The 3 Mistakes Of My Life (8 page)

ago.'

I ignored the information overload. 'Say there are twenty of them. Most are

white, though. Some are coloured. How many?'

'Five coloured ones,' she said, scanning the cards, her eyes asking 'so?'

'Cool, five. Now let's say I take all the cards and put them in a sack. Then I pull

out one card, what is the probability the card is coloured?'

'Why would you put them in a sack?' she said.

'Hypothetical. What is the chance?'

'I don't know.'

'Ok, so let's use this example to start the basic premise of probability.

Probability can be defined as,' I said as I wrote the lines:

Probability = No of times something you want happens / No of times something

can happen

'How come there are no symbols?' she said.

'See, I told you probability is interesting. Let's look at the denominator. How

many different cards can come out if I put out one card from the stack of twenty?'

'Er ... twenty?'

'Yes, of course. Good.'

'Duh!' she said.

I controlled my irritation. I dumbed down the problem for her and she duh-ed

me. Some attitude, there.

'And now the numerator. I want a coloured card. How ma different coloured

cards can come out if I pull one?'

'Five?'

'Yep. And so let's apply our wordy formula,' I said and wrote down.

Probability = No of times something you want happens (5) / No of times

something can happen (20)
So, probability = 5/20 = 0.25

'There you go. The probability is 0.25, or twenty-five per cent.' I said and placed

the pen back on the table. She reread what I wrote for a few moments.

'That is simple. But the exam problems are harder,' she said at last.

'We will get there. But the basic concept needs to be understood first. And you

didn't vomit.'

I was interrupted by two beeps on her cellphone. She rushed to her bedside

table to pick up the phone. She sat on the bed and read her message. 'My school

friend. She's stupid,' she smiled fondly at the phone.

I kept silent and waited for her to come back. 'Ok, let's do another one,' I said.

'Let us say we have a jar with four red and six blue marbles.'

I finished three more problems in the next half an hour. 'See, it's not that hard

when you focus. Good job!' I praised her as she solved a problem.

'You want tea?' she said, ignoring my compliment.

'No thanks, I don't like to have too much tea.'

'Oh me neither. I like coffee. You like coffee?'

'I like probability and you should too. Can we do the next problem?'

Her cellphone beeped again. She dropped her pen and leaped to her phone.

'Leave it. No SMS-ing in my class,' I said.

'It's just...,' she said as she stopped her hand midway.

'I will go if you don't concentrate. I have turned down many students for this

class.'

She was zapped at my firmness. But I am no Mr Nice, and I hate people who

are not focused. Especially those who hate maths.

'Sorry,' she said.

'We only have an hour. Do your fun activities later.' 'I said sorry' She picked up

her pen again and opened the cap in disgust.

Five

You. Must. Come. Now.' The kid sucked in air after every word. 'Ali. Is...' 'Relax

Paras,' lsh told the panting boy. He had come running from the Belrampur

Municipal School and was insisting we go with him.

'Now? It is only four, how can I close business?' I said.

'He doesn't play cricket that often. He always plays marbles. I'lease come today,

lsh bhaiya.'

'Let's go. It is a slow day anyway,' lsh said as he slipped on his chappals.

Omi had already stepped out. I locked the cashbox and told the owner of the

flower shop next to ours to keep watch.

We reached our school's familiar grounds. Twenty boys circled Ali.

'I don't want to play now,' a voice said from the centre of the crowd.

A thin, almost malnourished boy sat on the ground, his face covered with his

hands.

The crowd backed off. Some kids volunteered to be fielders. Omi became the

wicket keeper. I stood near the bowler's end, at the umpire's slot. Ali took the

crease. He strained hard to look at the bowler. The crowd clapped as Ish took a

short run-up. I couldn't understand the fuss in seeing this delicate, doe-eyed boy

play. The bat reached almost two-thirds his height.

Ish's run-up was fake, as he stopped near me. A grown man bowling pace to a

twelve-year-old is silly. Ish looked at the boy and bowled a simple lollipop

delivery.

