Mist clung to the ground. His shoes became moist with dew as he made his way towards the giant steps. He was one of the last to reach. Excited chatter rippled out in all directions. His entire batch was milling about before him, looking as good as they could possibly look in a uniform that had one item in the colour brown. Rishabh was searching for friendly faces, when he spotted Barkha. She was talking and laughing with Riya Bose and Mukta Gawde. Her bob was neatly swept into place and held there with a white hairband. Her skin glowed in the diffuse morning light.
He was too far to hear what she was saying, but he could imagine her floating sing-song voice and her simple jokes, and before he knew it, he was ducking to avoid her. They had started speaking again, but he felt they had nothing left to say. It was an awful, hollow feeling that flipped his stomach and turned his heart black. So many times he had come close to telling her how he felt, but his courage always failed him. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the facade. It had become genuinely painful for him to go on deceiving her, but he was just as afraid of coming out with the truth. So he came up with a new solution: of avoiding her as much as possible.
He skulked behind people, keeping a careful eye on her all the while. In conversation, she absently turned her head, this way and that, as if searching for someone. Rishabh knew he was the searchee. He could sense that urgency in her behaviour. He knew she wanted to talk to her boyfriend before the tenth standard photograph, to ask him whether she looked all right. And the question would break his heart.
At that moment, Ghadge Sir appeared and barked at them to get into position. The clumps of students dispersed and re-clumped at the base of the steps. It was an obvious, hypocritical school formation: the girls, secretive and giggling, were bunched together at one end and the guys, macho and feigning nonchalance, parked themselves at the other. Very quickly, the lower steps were filled. Rishabh spun about in confusion, until an arm grabbed him. Puro yanked him up the steps.
‘You didn’t hear me or what?’
Rishabh shrugged.
‘Was calling your name for ten full minutes.’
They were at the rightmost edge, away from the mass that seemed to coagulate in the centre because that’s where people thought they would get photographed best. To his left were Sumit and Tej.
Moments before the picture was taken, he happened to look down at the herd of classmates and found a face staring back at him. Barkha, seated on the far left of a lower step, had been waiting to catch his eye. When their eyes met, her face broke into a smile.
‘All right, everybody, look straight ahead . . .’
Her eyes were on him. She waited.
‘Smile . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1.’
Click.
There he was, in the second-last row, on the far right, stuck for posterity: a puffy-haired boy, standing next to his buddies, mouth open and with nothing to say.
The flash of the camera had made up his mind. He paced the corridor next to the ground, a metallic ball of fear in the pit of his stomach. People talked and laughed all around him, making his dread and sadness more pronounced. Soon she came down the stairs, looking apprehensive. She regarded him as if she couldn’t recognize him. She knows, thought Rishabh.
He wondered how he should broach the topic. He was a veteran of proposals (two), but this was his first break-up. Thankfully, she spoke.
‘I know what you want to say.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. I’ve known for a while.’
‘For how long?’
‘Since the beginning.’
This was news to Rishabh. In the beginning, he’d been certain he wasn’t going to break up with her. In the beginning was when he had liked her. And why would he break up with a person he liked? That would make no sense!
She saw these thoughts wrinkling his face, and it made her laugh. It was a bitter laugh, which made Rishabh shudder.
‘Don’t pretend, Rishabh. You know this was a rebound.’
He genuinely didn’t. Unless she meant a ball getting knocked against a surface and returning to the kicker. But he doubted that was her implication.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
Barkha sighed. ‘It means you were never in love with me. You weren’t even remotely interested in me until that other girl rejected you.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Before this, did you even speak to me?’
‘There was that one time, when I asked you to rub my name off the board—’
‘A conversation, Rishabh,’ said Barkha, losing patience.
Rishabh cast his mind back to the years they’d shared and came up empty. She was right. He had only started noticing her after Tamanna had exited the scene.
‘But . . . what I felt for you was real.’
‘It might have been for you. For me, it felt like I got the leftovers of the feelings you had for that girl.’
‘Did you really feel that way?’
‘Yes. And it hurt, Rishabh. I wanted to be someone’s choice, not someone’s backup.’
The words stung. She had said them in her soft, even tone, and yet Rishabh flinched. In that moment, he woke up to the recklessness and ignorance with which he had barged into her life and the damage he had wreaked.
‘And what did you want to say now?’ she continued.
Rishabh remained silent. He couldn’t even get himself to look at her. He stared at the floor.
‘You wanted to break up?’
The resignation in her voice unsettled Rishabh. He felt callow and undeserving. She had believed in his magic, but all he had to offer were a bunch of lies and a bag of tricks.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘For whom? I hope it’s for yourself. Because you’re stuck, Rishabh. And I’ll tell you why: because you don’t have the strength to move past it. In fact, I’m surprised—and a little bit happy—that you even took the decision to break up. I didn’t think you would have the courage. I was going to do it myself. I have had enough. You were so careless and selfish sometimes, Rishabh. It hurt. I want you to know that. And I took it all with a smile. Only because I cared. I genuinely liked you, Rishabh. It takes more strength to let someone into your heart than it does to hold them away. I let you in. But you never could. I still like you, Rishabh. I like you a lot. But I know this is over, because I know who you are.’
