THE MAGICAL PALACE (21 page)

I glowed self-consciously, suddenly embarrassed by my own boldness.

As I waited for Tuesday to come, I was full of nervous anticipation. What if I was a bad player and got thrown out of the team on the first day itself? What if I never made it to the final selection? Then I would be teased even more for not making the cut. I eventually showed up for practice on the first day, consumed by anxiety. Fortunately, there were a couple of other boys also starting for the first time and I relaxed. We started with a few laps around the field. Breathless and ready to collapse, next we had to pair up and kick the ball to one another.

Shubho was a fair and impartial coach. He spent a lot of time teaching us to dribble the football across the field, head a ball off or score goals when we got a penalty kick. I learnt not to be so afraid of a football.

‘Chatterjee!’ Shubho shouted across the field. ‘Pay attention to the ball. Be aware of your teammates. Remember, we have to get the school cup this time and Ellora House is practising hard too!’ I felt special because he had singled me out this way.

At times, Shubho would come up to me and show me how to kick and dodge. I loved it when he did this. His firm hands held my foot and put it in the right place to kick the ball high and far. My body grew rigid with excitement at the sight of his glowing face, I breathed in the smell of his sweat, my skin tingled for a long time wherever he touched it.

Once, when my shoelace had come undone, he bent down to tie it. I had seen him do this for the others when he wanted them to stay in position. His hair was matted at the nape with sweat as he deftly tied the laces with his strong fingers. His football shirt clung to his shoulders, outlining his back, and I ached to taste the wetness. But others were watching, so I acted aloof, just like him.

On the field, he was a hard taskmaster. We both followed an unspoken code of conduct and I missed his banter. At times, I wondered if he would ever look at me in that special way again. At other times, I thought maybe he was upset with me and perhaps Ranjan had said something to him about me. My heart raced with dismay and longing through those training sessions, hanging on to any sign of redemption or damnation. Each session, I waited for some indication of affection, to console myself that things were all right. When we finished, he would say with a warm smile, ‘Well done, boys.’ I hated sharing that smile with the others players. I longed for the day when I would be able to show the bullies what a strong player I was. But first, I had to make the team.

One Tuesday evening, I arrived late. Practice had already started. ‘Sorry, Shubho, I am late,’ I said as I came running up to the field, pulling my green football socks up to my knees. They had slipped down my legs because I had not fastened them properly with the elastic bands that held them up.

‘Chatterjee, you are late. Join the team in the conditioning exercises. You will have to practise your kicks later. Only two weeks to the game now.’ He sounded disappointed.

‘Sorry, Shubho,’ I murmured, crestfallen.

That day, after everyone left, Shubho kept me on the field. He made me practise at a gruelling pace to make up for the time I had lost. It was getting dark and the crickets had started their evening chorus in the surrounding fields. The croaking of the frogs was a constant serenade, as was the annoying buzz of mosquitoes hovering in big clouds over our heads as we kicked, dribbled, tossed, headed and dodged the ball.

Finally, I was exhausted.

‘What? Tired already?’ Shubho’s voice was teasing but not unkind. ‘Okay, then. Let us go and change. I better call your parents and tell them I will bring you home. Wait here until I come back.’ I collapsed on the grass, panting until my heart stopped hammering in my chest and my breathing returned to normal. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the cool evening breeze, luxuriating at the thought of all the attention I had received from Shubho. Suddenly, I felt him shake me gently. I sat up and he held a hand out to pull me up and we headed towards the changing rooms.

As we walked, he put his arm around my shoulders. I swelled with pride at being treated like a friend. His strong arm lay on my shoulder and his hand casually fell on my chest, absent-mindedly tracing a pattern with his fingers. There was no one around. Even the school cleaners had gone home after cleaning the bathrooms and sweeping the classrooms and hallways.

The lights were off in the changing room. Only a naked light bulb, hanging from the ceiling and protected clumsily by a wire cage, illuminated the concrete entrance. Thick honeysuckle covered the entrance and the sweet fragrance of the flowers filled the air. As we stepped inside the dark room, Shubho stopped. His hand was still on my shoulder, but his grip had tightened.

‘Frightened?’ he asked jokingly.

‘No, Shubho Dada. I am not frightened.’