The slow ball pitched midway and took its time to reach the crease. Thwack, Ali

moved his bat in a smooth movement and connected. The ball surged high as Ish

and I looked at it for its three seconds of flight - six!

Ish looked at Ali and nodded in appreciation. Ali took a stance again and

scrunched his face, partially due to the sun but also in irritation for not receiving

a real delivery.

For the next ball, Ish took an eight step run-up. The boy could play, girlie

features be damned! The medium pace ball rose high on the bounce and smash!

Another six.

Ish gave a half smile. Ali's bat had not hit the ball, but his pride. The crowd

clapped.

Ish took an eleven-step run-up for the next ball. He grunted when the ball left

his hand. The ball bounced to Ali's shoulder. Ali spun on one leg as if in a dance

and connected - six!

Three balls, three sixes - Ish looked molested. Omi's mouth was open but he

focused on wicket-keeping. I think he was trying to control his reaction for Ish's

sake.

'He is a freak. Ali the freak, Ali the freak,' a kid fielding at mid-on shouted and

distracted Ali.

'Just play,' Ish said to Ali and gave the fielder a glare.

Ish rubbed the ball on his pants thrice. He changed his grip and did some

upper body twists. He took his longest run-up yet and ran forward with full force.

The ball went fast, but was a full toss. Ish's frustration showed in this delivery. It

deserved punishment. Ali took two steps forward and smash! The ball went high

and reached past the ground, almost hitting a classroom window.

I laughed. I knew I shouldn't have, but I did. To see the school cricket

champion of my batch raped so in public by a mere boy of twelve was too funny.

At least to me. Actually, only to me.

'What?' Ish demanded in disgust.

'Nothing,' I said.

'Where is the fucking ball?'

'They are trying to find it. You want to buy one from my shop, coach?' I jeered

lightly.

'Shut up,' Ish hissed as the ball came rolling back to him.

Ish was about to take a run-up when Ali sat down at his crease.

'What happened?' Omi was the first to reach him. 'I told you. I get a headache.

Can I go back now?' Ali said, his childish voice almost in tears.

Omi looked at Ish and me. I shrugged. 'I told you, no? Freak!' Paras ran up to

us. Ali stood. 'Can I go?'

We nodded. From his pocket, Ali took out some marbles that resembled his

eyes. Rolling them in his hand, he left the ground.

'I cannot believe it,' Ish declared as he finished his fifty morning pushups. He

came and sat next to me on the bank's backyard floor. Omi continued to complete

his hundred.

'Tea,' I announced and handed Ish his cup. My best friend had laced serious

mental trauma yesterday. I couldn't do much apart from making my best cup of

ginger tea in the bank kitchen.

'It can't be just luck, right? No way,' Ish answered his own qestions.

I nodded my head towards a plate of biscuits, which he ignored. I wondered if

the Ali episode would cause permanent damage to Ish's appetite. Ish continued to

talk to himself as I tuned myself out. Omi moved on to sit-ups. He also belted out

Hanuman-ji's forty verses along with the exercise. I loved this little morning break

- between the students' leaving and the shop's opening. It gave me time to think.

And these days I only thought about the new shop. 'Twenty-five thousand rupees

saved already, and fifteen thousand more by December,' 1 mumbled, 'If the

builder accepts forty as deposit, I can secure the Navrangpura lease by year end.'

I poured myself another cup of tea. 'Here are your shop's keys, Mama. We are

moving to our shop in Navrangpura, in the air-conditioned mall,' I repeated my

dream dialogue inside my head for the hundredth time. Three more months, I

assured myself.

'You guys ate all the biscuits?' Omi came to us as he finished his exercise.

'Sorry, tea?' I offered.

Omi shook his head. He opened a polypack of milk and put it to his mouth.

Like me, he didn't have much tea. Caffeine ran in Ish's family veins though. I

remembered Vidya offering me tea. Stupid girl, duh-ing me.

