Something about Nothing

The wife was on his case. He had been ignoring his daily rituals for quite a long time now. He was found glued to the television for hours at a time, the morning-walk had literally gone for a walk, the eating hours be damned - this was the time for grab food - junk or healthy did not matter - and rush back to the screen before the commercial break ended. To the consternation of his wife, he increased the volume once again:

Two hours back, I was preparing for an early dinner and sleep. Who would have thought that India could take the fight back to Pakistan after being 6 wickets down in 13 overs. 300 is not a small target, and Rohit Sharma and Irfan Pathan have scripted an amazing comeback for India, but the work is yet not finished.

Ya, especially after that fortuitous run-out in the last over. Pathan would have been very tired after running for more than 2 hours and that tiredness showed when he was going for the third run. It all boils down to this - 10 runs needed in the last over with three wickets in hand to lift the 2011 Cricket World Cup.

Listen to the crowd; I believe that entire Mumbai would be able to listen to the Wankhede right now. I am surprised that the batsmen are able to hear each other’s calls for runs. And now it looks like that Shoaib Malik has decided on the bowler, it is going to be Umar Gul who has been entrusted with the ball.

“Ohh, I wish Sharma had taken that risky single on the last ball. Now Piyush Chawla will have to face Gul”, he said to no one. The wife had just gone out to get away from the incessant Cricket that had been residing in their house for the past month.

That’s a good yorker on the toes by Gul, Chawla does well to survive. So the equation stands at 10 from 5.

“I should not have bet so heavily on India lifting the World Cup”, he rues - maybe a tad too late.

Gul initial burst of the four wickets was the impetus that Pakistan needed, otherwise 300 from 50 overs on this featherbed of a pitch was easily attainable. Gul runs in, this time it is a quick single to mid-off. Sharma on strike, that is what India needs. 9 runs needed from 4 balls.

India desperately need a boundary. Knowing India and Pakistan’s fickle tendencies, I am sure these 4 balls would make or break many careers. Can Rohit Sharma save his career? Oh yes, he seems intent on doing so. That was a glorious hit, an inside out lofted shot over extra cover. It was pre-meditated, it was risky, but it paid off. Now 5 needed from 3.

“Maybe I’ll win after all. With the odds I am sure to get at least 4 times my wager”, he exhorts India, and there are more than some selfish motives.

Malik just had a long talk with Gul, if I were Sharma I would love to know what conspired between them. As the field settles, Gul starts his run-up and it’s a very well disguised slower ball. Sharma reads it at the last moment, and is just able to push it to mid-wicket, another single and the equation reads 4 runs needed from 2 balls.

“Come on Chawla, now you are the one who can save me from bankruptcy”, the restlessness was showing on his face. Panic had him in its grasp.

Till date none of the World Cup Finals have reached the stage where the decision is clinging on to the last over. This is reminiscent of the 2007 T-20 World Cup Final, where Misbah had found Sreesanth with clinical precision to hand India the first T-20 World Cup.

Gul goes round the wicket to the left-hander. Gul trying to change the angle, and that is very intelligent from Chawla - he shuffles outside off, and glances it towards the fine-leg boundary. A tumbling stop there, and Sharma wants a third. Chawla rightly sends him back, Sharma just makes his ground.

Two runs from the last ball. Either Gul, or Chawla would be a hero tonight.

His eyes are clenched shut, he is shaking, and he is quickly muttering the Hanuman Chalisa under his breath. A tensed mind is most prone to remembering the God.

Malik has a long chat with Gul, and so do Sharma and Chawla. Sharma points out all the gaps, but to Chawla I am sure, they would seem miniscule. The umpires intervene saying that it’s a long time; let us get on with the game. What would it be? An Indian victory, Pakistan victory, or a tie? Let me pull up the rules and check what happens in case of a tie.

