Truly Madly Deeply

by Faraaz Kazi

  “Ah, I would have loved to play and kick some arse but at least you can invite me to watch, right?” Raj questioned.

  “Unfortunately, no, there will be school peons manning the ground gates and they’re under strict instructions from the Princi to not allow any outsider to enter. I guess the school uniform is the only license. I would have given you a spare one but sadly, it won’t fit you, shorty,” Rahul laughed. Raj kicked him playfully.

  ***

  The open stadium housed almost the entire secondary section of the school. Rahul led his team on the field for the second match against the Yellow house, after the Green house had knocked out the Red in the first match of the morning by a mammoth 87 runs.

  Surprisingly, the second match proved to be a relatively easier affair than imagined, as the Blue house chased down the assigned 115 runs in 17 overs itself, instead of the allotted twenty. It was largely possible due to an early outburst of aggression by Samiullah, who got the advantage of deliveries that climbed upon him being called as no-balls, and then a decent partnership between Rahul and Wahid, who used a heavy bat with an unusual swing that was pretty useful in scaring the wicketkeeper whenever he came up close to the stumps.

  And then the moment came, that Rahul had been waiting for: the clash with the Green house. For Rahul, this was not just a game; this was the matter of his ego and maintaining the word that he had given to his mates, before the start of the competition, near the topmost stands where the green house people were gathered. He had ensured that she would hear each and every word he uttered. This was what he wanted and this was what he had got.

  “We will trash the Green folks if they ever manage to reach the finals,” he had loudly proclaimed to his teammates, in a burst of confidence upon seeing her.

  Rahul started by inspiring his teammates and invoking them to perform to retain their pride. It seemed that fate was not on their side during the toss and they had to resort to their backup bowling first plan on what looked like a decent batting track.

  “Dude, the pitch is as dry as a virgin’s pussy,” he heard Khalid, a thin, wired looking guy from his team, comment.

  The game started and Rahul took the new ball in his hands. He steamed in, concentrating on pace and in the process ended up conceding more extras than he would have thought. He kept varying the angles at which he ran in to control the wayward swing and it seemed to help. In the last delivery, he released the ball through the back of his hand and watched it swing midway to sneak in through the batsman’s defence and knock him over. There was huge roar of applause and Rahul jumped high in the air, pointing a mocking finger towards the green house stand.

  The green house trudged on at a decent run rate, hammering a boundary or two every over. Rahul took the bowl again after Mushtaq, a left-arm fast bowler wrapped the batsman in front of the wicket and Godfrey sir, their physical training instructor in school and umpire for this game, raised his index finger. Asif walked in to bat for his house and the entire stand of his house cheered, especially Seema. This infuriated Rahul but he calmed himself down.

  Asif, he knew, was a friend but competing against friends was never a criterion for performance in any competition, Rahul told himself. Apart from being their key player, Asif was also the captain of the Green house team.

  Rahul steamed in again to start a new spell and the very first ball of his second over vanished out of the ground. If Rahul was amazed, he did a very bad job of hiding it because pride or no pride, he knew it was not easy for a bowler of his pace and quality to get treated in that manner. Considering that as a chance shot, he concentrated on a tight length for the next bowl but Asif made room and slashed the good length ball over long off for another six. By this time, Rahul’s pride and overconfidence, had both been dashed against the stands. He did not want to, but yet he did eye the Green house stand and was confronted with what he was dreading – a smirk on Seema’s face. He just lost it after that, two no-balls and a couple of wides later, another six and a four followed and somehow Rahul wound up a disastrous over.

  Other bowlers were also not spared as they bowled with their battered confidences seeing their captain being treated in that manner, though they were treated with a little more respect by the Green house batsmen who seemed to be on a rampage. Asif played with a lot of gusto and lofted almost every second ball with perfect timing.

