The 3 Mistakes Of My Life (17 page)

days ago, the start of the fifth day raised new hopes. Laxman left at 281 and

everyone in the stadium stood up to applaud for his eleven-hour innings.

The Indian captain Ganguly made a surprise decision. After an hour's play for

the day, he declared the Indian innings at 657/7. It meant Australia would have

to come back and bat. And that they had to make 384 runs in the rest of the day

to win the match.

'Is Ganguly mad? It's too risky. We should have continued to play. Get the

draw done and over with,' I said.

'Maybe he has something else in mind,' Ish said.

'What?' Omi scratched his head.

I wasn't sure of Ganguly's intentions either. Ok, so we lucked out and made a

big total to take the game to a draw. But why did the captain declare when he

could have played on until there was no time left? Unless, of course, he wanted a

decision. That was, an Indian victory.

'He can't be serious. We had a follow-on. We could have had an innings defeat.

Now, Ganguly really thinks he has a chance to bowl these Australians out?' I

said.

Ish nodded as the Australian batsman reverted to the crease. Ganguly had

kept the winning score of 384 required by the Australians at a tantalising level -

difficult yet possible. Australians could have played safe and taken the game to a

draw, but that is not how Australians play.

'Hey Mr Mathematician, has it happened? Has it ever happened that the side

facing a follow-on actually won the match?' Ish said. He signalled Omi to start

urgent, special prayers.

I pulled out the cricket data book from the top shelf. We hardly sold any of

these, but the publisher insisted we keep a few copies 'Ok, so it has happened

earlier,' I said after a ten-minute search.

'How many times?' Ish said, eyes glued to screen.

'Twice,' I said and noticed Omi close his eyes and chant silently.

'See, it happens. Twice in how long?' Ish said.

'Twice in the last hundred and ten years.'

Ish turned to me. 'Only twice?'

'Once in 1894 and then in 1981,' I read out loud from the page. 'Both times,

England won against, guess who, Australia. Sorry buddy, but statistically

speaking, this match is so over.'

Ish nodded.

'Like the probability is so low that I'd say if India wins, I will sponsor the Goa

trip,' I joked.

'Or like if India wins, you will start believing in God?' Omi played along.

'Yep,' I said.

I told Omi to stop praying too much. A draw would be fine. Ganguly probably

did not know the odds. The worst would be if Australia did score the runs.

'161/3,' Omi read Australia's score at tea, which coincided with our own break.

'Let's clean up the shop, guys. The match gets over in a few hours. We may

have some customers,' I said. 'A draw is fine. We will take the Australians another

time.' Ish reluctantly picked up the mop.

Day 5 - Post-tea

The Indian team must have mixed something special in their tea. Australia

came back and continued to cruise at 166/3. Then came five deadly overs that

included a hattrick from Harbhajan Singh. Next stop, Australia 174/8. In eight

runs, half of the Australian team was gone.

'Ish, don't fucking stand in front of the TV,' I said. But Ish wasn't standing,

only jumping.

'Fuck your statistics man, fuck the probability,' Ish shouted in jubilation. I

don't like it when people insult mathematics, but I gave Ish the benefit of doubt.

You are allowed a few celebratory curses when you witness history.

Pretty soon, the last two batsmen were scalped as well. Harbhajan, the Surd

that Ish kissed on screen (and left saliva marks all over), took six wickets, and

India won the match in the most spectacular way ever.

In Eden Gardens, every placard, every poster and anything combustible

besides people was on fire. It was impossible to hear the TV commentary, as the

crowds roared everytime an Indian team member's name was announced.

Ish stood tall, his hands on his hips and looked at the screen. I could see

genuine love in his eyes. Every now and then, I had seen Ish watch the men in

blue as if he wished he was one of them. But today, he didn't have any of his own

regrets. I think more than wanting to be them, he wanted them to win. He saw

Harbhajan jump and jumped along. He clapped when Ganguly came to accept the

trophy.

'Two balls quickly please, we have a match,' a boy plonked a fifty-rupee note on

the counter. The first customer of the great Indian Cricket Season had arrived.

I folded my hands and looked at the sky. Thank you God, for the miracles you

bestow on us.

'We have come to offer solutions, not just sell some balls,' I started.

I had delivered my first line perfect. The preparations until two last night better

be worth it, I told myself. We were in the principal's office in the Kendriya

Vidyalaya. The office wasin a poor state, with rickety furniture and dusty

trophies. Like most government offices and buildings old files piled up high on

several cupboards. The lady principal and six teachers sat around a semicircular

wooden table. It must be miserable to work here, I thought. It must be miserable

to work for anyone else, I thought again.

'Go on,' the principal said, as my pause for effect became too long.

'So we have a district-level champion player who can design a package based

on your needs and budgets,' I pointed at Ish and every teacher looked at him.

I passed out sheets that estimated the school's monthly needs based on eight

hundred students. I had them laser printed at a computer shop for three rupees a

page. A peon brought samosas and tea for everyone.

'How much will this cost?' the administrative head said.

'We did some calculations. Your average cost will be ten thousand a month,' I

said.

'That's too much. This is a Kendriya Vidyalaya. Not a private school,' the

administrative head said. He shut the notebook and pushed it towards me.

I took a deep breath. I had thought of an answer for this scenario. 'Sir, we can

scale down.'

Ish interupped me, 'It is twelve rupees per child a month. Don't you think sport

deserves as much as the cost of a fountain pen?'

The teachers looked up from their notebooks and exchanged glances.

'Frankly, no. We get judged on our results. The pass percentage and the first

divisions. We have limited resources,' the head said.