Search for the rules later, the fielders are set, Chawla is on strike. Listen to the crowd, I can hardly hear anything. Gul is steaming in; it is a short ball - hurrying onto Chawla. He swivels and somehow gets his bat on it, the ball has gone high in the air, Malik is trying to settle under it, but the swirls are making it difficult for him. Sharma and Chawla are running hard, praying that Malik drops the catch; they are going back for the second. Everything depends on Malik now, he settles under the ball and he pouches it neatly. The Pakistanis have clinched…

He did not hear anything else, he was just feeling very tired. He felt he just had a mile long swim and was now drowning. He was unable to breathe; it felt as if someone had put a big weight on his chest. He was gasping for air, he could hear anything, but the eyes were still glued on the television. The last thought that flitted through his consciousness was, “Why is Chawla jumping?”

Can you believe the drama here? Gul has over-stepped. It is a no-ball. No body heard the call, not the batsmen, or the bowler. But the umpire’s arm had gone up instantly. It is not Pakistan, it is India who have clinched the 2011 Cricket World Cup. Chawla is jumping up and down, everybody is trying to catch Sharma but he has gone on a victory lap at his home ground all alone. The crowd is still in a daze, wondering what just happened…

He thought he died a pauper, instead he died a millionaire.

–

P.s: Post # 300

At the bookstore, the boy bumps with the girl.

Girl indignantly says, “Hey watch out.”
Boy apologizes, “I am sorry, I missed a step.”
Irritated, the girl replies, “That sounds like an explanation to your Physics teacher while doing an experiment that went haywire.”
Innocently the boy agrees, “That may be true - I never had an appetite for Physics. Literature was my forte.”
The girl’s interest is piqued, “Literature? You seem to be the true geek type.”
Boy, “Well I am a geek who is into literature, but how can you be so sure that I am a geek.”
For the first time the girl smiles the smile that says isn’t-that-obvious, “A stubble looks sexy only on Abhishek Bachchan, tousled hair looks good on Tom Cruise, and spectacles look cool on Hrithik Roshan. Combine all three where the stubble is approaching beard, tousled is approaching disheveled, and spectacles are more like the ones worn by Babu Rao in Hera-Pheri, the result - a geek to the heart. And with a cookbook in your hand I can also proclaim that you seem to be a bachelor.”
The boy gets out another innocuous reply, “You do seem to know a lot about me.”
Grinning widely the girl replies, “Oh yeah I have been spying on you.”
Finally the boy musters some courage to get out more then a few words, “Well well well. I did not know the paths trodden by a geeky bachelor could be of any importance to a beautiful damsel.”
If real life could have smilys the girl’s face would have shown Instead she says, “Hey did you just compliment me? I thought geeks to be tongue-tied.”
Warming up to the conversation, the boy replies, “Oh yes! Shyness is a trait of our breed which can be overcome only in select company.”
The girl retorts, “Hmmm, you have known me for about 75 seconds and I am in ’select’ company.”
Now the boy smiles, “Well my Physics experiments did go haywire, but I was a Chemistry whiz. Maybe the chemistry is working its charm today.”
Girl asks, “Are you sure about the charm? “
Boy answers, “Ohh! I am sure. I have broken my record of talking to a beautiful girl by at least 75 seconds. Till now the record was of 2 seconds that were used in saying, ‘Excuse me’.”
The girl concurs; and not, “Well I am still not sure about the charm, but there sure is some chemistry. “
The boy calls up on every ounce of audacity and blurts, “Shall we add some caffeine catalyst and observe the reaction?”
With mock anger the girl replies, “Did you just ask me out?”
The boy misses the ‘mock’, but catches the ‘anger’, “Ummm, maybe. Well… “
The same mock anger lingers, but the corners of the lips are curling upwards, “Where did your verbosity disappear? And did you really ask me out?”
The boy stammers, “Uhhh, I just realized that I asked a girl out for the first time in my life and without the original context it could have been easily misinterpreted as a chemistry experiment statement.”
A smiling face says, “Once a geek, always a geek.”
Hopefully the boy says, “I hope you change me.”
Quashing the hope the girl replies, “Hey I did not even say yes to your offer of coffee. How can you be sure that I’d change you?”
Confusion is written all across the boys face as he stammers again, “Uh-huh… So… is that a no?”
The girl laughs loudly; “No, where is the coffee?” takes her hand and leads her out of the bookstore.

