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shystoryrebel · 3 years ago

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What is the Score?

Cricket is the most popular game in the country. People forget everything. Everybody was discussing the outstanding parallels of India’s 1983 victory with March 1971 victory in West Indies against West Indies. It was a match between India led by Ajit Wadekar and West Indies led by legendry Sir Garry Sobers. I was thirteen years old when the memorable match happened and was right away enchanted by it. The timings enabled me to be often at home for the day matches due to time difference between the two nations. It was the match I remember most vividly when Late Dilip Sardesai played magnificently throughout the series. India could register her maiden test and series win against West Indies due to him.

Sunil Gavaskar’s debut match, phenomenal job by the Indian spinners, and superior performance made possible for India’s first test and a series win against the Caribbean. It was also the brilliant captaincy of Wadekar which led India to her first test and series win over West Indies led by Sobers. It was a historic win. Before the tour of 1971, India had drawn 11 Tests with them and had lost 12. Worse, It was the first time, India managed to take the first-innings lead against West Indies. So, when India managed to make West Indies follow-on in the first Test at Kingston, thanks to Dilip Sardesai’s wonderful 212 and the spinners, it was already a great moment for the Indians.

India reached Port-of-Spain for the second Test with high moral. India had a debutant in the form of a 21-year-old called Sunil Gavaskar, who would go on to rule Indian cricket for over a decade and a half.

Sobers won the toss and decided to bat. Abid Ali magically bowled a ball that nearly on the pitch and hit experienced Roy Fredericks on the pad, and then the stumps. Soon magical Indian spinners took over. They made the West Indian batsman struggled for runs. But Steve Camacho and legendry Rohan Kanhai managed to save their wickets. Solkar was fielding marvellously at short-leg and got the catch of Camacho off Bishan Bedi and Kanhai off EAS Prasanna and Abid Ali removed Clive Lloyd.

Srinivas Venkataraghavan bowled an outstanding spell and managed to out dangerous Sobers who was trying to rescue his team. The spinners kept the pressure on the Caribbean and they were all out for 214.

India had half an hour to bat. Nervous debutant came on the ground, and a Vanburn Holder ball hit his pads and the ball ran towards deep fine-leg. The batsmen took a couple, but the umpire signalled them as runs instead of leg-byes. That was the beginning off the mark of legendry Sunil Gavaskar who became a run machine later on.

Sunil Gavaskar scored a double century in the same series. I remember dreaming of playing a match in which ... I scored defend that target. Thankfully the weather was clear during the match, all in my family were interested in the cricket but no one was into cricket. My father was a teacher, mother was a housewife and they had a passing interest. My grandparents didn’t care and brothers were deeply interested in the game. Nevertheless, I and my elder brother were glued to the radio in the night for every bit of action we could catch. West-Indies made it to a good beginning. Next day nobody wanted to go to school. Well almost nobody. My father went to college and I was forced to go the school.

Most parents thought in the same manner. There were hardly 50 students in the school who came to the school that day. All the teachers had come, but given that every class had a very small number of students. However, they took all the students to the library and we all turned to the newspaper instead of the book. Now as a class of 8 students, that was already turning out to be a historical day. No classes and passing the entire day watching the pictures of players and the thrilling actions. Already this was a happy day.

Most of the students were pretty young and didn’t know much about the peculiarities about cricket. We were happy to read every detail, every inch even. As Sardesai and Gavesker began what was actually a good partnership, we became very crazy. My lady teacher Miss Fatima kept smiling at me but it wasn’t like natural. She was a young nun. The Indian team was nervous about the match and lacked their usual confidence because West-indies was a very strong side.

