GOD of cricket

The sun-baked pitch welcomed him for the last time. The journey was pretty good; each match ripening his juvenile brain into a professional ’s. The brash youth that prevailed in his early years was replaced with an impressive poise; a transformation he underwent once he realized his importance to his side. 22 years back, he attacked every single delivery, sending roars into the stands. He was an entertainer who loved to keep the crowd busy; never going into the technical details, playing irrespective of the match-circumstances. He was criticized by the media and moreover by his seniors, but he hardly cared.

He smiles in retrospection; at his blithe attitude, the pressure on his young shoulders which he never took. Things have changed now, not drastically though. Criticisms from knowledgeable corners get immediately registered and are worked upon but he does not react to the media anymore. Being the senior-most member of the team, he enjoys the opportunity of criticizing his younger team-mates, positively though.

The stadium was packed, roof-tops crowded, and a long queue waited outside as everyone wanted a glimpse of this cricketing-wonder in action for the last time. He took guard and surveyed the field with hawk-eye precision. Being an opener, he was used to facing pace from puberty; something that most of his team-members were not comfortable with.

The crowd was deafening, but none of it registered as he concentrated on the bowler’s grip. A good length delivery on the off stump at nearly 140 kmph followed. An elegant cover drive pierced the gap on the 30 yard circle and reached the fence. Nothing wrong with the delivery; just a master at work. The bowler responded with a nifty bouncer which was quite deftly dealt with. Being a mere 5 feet 6 inches vertically is sometimes a boon.

A score of 250 would be defendable at this slow paced, subcontinent wicket. It was his task to ensure a good start which might escort the team to another single-handedly crafted victory. His partner at the other end did not have ample opportunity to showcase his batting skills as most of the deliveries were consumed by him. Running between wickets is not what he preferred; knowing that he was capable of compensating those ‘silly’ singles with a single stroke. He effortlessly glided to 48. A right-arm leg spinner reset the field trying his best to cut short the batsman’s dreams to its immediate score. An indigenous, soft paddle sweep gave the fence fielder a tough time. He ran hard for the first run, securing a confident second. The crowd erupted but he did not raise his bat; knowing the honors will be done after a century. He did not know why but there was something that confirmed his 100 today; he was so certain about it.

A few more of his artistic maneuvers brought him to 95. No one restricted themselves to their seats; every living soul was on his feet, shouting, cheering, accentuating their presence to the one they refer to as the almighty of cricket. A crisp, quintessential straight drive took him to 99; once again the follow-through marking his proficiency. Even the opponents were mesmerized at the opulent show of sheer panache. Letting a single pass by would certainly not be a servile attempt but a tribute to this cricketing legend, they thought.

The crescendo was reached. Everyone went berserk, including the security personnel, wanting to capture this moment; a moment they could boast about to their kids of having witnessed. The stage was set as the bowler started his run with a weapon he had effectively used against this legend at multiple occasions. The ball pitched on the off stump at an irksome length; somewhere between short and the good length spot. Almost instantaneously his proficient brain decided the one shot that should be played out of the three possible ones. His left foot inched forward, his bat trying to flick it onto the leg side. But the ball had swung inwardly, finding the minute gap between his bat and pad to take off his middle stump. He once again was a prey to an in-swinging delivery. His veteran rival had produced a genius, thus registering his name in cricketing history forever.

The crowd was stunned to silence; disbelief in their eyes, they wanted a reconstruction of past events from scratch. Tears refused to flow as even the brain stalled. The commentators fumbled and preferred to remain silent; cameras zoomed in on him. Time froze……

The opponents were compassionate enough to limit their rejoicing activities to mere nods.

The Lord in heaven had showed that the legend was all but human. He might be the cricketing almighty but it is the Lord who directs and decides the fate of every living soul and whenever a mortal being would in any way jeopardize the Lord’s existence in human minds, HE will not hesitate to alter the fortune of that particular concerned.