*

An instant message pops up - “Satan: Hey I saw you nudge him“
The reply reads - “God: Satan, aren’t marriages made in heaven? I just gave him a small push; rest was what they did “

Ganpat had already put in his 12 hours of duty and was about to leave for home, when his officer called out to him and other constables and informed them of the gang-war going on in the city. The result - a curfew is enforced, and he had to put in more hours, all the constables would be stationed at major points through the city for the night. To say he was indignant would be an understatement. And the mosquitoes and insects had timed their arrivals with the rains to add to the misery of being the sole awake soul in the whole area. Only one emotion made it to the surface, “Damn!”

The Ford Fiesta was scorching the road, granted it was 4 a.m. and the road was deserted, but still it was a deserted road in the middle of a metro - not a sane and safe place for fast driving. The revving engine breaks Ganpat’s reverie, and dutifully he flags down the car. The engine is killed, lights switched off and the car idles to a stop near him.

With a hand on his rifle, Ganpat saunters over to the driver’s side and gestures the driver to come out. There is no reaction - no window is rolled down and nobody emerges from the car. Ganpat again asks the driver to come out, and he is greeted with the same response - nothing. He heaves the rifle to his shoulder, takes aim at the window and repeats himself. This time the passenger door clicks and a burly man in a suit steps out. Ganpat, “First of all you are out in a curfew, and you are speeding, and you came out only when I threatened to shoot. I think I have enough reasons to believe you are involved in the gang wars. Now put up your hands, ask your driver to step out and open the boot for a search”.

Before Ganpat could realize what is happening, there is a bright flash, and the guy who had stepped out from the passenger side starts talking at a feverish pitch, “Hi, I am Aman from the AM News Services. We are doing a report on the gang-wars that are going on, and how the cops are tackling the issue. Unluckily all the cops seem to have disappeared, you are the only cop in miles who is awake, and at duty. I would like an interview with you and photographs from some more angles too. I would like to know your full name, your designation, the station you are posted at, and all details about you. Tomorrow morning your photograph would adorn the front page of all newspapers, as the only earnest cop in the city”. Many more flashes as a flustered Ganpat tries to come to terms with the fast paced one-sided conversation the burly man keeps up, and stammers his responses while the man keeps tapping the stylus on his cell phone screen noting all his responses. Two more minutes, some more stylus tapping, and many more flashes later the burly man sidles into the car, thanks Ganpat profusely for his valuable time and takes off.

“Well the day was not all bad”, Ganpat reflects.

*

In the car, the driver - “That was some fast thinking”. The burly man retorts, “We were lucky he did not insist on searching the boot. That spontaneous charade I put up overwhelmed him. Had he found the corpse in the boot, right now we would be on our way to jail. Now keep to the back-alleys”.

I had always wondered how people of Mumbai could develop camaraderie with the people who just take the same local at the same time as they do. In the sea of people how could you recognize that “Yes, I met this guy yesterday”? Answers took some time to come but yes, they came.

I don’t know when I noticed her first. Maybe it was November, maybe it was December - but it was one of the two as I remember having the plaster on my leg at that time. Those days the ten-minute drive to office had been replaced by the twenty-minute auto-ride. At the traffic junction one day, like always I was drinking in the variety of people around me. Then I noticed her - in a white dress on her scooty waiting for the signal - staring in my direction, no not in my direction, but staring at me and foot long plaster-of-paris cast. She noticed that I noticed, and her sympathetic glance averted mine, but there were traces of a smile about to appear on her lips. Before the smile could materialize, the signal betrayed and she had disappeared in a cloud of exhaust smoke. I had a feeling that this was not the first time I had seen and the subsequent journey to office was spent in mulling over prior, if any, opportune meetings.

Since then almost daily I would spot her, although I never consciously tried to find her, but my subconscious would always pick up her number plate, or her tell-tale pony, or the eyes on their accord would scan the crowd for her. January came and off came the plaster. I was back on my bike, but I did not see her at the junction. The second day it hit me that I was ten minutes late, she was there daily at the same time just I was late being back on bike. Next day onwards I left for office ten minutes earlier, and there she was - in the same white dress that I had noticed her first in - she saw that the plaster was off and gave an acknowledging smile. It became a daily ritual, we saw each other at the junction, exchanged smiles, and both went on our own ways. That small odd ritual did have its own quaint charm.

