We are Forever ft. Us

Boring cricket nerd's hidden depths

March, 2011

When the squad for World Cup 2011 began reporting, Virat was to be found dragging his suitcase with rather a heavy heart.

It was a nice occasion. His first World Cup kicking off. How many people even got the chance?

Still, he wished his friends were here to celebrate the moment with him. Rohit had been shattered after the squad was declared. Virat dared not update him about the goings-on in the camp. Jaddu was in some remote village outside Jamnagar where there was no network. 

And somehow, though he'd never found it difficult to barge into elders' conversation--

Viru paji and Gauti bhai were arguing about something (the former riling up the latter, from the looks of it) as usual; Raina was clinging on Mahi bhai's back as he spoke to Yuvi pa, and Ashish bhai was holding court to the rest out of which nobody but Zaheer bhai listened seriously.

--today, he couldn't bring himself barge in.

For the first time in an age, Virat felt self-conscious. What was he, a 22-year-old, even doing here, amongst a bunch of overachievers?

He felt his kit to check he hadn't forgotten anything.

Which was really weird, because he never forgot anything, and considered it an insult to even double-check.

As a result of his dawdling, he found himself getting into the bus last, and he spotted only one empty seat: next to that prim and uptight spinner, Ashwin.

He'd made his debut less than a year ago, so Virat and Rohit had got to know him a tiny bit, and goodness, the guy defined the term uptight. He used to look down his nose to Virat pouring water down Rohit's neck unawares in such a manner that Virat had started feeling ashamed. He spoke at team meetings in such a serious tone, holding his own against the seniors with the extraordinary amount of cricket statistics he seemed to know of, Rohit had wrinkled his nose and whispered to Virat, "Nerd."

Virat had nodded emphatically, recalling those kids at school with thick glasses who used to sit in the front bench, listening to every word the teacher spoke and casting disapproving glances at pranksters (including Virat).

Having to sit beside Ashwin was not how Virat would have envisioned his start to his first World Cup.

"'Morning," Virat said.

"It is past twelve," said Ashwin.

"So?"

"So it is no longer morning, it is afternoon."

Virat groaned inside his head. Ashwin turned back to the magazine he was reading. 'Developments in curating: A brief history,' the page flashed.

"Curating?" asked Virat, curious and disbelieving. "Pitch curating?"

Ashwin nodded.

"You are reading the history of pitch curating?" repeated Virat, just to be sure.

"Honestly, Virat," said Ashwin. "Can't you read?"

"I can," said Virat, nettled. "I simply could not believe anyone would read the history of pitch curating."

"I simply cannot believe a person would comment on others while they're reading instead of reading themselves."

Ashwin raised the magazine to eye level to block out Virat's dumbfounded expression.

***

Unfortunately, as Virat found out soon enough, Rohit's absence meant he was forced to talk to Ashwin a lot more than he'd have liked to. Of course, he could've kept quiet, but quiet simply didn't suit him. He liked to talk all the time as much as Ashwin hated it. So since Virat couldn't always summon up the courage to go and talk to the seniors, he fell back to badgering Ashwin about what he was reading, or thinking, even as he gave savage replies in clipped tones.