For a moment he faltered at the crease, but then in a deft movement, removed his helmet and raised his bat to the crowd. The crowd, someway, had managed to regain some of its lost fervor. Placards bearing his pictures and comments emerged again. He looked up at the sky and smiled…a smile that was serene; and significant enough to reveal his thoughts to the Lord. He had said…

Dear Lord,

What is that one remembers for the rest of his life? Something that is precious…and singular. I am thankful to You for giving me the opportunity to score a century of centuries in my cricketing career but they had become mundane. And today, You have made my cricketing tenure memorable by restricting me on 99 in my final game…a score I have never scored before, a score that no one might ever score in his last match, a score that will certainly find its place in history and thus is rare enough to keep my spirits elated for the rest of my mortal life.

Thanking You again,

The GOD of cricket

With that he took confident strides to the pavilion for the final time.

Showdown at the station (Part 3)

I revisited the plan as I was comfortably seated in an auto taking me to the station.

I would buy a rose, meet her at the platform, start with cursory greetings and then when the time is right would kneel and propose to her publicly…”picture perfect” as Roshan had termed it.

“That’s so embarrassing in a public place!” I had retorted.

“Ok, you are the expert” he put in calmly, thus maintaining the sarcastic impact of the line.

The most important part was to stay calm throughout the whole Bollywood stunt, and this was something I could not assure. I always wanted to do it in a different manner, something that was never done before, something that would take her by surprise. I was good at that. But as I was pretty naïve in this matter, I decided not to improvise and stick to the original plan. I had done enough harm to myself and now as Roshan had found me a way, I would surely not swerve from it.

My train of thoughts broke as the auto screeched to a halt. I paid the fare and went in search of the only flower shop in the area. I found none, and ended up asking another vendor about it.

“Wo gaon gaya hai saab, uski maa bimar hai. Ek hafte baad hi lautega.”, he said nonchalantly.

“Nahi nahi aur koi phoolon ka dukan nahi milega aapko….wo sabse nazdiki dukan 4 km dur hai.” was his reply when I inquired further.

Considering the evening traffic, it would take me 45 minutes to come back. I was at my wit’s end as I thought of the consequences. The thought of losing her struck me, I never felt so vulnerable before. I sworn at the flower vendor a couple of times, but finding that it would not help my cause further, reached for my mobile.

I stopped midway. How would he help me in any way? He had already done his part; it was my turn now. The confident me took charge. I don’t give a damn about that flower, it’s too trivial to upset my love plans, I thought. I decided to go ahead without it.

I went inside the station, located the platform and was maneuvering my way towards her compartment. She stood there, with an anxious countenance probably awaiting someone. I went close and hailed her with a smile. She tried hard but could only return an ostensible one.

“Hi”, I said.

She kept looking at me, probably apathetic at the usual introductory greetings. She looked upset, lacked her signature…the smile that had already won me.

“Wow, today you look stunning”, I cajoled. An observation that would make most women beam was met with a solemn smile.

I talked some more, trying to ease the situation, attempting to break the ice without knowing the reason of its formation. She kept quiet.

“You came here to say goodbye?” she asked with a heavy voice.

Something kicked inside as the romantic me came out.  I went inside my pocket, took out my proposal gift, knelt down and just smiled. I took her left hand and pushed the polo mint in her little finger.

I revel from the fact that people call me ‘unpredictable’. It took her a few seconds to register. But when it did, she burst in tears as she gave me a tight hug. I was able to break the ice, finally. I was careful as I went back a few steps at the impact. The last thing you want is to tumble in a public place in a PDA moment. I, having done masters in embarrassment, was an obvious prey to it.

We walked hand in hand on the platform towards the far side door of her compartment. She looked at the ring and beamed proudly.

“A juvenile attempt…”, I smirked.

“It's natural, not the choreographed ones that we usually see couples do. I really loved it, its sooo cute.” she hugged me again.