As the innings neared its final stage, Sardesai and Gavaskar consolidated belatedly looked to up the ante. For us kids, it was more than enough to see the good score. My teacher was getting more close and affectionate. The affection show was getting more serious. She wanted to stop me in the library. We would hug each time as and we were alone but then she started kissing and cheering if it was a boundary. She holds me back forcefully. Principal Miss Marry came to see the library, and by the time we were in a carnival mood. I told Miss Marry the last score. The teacher felt we should move to the staff room to read more seriously. At one point, my Math teacher Miss Ayesha passed in front of the library, peeping into the library, pointing towards us that one more peep and the match was shifted to the empty staff-room. Now if I could wander here for a bit, for kids in classes 7-8 (which all of us were), school teachers are next in line to superpowers.

The second morning began spectacularly, as Gavaskar and Ashok Mankad played well. After Manked was out, followed by Salim Durani cheaply, the hero of the previous test-Sardesai joined Gavaskar. Sobers wasn’t the same bowler he once used to be. Sardesai soon settled down, and Gavaskar reached his fifty just after lunch, and Kanhai congratulated him with the words, “Well played, son”. In a few years’ time, Gavaskar would name his son after Rohan Kanhai, as Rohan Gavaskar. Gavaskar scored 65 runs. Ajit Wadekar could not open his account. But again Sardesai and Solkar ended the day without any other loss, with Sardesai on 83 and Solkar on 24.

It was my first encounter with an adult woman outside my family circle. Ironically she was a nun and my teacher. I learnt to look at her for studies, permission, approval and anything like these. They shape the future world and lives. I never thought of to cross that line. But that limit seemed blurred after that. So regardless of the fantastic delight of that experience so far, when my teacher Miss Fatima raised her voice and snatched the newspapers, we knew things were getting serious. But at the same time, students were in the status of ecstasy. Those days had been like never other days. Who would students listen to? Our mindset or mood?

As soon as Miss Fatima walked in we all opened the newspaper. She again set on the next chair to me. I narrated her another big shot (It was a big hook by Solkar for four) played. I was a storyteller to her. India very intelligently resisted all calculations and logic. We couldn’t help but overlook the recent attractions and started making a touching each-other. However, the teachers knew that if they allow us to spent time like this, it would cause an irretrievable dent to their authority and respect.

This was a state of affairs that could harm the school’s moral structure. Miss Fatima moved closer without any hesitation, hiding our hand under the big pages of the newspaper. Instantly, hush. Miss Fatima, as expected, now started into an artificially heated outburst about discipline and respecting your elders and learning to behave yourselves. This continued for a few minutes. We all smiled and looked to the floor but I failed to restrain my ravenous to touch her thighs. Miss Fatima was perhaps enjoying up this moment. “You all the time makes a big noise.” We all shook our heads like disciplined kids. A few cute “sorry miss” were heard. Everyone took a sigh of relief. She put the newspapers back. The first thing I saw on her face flickered back a smile…strict and disciplined Miss Fatima, her gown above her knees, smilingly adjusted back on the chair.

There was a perceptible fear all around. For us kids, all we could not understand this. That was neither any bad news. But for the teachers, the adults, they knew what was happening. Miss Fatima was our great English mine. She was responsible for our positive changes. She had taught us through our first half-yearly success after three poor performances. The mellowness of Miss Fatima was like a shock. And the adults, especially Miss Marry and Miss Ayesha, knew that because they had their romantic adventures.

I again started reading the newspaper. Sardesai batted magnificently. Solkar, gave a very good company and runs were automatically coming. Mighty Sobers got desperate for the wickets but Sardesai and Solkar remained on the crease like a rock. Once Sardesai retorted,” a time comes when you feel nobody can get you out, and I had that feeling all through that Caribbean tour”. Ultimately, Sardesai departed after scoring 112. The pair had added 114 decisive runs. Solkar was ninth to out for 55 and finally, India ended on 352. Nevertheless, the real hero of the inning was unquestionably Noreiga, who took up 9 for 95. Miss Fatima was impressed with my art of narration.

