*~Racing In The Rain~*

 

The afternoon sun had hidden behind threatening dark clouds an hour or so ago. A cold breeze blew across the vast open space, sending a chill down everyone’s spine. All the onlookers knew what was in store – “changeable weather conditions”. The three words that made every motor race exciting, separated the great from the good and created local legends who would be spoken of in the pubs not just tonight, but for years to come.

Twenty cars lined up on the grid. Young drivers below the age of Fifteen from all over the country lined up for what was promising to be an unforgettable classic. Rain was in the air, it was coming. The clouds and the breeze were telltale giveaways. But when exactly would it arrive? Would it be before the race started? Or would it be one of those chaotic showers that fall in the middle of the race that disrupt the racing order? Looking up from her newspaper, she saw the time: 10 minutes to go. Seated in the stands, she felt butterflies in her stomach and bile rise to her mouth. This happened before every race. She couldn’t help but wonder how her son kept his wits about him in this situation. After all, he was the one banging wheels at a 140 km/hr! He was fearless in his approach, taking the car to its ragged edge and ever so occasionally, beyond it. Her lived by the racing adage penned by the redoubtable Brazilian legend Ayrton Senna: “If you no longer go for a gap that exists, you are no longer a racing driver”.

Days like this made her very nervous. The pit crew were rolling the cars out on to the track. The drivers were strapped in, wearing their helmets. Through the open visors, she could see all 20 men, no, boys, focusing intently, mustering up all their powers of concentration. A cup of piping hot tea always did wonders to calm her nerves. Her son was starting in third position and she knew he would be fancying his chances of taking the lead on the first lap itself. “ He’s “Lightning Luke” ”, she thought as she poured a cup from her thermos.

The engines were revving now. Just a few seconds before they would put pedal to the metal and go screaming around the racetrack. Her maternal instincts always went berserk at these times: was the asphalt grippy enough? were the tire barriers big enough? Was the ambulance equipped to be dispatched at a moments notice if needed? This wasn’t her first rodeo. She also knew these thoughts would be the farthest from her son’s mind. Luke was in the zone, focusing on only the lights, waiting for them to turn green so he could floor the throttle.

And when they did, he had  a great start. Possibly the best reaction time out of all the 20 cars on the grid, he had shot into 2^nd place and was almost alongside the car in the lead by the time they made it down into turn one. The lead cars turned in, almost side by side, at over a 100 km/hr. Luke’s mother put the cup down and was on her feet, hands waving wildly, cheering the young protégé on. Just then, there was contact between the two cars. A loud clanging sound was heard as the metal bodies came together and skidded off into the runoff area. Both cars looked damaged, their drivers shaken. But not out. Miraculously, both had kept their engines running. And apart from a puncture on both cars, they looked okay. Both cars gingerly rejoined the track at the back of the field.

When she saw that, she sighed in relief. He may be plumb last on the track, but he looked okay! Her worst fear was her son not walking away from a wreck like that. He had to nurse the punctured tire all the way around the track, going agonizingly slowly to the pits. As she sipped her tea, she knew he would change his tires and make his way back out again – he loved racing too much! Just then, a drop of water fell on to her cup. And then another. “Change to wet weather tires!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, knowing full well that the pit crew couldn’t hear her. But they too had taken note of this turn of events.

In the car, Luke saw the drops of rain fall on the visor of his helmet. And smiled. This was going to be fun. The rain would liven up the race, giving him a chance to fight back from his compromised position as the wet surface would make the track unpredictable. A good display here, and who knows, he could be in Formula 3 next year. Also, it would mean that everyone else on the track would have to tip toe back to the pits for a change of tires as well, helping him gain some time back on his rivals. He gripped the wheel tighter and headed back out into the tricky conditions.

A few laps later, it wasn’t just tricky, it was treacherous. The rain was pouring down and visibility was poor at best. He had made a few great overtakes and some of his rivals were overwhelmed by the challenge of driving in these conditions, skidding off the track into retirement. As he drove past the start line, he saw P11 next to his name on the big timing screen.