  Rahul did not bring himself on, even after Asif was dismissed for a respectable fifty seven. Evidently, Asif’s presence on the field had irked him and made him misfield and even drop a couple of simple catches, or was it the scene etched in his memory of the smirk on Seema’s face? The Blue house team soon lost whatever remaining confidence they possessed and finally, perhaps half the suffering came to end as the Green house team piled on a mammoth score of 194 and in the process lost just five wickets.

  Rahul tried to motivate the team in the set-up tent which was to act as their make-shift pavilion.

  “Ok guys, heads up, mind alert. We’ve not lost it yet,” he said, seeing their gloomy faces but being dejected himself, he did not do a very good job of what he had intended to.

  The Blue house team soon came out to bat but started weakly, as their already battered confidences shook with the rattling of the wickets. Three wickets fell until the fourth over itself, and Rahul, who had already lowered himself down the order and in his own eyes, cancelled his strategy speech to a silent word of his demotion. When another wicket fell, he went inside the tent to place the guard on his groin and finally took the willow in his hand. There was wide scale booing as he walked out, from which stand he could not make out but could reasonably guess.

  Rahul faced Ramadan, a tall, lanky figure, who steamed in with a bouncer that nearly cut off his head as the bat in his hand refused to budge and the next bowl just missed his helmet by a whisker. Finally, the bowler found his target on the fourth ball of the over, as the red ball hit Rahul on the jaw and another red hit the ground. There was silence all around and then shouts erupted. Some students from the stands, walked on the ground to check on him. His teammates were there along with many he did not know by name and amongst those lost faces; he saw a known face standing behind in the rush, trying to jump up, her mediocre height an obvious shortcoming in the circumstances. Lying with his back to the ground, Rahul did not see the medics come in and did not sense that the game had stopped for a good ten minutes. Everything had stopped in his mind too, when he saw the look of concern on her face.

  Rahul knew then, he could not go back, he had to fight, to prove his mettle, to prove himself. He stood up, a bit shaken but more determined with a bandage on his forehead. There was a deafening roar from the crowd as claps echoed to cheer him. Godfrey Sir, the umpire, requested him to leave the field and retire but he chose to stay, he chose to fight. All he saw was Seema rushing back to the stands with a friend, turning back to see him. He held the picture in his mind’s eye.

  Rahul’s refusal of any further medical aid made the Green house players smirk. The bowler whispered to him, “Your helmet won’t protect you. Kyun jaan ki baazi laga raha hai… the next one will probably get you in your head.”

  Rahul sensed the same anger but this time he decided to use the anger for his own benefit and not let unrequired emotions undermine his performance and mentality. Rahul then turned to look at the scoreboard; they still required 136 runs from 14.1 overs with seven wickets in hand at an astounding 9.71 runs per over. He knew the odds were not in their favour but at the same time, he knew a composed and determined will would not stop them from achieving their aim.

  Ramadan winked at him, as he steamed in for the next delivery, it was another short pitched one, well directed and if Rahul had not moved fast and guided his bat to fine leg, where the fielder was a lot squarer, he probably would have been lying down again and not have found the welcome boundary.

  “Try taking the singles and rotate the strike. You won’t feel much pressurised that way and it will break the bowler’s rhythm,” Rahul advised Am
it, his current batting partner.

  “The ball’s not coming onto the bat,” Amit complained.

  “See the brighter side of it, there is no seam movement. We utilised the morning wind to our advantage and now they have none. Just ensure your bat stays in the line of the ball and play your shots,” Rahul patted his back.

  Amit nudged the bowl in the gaps and ran hard whenever needed, converting the singles into doubles and the doubles into triples. Rahul noticed he used his wrists to good effect.

  He, on the other hand took the attack to the bowling team, being careful not to take the aerial risks, he catapulted his shots into gaps with a skill he never knew he possessed. He cut and drove with renewed ferocity and with exceptional timing. Rahul kept on finding the boundary at least once every over. He tried to target the spinners, as the wicket did not offer much turn and played a couple of lofted shots that just about reached the rope. Rahul lost Amit when he tried to negotiate a rising delivery that kissed his gloves and rose high in the air, back to the bowler. Similarly, Samiullah, who had been lowered down the order to handle the innings,

  was dismissed trying for a quick single, eager to give the strike to this captain.