Shubho’s arms fell to his side and then they wrapped around me. He gave me a tight squeeze and then loosened his embrace a little, as if scared of hurting me. His face bent down and his lips touched my forehead lightly. I was thrilled, scarcely believing what was happening. I had thought about
his lips for so long, about wanting to be close to him, about feeling his breath and smelling his skin. But I had had no idea that it would feel so wonderful. I turned towards him and put my arms around him, holding him tightly, my head on his chest, my heart pounding, my breath coming in short gasps, feeling a stirring inside me that I had never felt before. I smelt his warm, male smell, of salty, crushed grass after a game of football. His skin was warm and smooth and slightly sticky. I could feel the wet tips of his damp hair brush against my forehead, cool against my skin. We were both drenched with sweat from our game and our football jerseys stuck to each other. Shubho bent down and kissed me on my shut eyes, my cheeks. And then I felt the soft fullness of his lips on mine. He moaned slightly and, at that moment, I knew that this was what I had wanted to do all along. This was the desire that I had felt for Rajesh Khanna when I had first seen him in a film. My heart was pounding like it did when I ran. I grew aware of my body and felt a raw, burning need for the first time. It was different from wanting to eat or play or do anything else. This was a desire that I instinctively knew I could never talk about to anyone—ever. But I lost track of my thoughts as Shubho’s breath quickened, he kissed me again and again and his fingers ran through my hair, massaging my scalp and then gently tracing the outlines of my face, as if to memorize them. I moaned in response—I wanted him to kiss me like he had kissed his girlfriend.

The chorus of the crickets was suddenly interrupted by footsteps outside, accompanied by the thumping noise of a lathi rhythmically pounding the ground. It was the chowkidar making his rounds and using his stick to let the world know. Shubho released me abruptly and moved away, saying, ‘Shh …’

My eyes had adjusted to the dim light and I could see his finger raised to his lips. His alarm was contagious and for a moment I felt as if I was going to be caught doing something really bad. Then the footsteps receded slowly into the distance as the chowkidar continued walking on the concrete footpath that ran along the side of the changing room. Shubho did not seem so confident any more and I felt his fear, the fear of being caught in a transgression, seeping into me.

As the sound of the chowkidar’s footsteps faded away altogether, Shubho heaved a sigh of relief and moved close to me again and held me once more. But his body was still tense. He relaxed a few moments later and buried his face in my hair, breathing my scent in. ‘Let us keep this our little secret, all right?’ he murmured.

I nodded, my face upturned and pressed against his chest, completely content in that moment. The hardness at his groin pressed against my stomach and I moved unconsciously, wanting more. I wanted this to go on, to not stop, to feel my excitement build more and more, and wished desperately that we were somewhere safe, where the fear of discovery would not bother us.

After what seemed aeons, Shubho gently loosened my embrace and said, ‘Let me take you home. Chatterjee Mashima and Meshomoshai must be getting worried about you.’

I wrapped my arms around him again and he held me for a few moments more. He was right. My parents would certainly worry if I stayed out too late. Then Shubho moved away to pick up his books and school uniform. I did the same. We walked out, his arms around my shoulders. It was completely dark by now. Begumpet Airport glowed in the
horizon and I heard the drone of a two-engine plane as it approached the airport. The lights twinkled in a distance and then dipped lower and lower as the plane descended, until it was suddenly hidden by the trees. The grounds of the school were dark now. Tube lights made opalescent-blue, symmetrical patches as the light shone through the scalloped arches that followed each other all along the length of the school buildings. The chowkidars patrolled the grounds, holding a stick in one hand and a torch in the other. In the distance, we could see the resident boys who lived at Hyderabad Royal Academy lining up for dinner in the students’ mess.

Shubho disengaged from me and ruffled my hair after giving me one last squeeze. We got into the car and drove to Mint House. Neither of us said much, the comfort and ease we had felt enveloping us like a soft blanket. And I felt a wrenching sense of loss as we travelled up the driveway to the palace, my longing for the comfort I had felt when Shubho put his arms around me renewed.

Once I had got out of the car, Shubho waved to me and drove off. As the car pulled away, I experienced a heavy sense of terror. I knew that I could not tell anyone about this, the way I knew not to say the word ‘fuck’ in front of our parents, even though the boys said it at school. This was my secret.