I will never forget what happened next, even though it occurred within seconds. Miss Fatima slowly inserted her hand inside my knickers and started playing. Miss Fatima was gasping and her face became red. Her breaths were loud and fast. I could not understand what was happening. The other teachers encircled her and took her to the staff room. I was trying to put this into perspective. Adults, especially teachers, should not sit close to the kids. To see her in that manner was absolutely mind-blowing. To see her breathing loud because someone has scored a century in a match was a flash that changed my perspective on cricket and teachers forever.

Next day West Indies had a solid start; Fredericks and Kanhai opened the inning. The day ended with 150 for 1, 12 run ahead, with Fredericks on 80. The match was evenly poised. On day four, India was chasing the elusive history. During practices in the nets, Fredericks hit a ball that hit David’s right eyebrow. So, Lioyd came out with Fredericks. However, Fredericks was run out without adding any run. Sobers walked in to bat. It was the intelligence of Wadeker and he brought Salim Durani, bowled a mix of fast and spin that clean bowled Sobers. It was an extraordinary, startling sight to see mature the 36-year old Durani jump in the air and thump it in excitement.

Wadekar noticed that sharp spin of Durani and Lloyd had a weakness to turn towards the ball towards mid-wicked and often in the air. Wadekar, himself came there to field and Lloyd immediately played one towards Wadekar. He did no wrong and caught it magnificently off his fingertips. In the very next over Venkat broke the defence of Camacho. West Indies in trouble, just 169 for 5, only 31 runs lead. Soon Venkat, Solkar and Bedi finished the inning of West Indies. David, Barrett, Mike Frindlay Shillingford, and Noregia failed to stop the collapse of the Caribbean’s. Only Davis remained unbeaten with 71. The host could score 261, with only 124 lead.

Gavaskar and Mankad walked to bat. They again gave a solid start, putting up 74 before Mankad was out by Barrett for 29. Barrett struck in quick succession, removed Durani for no score and Sardesai for 3. Suddenly India was in trouble with only 84 for 3. Wadekar again surprised everybody and promoted Abid Ali, probably the best runner of the side, above himself and Solkar. It was another master move, as both Gavaskar and Abid Ali ran aggressively for the target. Gavaskar, by his admission, did not even know that he had completed his fifty. Under pressure, the West Indian fielders became nervous. Ultimately, India registered her first-ever victory by 7 wickets, Gavaskar remained.

The Indians were thrilled so am I. The West Indians were very sad but congratulated Indians. My party was going deep into the night. A well-disciplined Miss Fatima became my friend. On the other hand, the general teacher’s mood was so sore that the play was suspected.

At that moment, I knew that cricket wasn’t like most games in India. Cricket was this captivating exception that led to classes being cancelled and adult teachers sitting with students to see the details.

The biggest thing that strikes me was that Indian fans (and I guess others too) believed that their emotions could be changed with the game. I’ll never understand why all the teachers kept saying “Fatima it’s not your fault” as they led her away. Miss Fatima was a changed teacher. She remained very careful and affectionate to me until I came out of school.

For me, Sardesai and Gavaskar’s blitz meant I will never forget Miss Fatima. By the time I was at home, India had won. The world was never the same again.

As Gavaskar had an extraordinary debut series with 774 runs at 154.80 with 4 hundred — still the best debut series numbers by anyone. The other contributed as well; me and Miss Fatima.

I usually look upon life as a drive involving two gears – cricket and literature – though not related elements. A passionate follower of the history of the sport with an insatiable appetite for literature

I had also a secure love affair with the unbelievable Miss Fatima that cricket could offer. She also thinks I could bowl decent leg-breaks in school cricket, with my innocence.

After almost thirteen years I revisited the old school, the old chapel and met still young and charming Miss Fatima. She smilingly said! I never asked, “What is the score?”

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shystoryrebel · 3 years ago

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Poor Brahmin, cow and the feast of food

It was squalor, nuclear family neglect, selfishness and the modern technological world lurking everywhere—the situation could not have been shoddier for a poor, retired Brahmin teacher Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma. It was times of distress for Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma in the month of Ramzan, a month of the feast.

