by Khyrunnisa A
‘Can’t be helped.’ Mr Sunderlal sounded philosophical. ‘I’ll have to find replacements for Hari and Jaydeep.’
‘Anyway, sir, neither of them expects to be picked. Both had their fifteenth birthdays last week; they were bleating about that at the bus stop yesterday,’ Abdul added.
‘Really? That’s a relief to know,’ said Mr Sunderlal. ‘I was wondering how to break it to them. And Arvind has just returned after a bout of dengue, so I can’t include him either. I’ll decide on the team in a day or two. Meanwhile, let’s not waste any more time! Let the practice begin now. And from tomorrow, the team will have to stay back after class for practice. Inform your families.’
The moment Jayaram entered the school gates the next day, his friends surrounded him with variations of ‘Did your sister help?’ and ‘What’s the news?’ He didn’t disappoint them.
‘Yep, I’ve got quite a lot to tell you. It seems the girls’ team is prestigious; excellent in all departments of the game. Nila tells me they haven’t been beaten in a long time.’
‘Not to worry. That will be corrected soon,’ said Kiran. ‘Matter of prestige.’
‘I thought you’d forgotten that favourite expression of yours, Tub,’ Amar commented. Tub was Kiran’s nickname, bestowed on him for his rotund shape. ‘Haven’t heard you use it lately.’
‘I save it for special occasions, like this one,’ said Kiran airily. The truth was he had actually forgotten it and was reminded when Ajay said ‘prestigious.’
‘I got the names of some of the players and a few details,’ Jayaram went on. ‘But Nayanika, the captain, is definitely the goods. Nila says she holds the team together. She’s a very shrewd captain, with an instinct for making the right decisions. She is their ace batsman, bowler and fielder and, when there is need, can don the gloves and keep wickets as well.’
‘Does this paragon of cricketing virtue make a good umpire too?’ Eric laughed.
Just then, the bell rang, and the students got ready for the assembly. Mr Sunderlal had informed Mr Jagmohan in confidence that he had finalized a list of fifteen boys for the cricket match and would put it up during the lunch interval. His plan was to do that discreetly and then inform the students about it.
At the assembly, Mr Jagmohan, fed up of the constant questions about the historic match from students any time they spotted him—especially the junior school boys, who were never overawed by authority—decided it was time to publicly pass the buck to the sports master. Bracing himself for a raucous response, he announced, ‘The team for the cricket match will be put up on the noticeboard today during lunch break.’ He wasn’t disappointed. The students gave a wild cry that sounded like a group of starving lions that had sighted a lone deer. Raising his voice over the uproar, he shouted, ‘Stop shouting!’
Amar giggled and whispered to Kiran, ‘Look who’s talking!’
Mr Jagmohan frowned and continued. ‘No whispering! And don’t come to me again for any information. Everything you need to know, you can ask Mr Sunderlal. Now go to your classes!’
A huge group of class VIII students led by Amar sacrificed lunch to lie in wait for Mr Sunderlal outside the door of the staffroom. The moment he came out, list in hand, he was surrounded and then wafted like a cloud to the noticeboard, where the rest of the school appeared to have congregated. Though the students knew more or less who would be on the team, they loved anything that deviated from the school routine.
‘Move aside, everyone!’ Mr Sunderlal ordered. Everyone obliged by moving a mere millimetre away. He grunted, annoyed with the principal for having put him in this position. Managing to hold his balance and his breath as a rich bouquet of sweaty smells threatened to knock him out, he pinned the list on the board, ducked and sprinted for the safety of the staffroom. The crowd swarmed around the board, almost knocking it down. Mahesh, the head boy, now took charge and, with the help of some other class IX boys, pushed the students back. After order was restored, he unpinned the list and read from the paper to the waiting throng.
‘“The fifteen probables for the girls vs boys—Target School vs Green Park School—under-15 cricket match on 15 March.” Haha, 15–15–15!