His mother was sitting in the stand, fingers crossed, as she prayed for his safety. Just hoping he got back out of the car with all his fingers and toes untouched. She could barely see the car through the rain and the spray, but even she could see he was on the limit. Luke knew he had to trust his “feel”, his natural ability behind the car working like sensors, goading him into slowing down as late as possible, and getting back on the throttle as early as possible.

 

Soon, it was time for the cars to go round the track one last time. The downpour had continued, and so had the drama. Luke had run an amazing race so far, recovering back up to P3 as he picked his rivals off one by one. He hadn’t put a wheel wrong in the wet, mixed caution with aggression and won many wheel-to-wheel battles to get back up to the podium places. He was a few seconds behind the pair battling for the lead, unable to catch up with them but always a looming threat in their rear-view mirrors. As he crossed the start finish line to begin his final lap, he noticed a new rivulet forming at the braking point for the first corner. The lead pair, more focused on each other, must have missed it. Their tires locked up, skidding out of control onto the grass at the exit of the corner. But through some miracle, the pair had synchronized their half spins perfectly and avoided contact with each other. They went back on the throttle to resume their battle. Sensing an opportunity, Luke made a lunge between them, trusting his reflexes even in these arduous conditions. He swerved at the last possible nano second as all 3 cars emerged from the corner with their noses alongside one another. “Yayyyy” his mother roared in approval, as the hundreds of fans in the grandstands held their collective breath. The sporting equivalent of walking on water was unfolding before their very eyes! Plenty of stories to tell in the pub tonight.

Around the next few corners, Luke managed to sneak ahead and take the race lead. Somehow, he had managed to win a race he was dead last in after the first lap. As he parked his car in the pits, completely spent, his team came over to congratulate him. Lifting the young lad on their shoulders, they celebrated his triumph joyously. Watching Luke’s unabashed, uninhibited glee made his mother’s heart swell with pride. “That’s my boy” she wanted to yell, to everyone and to no one in particular. But she couldn’t. She could only watch from afar as the son she gave up as an infant due to an unplanned teenaged pregnancy grew up to be lightning quick. Foster parents had taken care of the lad through the system, and it was only three years ago that she had managed to trace Luke as the child she had left behind. Unable to confront him with the truth, she still came to all his races and watched him perform miracles on the racetrack. He was unafraid, a brave young man who had faced tumultuous challenges growing up. And her? She had been a coward then and left him, and her bravery deserted her even now. She wanted to hug him, to hold him close, to tell him that he made her so proud. Ofcourse, she did none of those things. She placed her hoodie over her face and walked away in the rain, grateful for her son’s safety and victory. Would she one day be able to face Luke and bring to light the truth? Should she?

* ~ Laughter Is The Best Medicine *~

The shrill clamor of the phone forced Aayush up. Fumbling with the touchscreen in his sleep, he tried to answer the call. By the time his fingers coherently swiped across the screen, the other person had hung up. Aayush forced himself awake and saw the time on his cell phone display – 10: 50 AM.

Taking a gulp of water from his bottle on the dressing table, which incidentally, also had his now empty whisky bottles from last night, Aayush hoped for the blasting hangover to recede. “Or maybe it just doesn’t matter anymore,” Aayush muttered under his breath.

Absent mindedly, he opened the Facebook app on his phone. The first thing that came up was a post from four years ago, where his wife Richa had uploaded a photo of the both of them together holding the trophy he had just won.

“Stand Up Comic of the Year” the trophy read. A sad smile worked its way onto his face. Richa and he had been so happy in their marriage – a true match made in heaven. She had been incredibly supportive of him when he gave up a cushy white collar job and ventured into the world of open mics and stand-up comedy ten years ago. The fact that she was a successful lawyer helped.