I mentally apologized to the flower vendor and moreover thanked his mother for perfectly timing her ailment.

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PS:  For the more reasonable guys, it is my duty to inform you of the minute details I keep track of while story-telling. I did not choose the ring finger because :

Firstly, I believe it deserves a more substantial, inedible ring (ideal one).

Secondly, the polo hole would not fit in the ring finger (practical one).

In Delhi (Part 2)

“How do I deal with this ‘abruptness’ thing?”

“Go ahead, let them know about us.”

“If I do that, I will do it my way.”

“You do have surreal ways, but then you are the writer.”

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Everyone queued up giving rise to an unnecessary commotion as the train approached Delhi. This is the funniest thing that most of us do without realizing the fact that the train will not take us further than the last stop. I, as usual was the last one to step onto the platform.

“Hello there”, said a familiar voice, but I could not locate him.

“What were you doing inside for so long? I was waiting here for almost an hour “, fired Roshan.

Before I could reason it out, a few more statements followed, each making me realize what an idiot I was. Before I go further, I would like to introduce my friend Roshan to you.

Multiple girlfriends (never two at a time).

Loud music and rash biking (never two at time).

My romance guru… I listened to his instructions carefully and made fun of him later.

In the meantime, Vishal and Preity had come to bid me goodbye. We would meet the next day at an arts exhibition and according to her it would be a grand event if I called her and set my arrival time with them. She made me promise that I would call.

She smiled, waved her hand and was out of sight within minutes.

“Who was that?” chuckled Roshan.

“My girlfriend” I smiled.

“Not presently, but can be, if you listen to me” he said like a thoughtful professor.

“Spare me your lectures for the time being, I just want some rest” I said.

But who cares, my ears went through rigorous pummeling during the half an hour auto ride that we took to reach his apartment. All his plans pivoted on the fact that I would call her and talk to her.

She called at 11 p.m.
“Hi, I’m Preity…..remember?”

“Of course, err….how is it going?” I mumbled.

“You forgot to call this evening, so I thought whether you still remember or not…” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Don’t be silly, I was just going to.”

“It’s already eleven now” pat came her reply.

“I thought you might be busy and call rates are lower after 11:30 for me.”

Engineers are never short of excuses and a logical counterpart always strengthens them. She would never get past me with reasoning, I thought.

“We both are Vodafone users and I am aware of all their schemes. Just be there at 7.”

She cut the line. Damn, this time you are dealing with a smarter species than yourself, I thought.

I reached there at 6:45 p.m. sharp, the sharpness being the result of her last night’s call. The hallway was full of people but lacked commotion; a murmur was all that one could hear. Inebriated by the opulent show of modern art, people perused every single work perennially. I, as naïve as one could be, found their gestures quite outlandish. As my efforts at decoding the first few works went futile, I gave up, but kept a confident countenance as I went through the rest.

I found myself looking at an oil painting that had the wreck of a ship while a gruesome sea-storm formed the backdrop. This was the only one that I fully comprehended, given that it was a simple oil painting and there was actually nothing to comprehend.

“A moon up there in the sky would have given it more depth”, I observed, accentuating my presence to the guy standing next to me. He looked at me preposterously and went ahead.

“It is not what catches the naked eye”, said another 30-something man who had overheard me.

“This represents the wrecked state of the human mind”, he showed me a small sign located at the upper-left corner of the picture which had eluded me. It was the artist’s signature of representing a human mind.

“And a moon would certainly be incongruous”, he chuckled.

I smiled like a kid at the epiphany and quickly made my way out of the hallway.

It was 8 and she had not turned up yet. I called her but she did not respond. It was foolish of me last night, I thought. She had waited the entire evening and then had called me. It was quite justified on her part to be upset with me. I looked at the hallway again only to find her coming towards me with her signature smile.

