And he does exactly that for two whole minutes before slipping in the mud. He lands on his belly and skids by a foot before dragging to a halt. The ball bobbles ahead of him but his head snaps to the stands. Tamanna is looking in his direction, mouth agape. His face turns into a giant beetroot. She’s seen it, he thinks. I’m forever going to be the guy who swan-dived into muck. There’s mud all over me. It’s over! He’s spiralling into crisis mode, when the coach’s savage cries pierce his thoughts.
‘COME BACK AND DEFEND, IDIOT!’ comes the coach’s voice at a volume that must surely have split the eardrums of the players closer to the touchline.
He wants to desperately tell the coach not to call him an idiot when his one true love is in earshot. It makes for a terrible impression. He puts up a hand to pacify the coach.
‘STOP WAVING AND START DEFENDING, BASTARD!’ comes back the roar.
Rishabh runs back to defend before the Mongoose escalates past ‘bastard’.
Kala Mahavidyalaya prove to be a tough opponent to break. They’re a staunch defensive unit. At any given point in time, there are at least eight KM bodies behind the ball, forming a fortress. They don’t attack very often, though. Even their counter-attacks are polite inquiries instead of brutal assaults. They timidly stray forward, almost like they are asking, ‘You mind if we get a goal?’ In short, they are inert but unyielding, a combination that tests Sanghvi’s resolve.
During the break, the coach railed about the untalented scumbags playing for a draw.
‘They want shoot-out. Bloody bastards. No skill, no hard work, no ambition,’ he thundered. Then he asked them to double their efforts towards scoring a goal. He correctly predicted that they should not fear a counter-attack. Their opponents were too timid to actually try and win a match.
‘But you men should not play that way. You should have the balls to say, “We want to win. We have come to play a game, not to defend a game.” Be brave. Attack them with full power. Make sure these cowards lose.’
Freed from the constriction of defending and galvanized by the constant abuse of the coach, they play with more thrust. On the right, Rishabh cleans his mud-stained spectacles. He’s seeing precious little action on the wing. So he decides to drift to the middle. As time ticks by, his mind becomes wholly absorbed in extracting a win. He’s forgotten about the girl who’s cheering from the sidelines.
Just then, Rana bumps the ball forward in his rubbery, lethargic manner. His body language masks the quality of the move, which is pointed and deliberate. The ball finds Tejas on the left wing. Tejas trots forward, his stubby legs becoming a speedy blur. He lashes the ball towards the crowded KM box. Eight defenders fling themselves on it simultaneously. The ball pops out to Rahul Rawat. He sees it plop on to the mud, perfectly teed up. His eyes flash at the opportunity. He rushes to the ball, his body clicking into position, and thwacks it with his instep.
The crack is almighty. The flailing in the box stops as all eyes follow the sailing ball. The KM players wince. All Sanghvi jaws drop. Bhupi blows out air urgently, hoping to help the ball along in every little way he can. The KM keeper leaps forward. The ball gracefully loops beyond his reach.
Rishabh is standing at the far post. He sees the ball spinning towards him, as if it had been couriered by fate to his exact position. A thought is forming in his head but, before he can wait to find out what it is, he instinctually stabs at the ball with the business end of his boot. The volley sends the ball rocketing into the net.
I’VE DONE IT! the thought screams in his head.
He careens towards his teammates to celebrate. He feels hands grab him in delirious joy, yanking at his hair, tugging at his jersey. Then his eyes travel to the stands and spot Tamanna and Preetha clapping. Preetha is saying something to Tamanna, who nods vigorously.
‘I did it!’ he hollers. ‘I scored!’
He’s feeling pretty chuffed about giving his team the advantage, but the realization that he’s done it in front of the girl he’s cosmically connected to makes for a feeling that gushes through him like a Brahmaputra of happiness. He tears away from the clawing mob and does a victory dance in the middle of the ground. It’s clunky and disturbing, like a washed-up eel gasping for water. Preetha stops clapping and claps a palm to her forehead. Tamanna’s smile disappears as she stares at the spasms that Rishabh is having.