However, master Ji has no option in his hut. He was not afraid of the watchful eyes China Corona Virus or Covid-19 volunteers. After the retirement, his children settled in the cities due to working requirements. Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma built a small hut under the green peepal tree in the temple, far from the materialist world. However Muslim families were managing all their festivities of Ramzan in their palatial houses unmindful of any advisory of social distancing. They were going to the local mosque for prayers without any fear.

All the shops open and every home makes amazing dishes for the Iftar fast breaker. A deep-fried khajla was their favourite and it was homemade, not bought. "We have been chiefly having dal pakodis and some fruits, mainly dates at Iftar," told rich scrap dealer Alam. "The most important thing we get in plenty is the milk for the children. Our faith and celebrations could not be dented even under the shadow of the China Corona Virus." Shrugged Salim, a rich Maulvi.

Jawed, a rich quack, who was born in this locality, said rather arrogantly, “All talk about the risk of infection but here nobody is bothered about the rules for social distancing to care for our lives." He, further added, "The threat is bigger but we have firm faith in our Allah, that he will protect us." All were rich in the area but nobody was interested in cleanliness of the roads turned narrow lanes due to encroachments. Lanes were piled up with garbage." Manzoor a meat dealer blamed the health workers that they clean the Shiva Mandir lane, the Hindu neighbourhood, but did not come here to Zakir Nagar due to frequent beating and attacks.

The men's grievance was real. The colony is real garbage. The lane was completely drowned in the over-flowing drain. Dozens of little children run behind the kites, unmindful of the full garbage choked drain. Their parents were the least concerned about their safety. The locals, rich scrap dealers, taxi drivers were resting, undisturbed economically or psychologically due to the lockdown. "We are not worried about anything, and we have plenty of free supplies of everything by the government, amid the encroached lanes, filth and stink of the drains," murmured Chandni Bibi. The government was giving free ration, so no need to go to work and she has all the smiles on her face through the month of Ramzan.

In the evening after the breaking of the Roza, people distribute food and fruits outside a mosque. Every day a cow came there. Some naughty boys used to throw leftover or stale food to the cow to eat. But the cow never ate that food. A generous man gave a packet to cow to eat. However, surprisingly the cow did not eat but ran away towards the forest with the packet.

Next day, again the cow came. The naughty boys again threw leftover or stale food to the cow to eat. Again, the cow did not touch that food. Again, the same generous man gave a packet to cow to eat. However, the cow ate nothing and ran away towards the forest. This continued almost for a month.

One day, some people followed the cow. The running cow entered in a hut. Those people also entered into the hut. The cow gave that food packet to an old man, lying on a bed. The cow lifted a small bucket with her mouth and brought water to the old man from the village pond. All the people were surprised and bewildered.

They saw a bearded old man, only in skeleton lying on the bed. His legs were very thin and weak. He was wearing dirty rags.

"O baba, is the cow your's?"

"I have no cow. Shyama cow is my mother. Don't call her like this." Said the old man.

"Baba, every day she comes to us to take food for you. She may hit somebody. Where will we get a doctor here? Please keep it tied. From, tomorrow we will send food to you." Said those men.

"Food is not the issue. I can't stop her. Although, she does not understand my language but understands my 'So many fits of hunger.' After retirement, she is my only companion. Now, she is taking care of me like my mother. I was a teacher in the village school. Now I am retired..."

They came close to the bed of the old man. They were shocked to see the old man was their teacher Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma. They were ashamed of their conduct. They could not understand this love between the cow and the old man. The old man opened the packet with his frail hands and called "Shyama….my mother! Come and eat a little food."

The cow came running inside and started licking the hand of the old man. She ate nothing. Masterji opened the packet and took out the little share of the mother cow."

"Eat mother." Asked master Ji to the cow. The cow ate bread. Masterji also started eating. He was eating slowly. All were seeing him eating. They have no word to speak...

One of them said that "We forgot that you are living in this manner. If one's teacher lives in such conditions, all his prayers are useless."