She wore a black dress that resembled a gown and I would not be able to detail further as I am bereft of the knowledge of women wear. For the first time in life, my arsenal of adjectives had failed me to perfectly portray a proper noun. As she came close with large, confident strides, I went blank. I could not hear the murmurs, could not see the people in the backdrop. She occupied the centre-stage and rest was all blurred. I was myself again as she greeted me and apologized for not corresponding. I kept quiet. She spoke some more, but all of it went over my head; my mind was not prepared yet for its usual functioning.

I composed myself and restricted my mind from going haywire.

“Where’s Vishal?” I tried to be normal.

“Oh, he has some other commitments. He will be late.”

“Okay”

“What are you doing tonight? Let’s dine together.”

“Err…”  I was taken aback.

“C’mon, you are not well prepared for an excuse right now.” She smiled.

Half an hour later we found ourselves seated in a vegan restaurant. She asked me what I would like and I replied that as it was a vegan course, it did not matter. Everything tastes the same, I reasoned, trying to get back my not-so-profound sense of humor. I relied on it badly to get me back to my usual self.

She talked about her family, her hobbies, her likes and dislikes and all that was necessary to describe her. I gave her a good audience while keeping my mouth shut.

“You are always quiet.” she stated.

“Are you always quiet?” a question this time.

“Not always, but most of the time.”

“And also very brief. Why?” she asked.

“It’s a habit. I have completed my 10^th from I.C.S.E board. Marks were deducted for not being succinct.”

 “I just love your humorous ways”, she laughed out loud. I hoped she loved me too.

Roshan’s apartment. The next morning.

I saw him digesting three newspapers one after the other….one of his more urbane interests. Last night’s episode was dictated to him with him interjecting with one or two questions here and there.

“So it was she who took you for a date?” he said wryly.

“It was not like a date. It was just…”

“Of course it was, you idiot. Hopefully you both shared the bill, right?” he was dripping sarcasm.

“Actually, she paid it. You know my theory; I never pay for vegan food…”

He threw the paper aside and launched an attack almost choking me.

“You good-for-nothing fellow……blah blah blah….You don’t deserve a girlfriend…blah blah blah… You don’t even deserve a friend like me” He burst out.

After a while he calmed down.

“How can Roshan’s best friend be so unromantic?” he asked God.

I, like a loser kept quiet. I knew, I had let him and moreover my own self down. She was due to leave for Jaipur this evening and if I didn’t act deftly, I would certainly lose her with only myself to blame. He chalked out a plan for me. Yes, he was my best friend and despite all my foolishness, wanted to help me out. I mentally prepared myself as I waited for the clock to strike five.

En route to Delhi (Part 1)

Reached an hour early at the station, located my compartment and finally found my berth after colliding for the umpteenth time with a 40-something formidable lady, who seemed to be in a hurry lest the train departed early.

“Sorry beta”, she said in an unapologetic, casual tone.

This one was a massive blow in my face which resulted because she was throwing a bag to her husband who was sitting in the side upper berth, right above her. How could someone be so thick? I turned around exasperated, “No problem, why don’t you hit me on the other side of the face too”, I wanted to say, but decided to drop the sarcasm, and ended up with a more civilized “its ok.”

After keeping my luggage, I went in search of a coke and a polo mint…my regular companion in travel. I checked the reservation list for my name. Vaikunth Sinha and Tulsi Sinha occupied the side berths. I went on…Ravi Malhotra, Preity Sabarwal, Visha…wait wait… Preity Sabarwal.  It was interesting because I met many Preitys before but for the first time I had found a Preity Sabarwal,21 occupying the berth right opposite mine.

I came back hoping that she would be cute but she had not arrived yet and considering the fact that the train would depart in ten minutes, she was late.  I was sitting looking at the passage and in five minutes, a curly haired girl came and sat opposite me. Elegant in a maroon salwar, she looked at me while adjusting her luggage and smiled inadvertently, which I returned rather formally. I thought of talking to her but then I am awful at starting a conversation. Usually I fall short of topics, and am better off at listening to others talk. I was still researching ways when I saw a guy coming towards me. He was ludicrously dressed.

