'What do you mean nothing came of it? You were the best player in school for
years.'
'Yeah, in Belrampur Municipal School, that's like saying Vidya is the Preity
Zinta of our pol. Who cares?'
'What?' I said and couldn't control a smile.
'Nothing, our aunt once called her that, and I keep teasing her on it,' Ish said.
His mood lightened up a little. We came close to our shop. The temple dome
became visible.
'Why does God do this Govind?' Ish said.
'Do what?'
'Give so much talent to some people. And people like me have none.'
'You are talented.'
'Not enough. Not as much as Ali. I love this game, but have no gifts. I pushed
myself - woke up at 4 a.m. everyday, training for hours, practice and more
practice. I gave up studies, and now that I think of it, even my future. And then
comes this marble player who has this freakish gift. I could never see the ball and
whack it like Ali. Why Govind?'
Continuing my job as the parent of my friends, I had to try and answer every
silly question of his. 'I don't know. God gives talent so that the ordinary person
can become extraordinary. Talent is the only way the poor can become rich.
Otherwise, in this world the rich would remain rich and the poor would remain
poor. This unfair talent actually creates a balance, helps to make the world fair,' I
said. I reflected on my own statement a little.
'So why doesn't he care? Marbles? Can you believe the boy is more interested
in marbles?'
'He hasn't seen what he can get out of cricket. Right now he is the marble
champ in his pol and loves that position. Once he experiences the same success
in cricket, he will value his gift Until now, he was a four ball freak show. You will
turn him into a player Ish,' I said.
We reached the shop. Omi had reached before us and swept the floor. He
missed coming to coaching, but he had promised his Mama to attend the
morning rallies at least twice a week. Today was one of those days.
'Good practice?' Omi asked idly as he ordered tea.
Ish went inside. I put a finger on my lips to signal Omi to be quiet.
A ten-year-old came with thirty coins to buy a cricket ball.
'A leather ball is twenty-five bucks. You only have twenty-one,' I said as I
finished the painful task of counting the coins.
'I broke the piggy bank. I don't have anymore,' the boy said very seriously.
'Then come later,' I said as Ish interrupted me.
'Take it,' Ish said and gave the boy the ball.
The boy grabbed it and ran away.
'Fuck you Ish,' I said.
'Fuck you businessman,' Ish said and continued to sulk about Ali in the
corner.
It took Ish one box of chocolates, two dozen marbles and a new sports cap to
woo Ali back. Ali missed us, too. His mother told us he cried for two hours that
day and never attended the marble tournament. He hadn't come for practice the
next two days either. Ish's guilt pangs had turned into an obsession. Ali had an
avery
(avery)
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