Rishabh looked up.
She held his stare without anger or loathing. ‘You’re just a silly boy who doesn’t know what he wants.’
Life took a turn for the worse for the newly single Rishabh Bala. Almost immediately, Barkha asked for her seat to be changed and Kaul Miss shot a deadly stare in Rishabh’s direction. She puffed up her cheeks and shook her head in disappointment. Rishabh shrank in his place.
He thought football would offer respite, but his mind wasn’t in the game. He made mistakes in the training sessions, and his form fell faster than stocks during a depression. The change was dramatic and worrying. The coach noticed his drooping shoulders and his distracted gaze. Something must be wrong, he surmised after watching Rishabh hit a free kick so wide that he almost scored in another dimension. After another listless performance, he took Rishabh aside and asked him what the matter was.
Rishabh was reluctant to divulge details, but the coach persisted. He finally gave up when the coach threatened to drop him from the team. Slowly, and with great embarrassment, he offered the gory narration of his break-up with Barkha. For the second time that year, Rishabh confessed to the coach that a girl was the source of his troubles.
Mehfouz Noorani promptly whacked him on the back of his head. ‘Aye! This is why I don’t like all this girlfriend–boyfriend circus.’
‘I know, sir. It won’t happen again.’
‘It better not.’ The coach glowered. Then he tapped Rishabh on the shoulder. ‘But she’s right about you. You don’t know what you want.’
Ever since Barkha had uttered those words, Rishabh had been haunted by that
one question: what did he want? He’d pondered it for days. He had plumbed the depths of his desires and, worryingly, found them to be rather vacuous and surprisingly shallow. But even in the otherwise pristine blankness of his mind, there was an answer.
‘Sir, I don’t know about the big-big things in life, but right now, I really want to win this tournament.’
The coach threw his head back and laughed. The boy was stupid, but at least he was honest. ‘Good. That is a start,’ he said. ‘And if you want to win that trophy, then forget everything else and play the damn sport.’ He patted Rishabh’s back. ‘Because you know what’s better than knowing what you want?’
Rishabh shook his head.
‘Getting what you want.’
Years later, when Rishabh would be asked about the best advice he ever got, he would rummage in the attic of his head and say, ‘If you know you want the trophy, forget everything else and play the damn sport.’ It was the simplest, clearest instruction he had ever received, he would add. He would smile, and his eyes would be illuminated by a light from long ago as he would say, ‘And it worked wonders for me.’
Setting the trophy in his sights blurred all the distractions. His focus returned and brought his form with it. As the days passed and the tournament drew closer, he became more and more obsessed. On the final day of training, two days before the tournament, the coach named his first eleven: Dave, Amar, Dutta, Rana, Bhupinder, Tejas, Floyd, Purohit, Rishabh, Paras and Rahul. Before he could stop himself, Rishabh let out a loud, primal roar. The sound erupted from him spontaneously, but it had been rumbling inside him since the cold days of his exile. He had suppressed his anger, fear and resentment, and now that his comeback was complete, it burst out of him without restraint. The other players heard their names announced in a squad; Rishabh heard his pride being restored.
As he brought the final session to a close, the coach said, ‘I can’t believe you crazy people did it.’ He chuckled. In his twenty-five-odd years of playing professionally, he had seen every situation and every circumstance that a footballer could encounter, and yet these boys had pulled off something unique, the likes of which he’d never seen. He marvelled at the way they had got through the month.
They couldn’t tell their parents that they were sneaking out to play football after school, so they had stowed away their studs and one pair of training clothes in the gymnasium lockers. And they had worn these same clothes without complaint for the whole month. By the end of it, they smelled like a heap of rotting carcasses. It was a level of commitment that even the coach couldn’t fathom.
‘I glad you did it, but I’m happy it’s over,’ he said. ‘I can’t take this smell for another day.’
On the eve of the tournament, Rishabh packed his football kit for the last time that year. He neatly arranged the crêpe bandage, the can of Relispray, extra stockings, shin pads and his studs. He was about to zip it shut, when his father entered his room.
‘There’s a call for you,’ said Mr Bala. ‘Some girl called Tamanna. Or Tameeksha. Or something.’
Rishabh froze. ‘What?’
‘Phone. Tamanna,’ repeated Mr Bala.
Rishabh had heard him fine the first time. He just hadn’t believed him. Was his father joking? He peered at the man’s face. He had his standard-issue dour expression and haggard eyes. There was not a hint of humour on his map. Besides, Rishabh had not heard his father crack a joke in his living memory. (This was true; the last time Mr Bala had cracked a joke, the Berlin Wall had still been standing.)
‘Are you sure?’
Mr Bala worried for his son. How was Rishabh going to pass his board exams when he couldn’t comprehend simple sentences plainly spoken?
‘I’ll tell her to call later . . .’ he said in weariness.
‘No!’ yelled Rishabh. ‘I’ll take it.’
He sprang out of his chair and sprinted to the phone.
‘Hello?’ he said tentatively.