Within a few years, he had become a familiar face and one of the most loved stand up artists in the country. Shows at corporate conferences, college fests and offsites followed. It seemed almost unreal to Aayush how lucky he had been. And there was no better feeling than the nervous tingles he felt each time before performing followed by the euphoria of hearing the audience’s thunderous applause. It was a high he couldn’t get enough of.

However, a year ago, all that changed when he lost Richa in a car accident. Aayush heard of it when he was out of town for a show. Richa was attending to one of her matters in Pune. They say that there was nothing Richa could have done. The car in front of her spun out of control due to a tyre burst and took her car out as well. She died instantly.

From that day on, Aayush could never bring himself to perform again. The ready laughter inside of him had dried up and he couldn’t bring himself to take to the stage. He had taken to drinking heavily on almost a nightly basis. He had stopped returning calls for shows. Nothing seemed to interest him.

-X-X-X-X

He was just about to toss the phone away when it rang again. It was Juhi, one of his wife’s closest friends. He remembered it was her who had called earlier as well.

Just then his twelve-year-old son Kartik also walked in. He sat at a distance from his father, wanting to avoid any outburst of anger from Aayush. His own son now sat away from his father, a renowned comedian, for fear of a scolding. The irony of the situation was not lost on Aayush.

On the call, Juhi was droning on. She had been calling him time & again for doing shows at corporate events. He had always rebuffed her well meaning efforts and had told her he wasn’t ready.

He was going to use the excuse that he wasn’t going to be in town this time , “11^th December you say? Well doing a show at the Marriott does seem amazing but unfortunately…”

Aayush stopped in mid sentence when he saw the expressions change on his son’s face. Kartik went from being hopeful to pleading to disgruntled and then to a state of resignation in the space of one sentence. Aayush knew Kartik would never say anything but it pained him to see his father waste away.

Aayush was on the path of snuffing out the flame of his talent and let down the only family he had left. Some serious course correction was needed. “Actually, you know what.. That’s perfect.. I’ll get working on my set immediately,” Aayush said.

-X-X-X-X

His hands were sweaty and shaky as he combed through his cue cards a few minutes before his entry. The nervous tingles were back – he felt more alive now than he had at any point in the past year. He felt a sense of purpose and hadn’t had anything to drink since that day. Truly, making others laugh was the best medicine for him. After a hilarious performance which had the audience in splits, father & son hugged it on stage. The alcohol didn’t flow then – only the applause from the audience did.

*~ Living a Life Less Ordinary?~*

The memories of happier times danced in front of his eyes as a downcast Anuj grabbed a chair & sat down alongside his best friend. Imran was lying on the bed, unflinching & unmoving. He looked so peaceful that Anuj might have just mistaken him for being asleep. Imran’s parents treated Anuj like a second son as the two had virtually grown up together. Their little home town in the mountains of Himachal Pradesh was filled with now over exaggerated legends of their childhood. Breaking the neightbour’s windows while playing cricket, climbing the orchard trees for fresh fruits & going on treks which skilled mountaineers feared. Now, Anuj just averted his eyes when he entered the house he virtually grew up in.

Imran’s wife came in with a glass of water. As Anuj took it, he asked her “How is he doing bhabi? Any update from the doctors?” She shook her head and left, leaving Anuj alone with Imran. Mustering up all the good cheer he could, Anuj spoke to his friend.””Hey mate! I’ve got some time off now & can you guess why? It’s the best piece of news I’ve got in a while & I couldn’t wait to share it with you. I’m going to be a father. Preeti just told me & I rushed right over.” Just like the past three years, there was no response. Anuj fought back the urge to just shake him up, bring him back to life somehow. It just broke his heart to see his friend, a man he considered his brother, be reduced to this.