They tried to give some money to Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma. However, self-respecting master Ji refused.

"Leave it children. Give it to those who need it more than me. I have my mother Shyama to take care of me."

Those people were surprised to see Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma. Today, man is not ready to give anything to his brothers but here a cow is sacrificing everything for an old man.

“What a man Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma is?”

After that day, those Muslims started to worship that peepal tree and started offering so that Pundit Ram Prasad Sharma and his mother Shyama are not slept with 'So many fits of hunger.'

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shystoryrebel · 3 years ago

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Social Service and the freeloaders

Once an NGO had to show some social service that had to do some social service under social service obligation. It was the month of December means the month of winter. Under this compulsion, the NGO announced that it will distribute blankets to the slum dwellers. In slums, it will get a large number of needy people easily. For publicity and propaganda, the NGO hired two cameramen and few media reporters.

The announcement was made with the help of media reporters. A large number of people - old, men, women and children - reached and stood in a row. The blanket bags were brought out for distribution. The poor people started to get restless to get the gift. Seeing this, the NGO activists panicked. There was almost a riot type lawlessness.

Seeing this, a shrewd activist played a trick. He announced that the dirty water from their 'juggis' was accumulating dirt and mud in the streets and it became the breeding ground for mosquitoes and spreading various diseases like dengue, viral fever, diarrhoea etc. in the slum colony. So, the people who would connect their dirty water outlet drain with the main drain built by the municipality will get a blanket after the inspection of their 'juggi'.

Hearing this announcement, almost half the crowd vanished very fast cursing the distributors for wasting their time. But again a large number of slum dwellers stayed back in the hope of getting the free blanket without cleaning/connecting their drains. When the distributors noticed that the slum dwellers are not interested to keep their illegal slum colony clean, they announced another but somewhat easy task. They announced that if they wanted to get free blankets, they should first clean the streets in front of their 'juggis'.

Instead of accepting the task happily, again almost half of the slum dwellers left the site whispering abuses and curses against the distributors for fooling them for their hidden task. Seeing the behaviour of the slum dwellers, the NGO activists were baffled. But, still, they have less count of blankets in comparison to the crowd jeering them. This time a stylish activist woman, donning a big 'bindi' on her forehead, applying a heavy layer of 'kajal' in her eyes, speaking half English and wrong Hindi, announced that 'Bhaiyya', we would come to see the cleanliness inside of your 'juggis'. Only those whose 'juggi' was found clean, would get a blanket each. Go-clean your 'juggi'.

All the slum dwellers left the site making bewildering gestures towards the NGO activists and reporters. Cameramen were taking photographs as per the directions given to them. Fifteen minutes passed, half an hour passed; one hour passed. The afternoon passed, the evening passed; night approached. Nobody came to show their clean 'juggi' and collect the blanket. This time the distributors, cameramen and the reporters grew restless, fearing the snatching and mob looting. " Why are not the slum-dwellers arrived as promised?" they wanted a reply.

The answer they got was least convincing: because they wanted everything served before them i.e. without doing anything!

Now it was the turn of the distributors to get restless. The 'artificial munificent donors' were restless to have their photograph taken in act of distributing the free blankets to make a headline and get a good 'grading' for their NGO.

Until the slum-dwellers arrived, they could show the world their generosity.

Suddenly, the street light failed. Fearing for their safety, the group decided to go back. They turned back to collect their belongings. To their bewilderment and fear, the big load of the blanket was not there.

The game of generosity was over without any photograph and show.

Dogs started to bark at them as if they were asking for the blankets in those cold - windy nights as they could not steal the blankets.

Far in the dark of night, a 'Maulvi' was blaring on a loudspeaker 'Allah-hu-Akbar,' inviting all the 'bhakts' for 'Roza Iftar' feast.

The crowd ran towards the mosque.

