We are Forever ft. Us

Rohit learns swordfighting with a broom

January, 2006

Ravindra Jadeja had turned 17 barely a month ago when he arrived at the India Under 19 camp in Mumbai in January 2006. In a team where half the members were already 19, he was glaringly the juniormost. He also did not have the faintest idea how he'd made it into the team.

No, he was not questioning his talent or his ability. He did not even care about his ability. He did not care much about the blue jersey either, which had been his dearest dream till a year ago.

His mother's dearest dream till a year ago, till her car crashed into the divider on the highway while returning home from her paternal home.

Why was he still playing cricket? Oh yes, the credit went entirely to her exceedingly bossy and annoying elder sister. She would not let him quit--and here he was, today, walking into a national camp. About to represent India in blues in a month...

***

Rohit Sharma, soon to be 19 but as irresponsible and unpunctual as he'd been at 9, rushed into the practice grounds, dragging his kit. He should not have overslept today, of all days--it was the such an important one, his first as part of an Indian team.

He blamed his lack of punctuality on the Mumbai local trains which were never on time. Better, in his opinion, than reaching the station on time and waiting half an hour in the crowd, was arriving late and catching the late train just in the nick of time.

That was what he'd done today, symbolically. The coach gave him a look that said he wasn't impressed at all. A chastened Rohit worked extra hard at the warmups before he was assigned to the nets practicing spin.

***

I want to quit. I want to quit. I want to quit.

Jaddu gritted his teeth as he took his run up.

He wanted so badly to make a statement to God for taking his mother away: he would give up cricket. Cricket had nothing to offer him anymore. Blow Naina di for coaxing him into his all over again.

Mom, if you're watching from above, know I'm playing only because di forced me to, he thought. I don't want to play if you can't watch.

He released the delivery mechanically. The local guy from Mumbai he was bowling to stepped down the pitch and took it on cleanly. There was a smattering of applause for the shot. Jaddu, as was his habit, turned to grin at the batter in a no-hard-feelings sort of way, though his eyes were burning very badly. His opponent grinned back in a rather likeable easygoing manner.

Jaddu took up his run up again. Mechanically. Cricket had nothing to offer him anymore.

***

Something about the spinner from Gujarat-Jaddu, he was called, short for Jadeja-intrigued Rohit. It was the abrupt contrasts in his attitude probably: for most of the practice session, he laughed and joked. But in stretches in between, he just went completely silent, moving like a zombie, gazing into nothingness.

Rohit wasn't the most tactful of persons, however (hardly anyone is at the age of 19) and just to satisfy his curiosity, he chose to simply walk into Jadeja's room after dinner.

"Hey," said Rohit, and paused.

Jadeja, who'd been facing the window, started and looked around. His cheeks were unmistakably streaked with tears.

"Sorry-I didn't mean to-" Rohit stammered, and began to back away.

Without daring to wipe away his tears, Jaddu shot to his feet and did what he always did: hide himself under a thick layer of jokes.