Normally, we dress for comfort for a long journey but he wore a body-hugging t-shirt and jeans that to me resembled like someone had sucked the air out of it after he wore it. A pair of sport shoes followed. The most interesting part was his hair. It is not that I found everyone’s hair interesting because I have a hair that is neither too curly nor too straight, and an unbiased attempt at describing it perfectly will definitely reveal my linguistic limitations. Well, his hair was spiked and the spikes were to a large extent overdone. I don’t understand why salons spend so much effort in doing this typical hairdo, when a deliberate 220V at the posterior end would have sufficed.

Horror of horrors, this funny character sat right next to her without hesitation and she smiled at him too. Must be her boyfriend, I thought. I closely looked at him now and my eyes caught something, aha…gotcha….definitely a Kolkata guy, an electronic wristwatch handpicked from Esplanade displayed itself proudly. But he had got a damn good physique, a single punch and I would be moaning like a baby. Forget about talking to her, I restricted myself from looking at her.

The train had travelled a good 20 kms. She looked at me and smiled again. A bit fidgety, I looked at him; he wore his sunglasses in a deft movement. Now I won’t be able to follow him and sit virtually defenseless. One more smile and I am dead, I thought. I clutched my coke bottle; a hit with the cap on the bottle should inflict some pain, provided I hit the right places.

All of a sudden, the guy inched forward and stretched his hand towards me for a shake…

“Hello, I am Vishal”, he said in a friendly tone.

I introduced myself and looked at her.

“I am Preity”, she extended her hand and smiled which concluded in laughter as if she knew my train of thoughts. I joined her in it, and he gave us both a void look.

For the next half an hour, I learnt that they were going to Delhi for same reasons as mine and the fact that they were cousins goaded me to smirk. We became friends and are in touch till date.

KKR critically

IPL-4 is in full swing, with KKR having started on a different note this time. The bowling department seems to have more teeth with the inclusion of Kallis and the pacer with four slower deliveries in an over and nowadays even does a slow bouncer, Balaji.

SRK can be seen in the VIP box with a solemn expression. Earlier the man who cheered every single run does not even smile on a four. What else can one expect after the last three disastrous versions of the IPL? He sits with a gloomy countenance that symbolizes apathy. An occasional six brings back his idiosyncratic ‘flying kiss’. If it’s a win, the post match celebration captures his ostensible smile; beaming is out of the question.

The exclusion of Ganguly reduced the Eden crowd enormously. His stern followers believe that this act of KKR snubs Ganguly’s contribution to cricket and quite rightly so; if a player’s performance is the only benchmark, then he should be on the field since he has fared better than any other player in his team in the last version of IPL. Big international names not being able to deliver at the right moment was a major cause of KKR’s underperformance. Of course one cannot forget that our local players are not experienced enough to perform under pressure. Hot-blooded as ever, they cannot be relied upon for winning a tight match.

If the above written fact about Ganguly is true, then how come no other team bid for him. There can only be one reason. When Ganguly plays in an IPL team, it is difficult or rather outrageous to not make him the captain. Once he is the captain, the throne shifts from the management towards him. He becomes the key personality and most decisions are well influenced by him. This appalls team-owners. Thus the reasons that Ganguly is too aged and he is an underperformer are a mere travesty.

Let’s hope we get into the knockout stage this time but the slogan should be for now at least …

“korbo, lorbo tobe jitbo na harbo ta bolbo na re”.

Behind enemy lines and back

Sweat beads glistened on his nose-tip as he climbed into the cockpit. He tried to remain composed but random thoughts crossed his mind. Just then the earphone crackled…

“Trims neutral, brakes okay, all systems go from telemetry” declared a nonchalant voice.