*****************************

Anuj woke up in a cold sweat often, plagued by the nightmares that still haunted him three years after the mission. Anuj & Imran were serving in the same battalion at the time, a part of the Indian army’s effort to protect the border in the snow covered region of Kashmir. The past few weeks had been peaceful, with little or no suspicious activity to speak of in the mountainous region. There was, however, a raging battle being fought against the elements. Temperatures dropped to -10 degrees and the howling winds bit into any bit of flesh that was left exposed. Despite their best efforts, the elements were taking a toll on the entire battalion.

Anuj & Imran had been sent out to find a missing soldier who had not been heard from for the past few hours & time was of the essence. With every passing moment they knew that Vikram, the missing soldier, was slipping deeper and deeper into his icy grave. Soon, they came across Vikram’s upturned vehicle in a ditch off the road, the tyre marks indicating he had clearly lost control & veered off. While trying to get their unconscious friend out of the vehicle, there was a deafening explosion and all of them were thrown away in the blast. Then the world went black.

Anuj woke up in the hospital a few hours later. He had survived the fuel tank explosion largely unscathed but Vikram & Imran had not been that lucky. Vikram was dead & Imran was in a coma.

************

To this day, Anuj hoped for a miracle. They had tried everything- from going to the best hospitals to turning to prayer. Every attempt had proved futile.

Anuj saw the transformation in Imran’s parents. They had aged a dozen years in the three that had gone by. Their hopes of having a happy family & of playing with their grand children were quashed. All they got for sacrificing their young son to the motherland was a breathing corpse who refused to wake up. Even in their old age, they spent all their time fretting over Imran – was he too cold? Was the drip connected properly? Is there any way to make him more comfortable? Life was extremely challenging.

When he was leaving that day, Imran’s mother walked up to him. “Congrats on becoming a father beta. For us, it is like having grand children of our own. And beta, Imran’s father & I were thinking… thinking about relieving Imran from his struggles permanently. I know it is a lot to take in but do give it some thought. All this is so confusing that we don’t know what to do anymore,” Imran’s mother sobbed.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is to acknowledge the invaluable contribution of the Armed Forces. They protect us & our motherland so that we can continue to lead our lives. As we celebrate Diwali with our loved ones, spare a thought for the thousands of soldiers who guard our borders in alien conditions. Here’s wishing all of you & all of them a very Happy Diwali & a safe and prosperous New Year. And ofcourse dear reader, what advice would you give Imran’s mother in Anuj’s place? Do you hope for a miracle or go down the path of euthanasia? What would you do ?Let me know what you think!

*~ What Would You Do ~*

The cruel summer sun beat down on the parched land, temporarily slowing down the pace of activity in the Maximum City of Mumbai. The afternoons were particularly vicious as even the children chose to stay indoors. 

Nandini sat on her favorite rocking chair, the one in the balcony, sipping her wine. All around her, the proud symbols of modern success made their presence felt. The home loan would be paid off in a couple of years, her daughter attended a fancy school & the car in the garage had the three pointed star adorning the bonnet.

Across her lap lay a travel catalogue containing vivid images of exotic locations in foreign lands. She couldn’t decide between the Scandinavian countries & New Zealand. Both the places lured her with their different charms and natural beauty. Planning this year’s holiday was a task for which she definitely needed another drink!

She made her way to their well stacked bar to refill her empty glass. It was then that she noticed a small cardboard box carelessly thrown behind the bar. Perhaps Nitin had left the box there in his hurry to get to the airport that morning. She knew her husband of 15 years well enough to know what a tearing hurry he always gets into while traveling.

Even on their honeymoon they had almost missed their flight because Nitin forgot something at home – his entire suitcase! Nandini couldn’t wait to find out what he’d forgotten this time.

She opened the box to find it held a host of memorable items for Nitin – his convocation photos, pictures of their wedding & their honeymoon. A nostalgic smile spread across Nandini’s lips as she came across an old picture of Nitin holding her in his arms. She wondered if he would be able to achieve this feat now. After all, she wasn’t the dainty twenty-something in that photograph anymore!