  In the following two overs, they lost two more wickets, courtesy some poor running and some good fielding by their opponents. Ismail and Moiz both fell down cheaply, one refusing a run that was on and the other, running with all his might when Rahul kept on refusing the single which they never could have completed.

  They were now seven down for 107 with just about seven overs left. Faced with the sudden loss of wickets, the run rate dipped down and the boundaries dried up for the next couple of

  overs. The next man, Mushtaq and Rahul, both played watchfully but in the process could just make 16 runs of the total 18 deliveries in the partnership.

  The Blue house knew the game was up for them and there was widespread unrest in the players’ tent as much as it was in their house stand. Rahul took strike again, but not before glancing at the black manual board, which a small boy updated with the single he had taken on the last ball of the last over. He was not taken aback by the equation; he knew getting 72 runs in five overs was a herculean task but not one that was impossible. Perhaps such an instance would never happen again, he would never permit his pride to

  rule over the happenings. He had always dreamt of standing out in such a moment, if ever there was a time to realise that dream, it was NOW!

  “Mushtaq, play your shots in the straight V. The fielders are a lot finer, just concentrate,” Rahul whispered in Mushtaq’s ear.

  Mushtaq played it straight along the ground and only managed to get him a single.

  What followed after that perhaps could only be best described by the Green house bowlers, as two balls were lost in the five sixes that came in the next two overs. Rahul played an on-drive and followed it with a straight drive to find two consecutive boundaries and used his bottom hand to muscle away the fuller length deliveries into the stands while cutting and pulling away the rising deliveries.

  “Don’t try to hit it. The ball will disappear if you just time it well, just gather power in your swing, not in your arms,” Rahul suggested and Mushtaq nodded.

  Mushtaq made no effort to keep the ball down on the ground on each delivery that he faced and was trying to hit it in the V region behind the bowler. It seemed luck aided them somewhere as a couple of catches went down and some hard edges flew past the keeper to the boundary and over gully.

  Rahul checked the equation again, with two overs remaining. The small boy next to the scoreboard had just finished putting up a three besides a two in the required field on the scoring board. Mushtaq faced Ramadan, who looked lost at the way the pendulum had swung. The bowler knew this would be a deciding over, that would tilt the game towards either side. Mushtaq could not read Ramadan’s line and after two dot deliveries, ended up pulling a slow delivery straight into the hands of the mid-wicket fielder, who pouched a difficult catch.

  Khalid walked in next. He looked nervous and shaken in that place. The first thing Rahul did was to calm him down, after walking

  upto him.

  “Shit, I can’t grip the bat. My hands are as wet as a slut’s pussy.,” he complained.

  “Abey CKB, this is not the time to entertain your fascination for pussies. You can meow-meow with them later all you like, just get me on strike for now and adjust your gloves again if your hands are sweaty,” Rahul admonished, feeling irritated.

  “Don’t panic!” he repeated before going back to the

  non-striker’s end.

  The dapper guy nudged the ball all right, but straight into the hands of the forward short-leg fielder, who was more than joyful to accept it. Sensing fresh blood, the Green house fielders moved in for the kill, when Vishal walked in.

  Rahul considered his options. He knew that Vishal was as useful with the cricket bat as a white crayon on white paper but he tried to think calmly. It was their last wicket and if Vishal did anything silly, there would be no second chances. The field was up. Rahul, anyways, was not going to go for a single with two balls to spare in what had turned out to be a nightmarish over until then. Rahul had a long talk with Vishal much to the irritation of the fielders. There was no use telling him to get a single as he noticed the batsmen became more nervous if he did so. He told Vishal, to hit the ball hard with his willow trying to keep it on the ground, wherever he gets the chance.