‘Hi,’ came the voice from the other end. He recognized the uncertain, husky timbre. It was certainly Tamanna.
‘Uh . . .’ He fumbled for words.
‘I hope it’s okay that I called.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘I just needed to tell you something,’ said Tamanna. Rishabh gulped. ‘Be careful tomorrow.’
‘What?’ Many possibilities had raced through Rishabh’s mind—everything from her proposing to her asking him to explain what the poet meant when she said, ‘life is a prism of my light and death the shadow of my face’—but a warning had not been one of them.
‘They’ve planned to target you. They think they can get you sent off again.’
‘Kamani Krida?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Who told you?’ He instantly regretted asking this question. ‘Of course. Your boyfriend?’
‘He told me, but he’s not my boyfriend any more.’
It was a startling bit of news. Rishabh didn’t know how to react. It was one of those situations wherein anything he said would seem inappropriate, so he chose to stay mum.
‘It’s all right. I should have done it a long time ago.’
‘That’s right!’ he wanted to scream on the line, but better sense prevailed and he vocalized like a creaking door instead.
Tamanna giggled. ‘You don’t have to be awkward. I’m sorry for all the trouble he gave you.’
‘What trouble? No trouble.’
‘The card and fighting with you on the street. That stuff.’
‘Oh. Ah. It happens.’
‘I’m sorry anyway.’ She paused. ‘I’ve heard you’re dating Barkha.’
‘No,’ said Rishabh. ‘Not any more.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘It’s all right. She’s better off without me.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘She told me that herself.’
Tamanna laughed, but then she realized that was inappropriate, so she coughed to cover it up.
‘Why did you break up with him?’ asked Rishabh when she had stopped.
She took a few seconds to compose her thoughts and answered, ‘He wanted me to come for the tournament tomorrow.’
‘That’s a good thing, no?’ said Rishabh. He was genuinely surprised that inviting people to watch football matches was grounds for break-ups.
‘So that it would affect you,’ she added.
‘Oh!’
‘Yeah. It’s such a shitty thing to do.’
‘I agree. But it wouldn’t have affected me, to be honest.’
Tamanna balked. ‘Come on. It would affect you a little bit,’ she said.
Rishabh couldn’t believe he had managed to offend her. ‘No. And . . . I have to tell you something too. It was good that you . . . uh . . . said no when I asked you out. It hurt a lot for a while. But in the end, it was the right thing to do.’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Tamanna. She sounded subdued.
‘Because I don’t think I knew what I wanted. I’m just happy at least you did.’
They fell silent. In Naupada, with the phone pressed against her ear, Tamanna Vedi thought about the dorky, spectacle-wearing boy who would stare at her like she was an animal in a safari. She wondered what she would say if he asked her out again, right now. There was a distance between them that she knew she couldn’t cross. And yet she had called him.
‘Tamanna,’ said Rishabh, ‘thank you.’
‘Oh, this was nothing. I thought I should let you know—’
‘No, for everything. I liked you since the seventh, you know. I fell for you when you were patrolling the bridge. Do you remember?’
She made a noise that indicated she hadn’t the slightest clue.
‘You were. And I spent four years trying to impress you. I sometimes used to wonder whether you felt it.’
‘Felt what?’
‘Felt your life changing, because you changed a lot of mine. I have so many memories of you that you probably don’t even remember. For all of
that, thank you.’
‘Where was all of this when you asked me out, you idiot?’ said Tamanna. She felt rueful about letting him down.
‘No,’ said Rishabh, ‘I said exactly what I wanted to say. I spent a lot of time thinking about it. Trust me.’
‘So dumb it was.’
‘It wasn’t so bad also.’
‘Oh, please.’
‘Too late now. And I don’t think I’d change it even if I had the chance. You were the first person I really wanted. But it was not meant to be. And you—’
Just then, a third voice joined them. That of a lady. ‘Tamanna? You’re still on the phone?’ It was her mother. ‘Leave the phone and sit down to study!’
‘Haaaaaan, Mumma!’ screamed Tamanna. ‘You keep the phone first.’
A receiver clicked into place, and it was the two of them again.
‘Sorry. My mom. She has no understanding of privacy. She always picks up the other line and tells me to study.’
‘It’s all right.’
‘Anyway, I better go now. You take care tomorrow. All the best, and I hope we win!’
Rishabh thanked her and said goodbye.
He zipped up his bag and headed to bed. His chest felt lighter. His heart beat freely for the first time in years.
All for the best, he thought, all for the best.
They had been instructed to report to class, give attendance and submit their ‘On Duty’ leave notes. Knowing how touchy the principal was about football, Ghadge Sir had taken the trouble of forging fake ‘On Duty’ notes. The entire football team was supposed to be going for some athletics meet that day.
‘But be carephul,’ Ghadge Sir had warned. ‘Iph teachers phind out, then poora plan phail hoyega.’
They had never seen worry lines on Ghadge Sir’s brow before. He was clearly concerned, and so they’d vowed to be cautious.
But as luck would have it, their first period of the day was English. Bobde sashayed into class and dumped her textbooks on the desk.
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