She also found a host of other items : the first book she had ever gifted him (Yes Minister, an all time classic), the first letter she had ever written to him & an old CD labelled “Baby Ayesha arrives”. Suddenly her attention was drawn to a plain white envelope at the bottom of the box. It was sealed with duct tape & signed by Nitin. There was no address mentioned, only a date: 30^th November, 2008.

After a short lived battle with her conscience, she tore open the envelope only to find an old hand written note inside. She recognized Nitin’s handwriting instantly.

“Today, Nandini has gone to Sanjana’s house to stay for a few days. I know it’s only a 20 minute drive away but being without Nandini feels weird. It’s almost as if I don’t know who I am without her. I do miss her & I do love her. I feel horrible about what I’ve done but I’m never going to tell her. This burden is mine to bear. And Sanjana’s of course. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through right now. I’ll have to pull through. She’ll have to as well. There’s simply no other way.

I’m glad Sanjana has Nandini by her side though. Sweet, caring, loving Nandini who’s so excited about becoming a masi. Just last week she got four tees made. The two spelled “Mom” & “Dad” were given to Sanjana & her husband, & the two labelled “Masa” & “Masi” were put into our wardrobe. I’m supposed to wear my shirt when I go to the hospital next week. Only thing is, I won’t be wearing the right one. I should be wearing the one called “Dad”.

There’s no point trying to explain myself. There’s simply no defending cheating on your wife with her sister. The last few months have been sheer agony, as I have watched Nandini fret over Sanjanaa day in and day out. A part of me wants to tell her the truth. But a bigger part of me wants to protect her. Protect her from finding out what a scumbag I’ve been. I hope I’m not too drunk to forget to destroy this letter later.”

Nandini felt the world slipping out from under her, like she was a tiny immaterial speck blowing about in a storm. She couldn’t believe the contents of the letter: her mind simply refused to accept its existence. Everything she had worked so hard to create for herself and her family was suddenly at stake.

She felt denial, regret, disappointment & rage along with a whole gamut of emotions towards her husband and her sister. “How could they do this to me?”, she asked herself repeatedly, a steady anger growing in her with every passing moment.

Two of the people she loved and trusted the most had let her down. Let her down in such a way that it seemed impossible for things to be the way they were before. She just wanted to get away from all of them. She wanted to get rid of the feeling that they were staring at her, their eyes part sympathetic part mocking.

She began to pack her bags, dumping whatever she could find into her suitcase hurriedly. She didn’t know where she was off to, all she knew was that she couldn’t stand a minute more here. The air itself had become toxic and suffocating. Just then her phone rang. ”Hello,” she said with as much calmness as she could muster. “Hi mom, this is Ayesha here. All my friends are going to Tina’s house now. Can I go too? I promise to be home before dinner. Please. Please,” her twelve year old daughter begged.

“Sure beta, carry on,” was all Nandini managed to say. “Thanks! You’re the best! ,” her excited daughter exclaimed as she hung up.

Suddenly, Nandini realized that there was no walking away from this, no going away. She could never do this to her little princess, never inflict the pain of a divorce on her child. She would have to go on living like nothing had happened, no matter how much it pained her. And for Arya she would do it, a thousand times over.

She called her travel agent and told him, “3 tickets to New Zealand please.”  

Dear Reader – what would you do in Nandini’s place? Food for thought eh? Do let me know!

~World Of The Future: Life in 2358~

Ravi was suddenly wide awake. His alarm enabled bed had toppled over as soon as the clock struck 6:00 AM. He was thrown violently on the floor and found himself being targeted by the water hose, yet another device that ensured he got up in time for school. His mother’s patience had finally run out and she had ordered this contraption to make her son get up on time. Like all mothers, she was concerned about 14-year old Ravi’s grades, education and future. “This is the 24th century”, she would begin, 

“There is a lot of competition and you need to be the best to succeed. Do you not wish to afford one of those huge houses on that new planet they have discovered? Do you not wish that you could one day book a NASA flight to Pluto, like the Mehtas next door? Let your wife and children decide whether Pluto is a moon or planet, while you play golf on its silky smooth surface.”

