Authors: Anuja Chauhan
I wished I was home.
***
12
The match began at nine so I had time to get back to the hotel and recover from the inexplicable depression that had descended on me so suddenly at breakfast.
Maybe it was just an anticlimax.
After all, I'd been gearing up for the big team breakfast for the last sixty days, and it had turned out to be so mundane. Vegemite and juice and monologues from Hairy about his strained groin. Really, I was starting to think he had a groin
obsession.
And Nikhil...well, after that first 'hey', he had said nothing to me at all. Life suddenly seemed very flat.
I opened my room door gloomily - and there were my three suite mates, sitting on the bed, spearing sausages. They looked up and smiled happily when they saw me and suddenly I felt this huge rush of affection for all three of them.
These are your family and friends,
I told myself.
They should matter much
more to you than a bunch of stupid sports-quota-type cricketers and their I-want-to-
ki
ss-you-but-won't captain!
'I'm so glad you guys are here with me,' I cried, swooping down and squeezing them together into a big group hug.
Rinku Chachi looked pleased but Mon followed me into the loo and frowned down at me as I splashed cold water on my face. 'Is everything okay?' she asked mildly.
'Everything's fine,' I assured her, smiling brightly into the mirror.
'Balls.' She plonked herself on the pot, lit a cigarette and looked at me expectantly.
I patted my face dry with the hand towel while she exhaled a thin stream of smoke and waited for me to speak.
I sighed. 'I just feel like such a freeloader, Mon.'
Really. The whole team was so intense and focused that it made me feel really inadequate and full of fluff.
I mean, they are all hugely talented boys who've worked immensely hard to be able to earn a seat around that particular breakfast table. And then suddenly there is this chubby-cheeked person sitting right next to them going,
'
Pass the butter, chootiye.' No wonder they look so pissed off.
Mon didn't look too affected. 'Don't be silly,' she told me firmly. 'You're
not
a freeloader. They've asked you to come, remember? They're paying through their nose for you, for all of us! If some of them are acting like jerks, it's because they don't want to own up to how superstitious they are!'
'It wasn't them who wanted me,' I pointed out. 'It was just Jogpal Lohia. They didn't have much of a choice in the matter.'
'Well, none of this is news to you,' Mon said reasonably. 'Why get worked up about it?'
'They don't like me,' I muttered. 'I could feel the vibes. I think they were
laughing
at me, I think they
hate
me, I think - '
'Oh shut up, Zo! I'm tired of your stupid insecurities. You're here in Australia on a fully paid trip for the
entire
cricket World Cup! People would die to be in your place. Quit carping, will you? Now c'mon let's go, or we'll miss the start of the match!'
'Huh? We've got to go
see
the match? Why can't we go to the malls instead?'
In answer, Mon just perched my cool new Diesel sunglasses onto the top of my head - a present from Zoravar, (Looks great, can hardly see your face, Gaalu) - and propelled me downstairs and into the car.
As we drove along the winding Brisbane River to the Gabba, we heard the radio commentator say that the Indian openers were coming in to play as Nick Khoda had won the toss and chosen to bat.
'See, Zoya, your luck is working already,' said Rinku Chachi triumphantly. She was looking very young and flushed in her blue
Zing!
India tee shirt, with 'RINKU 10' emblazoned across it. Neelo had got one printed specially for her. I nodded at her blankly, still wanting to argue the whole going-to-see-the-match programme.
Just then my phone beeped and I looked down and saw a message flash.
Relax. We'll cream them. Meet me after? Love N.
Instantly the world became a better place.
I quickly messaged back.
Okay.
And beamed sunnily up at Rinku Chachi. 'I know, Chachi!' I said enthusiastically. 'Isn't it great?'
It was a medium-sized stadium, with seating for about 42,000 people, but it was only half full, January being full-on summer in Australia. The junta was pretty much stripped down to their undies. Everywhere we looked, hot-looking babes with every-coloured hair sipped beer in bikini tops, their tanned limbs and smooth midriffs gleaming in the sun. The place looked like an ad for Foster's.
All four of us had these fancy-looking IBCC badges slung around our necks. These entitled us to some really swanky seats in the president's box, which smelled deliciously of beer, popcorn and candy floss. There was a large TV screen, so we could see the match there as well as in front of us on the field. We took our seats with the cream of Brisbane's NRI community and presidents of the local cricket clubs, all in various states of undress, scattered around us. A smiling buxom type in jeans and a tiny camisole - Armaan's eyes totally popped - passed us stubby bottles of beer. Once we'd taken a big swig each and organized some
Zing!
for Armaan, we pulled our shades over our eyes and settled down to watch the game.
It was a lovely day, sunny, with just a bit of a breeze. Shivnath and Hairy were out in the field looking pretty relaxed, leaning on their bats like they had all the time in the world. The crowd seemed at peace, out more to have a good time than anything else. I spotted the Niceday gang a little further away, cheering lustily, with their very own dhols, trumpets and tambourines, some of them in very short, sleeveless, white tank tops with '
C'Mon India
,
Show Your Biscuits
' emblazoned across the chest. The match was rolling along smoothly, the run rate a decent 4.5, and no wickets down yet.
'So, Zoya, how was breakfast?' I turned around and saw Shanta Kalra, her salt-and-pepper hair glinting silver in the sunshine around her young-looking face.
'Great,' I replied, a little startled.
She looked at me searchingly. 'Really?'