‘“The final team will be chosen from the following names on the day of the match. Class IX boys and those who have turned fifteen are not on the team. The players are:
Ajay Shekhar (Captain)—VIII A
Amar Kishen (Vice-captain)—VIII A
O. Arjun (Wicketkeeper)—VIII A
Sumay Ghosh—VIII B
Kiran Reddy—VIII A
Abdul Javed—VIII A
Pranav Singh—VIII B
Eric Paul—VIII A
Ishaan Sen—VIII B
J. Mitra—VIII B
Jithin Pandey—VIII B
Jayaram Rajaram—VIII A
Rohan Nair—VIII B
Thomas Mathew—VIII A
Kishore Krishnan—VIII A
Every name read out was welcomed with vociferous applause. The VIII B boys, a lethargic bunch known for their laid-back ways, were pleased there were at least five selected from their class. Rohan Nair, a new boy who’d joined school rather late in the year, got an especially warm response. He was an exciting find, excelling in batting and bowling, and his classmates were very proud of him. They gave him the bumps, tossing him up like a pancake, until Mahesh stopped them with a stern ‘Hey, hey, stop! You’ll drop him. We don’t want him injured.’
‘You lucky guys!’ said Hari, looking glum.
Jaydeep looked mournful too. ‘I knew Hari and I wouldn’t be in because we’re now fifteen, but I never thought all class IX students would be left out!’
‘You brilliant scholars need to focus on your exams,’ said Amar with an impish grin.
‘Hari will be difficult to replace. Is Sumay going to take over the opening bowling? Big shoes to fill,’ Eric reflected. ‘Good we have our deadly fast bowler Jithin to scare the daylights out of the girls—what say, Jithin?’
‘You bet!’ Jithin flashed a mock glare and flexed the muscles of his bowling arm.
A lot of other students remained after school to watch the practice. Mr Sunderlal announced, ‘All right, boys, remember, we’ve less than two weeks to go for the match—the rest of this week and until Thursday of the next. The match’s on Friday. I hope you know what that means?’
‘Practice, practice and more practice,’ Amar chanted the mantra dear to Colonel Nadkarni and Mr Sunderlal.
‘Exactly! No taking things easy in a Twenty20 match. People think playing only twenty overs a side is simple, and that’s just where they are wrong. With such few overs, we can’t afford to relax or be absent-minded. Arjun, you . . .’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Arjun?’
Arjun was nowhere in sight. ‘I think he went home when the bell rang, sir,’ said Jayaram. ‘I don’t think he even knows we have practice every evening.’
Mr Sunderlal sighed. Arjun often left him pulling out what was left of the hair on his head in exasperation, but he was a terrific wicketkeeper and a brilliant slogger who, when he got going, could turn a match around.
‘Ajay, drill it into that madcap’s head that this match is very important and, as wicketkeeper, he has a key role. He MUST come for practice.’
‘Will do, sir.’ Ajay grinned.
Mr Sunderlal continued. ‘Every ball bowled must be planned and effective, every ball faced must be watched well and played, though you really have no time to settle down and get your eye in. By the time you get your eye in, you’ll be out.’
‘Haha!’ Amar guffawed.
Mr Sunderlal hadn’t meant to be funny, and frowned. ‘I talked to the sports teacher of Target and we’ve decided that every bowler gets a maximum of four overs. All right, then, let’s have some catching practice today.’
He threw the ball to Amar, who dropped it.
‘Fantastic beginning!’ Manas, the school bully mocked.
Kishore dashed into the classroom the following morning, brandishing a newspape
r. The bell hadn’t rung yet, but many of the students were already there. A few were the regular early birds but Amar and some of his friends, generally tardy, were present too. With very few days to go for the match, they had decided to come early every day to discuss strategy.
‘Look! Read! Examine! Study! Scrutinize this! Mull over this report!’ he waved the paper over his friends’ heads in circling movements like an impatient eagle looking for food.
‘What is it?’ Eric plucked the paper from Kishore, who snatched it back.
‘Careful! Don’t rip it apart. Didn’t I tell you the ides of March is the key? Look at this news item. No, let me read. The headline is “The Ides of March”.’ He stopped, waiting for that to sink in. Everyone, except Arjun, looked interested. Flattered, he continued.
‘“The Ides of March is the name adopted by the music group that includes former cricket players, and it plays in town on 15 March.”’ Kishore paused for effect, and then continued. ‘“A few months ago, an NGO called Music to Save the Girl Child, with the backing of a few philanthropists in the UK, was formed to raise funds to help underprivileged girls in Africa and Asia get basic amenities of life and access to a school education. What is special about this group is that it is made up of cricketers, mostly retired cricketers, who are also music enthusiasts. They plan to give performances around the world at select places to raise money for the girl child. Wherever they perform, they will collaborate with local musical talent. They do not wish to restrict the concerts only to big cities. This town is honoured to have been selected as the venue for the first performance, and they will collaborate with two well-known local groups, the Heebee Jeebees and the Cool Cats. Since 15 March is the date, they have decided to call themselves the Ides of March, which, according to the Roman calendar, is 15 March. For more information and for tickets, contact blah . . . blah . . . blah . . .” Well, some numbers are given. What say, my dear friends, Romans, countrymen?’