Thankfully, Puro, ever the keen friend, notices the effect Rishabh’s dancing is having on the object of his adoration. He jogs over and hugs him, squeezing tight to stop the seizures. They prove difficult to contain. Rishabh’s hands seem to have a life of their own. The emotion of joy is so strong that it floods his body with a need to groove, and he wriggles in Puro’s embrace.
‘Stop moving, you fucking idiot. You’re scaring her,’ mutters Puro.
‘Who cares!’ says Rishabh. ‘I just scored!’
‘I know. Now you have to ask her out. So stop doing this rubbish.’
The memory of the deal slithers back into Rishabh’s mind. Suddenly the goal sours. Surely he isn’t going to go through with it. Surely he can still back out. The doubts spread across Rishabh’s face like a crack in a glacier. On the positive side, he stops dancing.
When the match ended, Rishabh didn’t walk off the pitch as much as he floated off it. It turned out that it was his goal that settled the match. Even though all he had done was scavenge it by being in the right place at the right time, he felt a profound sense of accomplishment. This was one for the books, he thought. When historians of the future will write about Sanghvi’s progress to the semi-finals, they will see that it was Rishabh Bala’s effort that led them there.
In 5 A, there was great cheering. Rishabh’s back grew sore with the congratulatory slaps that it received. Finally, Rahul said in a ringing voice, ‘Now you have to ask her out!’ All in the room collectively remembered the promise and, with sadistic pleasure, sang, ‘Ask her out! Ask her out! Ask her out!’ Rishabh’s smile vanished. He realized the mob was on to him. He tried backing away. But they advanced on him with their teeth bared, singing in one voice and with a malevolent gleam in their eyes.
Puro stepped forward and raised his hands. ‘Wait! Everybody, shut up. Let’s not scare him.’
‘Thanks,’ whimpered Rishabh.
‘No, you still have to tell Tamanna,’ said Puro. ‘A deal is a deal.’
‘But I’m not ready.’
‘And you never will be,’ retorted Puro.
‘Fucker, you just scored!’ goaded Tejas.
‘Tejas is right. You’re in the magic hour,’ said Puro.
‘What’s that?’
‘Arre, the magic hour! When you play well in front of girls, then for one hour after the game, you are the star. Right now, she will fully fall flat for you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Puro.
‘When you score on the pitch—’ began Rahul.
‘You score off the pitch!’ finished Puro. The two exchanged a blustery high five.
‘There’s no better time than now. You are the star, bey. What’re you worried about? Plus she’s come all the way for you. You won’t disappoint her, will you?’ said Puro.
The case they made was compelling. Rishabh’s temperature rose. He took short, shallow breaths that scrambled his brain. He felt the oscillation of his heart. He imagined the sweet release he would feel when his trapped emotions finally escaped his lips. All of it had brought him to the edge, but what pushed him over were Sumit’s words: ‘If you don’t tell her, we will!’ And when thirteen boys started chanting about making his proposal for him, Rishabh decided it was time to act.
‘Fine!’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’
The cheering was deafening.
‘I need your help.’ Rishabh turned to Puro.
‘Anything you want,’ said Puro.
‘I need you to make sure she’s alone.’
‘Done. Let’s go?’
‘Let’s go!’
They moved towards th
e door, and the whole team tiptoed behind them. Rishabh whirled around and sternly said, ‘Just Puro. Please don’t follow us. If I see any of you assholes around, I will not say anything. Okay?’
Their faces fell but they nodded solemnly. Rishabh opened the door.
They found Tamanna and Preetha idly walking around the cash counters near the bus stop. As soon as Rishabh spotted them, he dived behind the nearest pillar and shook like a plucked guitar string. It took a few minutes before Puro could coax him to stop hyperventilating and they could go ahead with the operation.
The plan was simple. Puro would lead Preetha away from Tamanna, leaving Rishabh to swoop in and say the three magic words.
‘Listen,’ whispered Rishabh, a waterfall of sweat gushing from his forehead, ‘should I go down on one knee?’
‘What? Why?’
‘People propose on one knee, no?’
‘Abbey, that’s for marriage.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Look, go down on one knee, go down on both knees, do a handstand if you want—it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you tell her. Okay?’
Rishabh nodded.