  The poor guy just kept nodding to whatever the captain was saying without taking in much of it but that’s exactly what he did, unintentionally though, as he gave an unintended half-volley a mighty heave intending to clear mid-wicket. Fortune favours the brave, they say and it did so now, as another edge whizzed past the slip fielder and reached the boundary. Ramadan came up well the next ball, with a good length delivery that Vishal missed even before moving his bat.

  18 RUNS OFF ONE OVER! Rahul’s brain did not comprehend much. He had done it once before, he remembered. Playing in his chuddies, with his little cousins, he had managed the twenty-four runs required of the last over but that was in a small playground right below the building in which his aunt stayed. And he doubted whether he could count that event to boost himself right then.

  Asif took the ball in his hands. He knew Asif was a tight length bowler; he had faced him before, when he had come to play with his local buddies for a colonial clash. In such a clash, there would be no friendship and where a win or loss mattered, there would be no room for such manipulation.

  There was widespread discomfort around the ground. The Yellow and Red houses gave mixed reactions but the participating houses remained loyal to their respective colours now.

  Rahul boxed the pitch with his bat, checking for holes around him and feeling the comforting presence of his bat. Asif ran in with the ball in his hand with a peculiar action, he had a stumbling gait, just pausing for a slight second before

  delivering, he let go of the ball. Rahul too stood in an unusual stride with his back foot pointing towards square-leg. He had changed his stance and played an orthodox shot sweeping the ball when it was near enough, right over the keeper’s head, where any fielder could not do much except watch the ball crash into the boundary. It was obvious, Asif was targeting the safe

  Yorkers, and he had almost got it right the very first delivery, he had bowled.

  The very next delivery, the bowler came up with an interesting reply with a well-disguised, slower delivery that deceived Rahul, who was in attack mode; he could just manage to check his shot at the last moment and prevent himself from playing the aerial lofted shot early and into the hands of a waiting hawk at mid-off. The dot ball was cheered with much excitement from the stand to the left of Rahul, who did not raise his head to check the source of the noise.

  Another pitched up delivery, saw Rahul drive it in the gap between cover and extra cover and it was just stopped inches away from the boundary. Rahul refused the third run although it was on, and wondered whether he should hav
e taken it, just in case they lost and the deciding blame also fell on him. He dreaded losing the game from here and wondered how he would face others. He gave support to himself saying that they had at least reached near such a mammoth score and that should keep his housemates shut but he knew losing by 100 runs or 1 run, losing was losing. Failure was something unknown to him and he wished it would remain that way, not wanting to remind himself of the quiz competition.

  Rahul reprimanded himself for thinking about the result when the task was still unfinished but evidently that did affect his square cut, as his bat could not find the ball and it passed unscathed into the keeper’s gloves. Rahul kicked himself mentally, 12 runs of two deliveries was a distant dream. He knew then the burden he had taken on his shoulders, he kicked himself for actually playing so cautiously earlier on. Maybe just two more deliveries from those innumerable dot balls could have made a difference. His mind recollected the old adage of Pride going before a fall. But alas, what was gone was gone, and there was no use repenting it; he was still trying to clear his mind of all the jumbling when the next ball came up as a daring bouncer that Rahul tried to pull but it took the edge and stayed put. It was collected by the bowler even before Rahul could think of a single.

  Rahul hated himself further, the game was gone and his reputation of being the winner would go to ashes, in no time now. A huge roar erupted from the Green house stand whereas the people who were on their feet in the Blue house stand, sat down in disappointment. The game was over; the next ball would be a mere formality.

  Rahul concentrated on himself, collecting his thoughts. Walking off from the crease for a few steps, he tried to gather his broken self-esteem. With lowered eyes, he did not realise himself looking towards his left and meeting the eyes of the one his heart was expecting to. Seema was not yet rejoicing like the others around her, she was not jumping around like those behind her, she was right in front, watching Rahul intently with compassionate eyes.