Next month I was off for two weeks, the first day of my vacation I thought about her, but then the holiday mood gripped me and there was no thought of her for the subsequent 14 days. I was getting ready to rejoin the same old boring work life when her thoughts crept in my head. Would she be there? Without even realizing it, I had missed her. She had become a part of my daily life, even though she was nobody to me. Full of her thoughts I reached the junction and saw her waiting for the signal looking forlorn. I took my bike beside her, she turned and I was greeted with the most dazzling smile I have ever got, and the words “Where were you? I was worried”. We skipped office that day, called in sick, and talked through the day. I went back home feeling more refreshed then I had ever done before. We were exact opposites when it came to trivial things - tastes in food, movies, coffee etc; but when it came to the things that really matter - life, love, and dreams - we were the same. With a shock I realized that we had talked for straight ten hours and I still did not know her name.

The answer came, now I know how people develop camaraderie by just traveling in the same train. Next week we celebrate our second marriage anniversary, and yes, now I know her name.

–

Note: This is pure fiction

Rahul was late, but then that was a norm rather then an aberration. Being an out-of-towner and a bachelor, he could spend an obscene amount of time at office and no one would care. After a long time the wind was not carrying the summer heat and the weather was pleasant. This prompted him to ditch the company cab and walk the two kilometers to his rented flat. “After all I need to burn off the pizzas and the beer“, rued Rahul.

He heard the sniffling first, and then the sobs made their presence felt. It being a particularly dark stretch of road, the visual confirmation came last. Sitting on the pavement was a girl, with her head in her hands and crying incessantly. For a hopeless romantic at heart, who always envisioned and planned for scenarios lifted from movies, Rahul was surprisingly at a loss for words.

Finally he mustered enough courage and ventured, “Are you ok?“
This resulted in a baleful stare and an equally scathing reply, “Oh yes! I just adore crying in dark alleys“.
“I am sorry for the inane question. What is wrong? Can I help you?” was Rahul’s breathless apology.
The girl had a much milder tone this time, “Everything is wrong! I am hundreds of miles away from home, I am stuck with a job I hate, today morning I lost my cell phone, my boyfriend dumped me about fifteen minutes back, and I am really hungry.“
Rahul was unprepared for this barrage of information and could only offer, “Huh?“
“Sorry for the outburst, I am going through a bad time and today took the cherry“
Rahul again offered a helping hand, “Should I walk you to your place? I cannot leave you crying on a sidewalk“.
With a few tears still in her eyes, she replied, “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll call my roommate to pick me up. Can I borrow your cell?“
Rahul gave his cell and watched her deft fingers scramble over the keypad. He heard a distinct ringing sound, a “Hello!” and she piped up, “Say isn’t this a Nokia N-91?“
Before Rahul could reply, she was back on the phone giving her whereabouts to the roommate and pleading to be picked up. Soon she disconnected, and again asked Rahul, “So is this an N-91? Should I get this one?“

Rahul nodded, feeling good that the girl was moving on, already thinking of buying a new mobile. The next 10 minutes were spent in Rahul proudly showing off all features of his cell phone while the girl played around with it learning the functionalities. Her roommate’s arrival broke their conversation. The girl thanked Rahul for his help, memorized his number and promised to call him soon. She returned the mobile, gave Rahul a quick peck on his cheek, got into her roommate’s car and disappeared in seconds.

Rahul was still in a daze. His feet carried him to his house, where he re-winded and relived every moment - a girl had shown some interest in him! He wished that he should have at least asked her name. He fell into a sleep filled with the nameless girl’s dreams.

The next morning as he was going through the city section of the newspaper, he read the article, “Con girls on the prowl. A gang of girls is going around in the city, conning unsuspecting strangers into lending them mobiles and then returning them a case of same-make mobile with some weight put it to resemble the cell phone, allowing them enough time to make their getaways. Further reports….“

Rahul immediately searched for his mobile and soon found the N-91 case with some weight put in it. He re-winded and relived every moment of last night, but now, for a different reason.