Three Mistakes Of My Life Part 18

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 endors.e.m.e.nt 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 G.o.d 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 amba.s.sador.'

'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-gla.s.s 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 a.s.ses 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 gla.s.ses. Thank G.o.d 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 b.a.l.l.s 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-cla.s.s potential, I will give up my life to get him out there, I swear. Please, just bowl a few b.a.l.l.s 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 b.a.l.l.s, 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-p.i.s.s 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 h.e.l.l 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.