I walked up to the portico, climbed the steps and knocked on the door, waiting for Rani to let me in.

The following Tuesday, I stood in line, heart pounding, with the others who had been practising for a place in the Ajanta house football team.

‘Malhotra, Saxena, Rao …’ Shubho’s voice called out each name crisply. We stood at attention, waiting to find out who was going to be judged fit to play in the house matches. As each name was called, the boy stepped out in front of the line. The list was long.

‘Choudhury, Stevens …’

I waited with sinking hopes for my name to be called. I was going to be passed over, I thought, and this time, Suresh Khosla and his posse would have a field day. The only thing worse than not playing football was to be officially deemed unfit to play.

‘Chatterjee … Chatterjee!’ I heard my name being called impatiently and my heart jolted. ‘Step out in front, Chatterjee.’

Shubho sounded exasperated. I stepped out self-consciously. Shubho looked at me with a fleeting twinkle in his eye and his lips twitched for a moment. Then he dismissed the boys who had not been chosen.

‘Okay, boys. This is the last time we will be practising before the match this week. Give it your best. Which house is going to be the football champion this year?’

‘Ajanta house!’ The roar was deafening.

‘All right, then. You know what to do. Get started. Give me two laps, quick!’

We started running in a single file. It felt like a dream—I was going to play in the match after all!

The match was held on Friday. Classes ended early that day. It was scheduled to start at three in the afternoon, so we met at two o’clock for our final warm-up and practice.

I pulled on my new football shorts and jersey with shaking hands. I was going to represent Ajanta and play against
Ellora house. I looked down with satisfaction at my newly toned legs, in white knee-high socks and football shorts. The jersey was bright green and yellow, emblazoned with the house symbol, a hand holding a torch aloft, reminiscent of an Olympian.

‘Team, remember—the future of Ajanta rests in our hands now. You have all practised very hard. Now it is time to put that to good use. I have gone over the moves that Ellora is famous for. You know how to beat them and catch them by surprise.’ Shubho walked by the team as we all stood at attention. His strong legs were muscular and brown, his calves tightly defined by the knee-high white socks. I saw how his white shorts fitted his thighs and his tight-fitting jersey and remembered how he had felt as he had held his body against mine in his room. A surge of desire coursed through my body. He looked strong and incredibly handsome, like Alexander the Great addressing his troops on the eve of war. He paused for a moment as he walked by me and his eyes softened. Then he walked on, continuing his talk, as expected from the team captain. ‘Remember the tactical moves I have taught you. Above all, play fair. Each year, the Ellora team gets a record number of penalty kicks. This year, I expect them to do the same. They will try to win by all means, fair or foul. But I expect each and every one of you to be a good sport, no matter what happens.’ With that, he dismissed us.

The match started at a brisk pace. Suresh Khosla, who played for the Ellora team, was surprised to see me playing. He lost no time in taking a dig at me, however. ‘Psst … Rahul! So, when did homos start playing for Ajanta house?’ he taunted as we battled for possession of the ball. His teammates snickered. ‘Well, I guess we will certainly win
this game, won’t we, boys?’ he continued. He was greeted by a volley of derisive laughter.

I felt my ears burn with anger and shame. But I pretended not to care and did not answer. I was confident that Shubho would lead us to victory.

In the first half of the game, neither side could score a goal. The sides were evenly matched. Again and again, the Ellora team tried to score, but our goalie was quick to defend and successfully headed off all attempts. I was able to pass the ball to my teammates a few times, but most of the time I was running from one end of the field to the other. When halftime came, I was exhausted. My breath caught in my throat like a hard rock and my heart hammered painfully against my ribcage.

After drinking water, we collected in a group in the shade of a tree. I looked at Shubho. His football jersey was streaked with sweat. Dark patches had formed under his armpits. His hair was wet and clung to his forehead. I had an overwhelming desire to brush the hair out of his eyes and kiss him. I pushed the thought away, conscious of both desire and the fear of being caught looking at him that way. He limped slightly from a fall he had taken earlier and his knee was scraped raw—the blood was drying—but he did not seem to feel it.