Three Mistakes Of My Life Part 12

I took the least visible seat in Dairy Den. Sure, no one from our gossip-loving pol came to this hip teen joint, but one could never be too careful. If a supplier saw me at Dairy Den, I would be like any other trendy young boy in Ahmedabad.

I would never get a good price for cricket b.a.l.l.s.

I felt hungry too. But I couldn't match the drama-queen in histrionics. She ordered a Den's special pizza, which had every topping available in Dairy Den's kitchen. All dishes were vegetarian, as preferred by Ambavadis.

'These books look really advanced,' she said, pointing to the plastic bag.

'They are MSc books,' I said.

She raised her eyebrows. 'Can someone explain to me why seventeen-year-olds are made to read MSc books in this country?'

I shrugged. I had no answers for lazy students.

The pizza arrived. We kept quiet and started eating it. I looked at her. She tied her hair, so that it would not fall on the pizza and touch the cheese. She kept her dupatta away from the table and on the chair. The great thing about girls is that even during pauses in the conversation you can look at them and not get bored.

She looked sideways as she became conscious of two boys on a faraway table staring at her. It wasn't surprising, considering she was the best looking girl in Dairy Den by a huge margin. Why are there so few pretty girls? Why hadn't evolution figured it out that men liked pretty women and turned them all out that way?

She checked her phone for any new SMSs. She didn't need to as her phone beeped louder than a fire alarm everytime there was one. She pulled back her sleeve and lifted a slice of pizza. She used her fingers to lift the strands of cheese that had fallen out and placed them back on the slice. Finally she took a bite.

'So, what's up?' she broke the silence. 'Are we allowed to talk about anything apart from science subjects?'

'Of course,' I said. I glared at the boys at the other table. They didn't notice me.

'We are not that far apart in age. We could be friends, you know,' she said.

'Well,' I said, 'tough, isn't it?'

'Tough? Give me one reason why?'

'I will give you four - (1) I am your teacher (2) you are my best friend's sister (3) you are younger than me, and (4) you are a girl.' I felt stupid stating my reasons in bullet points. There is a reason why nerds can't impress girls. They don't know how to talk.

She laughed at me rather than with me.

'Sorry for the list. Can't get numbers out of my system,' I said.

She laughed. 'It tells me something. You have thought it out. That means, you have considered a potential friends.h.i.+p.'

I remained silent.

'I am kidding,' she said and tapped my hand. She had this habit of soothing people by touching them. With normal people it would've been ok, but with sick people like me, female touches excite more than soothe. I felt the urge to look at her face again. I turned determinedly to the pizza instead.

'But seriously, you should have a backup friend,' she said.

'Backup what?'

'You, Ish and Omi are really close. Like you have known each other since you were sperm.'

My mouth fell open at her last word. Vidya was supposed to be Ish's little sister who played with dolls. Where did she learn to talk like that?

'Sorry, I meant Ish and Omi are your best friends. But if you have to b.i.t.c.h ...

oops, rant about them, who do you do it with?' 'I don't need to rant about my friends,' I said. 'C'mon, are they perfect?' 'No one is perfect.'

'Like Garima and I are really close. We talk twice a day. But sometimes she ignores me, or talks to me like I am some naive small town girl. I hate it, but she is still my best friend.'

'And?' I said. Girls talk in circles. Like an algebra problem, it takes a few steps to get them to the point.

'And, talking about it to you, venting, like this, makes me feel better. And I can forgive her. So, even though she is a much closer friend of mine, you became a backup friend.'

If she applied as much brain in maths, no one could stop her from becoming a surgeon. But Vidya who could micro-a.n.a.lyse relations.h.i.+ps for hours, would not open M.L. Khanna to save her life.

'So, c'mon, what's the one rant you have about your best friends?'

'My friends are my business partners, too. So it's complicated,' I paused.

'Sometimes I don't think they understand business. Or may be they do, but they don't understand the pa.s.sion I bring to it.'

