“Look at straightness of his elbow!” exclaimed Raman,
slapping his six year old son on the back. Swami smiled gleefully as the little
man on the screen punched another good length ball to the boundary.
Swami was introduced to cricket by his father on a rainy
Monday. He did not want to attend school and his mother would hear none of it.
Raman, however, reasoned with her.
“Let the child rest. As it is I am not going to office
today. I will take care of him”.
Jaya smiled.
“So, what was his score overnight? “She asked.
Raman grinned sheepishly and went out to get the morning
paper.
The bond between Raman and his son started because of one
man – Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. That Monday changed the relationship between
them as Sachin (thirty seven not out overnight on a tricky Mumbai wicket) went
on to score a memorable century. A bewitched Swami fell into the world of
Sachinism and, like millions of Indians, became its permanent occupant. His
father was a purist as far as cricket was concerned and regarded Sachin as the
most complete batsman. The expansive extolments by his father coupled with the
string of breath-taking innings that Sachin played ensured that Swami matched
his dad when it came to worshipping Sachin.
As the years passed Cricket and Sachin were the only topics
that bound a rather fragile father-son relationship. Even after this mutual
interest, the two of them found very few topics on which they were comfortable
conversing with each other. Discussion regarding Sachin’s innings or India’s
victory would last for hours after which there would be periods of awkward
silence before both of them went their respective ways to mind their
businesses. Further, College outside hometown and a subsequent job in North
India meant that the relationship between Raman and Swami grew even more
dysfunctional. Whenever Swami called home and Raman picked up, there would be
uneasy pauses before either he asked for mother or Raman passed over the phone
to his wife.
Fifteen years went by like this before Swami got an
unexpected transfer back to his hometown. This meant that suddenly he was
forced to spend more time with Raman. Like Swami, Raman had also changed. His
conversations were now limited to Jaya and his need for companionship made him
irritable on many occasions. When he got to know that Swami was coming back, he
felt a surge of happiness mixed with a small dose of apprehension. What if his
son carried the mannerisms he exhibited over the phone into the house? It had
been more than ten years since they had had a decent one-on-one talk. When
Swami arrived home and smiled at his mother while giving a perfunctory nod at
Raman, his fears were confirmed. His son had almost become a stranger to him.
Swami’s views and outlook had changed a lot in the years he
had stayed away from home. The same laidback, joke-cracking Raman who he used
to look up to was now a source of annoyance to him. He despised the
conservative attitude of his father and his insistence on following rules and regulations,
even at home. Raman’s constant jibes at Jaya for issues of inconsequence irked
him. When Raman tried to impose these rules on him as well, Swami’s attitude
towards his father went from bad to worse. He gave a deaf ear to Raman’s pleas
and appeals and refused to even look him in the eye.
Swami felt thankful for Sundays as it was a holiday for him
and both his parents. This meant that he needn’t be alone with Raman.
Saturdays, though, were a nightmare as Jaya went to work while Swami and Raman
had holidays. Swami tried to avoid staying home on Saturdays by planning
meetings with school friends, colleagues and even cousins. Another significant
change in Swami was the fact that cricket had lost its charm on him. Sachin was
no more the boy wonder who drew Swami to cricket and made him bunk school and
college lectures. He was a tired old man trying his best to leave the
cricketing scene with dignity. It had been three years since he had scored a
century. Naturally the cricket conversations between Swami and Raman had become
almost non-existent.
It was a usual Saturday morning and Swami was getting ready
to flee the house as quickly as he could. The TV blared in a volume high enough
for the whole apartment to hear, which was typical of Raman whenever he saw TV.
Swami felt a bout of irritation creeping into him.
As he crossed the hallway he caught a glimpse of the TV.
Live cricket was going on between India and Australia. He wanted to get across
and out of the door quickly, but something held him back. The moment he slowed
down, a wicket fell. India was now two down. Sachin Tendulkar walked into the
ground. Swami cast a sideways glance at Raman and was surprised to see the
familiar glint in his eyes. After all these years, the expectancy had not
reduced one bit. He felt somewhat ashamed at his own loss of faith while his
sixty year old father’s enthusiasm had not diminished at all. He looked back at
the screen as Sachin took guard. The all-too-familiar body language of the
champion had not changed. The fuss with the sightscreen, the adjustments in the
groin area, the slight nod of the head, they were all intact. There was one
difference though. The twinkly eyes had given way to a look of steely
determination. He faced the first ball with a decisive forward movement and
defended with a full-straight bat. Raman smiled eagerly. Swami knew that the
old Raman would have immediately made his trademark comment – “Ah! The forward
movement! He looks good today.” There was no comment from his father though. That
moment threw open a floodgate of memories for Swami. He felt a pang of guilt at
having side-lined the two men who had made sacrifices in their own capacities
to nurture the love for cricket in him – Sachin Tendulkar and his father.
He pulled up a chair and sat down. The next ball was just
short of good length. Sachin went back and punched it down the ground. The ball
raced to the boundary.
Swami looked into his father’s eyes for the first time in
many years.
“Look at the straightness of his elbow!” He exclaimed.
And thus began their second innings...
