will be replaced
with physics books. And then the spark will begin to die. Soon, they will turn into
depressed adults.'
'That is not true, Ish. Everyone needs a passion. I have mine.'
'Then why are most grown-ups so grumpy? Why can't they smile more often
and be excited like those kids at Nana Park?' 'Can you stop being grumpy now
and help me clean the
shop?'
'Ok, ok, we will do a booze party,' I laughed. Omi and Ish had gripped me tight
from both sides until I relented.
'Where is my son Omi?' Bittoo Mama entered our shop at (losing time and
proceeded to hug his nephew. He held a box of sweets in a red velvet cloth.
'Where were you, Mama?' Omi said. Since the shop opened, he had never
visited us.
'I toured all over Gujarat, with Parekh-ji. What an experience! Here, have some
besan ladoos. Fresh from Baroda,' Bittoo Mama said. I ordered a Frooti. Ish
pulled out stools and we sat outside. I picked a ladoo.
'What is this, Omi? Wearing shoes?' Bittoo Mama's eyes were lined with kohl.
He had a red tikka in the middle of his forehead.
'Mama?' Omi squeaked. I looked at my feet. I wore fake Reebok slippers. Ish
wore his old sneakers.
'Your shop is in a temple, and you are wearing shoes? A Brahmin priest's boy?'
'Mama, c'mon this is outside the temple. None of the other shopkeepers wear...'
'Other shopkeepers are useless baniyas so you will also become like them? Do
you do puja every morning before you open?'
'Yes, Mama,' Omi lied point-blank.
'You also,' Mama said, referring to Ish and me. 'You are Hindu hoys. You have
your shop in such a pure place. At least remove your shoes, light a lamp.''We come here to work, not to perform rituals,' I said. I now paid full rent every
month to be in this shop. Nobody told me how to run my business.
Mama looked surprised. 'What is your name?'
'Govind.'
'Govind what?'
'Govind Patel.'
'Hindu, no?'
'1 am agnostic,' I said, irritated as I wanted to shut the shop and go home.
'Agno...?'
'He is not sure if there is God or not,' Ish explained.
'Doesn't believe in God? What kind of friends do you have Omi?' Mama was
aghast.
'No, that is an atheist,' I clarified. 'Agnostic means maybe God exists, maybe he
doesn't. I don't know.'
'You young kids,' Bittoo said, 'such a shame. I had come to invite you and look
at you.'
Omi looked at me. I turned my gaze away.
'Don't worry about Govind, Mama. He is confused.' I hate it when people take
my religious status for confusion. Why did I have to or not have to believe in
something?
Ish offered the Frooti to Bittoo Mama. It softened him a little.
'What about you?' Mama asked Ish.
'Hindu, Mama. I pray and everything.' Ish said. Yeah right only when six balls
were left in a match.
Mama took a large sip and shifted his gaze to Omi and Ish As far as he was
concerned I did not exist.
What did you want to invite us for Mama?' Omi said.
He lifted the red velvet cloth and unwrapped a three-foot-long brass trishul. Its
sharp blades glinted under the shop's tubelight.
'It's beautiful. Where did you get it from?' Omi queried.
'It is a gift from Parekh-ji. He said in me he sees the party's future. I worked
day and night. We visited every district in Gujarat. He said, "if we have more
people like Bittoo, people will be proud to be Hindu again." He made me the
recruitment in-charge for young people in Ahmedabad.'
Ish and I looked at Omi for footnotes.
'Parekh-ji is a senior Hindu party leader. And he heads the biggest temple trust
in Baroda,' Omi said. 'What, he knows the CM or something, Mama?'
'Parekh-ji not only knows the CM, but also talks to him twice a day,' Bittoo
Mama said. 'And I told Parekh-ji about you, Omi. I see in you the potential to
teach Hindu pride to young people.'
'But Mama, I'm working full time...'
'I am not telling you to leave everything. But get in touch with the greater
responsibilities we have. We are not just priests who speak memorised lines at
ceremonies. We have to make sure India's future generation understands
Hindutva properly. I want to invite you to a grand feast to Parekh-ji's house. You
should come too, Ish. Next Monday in Gandhinagar.'