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shystoryrebel · 3 years ago

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Do thy work: work is worship

Whenever my students and cadets ask me for truly some serious advice, I advice, “Learn to do your work, specially prepare your own bed to sleep. “ My immature students go away laughing at me, saying, “Sir is still hundred years back and will never change...“ However, I am very serious. Doing one’s own work is a mark of personality, a testimonial about being a name different in the crowd, a distinctive face of one’s individuality. Do not leave it to your mother, sister or the house help; it will become their manner of work or bed, and you will have to change your persona to suit theirs. Apart from that, it is a theme of self-cultivation.

Good enough years back, I went to Naogaon, Assam, to participate in a National Integration Camp with ten cadets. We were put up in an incomplete hospital near the forest. The hospital was abandoned by the authorities due to the terrorist of ULFA. As I was Associated NCC Officer, so a separate room was allotted to me for the next eleven days.

After completing all the paper formalities, I went to my room for some rest. My bed was smartly made. Too good for my taste. I opened the bed cover and found a small black cobra welcoming me with funnel upraised. As, I am a Brahmin, so I cannot kill any one of God’s creations without necessary grounds, and so, I called the PI staff of the NCC. They, using a can (they use it in many ways), they tipped the snake into a large plastic bucket, opened a window, and threw the snake out of the room.

Returning to the room, I decided upon to re-arrange of the bed, and on lifting the mattress, found an entire family of snakes. Disturbed by my intrusion, scores of small snakes were soon scuttling about the bed. I again shouted. The PI staff room was near to my room and they took me to the guest room. I spent the night in the guest room. Better a guest room bug than a forest snake!

Doing my own work, specially making my own bed was very important for me, something NCC taught me when, as a cadet, you were at the mercy of seniors, PI staff, NCOs, ANOs, and frequent pranksters. You were trained made your own bed, washed and iron your own uniform and clothes, polished your own shoes and clean your camp area.

Occasionally a dirt would infiltrate some hurtful annoy between your sheets and you would hide it artistically, preferably with a neat towel. “English“style was popular. You reorganized the sheets in such a shrewd way that the intruder, resting on the bed, found himself in an inextricable dirt. All this meant that NCC taught you had to be very caring of your bed and work.

I became so rigid about my habits and making of my bed that when I went to Meerut as a young student and stayed with the aunt of my friend to take care of her in the absence of her family who was also a motherly lady to me. I had an expected clash with her over I had the right to make my bed. She persisted that I was her guest, with a right to take care of me; she had a right to do my work including arranging my bedroom, plus the bed. I would arrange the bed. She would rearrange it. I did it again. At times she won; at times I. We reached a truce. She would fold and make in the morning, so I would be on time to my class. And in the night, I would make it, so that she could prepare the dinner comfortably.

During winter, my aunt prepared a hot-water bottle, to keep my feet and legs warm all night. It was very useful. As a result of her affection and care, I surrendered all my work and bed making right to my gracious aunt first time in my life. A good breakfast, good dinner and warm bed, what more can an immature student can have?

Food is not a problem to me because I like simple vegetarian food but it is the beds and toilets which always trouble me. There are pillows and pillows. I threw away before I go to bed. They give me the impression as if a Psycho is lying shrunken. I always loosen the sheet and mattress, as these are always tucked into the mattress very tightly. In some cases, mattresses are too soft; throw you towards the sky if you drop on to them abruptly. At times I prefer to sleep on the floor, using a thick carpet, sheet, pillow and blanket from the bed.

Once, a very unusual thing happened with me due to my typical nature. Always remember your hotel room number because rooms are very similar to each other. Once, I was standing in the balcony of my room, leaving the door unlocked to see the city. I am very fond to see the city. On returning to the room, I found my bed occupied by lady in a saree. She was in the wrong room? Fortunately, the lady remained cool and she apologized generously.

She seemed to recognize me, even though she failed to recollect my name.

“Aren’t you that writer-bed tidy? She asked in smilingly. “Come on in and have a drink. “

She was my friend of college days.

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