'Still thinking of Ali?' Omi said to Ish, wiping his milk moustache.

'He is amazing, man. I didn't bowl my best, but not so bad either. But he just,

just...,' Words failed Ish.

'Four sixes. Incredible!' Omi said, 'No wonder they call him a freak.'

'Don't know if he is a freak. But he is good,' Ish said.

'These Muslim kids man. You never know what...,' Omi said and gulped the

remainder of his milk.

'Shut up. He is just fucking good. I have never seen anyone play like that. I

want to coach him.'

'Sure, as long as he pays. He can't play beyond four balls. You could help him,'

I told Ish.

'What? You will teach that mullah kid?' Omi's face turned worrisome.

'I will teach the best player in Belrampur. That kid has serious potential. You

know like...' 'Team India?' I suggested.

'Shh, don't tempt fate, but yes. I want to teach him. They'll ruin him in that

school. They can barely teach the course there, forget sports.'

'We are not teaching a Muslim kid,' Omi vetoed. 'Bittoo Mama will kill me.'

'Don't overreact. He won't know. We just teach him at the bank,' Ish said. For

the rest of the argument, Ish and Omi just exchanged stares. Ultimately, like

always, Omi gave in to Ish.

'Your choice. Make sure he never comes near the temple. If! Bittoo Mama finds

out, he will kick us out of the shop.'

'Omi is right. We need the shop for a few more months,' I said.

'We also need to go to the doctor,' Ish said. 'Doctor?' I said.

'His head was hurting after four balls. I want a doctor to see him before we

begin practicing.'

'You'll have to talk to his parents if you want him to pay,' I said.

'I'll teach him for free,' Ish said. 'But still, for Indian parents cricket equals time

waste.' 'Then we'll go to his house,' Ish said. 'I am not going to any Muslim

house,' Omi said almost hysterically. 'I am not going.'

'Let's go open the shop first. It's business time,' I said.

★

No cricket, I like marbles,' Ali protested for the fifth time. Ish took four

chocolates (at the shop's expense, idiot) for him, a reward for every sixer. Ali

accepted the chocolates but said no to cricket coaching, and a foot-stomping no

to meeting the doctor.

'Our shop has marbles,' I cajoled. 'Special blue ones from Jaipur. One dozen for

you if you come to the doctor. He is just across the street.'

Ali looked at me with his two green marbles.

'Two dozen if you come for one cricket coaching class in the morning,' I said.

'Doctor is fine. For coaching class, ask abba.'

'Give me abba's name and address,' I said.

'Naseer Alam, seventh pol, third house on the ground floor.'

'What name did you say?' Omi said.

'Naseer Alam,' Ali repeated.

'I have heard the name somewhere. But I can't recall...' Omi murmured, but

Ish ignored him.

'Dr Verma's clinic is in the next pol. Let's go,' Ish said.



'Welcome, nice to have someone young in my clinic for a change.' Dr Verma

removed his spectacles. He rubbed his fifty-year-old eyes.

His wrinkles had multiplied since I last met him three years ago. His once

black hair had turned white. Old age sucks.

'And who is this little tiger? Open your mouth, baba,' Dr Verma said and

switched on his torch out of habit. 'What happened?'

'Nothing's wrong. We have some questions,' Ish said.

The doctor put his torch down. 'Questions?'

'This boy is gifted in cricket. I
want to know how he does it,' Ish said.

'Does what?' Dr Verma said. 'Some people are just talented.' 'I bowled four balls

to him. He slammed sixes on all of them,' lsh said.

'What?' Dr Verma said. He knew lsh was one of the best players in the

neighbourhood.

'Unbelievable but true,' I chimed in. 'Also, he sat down after four balls. He said

his head hurt'

Dr Verma turned to Ali. 'You like cricket, baba?'

'No,' Ali said.

'This is more complicated than the usual viral fever. What happened after the

four balls, baba?'

'Whenever I play with concentration, my head starts hurting, Ali said. He slid

his hands into his pocket. I heard the rustle of marbles.