The 3 Mistakes Of My Life (10 page)

Ish said passionately.

'But it's just a game. One guy hits a ball with a stick, the rest run around to

stop it.'

'It's more than that,' lsh said, offended. 'But if you have never played it, you

will never understand.'

Ali's dad said, 'You know I am a member of the secular party?'

'We saw the sign,' I said.

'Would you like to come and visit our party sometime?'

Omi suddenly stood up. 'Do you know who you are talking to? I am Pandit

Shastri's son. You have seen the Swami temple in Belrampur or not?' His voice

was loud.

Ish pulled Omi's elbow to make him sit down.

'How does that matter, son?' Ali's dad said.

'You are telling me to come visit your party? I am a Hindu.'

'We won't hold that against you,' Ali's father grinned. 'Ours is a secular party.'

'It is not secular. It is suck-ular party. Suck-up politics, that is all you know.

No wonder Muslims like you flock there. Now Ish, we are leaving or not?'

'Omi, behave yourself, we came for Ali.'

I don't care. Let him play marbles and fail maths. If Bittoo Mama finds out I

am here...'

'Bittoo is your Mama?' Ali's dad said.

'He is your opposition. And a suck-up party will never win in Belrampur.'

'Calm down, son. Sit down,' Ali's dad said.

Omi sat down and Ish massaged his shoulder. Omi rarely flared up, but when

he did, it took several pacifying tactics to get him back to normal.

'Here, have a banana. I know you are hungry,' Ish soothed.

Omi resisted, but took the banana.

'I am also new to secular politics, son. I was in a hardline party,' Ali's dad said

and paused to reflect, 'yes, I made a few mistakes too.'

'Whatever. Don't even try to convert people from our party to yours,' Omi said

fiercely.

I won't. But why are you so against us? The party has ruled the country for

forty years, we must be doing something right.'

'You won't rule Gujarat anymore. Because we can see through your hypocrisy,'

Omi said.

'Omi, stop,' Ish said.

'It's ok, Ish. I rarely get young people to talk to. Let him speak his mind,' Ali's

dad said.

I don't have anything to say. Let's go,' Omi said.

'The communal parties aren't perfect either,' Ali's dad said.

I guess even Ali's dad loved to argue.

'There you go. Here is the bias, you call us communal. Your party gives

preference to Muslims, but it is secular. Why?' Omi said. 'What preference have

we given?' Ali's dad said. 'Why can't you let us make a temple in Ayodhya?' Omi

said. 'Because there is a mosque there already'

'But there was a temple there before.' 'That is not proven.'

'It has. The government keeps hiding those reports.'

'Incorrect.'

'Whatever. It is not an ordinary place. We believe it is the birthplace of our lord.

We said, "Give us that site, and we will move the mosque respectfully next door."

But you can't even do that. And we, the majority, can't have that one little request

fulfilled. Parekh-ji is right, what hope does a Hindu have in this country?'

'Oh, so it is Parekh-ji. He taught you all this?' Ali's dad almost smirked.

'He didn't teach us. Our cause is labelled communal, it is not Cool to talk

about it. But because Hindus don't talk, you think they don't feel anything? Why

do you think people listen to Parekh-ji? because somewhere deep down, he

strikes a chord. A common chord of resentment is brewing Mr Naseer, even if it is

not talked about'

A lot of Hindus vote for us, you should know,' Ali's father said.

'But slowly they will see the truth.'

'Son, India is a free country. You have a right to your views. My only advice is

Hinduism is a great religion, but don't get extreme.'

'Hah, don't tell me about being extreme. We know which religion is extreme.'

I wasn't sure if Omi really believed in what he said, or if he was revising lessons

given by Parekh-ji. He never spoke about this to Ish and me, but, somewhere

deep down, did he also feel like Bittoo Mama? If Ish's passion was cricket and my

passion was business, was Omi's passion religion? Or maybe, like most people,

he was confused and trying to find his passion. And unlike us who never took

him seriously, perhaps Parekh-ji gave him a sense of purpose and importance.

'Can we please make a pact to not discuss politics?' Ish pleaded as he signalled

a timeout.

'You still fine with sending your son?' I asked Ali's dad, wondering if he had

changed his mind after Omi's outbursts.

'Don't be silly. We are communicating our differences. That is what is missing

in this country. It's ok, I trust you with my son.' |

We stood up to leave and reached the door, lsh confirmed the practice time - 7

a.m.

'Come, I will walk you boys to the main road. I like to take a walk after dinner,'

Ali's dad said.

We walked out of Ali's house. Omi held his head down, probably feeling

ashamed at having raised his voice. Ali's dad spoke again. 'I am not particularly

fond of my own party'

'Really?' I said when no one said anything.

'Yes, because at one level, they too, like all political parties, spend more time

playing politics than working for the country. Creating differences, taking sides,

causing divides - they know this too well.'

All of us nodded to say goodnight. But Ali's dad was not finished. 'It is like two

customers go to a restaurant and the manager gives them only one plate of food.

And if you want to eat, you must fight the other guy. The two guys get busy

fighting, and some people tell them to make amends and eat half plate each. In

all this, they forget the real issue - why didn't the manager provide-two plates of

food?'

I noticed Ali's dad's face. Behind the beard and the moustache, there was a

wise man somewhere.

'Good point, the fight is created. That is why I am never big on religion or

politics,' I said.

'Once a fight is created, it leads to another and so on. Youl can't really check

it,' lsh said.

'You know I used to teach zoology in college,' Ali's dad said. 'And I once read

about chimpanzee fights that may be relevant here.'

'Chimpanzee fights?'

'Yes, male chimpanzees of the same pack fight violently with each other - for

food, females, whatever. However, after the fight, they go through a strange ritual.

They kiss each other, on the lips.'