‘Man, did I just hear you say the Heebee Jeebees?’ The magic names of the music groups had woken up Arjun. ‘And the Cool Cats? The same group with Arpitha, Noumi, Lekshmi and Nishitha?’
‘Awesome! To think you were actually right!’ exclaimed Amar, thumping Kishore on the back. More thumps and exclamations followed.
‘Genius!’ Minu complimented Kishore.
The genius looked gratified. ‘What I think must have happened is that Colonel Uncle got to hear of this when he was in London and planned this match. Makes sense, since it’s all to do with girls and the rest of it. So, he—’
Amar now took over the speculations. ‘He wanted to give the tickets as prizes to the winners, and he knew that would encourage us to play the match with total seriousness.’
‘Cool! That must be it.’ Kiran nodded in agreement. ‘We should win. Matter . . .’
‘. . . of prestige!’ everyone chorused.
‘Dear, dear Colonel Uncle,’ Amar murmured. For a while everyone went quiet as they reminisced about their beloved Colonel Uncle.
Ajay broke the silence. ‘Wonder who the cricketer–musicians are,’ he mused. The mood lightened.
‘Brett Lee? Can you tell a girl . . .’ Eric began to hum the Australian fast bowler’s popular number, ‘you’re the one for me.’
‘Bravo, of course! DJ Bravo, DJ Bravo . . . Champion!’ Arjun sang, and the rest took up the chant. ‘Champion! Champion! . . .’ The students danced their way to the assembly.
Now that the mystery behind the choice of date had been solved, the upcoming contest was discussed in excited whispers and hurriedly passed notes during the English and maths classes in the forenoon, the other two periods being spent in the science lab. Miss Philo, the English teacher, confiscated some scraps of paper that neither she nor any of her colleagues could make sense of when she read them aloud in the staffroom. ‘“Maybe it’ll be Sunny and the Cool Cats!!! Cool, what?” And here’s another. “Hahahaha, imagine Swann’s swan song!” Can’t even spell “swan”! What’s it all about?’
‘Must be to do with the match. Wish I could also play!’ exclaimed Miss Sudha, a junior school teacher with the excessive enthusiasm of a new recruit. She had till recently thought that cricket was an insect that brought bad luck if killed.
‘Same here!’ Miss Susan, her friend whose knowledge of cricket and the coming match was even foggier, reiterated. ‘We’re girls, aren’t we?’
Nobody disputed the claim, but Miss Morrin, the maths teacher, made a clicking sound with her tongue to show her annoyance. ‘Tch! I just wish the wretched match would get over and done with. The students in all the classes have the attention span of half-witted butterflies, and the less said about VIII A, the better. Today I gave Amar and Kiran twenty extra sums to do as punishment and they said “Thank you, ma’am”! Whispering, giggling and jostling each other all the time! I tell you, this school’s the limit!’
Mr Shyam, the class teacher of VIII A, and Mr Sunderlal’s friend, smiled and turned to look at Mr Sunderlal, but the sports teacher had already left for cricket practice.
On the way to the grounds after a quick lunch, Reshmi asked Jayaram, ‘So what else did your James Bond sister find out for you?’
‘Oh, plenty!’ he replied. ‘I wanted to tell you, but Kishore’s mind-blower took centre stage. I’ve written down some of the names she mentioned and their game.’ He consulted a paper. ‘Their captain, Nayanika, is their star—’
‘We’ve already heard about cricket’s Wunder Woman,’ Amar cut him short. ‘Let’s call her that—“W-u-n-d-e-r W-o-m-a-n”. Give us the low-down on the others.’
‘Right! The vice-captain’s a girl called Kritika. She’s a leg-spinner who sometimes bowls medium pace. A useful bat. The wicketkeeper is Purnima Rao, a . . .’
‘I hope she’s nothing like the giant keeper of Blossoms School, that bleating Amazon whatshername!’ Kishore gave a mock shudder.
‘Amazon?’ asked Thomas. ‘How can a river bleat?’