‘You ready?’
There was no honest way to answer this, so Rishabh lied and said, ‘Yes.’
‘Good. All the best, my boy! Don’t forget me when you get a girlfriend.’
Rishabh smiled. He shook his head and, before it could come to a stop, Puro leapt out from behind the pillar and gallantly strode towards the two girls.
‘Hey, Preetha! How are you?’
‘Puro? Hi . . .’ said Preetha, a tad startled.
‘Hi, Puro,’ said Tamanna.
Rishabh cooed. Even amid his rising panic, he could still appreciate her sunny disposition and velvety voice.
‘Uh, hi . . . Accha, Preetha, Ghadge Sir has been looking all over for you,’ said Puro.
‘Why is he looking for me?’
‘For the volleyball team. He’s calling you to the gymnasium right this minute.’
‘I don’t play volleyball,’ replied Preetha, narrowing her eyes.
‘Well, he wants to recruit you,’ said Puro without skipping a beat.
‘Now? That’s strange,’ said Preetha thoughtfully.
‘I know. Just come fast and sort it out with him, no,’ said Puro.
He began escorting Preetha away according to plan, but Tamanna followed them.
‘Where are you going?’ demanded Puro.
‘To the gym . . . with you guys . . .’ said Tamanna.
‘No, no. You stay here only. You are not required. Ghadge Sir will not like it. You wait. We’ll come back here. Five minutes, promise.’
Tamanna protested and Puro explained how highly strung Ghadge Sir was.
‘He’s really angry for some reason. He told me to bring one girl, and if he sees I brought two, he’ll kill me.’
‘Shut up, yaar, Puro. I know Ghadge Sir. He won’t do that.’
‘Look, it’s important that you stay here,’ growled Puro. ‘Please,’ he mouthed so Rishabh wouldn’t hear it.
Tamanna interpreted the imploring eyes. ‘Okaaaaay,’ she conceded warily. Her jaw was set firm, and her eyes were dark squints of suspicion.
‘We’ll be right back,’ said Puro. Then, in hushed tones, ‘Thank you!’
Puro led Preetha away. ‘What’s going on?’ Rishabh heard her ask as they walked past him.
‘Arre, just come, na,’ insisted Puro. He turned his head to see Rishabh still clinging to the pillar and winked.
Rishabh took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly, looked up in the general direction of heaven and stepped into the long corridor that led to the counters.
Though in reality Rishabh walked a total distance of ten feet, it felt like he had completed the Dandi March twice over. For a brief moment after he started on his way, he simply forgot how to walk. He had to direct his attention to each muscle in his legs to stop from keeling right over. He staggered on. The corridor stretched on endlessly. He heard each sharp cry from the players on the pitch. The thump of the ball sounded like a bass drum. The plants that lined the corridor filled the air with a sweet, wet smell. The light was dull and diffused. Every pore on his skin felt clogged with the humidity of the rain-laden sky. And on he walked. Tamanna was staring at the ground. Her body was angled away from him. She had no idea her greatest admirer was shuffling towards her.
Finally, Rishabh reached the foyer. She still hadn’t noticed him. So, with the unsung courage that all schoolboys mustered in these situations, he said, ‘Hello . . .’
Tamanna jumped. Any girl in her position would do the same. If your best friend was whisked away under mysterious circumstances and you were asked to hang around lonely foyers, it was only natural that you would jump when accosted with a gurgling ‘Hello!’ She took a second to compose herself, then said, ‘Hi . . .’
Rishabh had lived this moment a million times in his head. In his mind’s eye, he had stood before her and told her what lay in his heart with confidence and lucidity. He had spoken with charm and wit and mystery and lust and in every other way that a boy could express his love for a girl. Yet now when the moment had arrived, his throat had dried up and the words had disappeared. He stared at Tamanna’s slender face, into her questioning eyes, for what seemed like days. Sensing his awkwardness, Tamanna decided to help him out.
‘You played really well.’
‘Yes . . . yeah,’ said Rishabh. ‘Sometimes you play well, sometimes you play badly.’ Once again, he was unable to stop himself.
‘Hmmm.’
‘In that match I played well, though,’ he said and then slammed his jaws shut.