Of course, blasphemous me got no invitation.
'Thanks, Mama. It sounds great, but I don't know if we can,' Ish said. How
come some people are so good at being polite.'Why? Don't worry, it is not just priests. Many young, working people will also
come.'
'I don't like politics,' Ish said.
'Huh? This isn't politics, son. This is a way of life.'
'I will come,' Omi said.
'But you should come too, Ish. We need young blood.'
Ish stayed hesitant.
'Oh, you think Parekh-ji is some old, traditional man who will force you to read
scriptures. Do you know where Parekh-ji went to college? Cambridge, and then
Harvard. He had a big hotel business in America, which he sold and came back.
He talks your language. Oh, and he used to play cricket too, for the Cambridge
college team.'
'I will come if Govind comes,' said Ish the idiot.
Mama looked at me. In his eyes, I was the reason why Hindu culture had
deteriorated lately.
'Well, I came to invite the three of you in the first place. He only said he doesn't
believe in God.'
'I didn't say that,' I said. Oh, forget it, I thought.
'Then come.' Mama stood up. 'All three of you. I'll give Omi the address. It is
the grandest house in Gandhinagar.'
People called me Mr Accounts; greedy, miser, anything. But the fact is, I did
organise an all-expense-paid booze party to motivate my partners at the shop. It
is bloody hard to get alcohol in Ahmedabad, let alone bulky bottles of beer. One of
my contacts - Romy Bhai - agreed to supply a crate of extra strong beer for a
thousand bucks.
At 7 p.m. on the day of the party, Romi Bhai left the beer -wrapped in rags - at
the SBI compound entrance. I came to the gate and gave Romi Bhai the day's
newspaper. On the third page of the newspaper, I had stapled ten hundred-rupee
notes. He nodded and left.
I dragged the cloth package inside and placed the bottles in the three ice-filled
buckets I had kept in the kitchen. I took out the bottle opener from the kitchen
shelf, where we kept everything from Maggi noodles to boxes of crackers to burst
when India won a match.
Another person may see the abandoned SBI branch as an eerie party venue.
This used to be an old man's haveli. The owner could not repay and the bank
foreclosed the property. Thereafter, the bank opened a branch in the haveli. The
owner's family filed a lawsuit after he died. The dispute still unresolved, the
family obtained a court injunction that the bank could not use the property for
profit. Meanwhile, SBI realised that a tiny by lane in Belrampur was a terrible
branch location. They vacated the premises and gave the keys to the court. The
court official kept a key with Omi's dad, a trustworthy man in the area. This was
done in case officials needed to view it and the court was closed. Of course, no
one ever came and Omi had access to the keys.
The property was a six-hundred square yard plot, huge by Belrampur
standards. The front entrance directly opened into the living room, now an
abandoned bank customer service area. The three bedrooms on the first floor
were the branch manager's office, the data room and the locker room. The branchmanager's office had a giant six-feet vault. We kept our cricket kit in the
otherwise empty safe.
We hung out most in the haveli's backyard. In its prime, it was the lawn of a
rich family. As part of the bank branch, it was an under-utilised parking lot and
now, our practice pitch.
I rotated the beer bottles in the ice bucket to make them equally cold.
Ish walked into the bank.
'So late,' I said. 'It is 8.30.'
'Sorry, watching cricket highlights. Wow, strong beer,' Ish said as he picked up
a bottle. We had parked ourselves on the sofas in the old customer waiting area
downstairs. I reclined on the sofa. Ish went to the kitchen to get some bhujia.
'Omi here?' Ish said as he opened the packet.
'No, I am the only fool. I take delivery, clean up the place and wait for my lords
to arrive.'
'Partners, man, partners,' Ish corrected. 'Should we open a bottle?'
'No, wait.'
Omi arrived in ten minutes. He made apologies about his dad holding him back
to clean the temple. Omi then prayed for forgiveness before drinking alcohol.
'Cheers!' all of us said as we took a big sip. It was bitter, and tasted only
slightly better than phenyl.
"What is this? Is this genuine stuff?' Ish asked.
We paused for a moment. Spurious alcohol is a real issue in Ahmedabad.
