Page 66 - 31OCT2019E

From Tehelka Archives
December 1, 2000

the field. The saris were lit up, and the women at what little they could see of the sky. The noticing it. The one nondescript and ageing;
moved uncomfortably. The desert sky was like floodlights dimmed: the other resplendent. ‘Beauty and the Beast,’
a great, empty theatre around them. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, it seems like a doost- thought Khatau in bold letters.
Twenty minutes later, Tendulkar came storm,’ said Boycott. Almost immediately, Tendulkar, on 61, was
out with his heavy bat in one hand, followed The women in the expensive seats looked bowled by an in-swinger. One large section
by the taller, shuffling Ganguly. The camera uneasy; their husbands laughed in their suits of the crowd — the Indians — stared into the
noted two people in deep conversation, but it and belligerently talked business with each distance, as if a film they’d been watching had
was impossible to hear what they were saying. other. A man leaned forward and said some- been stopped midway. The others danced fes-
‘Sachin’s our secret weapon,’ observed one thing in Ummar Aziz’s ear. Tony Greig and tively, as if a country separated them from the
of them, a gentlewoman who lived on Malabar Gavaskar initiated a detailed discussion of the Indians.
Hill in a flat overlooking Kamala Nehru Park. match so far, and replays of a brighter time, ‘How did that happen,’ enquired Boycott,
‘And not Trishul or any of the other war- when batsmen had played their shots in the ‘to the little master?’
heads?’ said her husband’s colleague. She light of day, began to be shown. The executive vice-president of Pepsi
smiled politely and refused to indicate that ‘Chai lau?’ said a ten-year-old boy in shorts. moved impatiently in his seat; he’d been talk-
she’d understood; then fanned herself gently ‘No, idiot,’ said Khatau. ‘What, tea at this ing to his companion about a rival bid from
with a magazine. time of the night?’ Reprimanded, the boy sat Coke at that moment. Tendulkar, his head
As Aquib Javed bowled the first ball, the down quietly, and gratefully, on the floor be- bowed beneath his visor, strode heavily to-
crowd’s voice swelled in a hum and then fore the television. wards the pavilion; but, almost immediately,
subsided again. On the television screen, Every time the camera returned to the he was drinking Pepsi, leaning against a van,
Tendulkar’s bat, its face as remorseless as its ground, it showed the dust swirling in minute and flashing a Visa card (‘Now You Go Get It’),
staunch owner’s, descended straight on the particles across it. Tendulkar was still wear- indifferent to his debacle.
ball and hit it onto the ground. A deep thud, ing his protective headgear, boiling in the ‘But how did you know, yaar?’ said Yusuf,
magnified by the microphone in the stump, dressing-room, staring back hard at the curving the palm of his hand in a question.
accompanied this event. night; yet, in the prolific commercial breaks, ‘What?’ asked Khatau, straightening his
‘Hey! Hey!’ said Khatau. ‘Look, bhai.’ there he was again, leaning against a van and shirt.
The camera had come to rest, in innocence, drinking Pepsi Cola, or wearing a striped T- ‘You said just now, “He’s gone.” How did
on the face of a man scratching his cheek. shirt and flashing a Visa card. Meanwhile, the you know he’s going to be out?’ Yusuf smiled.
‘It’s our man, bhai! It’s our bridegroom, who Bombay housewives pressed saris against ‘You’re a clairvoyant or what?’
left at the wedding!’ their faces, and looked for a moment like lo- The dismissal was shown twice from the
The camera now withdrew prudently to a cal Muslim women; but Urmila Deshpande’s point of view of the stump-camera; the ball
safer place, a minor and timid crook in a nasty face remained composed, as if nothing had rising from near the batsman’s feet, so quickly
area. Then, panning from a group of agitated happened. Again and again, the commenta- as almost to hit Khatau’s and Yusuf’s faces, and
men holding up a sign saying ‘TON-dulkar’, tors scrutinised a slow-motion almost-run- then the lens falling backwards and staring
it framed the man who’d been scratching his out from the afternoon, Saeed Anwar raising lidlessly at the sky, a dead eye gazing at space.
cheek thoughtfully moments earlier, sitting his bat and setting out infinitesimally slowly In spite of the floodlights, the Indians in the
next to the Chairman of the Board of Cricket on his long odyssey, while Ijaz Ahmed, too, in stadium could see only darkness about them.
Control and his wife, and, a few seats to the agonising protractedness, lunged towards the It was left to Ganguly and Jadeja, throwing
right, Urmila Deshpande, who seemed ab- white line. huge and fluent shadows, to build up a part-
sorbed in the course of the match. When play resumed an hour later, Ten- nership of 200 runs and steer the side to an
‘Saala!’ said Yusuf; and his mouth remained dulkar came back looking intent; at the other unlikely victory. Anju Mahindra, who half an
open. end, Ganguly began to prod the ball gently and hour ago had been exhausted, now looked
Don’t abuse your brother-in-law,’ said Kha- sent it to somewhere near the boundary. Ra- rejuvenated and fifteen years younger, and
tau, but didn’t feel like laughing. ghav Chopra ran his hand through his hair; it waved at someone who was presumably still
The man who’d almost blown up Bombay, looked absolutely white in the floodlights. The awake in Bombay. Jadeja leaned forward and
who’d had bombs placed in Nariman Point women from Bombay self-consciously dusted hit the winning four; on another channel Ur-
and Dadar and 11 other places, had taken care their saris. mila Deshpande, her hair long and with no
to wear a pale, pressed green shirt, and had ‘If there’s anyone who can win India the curls in it, sang sweet, tuneless words to Sal-
probably had a haircut; he now took out a cell- match,’ said Ravi Shastri in his oratorial voice, maan Khan upon a beach.
phone. With excessive politeness, he spoke a ‘it’s that man out there.’ For no one referred to At one o’clock in the morning, a loud cele-
few words into the receiver. His face, when in Tendulkar by name any more. bratory firecracker went off in Bandra. Khatau
close-up, revealed a ravaged and uneven skin. ‘He’s gone,’ said Khatau, despondent. shuddered at the noise of the explosion, and
There were 60 runs on the board, 46 of Ummar Aziz had disappeared; Khatau thought of Ummar Aziz, small, nondescript,
them made by Tendulkar off 50 balls, when had been absorbing this fact for the last five scratching his cheek thoughtfully.
the sky darkened. The weather reports had minutes. Urmila had gone as well, probably
made no predictions; the batsmen looked up to a different destination; but he couldn’t help letters@tehelka.com

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