Ravi would have to listen to this speech almost everyday. His robotic teacher, Robot Robert 3.0, had categorized him to be a “B” grade student. This meant that he got extra tutoring hours, more homework & more assignments as compared to his neighbour, Arvind Mehta, who was an” A+” grade student. Robot Robert 3.0 had apparently spotted more of a spark in Arvind’s brain with his brain scanning UV- enabled eyes. Ravi sighed deeply and went into the bathroom.

The constant nagging of his mother simply infuriated him. He knew he wasn’t as stupid as the robot teacher made him out to be:- he had somehow managed to modify the dishwasher to be a tooth brusher as well. This saved him a crucial five minutes every morning, just enough to propel his flying car-cubicle into the schoolship before it locked its gates. Just before leaving for school, he swallowed his vitamin pill which ensured that he got his balanced diet of carbs, proteins, calcium, vitamins etc. for the day. Cooked food was passé and eaten only to please the taste buds.

Schools had been replaced by schoolships in 2255, when the government decided that the robot teacher to student ratio should be 1:1. This was done to “personalize, synchronize & customize” the education process. However, in truth, it was being described as a system which turned the children into gloomy, drab social misfits of adults. After all, Robot Robert 1.0 & 2.0 had only been able to cultivate the minds of students like how a machine implants intelligence into a computer chip. All the educated lot looked like standard factory products. But Robot Robert 3.0, the latest evolution of the robot teacher series, was vastly improved & guess what- it even had a sense of humour! Although, Ravi didn’t mind school, he missed having other students in his class.

While cruising in his Mercedes Z-Class flying car-cubicle, he had to ensure that he was flying 300 feet over sea level, below which the air was largely polluted. This was largely due to the reckless behaviour of his ancestors in the 20th & 21st century. Home windows below the 25th floor could not be opened due to the toxicity of the air outside. The air at ground level was acrid, pungent, and a deep, misty, pathetic grey. Playing sports like cricket on a normal outfield and football on lush green grass was no longer possible anywhere on the planet. But as they say, necessity is the mother of invention. All major sporting events now took place on Mars. Everything remained the same- except one thing ofcourse: no team enjoyed “home advantage.”

Ravi could not fathom how the Earth had accommodated 8 billion people at one point in time. Earth population reduction had been an important aim for all:- scientists, governments as well as the common man. Due to tremendous scientific progress, more than 5 billion people now resided in space or in little colonies on Mars. Life was more comfortable, peaceful & luxurious.

But in this mechanical world of lightning fast scientific progress, there was an understated tinge of sadness, a tinge of melancholy which was unexplained. This world of the future was unnatural, the results of man’s attempts at playing God and creating a world. Defying the laws of nature, man had taken everything into his hands.

 Now, there was little to differentiate man from his creations of technology: the robots which controlled everything from the climate on Mars to the car-cubicles people traveled in. Man was edging closer and closer to disaster. But what would ultimately finish him off? Pollutants? Revolts from (suddenly independent thinking) robots? A stray meteorite? Or just plain old war? Man had always been a lover of destruction. But now he might just get a dose of his own medicine.

~* What I Don't Want To Do When I Grow Up *~

Deciding one’s profession is perhaps the most important decision youth have to make. As soon as you are out of school as an adolescent, everyone begins to ask to that one question: “So, what career do you want to pursue?” You are expected to know the answer well before you are eighteen years old. Well meaning uncles advise you to assist your father in the family business, your own father wants you to become the best software engineer there is and join Bill Gates at Microsoft. Your mother, who has seen you grow up in front of her eyes, wants you to pursue painting, which is very close to your heart. But there is one field which is absolutely no one recommends: politics.