'Nah, nobody makes fake beer. It is just strong,' I said.
If you filled your mouth with bhujia, the beer did not taste half as bad. In fact,
the taste improved considerably after half a bottle. As did everyone's mood.
'I want to see this Ali kid. Three customers have mentioned him,' Ish said.
'The Muslim boy?' Omi said.
'Stop talking like your Mama?' Ish scolded. 'Is that relevant? They say he has
excellent timing.'
'Where does he play?' I enquired through a mouthful of bhujia.
'In our school. Kids say his most common shot is a six.' 'Let's go check him
out. Looks like the school has your worthy successor,' 1 said.
Ish turned silent. It was a sensitive topic and if it was not for the beer, I would
not have said it.
'Succeeding Ish is hard,' Omi said. 'Remember the hundred against Mahip
Municipal School, in sixty-three balls? No one forgets that innings.' Omi stood up
and patted Ish's back again, as if the ten-year-old match had ended minutes ago.
'No one forgets the two ducks in the state selection trials either,' Ish said and
paused again.
'Screw that, you were out of form, man,' Omi said.
'But those are the matches that fucking mattered, right? Now can we flip the
topic?'
Omi backed off and I gladly changed the subject. 'I think we should thank our
sponsors for tonight - The Team India Cricket Shop. In seven months of
operation, our profit is 42,600 rupees. Of which, we have distributed 18,000 to
the partners and 22,000 is for the Navrangpura shop deposit. And the remaining
2,600 is for entertainment like tonight. So, thank you, dear shareholders and
partners, and let's say cheers to the second bottle.'
I took out the second bottle for each of us from the ice bucket.'Stud-boy,' Ish slurred, standing up, 'This business and its profit is all owed to
Stud-boy, Mr Govind Patel. Thank you, buddy. Because of you this dropout
military cadet has a future. And so does this fool who'd be otherwise jingling bells
in the temple all his life. Give me a hug, Stud-boy.'
He came forward to give me a hug. It was drunk affection, but genuine enough.
'Will you do me one more favour buddy?' Ish said.
'What?'
'There is someone who wants maths tuitions,' Ish said.
'No, I am full, Ish. Seven students already...,' I said as Ish interrupted me. 'It is
Vidya.' 'Your sister?'
'She finished Class XII. She is dropping a year now to prepare for the medical
entrance.'
'You don't need maths to become a doctor.'
'No, but the entrance exams do. And she is awful at it. You are the best man,
who else can I trust?'
'If it is your sister, then I mean...,' I took a breath. 'Wow, Vidya to join medical
college? Is she that old now?'
'Almost eighteen, dude.'
'I teach younger kids though, class five to eight. Her course is more advanced. I
am not in touch.'
'But you got a fucking century in that subject, dude. Just try she needs any
help she can get.'
I said nothing for a while, trying to remember what I knew of Vidya, which was
little.
'What are you thinking. Oh, I know, Mr Accounts. Don't worry we will pay you,'
Ish said and took a big sip.
'Shut up, man. It is for your sister. Ok, I'll do it. When do we start?'
'Can you start Monday ... no Monday is Parekh-ji's feast. Damn, Omi what the
fuck are we going to do there?'
'The things we do to keep your Mama happy.' I couldn't wait to move to
Navrangpura.
'Parekh ji is supposed to be a great man,' Omi said. 'And I always listen to you
guys. Come for me this time.'
'Anyway, Tuesday then,' I said to Ish. 'So is she going to come to the bank?'
'Dad will never send her out alone. You come home.'
'What?' I said. Maybe I should have accepted a fee. 'Ok, I'll move some classes.
Say seven in the evening?'
'Sure, now can you answer one maths question, Mr Accounts,' Ish said.
'What?'
'You ordered a crate with ten bottles. We drank three each. Where is the tenth
one?' Ish stood up swaying.
I stood as well. 'The question is not where the tenth one is, but who does it
belong to.' I lunged for the ice bucket. Ish dived in as well. Cold water splashed
on the floor as we tugged at the bottle. After a ten-second tiff, he released it.
'Take it, dude. What would I do without you?'

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