Even Omi had to laugh.

'So Hindus and Muslims should kiss?' I
said.

'No, the point is this ritual was created by nature. To make sure the fight gets

resolved and the pack stays together. In fact, any long-term relationship requires

this.'

'Any?' Ish said.

'Yes, take any husband and wife. They will fight, and hurt each other

emotionally. However, later they will make up, with hugs, presents or kind

understanding words. These reconciliatory mechanisms are essential. The

problem in Indian Hindu-Muslim rivalry is not that that one is right and the other

is wrong. It is...

'That there are no reconciliatory mechanisms,' Ish said.

'Yes, so that means if politicians fuel a fire, there is no fire brigade to check it.

It sounds harsh, but Omi is right. People feel inside. Just by not talking about it,

the differences do not go away. The resentment brews and brews, and doesn't

come out until it is too late.'

We had reached the main road and stopped next to a paan shop. I figured out

why Ali's dad had come with us. He wanted I lis after-dinner paan.

'Tell Ali to be on time,' Ish said as we waved goodbye.

The image of kissing chimpanzees stayed with me all night.

Ali came on time in a white kurta pajama. He held his maths books in one

hand and his cricket bat in the other.

‘Cricket first. Keep the books away,’ Ish said.

The boy looked startled by the sudden instruction. I took him upstairs and

opened the vault. Ali chose an empty locker and put down his books. Paresh and

Naveen, two other kids had also come for cricket practice. They were both Ali's

age but looked stronger.

'Boys, run around the backyard twenty times,' Ish ordered in his drill sergeant

voice. His decision on how many rounds the kids must run was arbitrary. I think

he enjoyed this first dose of power everyday.

I went upstairs to the vault to look at Ali's books. The notebooks were blank.

The maths textbook was for Class VII, but looked untouched.

I came out to the first floor balcony. The students were on their morning jog.

'What?' Ish said as Ali stopped after five rounds.

'I ... can't ... run,' Ali heaved.

Omi smirked. 'Buddy, people here do hundred rounds. How are you going to

run between the wickets? How are you going to field?'

'That is why ... I don't ... like cricket,' Ali said, still trying to catch his breath.

'Can't we just play?' Ali said. 'You have to warm up, buddy,' Ish said. Ali had

more than warmed up. His face was hot and red.

After exercises, Ish did catch and field practice. Ish stood in the middle with

the bat as everyone bowled to him. He lobbed the ball high and expected everyone

to catch. Ali never moved from his position. He could catch only when the ball

came close to him.

'All right, let's play,' Ish clapped his hands.'Paresh, you are with me. We'll bowl

first. Naveen you be in Ali's team and bat first.'

Naveen took the crease and Ali became the runner. Naveen struck on Paresh's

fourth ball. Ish ran to get the ball. It was an easy two runs, but Ali's laziness

meant they could score only one. I'aresh took a three-step run-up and bowled. Ali

struck, the ball rose and hurled towards the first floor. I ducked in the first floor

balcony. The ball went past me and hit the branch manager's office window.

Paresh had the same shocked expression as Ish, when Ali had hit a six off his

first ball.

'Hey, what? You hero or something?' Ish ran to Ali. Ali looked puzzled at the

reprimand.

'This is not a cricket ground. We are playing in a bank. If the ball goes out and

hits someone, who will be responsible? What if things break? Who will pay?' Ish

shouted.

Ali still looked surprised.

'That was a good shot,' Paresh said.

'Shut up. Hey Ali, I know you can do that. Learn the other aspects of the game.'

Ali froze, very near tears.

'Ok, listen. I am sorry. I did not mean to...,' Ish said. 'That is all I know. I can't

do anything else,' Ali's voice cracked.

'We will teach you. Now why don't you bowl?'

Ali didn't bat anymore that day. Ish kept the practice simple for the next half

an hour and tried not to scream. The latter was tough, especially because he was

an animal when it came to cricket.

'Get your books from upstairs. We will study in the backyard,' I told a sweaty

'Ali.

He brought his books down and opened the first chapter of his maths book. It

was on fractions and decimals.

Omi brought two polypacks of milk. 'Here,' he gave one to

Ish.

'Thanks,' Ish said, and tore it open with his mouth.

'And here, one more,' Omi said.

'For what?' Ish said, after taking a big sip.

'Give it to your stick insect,' Omi said. 'Have you seen his arms? They are

thinner than the wicket. You want to make him a player or not?'

'You give him yourself,' Ish smiled.

Omi shoved the milk packet near Ali and left.

'You have done some fractions before?' I said.

He nodded.

I told him to simplify 24/64 and he started dividing the numerator and

denominator by two again and again. Of course, he lacked the intuition he had in

hitting sixes in mathematics. However, his father had tried his best.

'See you at the shop,' Ish told me and turned to Ali, 'Any questions on cricket,

champ?'

'Why do people run between the wickets to score runs?' Ali said, nibbling the

end of his pen.

'That's how you score. It's the rule,' Ish said.

'No, not that way. I mean why run across and risk getting out for one or two

runs when you can hit six with one shot?'

Ish scratched his head. 'Keep your questions to maths,' he said and left.



'I have figured it out. The young generation from the Sixties to the Eighties is

the worst India ever had. These thirty years are an embarrassment for India,' Ish

said as we lay down in the shop.

We had spread a mat on the shop's floor. A nap was a great way to kill time

during slow afternoons. It was exam time and business was modest. Omi snoozed

while Ish and 1 had our usual philosophical discussion.

'Not all that bad,' I said. 'We won the World Cup in 1983.'

'Yeah, we played good cricket, but that's about it. We remained poor, kept

fighting wars, electing the same control freaks who did nothing for the country.

People's dream job was a government job, yuck. Nobody took risks or stuck their