‘This is another Amazon. Amazons are also huge women warriors in Greek mythology, Thomo,’ explained Kishore. ‘I was referring to that large wicketkeeper who played for Blossoms.’
‘Who? Shefali Singh?’ asked Thomas. ‘Wasn’t she always stepping on her stumps?’
‘Haha, yes, the same. What memory, Thomo!’ Kiran gave Thomas an appreciative thump that sent him coughing and spluttering forward.
‘No, this wicketkeeper’s quite the opposite,’ Jayaram grinned. ‘From what Nila tells me, I gathered she’s slightly built but is pure dynamite behind the stumps. Gauri, Malavika and Kaikasi are batters, Aarathy and Zoya are all-rounders. In fact, except for Purnima, all the players can bat and bowl, says my sister. And all are ace fielders.’
‘Uh-oh! Really? Can’t wait to play this supreme, eighth-wonder-of-the-world team,’ Eric hooted.
‘Nitisha and Vineetha are their opening bowlers,’ Jayaram continued. ‘Nandika and Aditi are spinners and, well, that brings my bulletin to an end. That’s all Nila managed to get out of those two soft targets in her tuition class.’
‘Good enough for a start,’ said Amar. ‘Well done, Jay. She deserves the front wheel of your cycle for this.’
‘And the seat!’ Abdul guffawed.
‘Oh, there’s something else,’ Jayaram added. ‘It seems the team has been practising hard for some time now, probably from the time their principal read Colonel Uncle’s mail. And on weekends they play on some open ground somewhere.’
Amar’s face began to glow, and a look appeared that all his friends had come to dread, a look that indicated the germination of an idea.
‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘I’ve got . . .’
‘An idea!’ a few of the boys chorused.
‘Oh no, Amar!’ Minu groaned. ‘I was just thanking our lucky stars there haven’t been any brilliant ideas from you yet, and there you go!’
‘This one is super brilliant!’ enthused Amar, eyes shining.
‘Which one wasn’t?’ Eric remarked. ‘But describe one that was troub
le-proof.’
‘Millions!’ Amar shrugged off the allegation.
‘All of Amar’s ideas lead to Rome, rather, room—our dear Princi’s,’ said Kishore.
‘Listen, you dopes.’ Amar sounded cross. ‘We’re just wasting time with these stupid remarks. Mustn’t we know how these dark horses play? Your description is so vague, Jay—“some open ground somewhere”. It could be in the middle of the Gobi Desert. Any idea where this “somewhere” is?’
‘Actually, yes.’ Jayaram looked pleased he could answer that. ‘Nila mentioned a construction site where work’s been stopped. Court orders, it seems. It’s quite close to Nayanika’s house; at least, that’s what my spy said.’
‘How about going to this place tomorrow and watching them practise?’ Amar suggested. ‘Incognito.’
‘In what?’ Arun looked puzzled but Amar didn’t bother to explain and, for a change, Kishore also let it pass.
‘We could record their game, if someone can bring a smartphone along,’ Amar added.
‘Mmm, there’s something in your idea, Amar.’ Ajay looked thoughtful.
‘Not bad at all, Butter!’ Reshmi gave him a thumbs up.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Eric volunteered. ‘I’ll bring my brother’s old phone along. It has no sim but the camera and recorder work.’
‘Swag!’ Amar looked elated.
‘What’s happening here, boys?’ Mr Sunderlal was among them, frowning. ‘I thought you’d be practising and here you are, wasting your time talking! Arjun, fix the stumps.’
The students exchanged smiles and practice began.
That evening there was further discussion about the next day’s sneak visit to the girls’ playground. Though Reshmi, Minu, Kiran and Abdul wanted to accompany Amar and Eric, Ajay put his foot down. ‘Two will do,’ he emphasized.
‘Too many cooks aren’t necessary,’ added Kishore.
‘Good luck and don’t get caught,’ Minu cautioned the boys.
‘Ha, caught? Don’t know the meaning of that word!’ Amar winked as he and Eric went to Amar’s house to make plans for the next day. They rang up Jayaram for some more details and, over delicious samosas and pakodas that Amar’s mother plied them with, the two boys munched their virtual way to the girls’ playing field with the help of Google Maps on the Internet. Eric left after they decided to take a bus the following day to the place while the others would go to the vacant ground near Eric’s house, their usual haunt, for some more practice.