I pushed my glasses higher up my nose and hoped I looked enigmatic. 'I can't give you any quotes, you know,' I said.
'I know, I know,' she smiled.
'No hard feelings?' I asked her warily.
'None,' she said warmly. 'But only if you let me sit with you.'
So, of course I did. I introduced her to our gang of four, who moved up and made room for her.
It was a slow match. Slow and steady, which was good, according to Shanta. 'Anyway, by the logic of things, this should be an easy win for India, our team's way ahead of theirs.'
She explained that for the World Cup, the system was a little different from say, the mini World Cup or any other event. This was the group stage, where there were four pools, of two strong and two weak teams respectively out of which only half would move on to the next stage.
Rinku Chachi stated, 'G. Singh says we should make it to the Super 8 very easily this time...'
'I think so too,' Shanta nodded, 'but the question is whether we'll survive till the semis.'
Rinku Chachi shook her head cheerfully, '
Kyon nahi
, we've got Zoya,
na
,' she said, much to my embarrassment.
This caused a weird pause in the conversation. Shanta looked sceptical but said nothing, and we looked out at the match on the field. Armaan was fidgeting a lot so Shanta told him to pay attention because if the batsmen hit a six and somebody in the audience caught it, the stadium authorities would give that person four hundred Aussie dollars!
Armaan perked up at once. 'Really?' he said, 'Mummy, how much is that in rupees?'
Mon rumpled his hair, wrinkling her forehead. Multiplying by thirty-seven has never been one of her talents. 'Lots of money, baby,' she said finally.
Armaan jumped to his feet then and insisted on being taken out of the air-conditioned enclosure so he could catch a six and make fabulous sums of money. Mon gave Shanta a thanks-a-lot look over her chilled beer bottle, took a swig and said breezily, 'Later, baby, they won't really be hitting sixes till the last few overs.'
This made him glower and look so thunderously weepy that Rinku Chachi quickly said, 'Why don't you sing a song, Armaan? I will give you five dollars for singing a song.'
He scowled up at her, his brow all beetled, and said, driving a tough bargain, 'Four.'
'Five is more than four,' I started to say, but Rinku Chachi said quickly. 'Okay, four, whatever. But sing,
na
!'
Armaan smiled shyly, sucking on one sticky finger. 'I know a new Christmas song,' he said hesitantly. 'Some boys in the hotel taught me.'
Mon smiled, looking pleased. 'See, he's been making friends, already,' she whispered to me triumphantly. 'He's learning about other cultures and religions too.' And then, in a loud, proud voice, she said to her son, 'Sing us the nice carol, baby!'
Armaan smiled angelically and warbled:
'Joy to the world!
The teacher's dead
We scissored off her head!
What happened to her bo-dy?
We flushed it down the po-tty
And round and round it goes...and round it goes...
And round and round and round it goes...'
He finished with a grand flourish and then looked at his mother expectantly. She didn't disappoint him. 'What did you
say
?'she exploded.
Armaan's dark eyes widened. 'It's a real song,' he said, innocently. Then he gave a little giggle.
Instantly, Monita's eyes went all flinty. 'That's quite enough, young man,' she snapped. 'You and I are going to take a little walk.' She lifted him off his feet and marched him out while Rinku Chachi scurried behind them, holding out four golden dollar coins, crying, 'Hush, hush, good boy, good beta
...
'
Shanta and I had choked on our beers the moment Armaan had hit the second line but now we took a big gulp of air, and wiped our eyes. 'Kids...' Shanta said, shaking her head. '
The teacher's dea
... oh, look, he's out!'
I looked wildly towards the field, but unable to see what was happening, I looked at the TV screen instead. Shivnath was looking at the stumps behind him disbelievingly while the Zimbabwe wicketkeeper was doing a wild whooping war dance down the pitch and the dude in the Fly Emirates coat was pointing an index finger into the sky.
Yup, there was no doubt about it. Shivnath Singh was out. Laakhi came in to bat then and steadied things up a bit. He played a low-key game, just supporting Hairy who was hitting out happily in every direction. And then, when Laakhi got caught behind at 33, Khoda strolled out to play.
My heartbeat accelerated immediately, but, hello, judging from the way the cheering increased, so did the entire stadium's.
'These two are an excellent partnership,' Shanta said as Hairy and Khoda chatted briefly between overs. 'Don't you think so?'
I shrugged. 'I wouldn't know,' I said apologetically. 'I'm not really into cricket that much.'
She glanced over at me, one hand shading her face from the sun. 'Then what
are
you into?' she asked. 'Cricketers?'
'Wow, I thought you were Shanta Kalra of
Pitch-side
,'I told her coolly. 'Not Sonali of
Sonali's Gupshup
!'
She threw back her head and laughed, totally unoffended. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to pry, Zoya. It's just that you're in such a strange situation. I'm curious about what you're thinking... what's going on in your head. And not just from a story point of view. Though, of course, it would make a great one! I'd just like to know, for myself.'
'I'm pretty blank, really,' I told her. 'Comfortably numb.'
'Floyd!' she said, approvingly, but surprised. 'Didn't think many kids of your generation listened to them.'
'Oh, is it a song?' I said, surprised and she just sighed and shook her head.
'It's an all-time great,' she answered and then added in an altered voice, her hand coming out to grip my arm: 'Speaking of which, look out for Nikhil now.... You know I have a good feeling about this particular delivery...
yess
!'