‘I know. I saw,’ said Tamanna. Her eyes travelled around the foyer. ‘Congrats.’
They fell silent. This was the moment. Rishabh felt it. It was a moment of anticipation. Twice he opened his mouth and shut it. Tamanna pursed her lips and wiggled them from side to side. And just like that, the moment was gone.
‘Okay, then, see you later,’ said Tamanna, trying to make her escape.
That did the trick. Rishabh was jolted into action the moment he saw her leave. Three precious years of yearning couldn’t be dashed by one moment of awkwardness. Fuelled as much by desperation as desire, he spoke up.
‘Tamanna,’ he said. His brain held up a placard with his next line on it. ‘Wait . . . there’s something I want to tell you.’
She stopped and slowly turned around. Rishabh walked up to her and looked into her eyes. A gust of wind swirled around the bus stop and a lock of her wavy hair wriggled across her face. She gasped. She knew it was coming. He knew it was coming. Still, she went through with the formality of asking, ‘What?’
Mustering all the heroism and huskiness he could, Rishabh said the three words he had been longing to say for three years. He steadied himself. ‘You know what.’
Wait, those weren’t the words. Someone had switched his words when he hadn’t been looking. His brain frantically scurried inside his skull, searching for the right ones. In the meantime, his face looked perplexed. Tamanna’s looked yet more perplexed.
‘What?’ she repeated.
His brain still hadn’t found the missing words, so it could only supply the horrific ‘You know what.’
Rishabh felt disgust wrap him in a warm embrace. It was a proposal that even the worst of his pessimism hadn’t predicted. The trauma was such that he started having a surreal out-of-body experience. He floated above the foyer, looking down at his hapless self. He had always imagined this moment to be filled with poetry, during which he would rhapsodize the rapture she made him feel. Instead he found himself hosting a quiz show: ‘Guess the meaning of “what” in the phrase “You know what!” and you become the winner of Kaun Banegi Rishabh’s Girlfriend!’ His floating self wanted to shake him out of his stupor, but all it could do was look on helplessly.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .’ said Tamanna with feminine coyness.
She had thrown
him one last lifeline. The moment sneaked its snout back. It reappeared like a wary dog, snuffling about for scraps in a back alley trash can.
Rishabh took it; without further thought or preparation, without rationale or logic, with all his adolescent recklessness, he took it. His pulse throbbed on like a racing car engine, his pupils dilated, his fingers and toes curled. And he gambled it all on that slight, wavering moment.
‘Tamanna, I love you. I’ve loved you from the first second I saw you. I think you’re gorgeous. And—uh . . . yeah. That’s it. Will you go out with me?’
There was a pause. And, as any seasoned proposer would testify, this was the pause that lasted a lifetime. It being Rishabh’s first proposal, he didn’t know any of this. All he knew was that the pause went on and on, and just when he thought it was coming to an end, it went on some more.
Many thoughts raced through Rishabh’s head during that pause, the majority of which involved fantasies of the earth splitting and swallowing him whole. Unfortunately, the tiled flooring of the foyer remained rather intact.
At long last, Tamanna did speak. She took a step back. Her tongue hit the roof of her mouth and Rishabh glanced at the rows of her glossy white teeth. Her teeth have gaps, he observed casually. Shut up, he told this observational part of himself, she’s about to say something.
‘No . . .’ she said. Her voice trailed off.
It was not a loud or emphatic sound by any measure, yet it went off like a bomb in Rishabh’s ears. They rang with the shock. ‘No, no, no, no!’ it reverberated.
‘What?’ said Rishabh, hoping she’d change her answer.
‘No,’ she repeated. It was even softer this time.
‘But . . . But I thought you . . . You don’t like me?’
‘I’m sorry, Rishabh . . . I like you . . . just not in that way.’
This wouldn’t be the last time Rishabh would hear that phrase but it was definitely the first.
‘I don’t understand . . .’ he said truthfully. ‘Didn’t you come to watch the matches for me?’
Tamanna shook her head.
‘Then why did you come?’ Rishabh wondered aloud. Then his eyes widened in realization. ‘. . . for someone else?’
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