And with very good reason. Yes, I do not want to be a politician once I grow up. Politics nowadays is a field littered with scavengers, vultures who want their share of the pie before the Motherland can have hers. The people themselves have lost faith in the system of governance, with our democracy being labelled as a joke. Yes, we are considered to be the world’s biggest democracy with the maximum number of voters. But then Muslim leaders target the Islamic population and Hindu fanatic leaders are no less, embarking on a campaign of Hindutva. Local parties want to oust all the North Indian population from Mumbai, claiming they take away the local’s right to employment and space of dwelling. When the country’s own leaders want to divide the masses on grounds of religion, faith, caste, greed, race or belief, you can understand that the state of governance in the country is poor. The country’s political system is at war with itself, almost choking on the level of bureaucracy and red tapism that exists.

Politics in our country has been reduced to nothing more than a blame game. The Parliament has begun to resemble a crowded fish market, with no one listening to the other person. Thus, in such a condition it is not advisable to take up politics. You will lose all that is close to you, your morals, your conscience and your values. The system will not allow you to survive otherwise.

To be the proverbial lotus in the dirty lake will be increasingly difficult in times to come. I do not want to be a corrupt politician leading my country to certain doom. I want to help from the outside, without involving myself in the faltered system which could not prevent the terror attacks in November despite being warned. There is now certain anger in the masses towards the governments it needs to be channelised in a positive way.

More politics, back biting, bureaucracy and blaming is not the answer. It is time we ourselves from organizations to solve the country’s problems and help the poor and needy. Taking active interest in the well being of society is a fundamental duty of every citizen. If we educate ourselves and others effectively about this, I am sure India can rise and shine. India will once again be the golden songbird of the world. I will forever be devoted to the service of my country. As I say in my pledge to the country daily: - “To my country and my people, I pledge my devotion. In their well-being and prosperity, alone lies my happiness 

*~ Stadium Ka Maja Sirf Stadium Mein Hai ~*

Yet another encounter in the cash rich cricket league called the IPL was about to get underway. The Mumbai Indians were taking on the Royal Challengers Bangalore at the swanky new Wankhede stadium. The match was due to start in an hour’s time and Pankaj was still stuck in a long serpentine queue leading up to the gates.

“I hope we don’t miss the toss,” a flustered Pankaj grumbled to one of his friends. “Relax dude! Aaram se pahunch jaayenge,” his friend Karan tried to assuagethe fears of their group.

“We’d better bro. I want to see Pollard & Gayle..” Pankaj’s voice trailed off as his breath caught in his throat. A flash of red had caught his attention. More specifically, a female beauty wearing the RCB colours had drawn his attention.

She stood from her friends and Pankaj’s heart skipped a beat as well as beat faster at the sight of her. He couldn’t help but stare at the tall ethereal beauty. Suddenly, the match wasn’t what was occupying his mind space.

When they entered the stadium, Pankaj was elated to know that ther beautiful starnger’s group was seated in the row right in front of them.

“Mumbai aaj jeetegi yaar. Akela Gayle kya kar lega,” said a fired up Karan as they took their seats. An angry voice in front of them retorted,” Excuse me guys! RCB is going to nail it tonight. MY Virat Kohli will kill the blue brigade.”

Pankaj’s heart began its abnormalities again. For it was the same gorgeous angel who had admonished his friend. He also felt a deep pang of envy towards Virat Kohli, the foul mouthed heartthrob of millions of girls in India.

He managed a smile and shot back, “We shall see about that. Don’t forget that the God of Cricket is on our side. YOUR Virat Kohli is nothing but a thumb sucking kid in comparisionto the Master Blaster. “

Her perfectly featured face blushed a deep red as she realised how evident her possessiveness of Kohli was. Quickly regaining her feistiness she remarked,” Dude! That’s so not happening! I’m telling you...” Her voice trailed off as she realised we were distracted. The cheerleaders had stepped onto the field!

“Quit ogling you hopeless guys! I’ll tell you what – I’m even willing to place a wager. 500 bucks says RCB wins tonight.”