“Confirm, monitored” he replied trying hard to conceal his deep breaths.

He took off at full throttle, pulling the stick and was airborne within seconds. He enjoyed every moment of it till yesterday. But today was no routine sortie; he had not experienced real combat before. He was flying in arrow-head formation with him as the left wingman of his lead. He was the youngest of the three. They would be in enemy territory within 6 minutes. His lead would drop two laser-guided bombs and destroy a bridge. Once done they would return to base and if all goes well, they would be back in 15 minutes. Sounds easy during briefing but the real time scenario sends a chill down your spine.

5 minutes into the flight and he thought about his parents, his girlfriend. She had called last night. He tried to be normal, cracking jokes as usual, trying to tease her every now and then. She kept quiet for a moment and then inquired. He always got amazed at how she could well understand those unspoken words and decode the unnecessary bursts of laughter that he used to camouflage his thoughts. Usually he gave in, but he could not do that yesterday and somehow had managed to escape. At least that’s what he thought.

His earphone crackled. His lead informed that they were just entering enemy territory. He focused on the mission again, looking at the screen in front, confident that nothing would evade his newly fitted radar system. Everything below seemed normal which was in a way incongruous. The bridge was within sight. His lead informed him, went ahead and climbed. He saw him release the bombs which hit the target with precision. No sooner did this happen than he picked up something on his radar. Three jets were coming towards them from the east. He informed his lead of the situation and was instantly ordered to engage at will. After dropping his fuel tanks he broke away from the formation and just then saw a missile hurling towards his partner (the third friendly pilot). It was from a surface-to-air missile (SAM) launcher on the ground. His partner tried hard negotiating with it, trying all the escape maneuvers but in vain. He saw his partner go down in flames. No time for emotions, he focused on the job at hand.

His lead was taking two of them, he was chased by one. The first ever dogfight of his life had just begun. At his current height, he was an easy prey to SAMs. He climbed and pulled away. The enemy jet was slightly below him but was coming close really fast. He tried maneuvering to avoid a lock but only for a while. His radar picked up an infrared missile hurling towards him at Mach 1.5. His heart was in his mouth for the first time as he considered his counter-measures….there was one. He deployed flares, took a sharp left and reduced the engine power while praying hard so that the missile fell for the decoy. It did.

Relieved at his survival, he thought of his next step. The enemy aircraft was again trying to find a lock and was fast catching up. Barrel-rolling came to his mind. In this move you pull your stick to climb, roll once and come back to your original line of flight while maintaining your speed, thus covering more distance and if the enemy aircraft does not reduce its speed, he is sure to go ahead of you. Things happened according to plan and he was in a firing position. His first missile missed the target but the second one had found the enemy’s red-hot engine. The first kill of his life. He brimmed with confidence and contacted his lead. There was no response. He tried again but in vain. He picked up another jet on his radar, probably the one who shot down his lead. This time he went towards it with full after-burner, trying hard not to let it escape.

The enemy aircraft was returning, probably satisfied with his kill and never expected to be chased in his own territory. He fired one missile but it caught the enemy aircraft’s flares. His enemy climbed and kept climbing. He smiled at the pilot’s poor knowledge of his jet’s capabilities. He too climbed behind him. After a while, the enemy aircraft stalled and lost height. This was his chance as he found a lock on his enemy. Damn, all three of his missiles were gone. He mentally smacked his forehead for losing this opportunity. He was right behind the enemy aircraft, well within firing range, having an easy lock on the opponent but he ran out of his resources. The next moment he remembered something. The weapon that he never used during a sortie. How could it ever elude him? He advanced with full afterburner, speed nearly Mach 2. He could see the aircraft’s big engine in front. He had forgotten previously that he had 150 rounds of ammunition. He pulled the trigger for 3 seconds and most of the bullets hit the rear of the jet. It went rolling down. He was so close, he could see the pilot eject.

