The 3 Mistakes of My Life Read online

  A nurse came peeking into the room on hearing my loud voice. We became quiet. The clock showed midnight.

  He sat there stunned. Everyone had behaved nicely with him today. I stood up and turned away from him.

  ‘I know what a friend is,’ he said at last.

  I sat down next to him.

  ‘I do know what a friend is. Because I had two, the best ones in the world.’

  One

  India vs South Africa

  4th ODI, Vadodra

  17 March 2000

  Over 45

  ‘Why the fuck did you have to move?’ Ishaan’s scream drowned out the stadium din on the TV. I had shifted up to a sofa from the floor.

  ‘Huh?’ I said. We were in Ishaan’s house – Ishaan, Omi and I. Ishaan’s mom had brought in tea and khakra for us. ‘It is more comfortable to snack on the sofa. That is why I moved.’

  ‘Tendulkar’s gone. Fuck, now at this stage. Omi, don’t you dare move now. Nobody moves for the next five overs.’

  I looked at the TV. We were chasing 283 to win. India’s score a ball ago was 256-2 after forty-five overs. Twenty-seven runs in five overs, with eight wickets to spare and Tendulkar on the crease. A cakewalk. The odds were still in India’s favour, but Tendulkar was out. And that explained the frowns on Ishaan’s forehead.

  ‘The khakra’s crispy,’ Omi said. Ishaan glared at Omi, chiding him for his shallow sensory pleasure in a moment of national grief. Omi and I kept our tea cups aside and looked suitably mournful.

  The crowd clapped as Tendulkar made his exit. Jadeja came to the crease and added six more runs. End of forty-six overs, India 262/3. Twenty-one more runs to win in four overs, with seven wickets in hand.

  Over 46

  ‘He made 122. The guy did his job. Just a few final closing shots left. Why are you getting so worked up?’ I asked during a commercial break. I reached for my tea cup, but Ishaan signalled me to leave it alone. We were not going to indulge until the fate of the match was decided. Ishaan was pissed with us anyway. The match was in Vadodra, just two hours away from Ahmedabad. But we could not go – one, because we didn’t have money, and two, because I had my correspondence exams in two days. Of course, I had wasted the whole day watching the match on TV instead, so reason number two did not really hold much weight.

  ‘It is 5.25 runs required per over,’ I said, not able to resist doing a mathematical calculation. That is one reason I like cricket, there is so much maths in it.

  ‘You don’t know this team. Tendulkar goes, they panic. It isn’t about the average. It is like the queen bee is dead, and the hive loses order,’ Ishaan said.

  Omi nodded, as he normally does to whatever Ishaan has to say about cricket.

  ‘Anyway, I hope you realise, we didn’t meet today to see this match. We have to decide what Mr Ishaan is doing about his future, right?’ I said.

  Ishaan had always avoided this topic ever since he ran away from NDA a year ago. His dad had already sarcastically commented, ‘Cut a cake today to celebrate one year of your uselessness.’

  However, today I had a plan. I needed to sit them down to talk about our lives. Of course, against cricket, life is second priority.

  ‘Later,’ Ishaan said, staring avidly at a pimple cream commercial.

  ‘Later when Ishaan? I have an idea that works for all of us. We don’t have a lot of choice, do we?’

  ‘All of us? Me, too?’ Omi quizzed, already excited. Idiots like him love to be part of something, anything. However, this time we needed Omi.

  ‘Yes, you play a critical role Omi. But later when Ish? When?’

  ‘Oh, stop it! Look, the match is starting. Ok, over dinner. Let’s go to Gopi,’ Ish said.

  ‘Gopi? Who’s paying?’ I was interrupted as the match began.

  Beep, beep, beep. The horn of a car broke our conversation. A car zoomed outside the pol.

  ‘What the hell! I am going to teach this bastard a lesson,’ Ish said, looking out the window.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Bloody son of a rich dad. Comes and circles around our house everyday.’

  ‘Why?’ I said.

  ‘For Vidya. He used to be in coaching classes with her. She complained about him there too,’ Ish said.

  Beep, beep, beep, the car came near the house again.

  ‘Damn, I don’t want to miss this match,’ Ish said as he saw India hit a four. Ish picked up his bat. We ran out the house. The silver Esteem circled the pol and came back for another round of serenading. Ish stood in front of the car and asked the boy to stop. The Esteem halted in front of Ish. Ish went to the driver, an adolescent.

  ‘Excuse me, your headlight is hanging out.’

  ‘Really?’ the boy said and shut off the ignition. He stepped outside and came to the front.

  Ish grabbed the boy’s head from behind and smashed his face into the bonnet. He proceeded to strike the headlight with his bat. The glass broke and the bulb hung out.

  ‘What’s your problem,’ the boy said, blood spurting out of his nose.

  ‘You tell me what’s up? You like pressing horns?’ Ish said.

  Ish grabbed his collar and gave six non-stop slaps across his face. Omi picked up the bat and smashed the windscreen. The glass broke into a million pieces. People on the street gathered around as there is nothing quite as entertaining as a street fight.

  The boy shivered in pain and fear. What would he tell his daddy about his broken car and face?

  Ish’s dad heard the commotion and came out of the house. Ish held the boy in an elbow lock. The boy was struggling to breathe.

  ‘Leave him,’ Ish’s dad said.

  Ish gripped him tighter.

  ‘I said leave him,’ Ish’s dad shouted, ‘what’s going on here?’

  ‘He has been troubling Vidya since last week,’ Ish said. He kicked the boy’s face with his knee and released him. The boy kneeled on the floor and sucked in air. The last kick from Ish had smeared the blood from his nose across his face.

  ‘And what do you think you are doing?’ Ish’s dad asked him.

  ‘Teaching him a lesson,’ Ish said and unhooked his bat stuck in the windscreen.

  ‘Really, when will you learn your lessons?’ Ish’s dad said to him.

  Ish turned away.

  ‘You go now,’ Ish’s dad said to the beeping driver, who folded his hands. Seeing that no one cared about his apology, he trudged back to his car.

  Ish’s dad turned to his neighbours. ‘For one whole year he’s been sitting at home. Ran away from the army of his own country and then wants to teach lessons to others! He and his loafer friends hanging around the house all day long.’

  One sidelong glance at his dad and Ish walked back home.

  ‘Where the hell are you going now?’ Ish’s dad said.

  ‘Match. Why? You want to curse me some more?’ Ish said.

  ‘When you’ve wasted your entire life, what’s another day?’ Ish’s father said and the neighbours half-nodded their heads in sympathy.

  We missed the final five overs of the match. Luckily, India won and Ish didn’t get that upset.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Ishaan jumped. ‘Gopi on me tonight.’ I love idiots.

  Actually, Ishaan is not an idiot. At least not as much as Omi. It is just that both of them suck at studies, especially maths, and I am good at it. Hence, I have this chip on my shoulder. It does sound a bit conceited, but it is the only chip on my shoulder. For instance, I am easily the poorest of the three (though I will be the richest one day), even though Ishaan and Omi aren’t particularly wealthy. Ishaan’s dad works in the telephone exchange, and while they have lots of phones in the house, the salary is modest. Omi’s dad is the priest of the Swamibhakti temple, which actually belongs to Omi’s mom’s family for generations. And that does not pay well either. But still, they are a lot better off than me and my mom. My mom runs a small Gujarati snacks business, and the little bit of money I make from tuitions helps us get by, but that’s about i