"No, I’m not interested in something like that,” Pankaj remarked. Drawing up his courage he said,” Losers treat for dinner. Let’s make it interesting.” His friends gape in awe. The usually reticent Pankaj was turning on the charm for the pretty lady.

“Very well then. Have it your way. Just be prepared to dish out the dough,” came the prompt reply.

Pankaj couldnt help but grin. No matter what happened in the game, he was going to have dinner with a very pretty lady. “Listen, give me your name & number. How do I know you’re not going to run away after the mauling?” Pankaj said.

A bemused smile curled up on the girl’s face. This was crunch time. Knowing her contact details was an absolute must for our Pankaj. She said,”I am Pallavi. Here’s my number.” Pankaj somehow managed to get his wobbly fingers to save the number. This was going much better than he could have ever imagined.

38 overs of intense action later, the equation boiled down to this: RCB needed 19 runs off 12 balls. Virat Kohli was batting like a man possessed, already notching up a fine 70 not out. However, his team mates had failed to rally around him & RCB had already lost 7 wickets in the thrilling chase.

Lasith Malinga ran in to bowl the 19th over. A well set Virat Kohli anticipated the short ball and pulled it away for 4. Pallavi & her friends high fived each other. 15 needed off 11.

During the match, Pankaj managed to learn a few things about Pallavi. She was an independent woman who had built a start up IT firm in Bangalore after quitting her job. He liked what he saw even more.

Malinga ran in to bowl the next delivery. Again, the gifted Kohli outfoxed the bowler and dispatched the ball for four more. 11 needed off 10 as the boisterous Mumbai crowd was stunned into silence.

The next delivery was a well disguised slower ball and Kohli could only hit it for a single. 10 runs off 9 balls. 30,000 pairs of eyes stared intently at Malinga as he ran in to bowl to the tail ender. His trademark delivery, the swinging Yorker, landed perfectly and uprooted the leg stump.

 Pankaj leapt up and let out a war cry as a stunned Pallavi held her head in her hands. The next delivery was an exact action replay. Another tail ender had his stumps shattered by a Malinga toe crusher. The equation was now tantalizingly delicious. The hat trick ball was safely defended by the batsman, which left RCB with 10 to get off the last over.

Virat Kohli took guard against Johnson. He knew it was all up to him. He needed to hit the next 10 runs. Not too far away, Pallavi looked on, a silent prayer on her lips.

Pankaj was wondering where to look: the action on the field or the gamut of emotions playing out on Pallavi’s impeccable features. Johnson began well – no runs were conceded in the first two balls. 10 off 4 needed. Pallavi & her group were now yelling themselves hoarse with the cries of “Kohl! Kohli! ” Finally, the booming sound of leather on willow could be heard as a brilliant square cut yielded 4 runs. 6 needed off 3.

“Why didn’t Johnson look to bowl a Yorker?” a worried Karan yelled out. Pankaj was too nervous to make any observations on strategy.

Johnson ran in to bowl the next ball. Some of the confident swagger had returned to Kohli’s stance. It was evident that he backed himself to finish the job. Kohli connected with his lofted shot straight over the bowlers head. It hurtled towards our stand for a huge six! Pallavi stuck her hand out and caught the flying ball and the small RCB contingent in the stadium broke out in a victory dance. A beaming Pallavi kissed the ball and pocketed the little piece of cricketing history.

After an amazing but expensive dinner, it was time to say goodbye. “Told you to not doubt Kohli,” said a beaming Pallavi, “He is a star yaar.”

“Yes. That he is. Perhaps we should celebrate the win alone. “ a hopeful Pankaj asked.

Pallavi’s eyebrows shot up & she flashed Pankaj a brilliant dimpled smile. “Thought you’d never ask shy boy. Let’s go.”

Pankaj was delighted. Lalit Modi was right. Stadium ka maja stadium mein hai.