Happy with two kills on his first day, one of which is the coveted gun-kill, he started returning to base. Two minutes into it and there was an alarm. Two dogfights with frequent use of afterburners had drained him. He would never be able to leave enemy territory with his current speed and leftover fuel. He calculated hard. Finally, he took a decision that went on to save him from becoming a POW. He went for a full afterburner which resulted in rapid fuel consumption but let him cruise at Mach 2.

A minute later, he was totally dry. Ejecting behind enemy lines is a nightmare for any fighter pilot. If his calculation was right he will just make it. He leaned forward and pulled the lever under his seat for ejection. Out of nowhere three straps emerged…each plastering him firmly to his seat. The canopy blew away and he was out of the flying coffin within 0.1 seconds. The chute opened and he sailed it towards his own country. He suffered injuries due to the high altitude ejection which he chose to save himself. Drenched in sweat and  energy fully drained, his vision blurred as he went further down. When he hit the ground, he was already unconscious.

A beautiful face hovered over him that blanketed the light above. The face was anxious and had tiny droplets on its cheek. He could not relate to the present scenario. He looked around; there were few people….some lying in bed and some roaming in blue aprons. He realized he was in a hospital. He was unconscious for 20 hours but in safe hands. He looked at the kind face again and then it registered. It was his girlfriend. 

One of my memorable school incidents

Someone was trying to teach maths when he came in. He said something to sir and I realized that he had arranged a rendezvous with the vice principal. I was asked to go immediately. From the glitter in his eyes I realized I was going to be in serious trouble. I tried to recollect my thoughts about what I had said to him that day or in the past few days. There were many, and those which he did not like comprised 95% of the many. As I could not narrow down on one, I wasn’t well prepared for the excuse that would save my life.

We entered the vice principal’s office. This was the second time I saw his face so serious. No sooner did this thought cross my mind than he stooped a little and started complaining while his fingers straightened the ripples on his tie. This was typical of "Bishu". All of a sudden the serious mood was over (for me of course).

He:  Sister, here he is. Sister he called me “looze”.

Sr :  Err….sorry..?

See, it’s so trivial that she forgot within hours. Now broach it again in my presence and I will have an opportunity to limit your melodrama.

He: He called me by that name and I told you earlier what it means…So...

Sr : Oh, you were here this morning(self consciously).

      (Looking at me gravely) did you do so?

If I declined, I knew from her countenance that she was preparing to fire a lot of statements like “Don’t lie to me”, “I am aware of everything that goes on in campus” and so on. These were cliche and we all knew them. So, what do I do when she starts the rapid fire round? I chose what my 15 year old brain thought was best.

Me : Yes Sister, I did.

She was taken aback. Firstly, framing new questions takes time and, secondly, I scored a 100 for honesty. She kept looking at me for a couple of seconds and asked the one question that I wanted her to ask.

Sr : Why?

Well, I was fully prepared for this. Only friends help when you really need them. So here goes.

Me : Someone has given him that name (which I thought perfectly suited him) and everyone in class calls him by that name. I said it only once and here he is complaining about me. I don’t even know its meaning.

In school I was really innocent and if I worked a bit, I could beat Imran Khan.

Sr : Err…actually, you are such a good boy and he did not expect those words from you. Let others say what they want, don’t listen to them. Ok.

Me : Yes sister.

The atmosphere got friendlier. I managed to escape unscathed and I didn’t look at his face which I was sure got reduced to a grotesque figure and I knew there was disbelief in his eyes, ears or whichever sense organ that reported to his brain that his efforts went futile.

Sr : Go now both of you. Your period is almost over.

We came out. Me smiling, and he hurling abuses in local dialect (again typical him).

He:  It won’t be that easy for you because it’s going to be the Principal next time. So be careful with me or I will make sure you get hammered. You get it?

Me : Absolutely………………..Loozzee…….

I think I ran at around 331m/s so that I could get the hell out of there before he heard me.