'If everyone thinks that way, where will India's sportsmen come from?' Ish said.

'From rich families.' The head took out his glasses and wiped ihem calmly.

'But talent is not distributed only among the rich. We have to expand the pool.'

'Do you know half our classrooms leak in the rain,' the head said. 'Should we

get shiny balls or fix the leaks?' He stood up to leave.

I mentally said the F-word a few times. C'mon Govind, save this.
You need

business, any business,

'Sir, we can do a plan for five thousand a month,' I said.

Ish raised a hand to keep me quiet. I could have killed him.

Ish stood up, to match the admin head's height. 'What are you here to do?'

'To give children an education,' the head said with a straight face.

'And all the education is in these books they read under the plastered roofs?

What about the education that comes from sports?'

'What?' the admin head said.

'Sit down Jitin sir,' the principal said. 'Let us hear what they have to say.'

Jitin-sir, I mentally noted his name as he sat down again.

'Are you teaching your kids a subject called teamwork? Are you teaching them

how to chase a goal with passion? Are you teaching them discipline? Are you

teaching them focus?' Ish asked. I stamped his foot, signalling him to sit down.

But he ignored me.

'What are you talking about?' This from one of the teachers,

'Sports teaches them all this. And tell me, who will be more successful in life?

The kid who knows all the chemical formulae or the one who knows teamwork,

passion, discipline and focus?'

'Sit down, son,' the principal said. Ish took his seat but did not keep quiet.

'I'm not setding for a scaled-down version. Eight hundred kids and they want

to keep them locked in classes all day. We will chase useless first divisions but

not spend two samosa plates worth of money on sports.'

He pointed to the samosas on the plate. All the teachers stopped eating

midway. The pause continued until the principal spoke again. 'Fine, ten thousand

is ok for a trial. Let's see how it goes. You are on for six months.'

We stood up to shake hands. Six educated, fifty-somethings stood up to shake

hands with me. Yes, I had become a real businessman.

'If this works, why don't you come to a meeting at our Belapur school?' the

oldest gentleman in the group said.

'Oh, yes. This is Mr Bhansali, headmaster of the Belapur school. He came for a

visit, so I asked him to sit in this meeting,' the principal introduced.

I took his card. I mentally made a note to order business cards and wondered if

I could do the fist pumping now or save it for later.

Eleven

Goa, wow! Someone has a good life,' Vidya said with a pin in her mouth. She

stood on a stool in her room, fixing a poster of Aamir Khan in
Dil Chahta Hai
on

the wall. I, her tutor, held the pin tray. So much for my position of authority.

'Goa is your brother's idea. I really don't need this break from work,' I said.

'Of course, you do,' she said as she stepped down. 'It will help you get over the

earthquake.'

'What will help me get over the earthquake is work, and the money I make to

pay back those loans. This trip is costing us three thousand bucks.' I came back

to her desk.

She took her seat, opened her book and slapped each page as she turned it

over.

'Can you act more interested?'

'I am not a good actor,' she said.

"Very funny. So did you do the calculus chapter in your so-called self-study

mode.'

'I did self-study as you did not have time for me,' she said.

'Anyway, I don't understand it. As usual, I suck. What is all this "dx dt", and

why are they so many scary symbols?'

'Vidya, you are appearing for medical entrance. Don't talk like...,' I stopped

mid-sentence. I opened the calculus chapter. Some spoilt brats have to be

spoonfed even the basics.

'Don't talk like what?'

'Like a duffer. Now pay attention.'

'I am not a duffer. Just go to Goa, manage your business, make money, insult

people who don't salivate for maths and don't make any time for friends. I can

manage fine.'

The last word 'fine' had the loudest volume.

'Excuse me. Is there a problem?' I said after a pause.

'Yes, calculus problems. Can we please start?'

I explained calculus to her for an hour. 'Try the exercises in the end. And read

the next chapter by the time I come back,' I said as I finished class.

She kept quiet.

'Vidya, why is it that sometimes making you talk is like extracting teeth.'

I am like this only, you have a problem? Only you have the right to ignore

people?' she threw back. Her eyes turned moist and her long fingers trembled.

Before moisture turned to rain, I had to exit.

'I'll be back in four days,' I said as I headed to the door. 'Who cares?' she said

from behind me.



'Eat on time and don't stay up late,' said Ali's dad as the train signal went off.

Ali was too excited to care for his dad's instructions. He reserved the top berth

for himself and climbed up. Omi said his pre-journey prayers.

'Ali's ammi doesn't care. He is a piece of my heart,' Ali's dad said and his eyes

became moist. 'Sometimes I wish I had not married again.'

I wrapped the cash and tickets in plastic and placed it inside my socks.

Travelling with a twelve-year-old, and two other grownup kids, this responsibility

had to fall on me.

'It is ok, chacha. See now you can go to your election rally in Baroda,' I said.

'That's right. I cannot leave Ali with his ammi for four days.' 'Are you getting a

ticket this year,' I said as I chained our suitcase to the lower berth. The train

began to move.

'No, no. I am not that senior in the party. But I will be helping l he Belrampur

candidate. Ali beta,' don't jump between berths, Ali...,' his voice trailed off as the

train picked speed.

Ish pulled Ali's arm and drew him into his lap. 'Say bye properly,' Ish said.

'Khuda Hafiz, abba,' Ali called out as the train left for sunnier climes.



'Organisers. We have to meet the organisers. Let us go in,' I said. A hairy arm

stopped me. The arm belonged to a security guard outside the VIP stand.

'Thirty thousand people here want to go in there. Who are you? Autograph