She nodded. I loved that nod. For once, someone had nodded at something I felt so deeply about.

'How?' she egged me on.

Over the last few sc.r.a.ps of pizza, I told her everything. I told her about our shop, and how I managed everything. How I had expanded the business to offer tuitions and coaching. I told her about Ish's irritating habit of giving discounts to kids and Omi's dumbness in anything remotely connected to numbers. And finally, I told her about my dream - to get out of the old city and have a new shop in an air-conditioned mall, i 'Navrangpura,' she said, 'near here?'

'Yes,' I said, as my chest expanded four inches.

She saw the glitter in my eyes, as I could see it reflected in hers.

'Good you never did engineering. Though 1 am sure you would have got in,' she said. 'I can't see myself in an office. And leaving mom and her business alone was not an option.'

I had opened up more than I ever had to anyone in my life. This wasn't right, I chided myself. I mentally repeated the four reasons and poked the pile of books.

'More than me, you need to be friends with these books,' I said and asked for the bill.

'Coming,' a girl responded as Ishaan rang the bell of our supplier's home. We had come to purchase new bats and get old ones repaired.

Saira, supplier Pandit-ji's eighteen-year-old daughter, opened the door.

'Papa is getting dressed, you can wait in the garage,' she said, handing us the key to Pandit-ji's warehouse store. We went to the garage and sat on wooden stools. Ish dumped the bats for repair on the floor.

The Pandit Sports Goods Suppliers was located in Ellis Bridge. The owner, Giriraj Pandit, had his one-room house right next to it. Until five years ago, he owned a large bat factory in Kashmir. That was before he was kicked out of his hometown by militants who gave him the choice of saving his neck or his factory.

Today be felt blessed being a small supplier in Ahmedabad with his family still alive.

'Kashmiris are so fair complexioned,' I said to make innocuous conversation.

'You like her,' Ish grinned.

Are you nuts?'

'Fair-complexioned, eh?' Ish began to laugh.

'Govind bhai, my best customer,' Pandit-ji said as he came into the warehouse, fresh after a bath. He offered us green almonds. It is nice to be a buyer in business. Everybody welcomes you.

'We need six bats, and these need repairs,' I said.

'Take a dozen Govind bhai,' he said and opened a wooden trunk, the India- Australia series is coming, demand will be good.'

'Not in the old city,' I said.

He opened the wooden trunk and took out a bat wrapped in plastic. He opened the bat. It smelled of fresh willow. Sometimes hat makers used artificial fragrance to make new bats smell good, hut Pandit-ji was the real deal.

Ish examined the bat. He went to the box and checked the other bats for cracks and chips.

'The best of the lot for you Govind bhai,' Pandit-ji smiled heartily.

'How much,' I said.

'Three hundred.'

'Joking?'

'Never,' he swore.

'Two hundred fifty,' I said, 'last and final.'

'Govind bhai, it is a bit tough right now. My cousin's family has arrived from Kashmir, they've lost everything. I have five more mouths to feed until he finds a job and place.'

'They are all living in that room?' Ish was curious.

'What to do? He had a bungalow in Srinagar and a fifty-year. old almond business. Now, see what times have come to, kicked out of our own homes,'

Pandit-ji sighed and took out the bats for repair from the gunny bag. I hated sympathy in business deals. We settled for two hundred and seventy after some more haggling. 'Done,' I said and took out the money. I dealt in thousands now, but imagined that transacting in lakhs and crores wouldn't be that different.

Pandit-ji took the money, brushed it against the mini-temple in his G.o.down and put it in his pocket. His G.o.d had made him pay a big price in life, but he still felt grateful to him. I could never understand this absolute faith that believers possess. Maybe I missed something by being agnostic.

CHAPTER Eight

Ali reached practice twenty minutes late. Every delayed minute made Ish more p.i.s.sed.

'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 compet.i.tion 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 b.a.l.l.s 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 b.a.l.l.s 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 b.a.l.l.s 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.