Bhavika, a fresh graduate is experiencing everything at once. Restlessness about not finding the right opportunities. Thrill that she's finally earned some autonomy. Nostalgic ache for the good old college routine and daily joys of seeing her friend...
“Cause we were both young when I first saw you” - Love Story, Taylor Swift
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“I can't believe you gave up your afternoon nap to study just so that you could watch some eighteen year old boys play cricket!!” My mother sounds as sarcastic as I imagined. But when I look at her, I can see that she's intrigued. And then she does something that completely surprises me.
She comes and sits next to me with two chopping boards, a pair of knives and four capsicums.
“Oh my god Ma! You literally just asked me what's so interesting about watching these little boys play and now you're joining me? I guess you've found your answer.” I try to smirk at her but she rolls her eyes and says,
“Beti, I am just curious. But you, you don't have anything to be curious. You've already watched them and if you still continue to watch them, then the onus of bad decisions is on you, Beti.”
My mother loves calling me 'beti' especially when we don't see eye to eye on something. Or when she has a better comeback than me. Which is all the time. I sigh.
“You do know that I don't watch it just for the guys, right?”
“Oh really? When you came from your tuition classes and changed your clothes, the toss was happening right?”
I blink at her, nod and then take a quick glance at the television to see how much time is left before the match begins. It's India U-19 versus England U-19. She's right, I reached home when the coin was about to get tossed. I had to hurry when I changed my clothes so that I could hear the captains speak.
“I was waiting for you to realise it on your own but…” she takes a pause, studying me from my head to my waist, with a face that's a mixture of disapproval and humour. Like she's about to burst out laughing.
And when I look down to see if I've worn the tshirt correctly I realise what's so humourous.
“I've worn it backwards.” I admit with my hands in the air. I take a look at the back in the mirror.
“It's a striped tshirt, Ma. Anyone can get confused between the front and the back without any quote of design to help them!”
“Yeah, Beti. Anyone who's in a hurry to watch a boy they like.”
“I don't like Jack!!” The words flow out of my mouth in a millisecond but I manage to add without taking a pause, hoping that it sounds as if I intended both names to be uttered in the same breath. “Or Unmukt. I just enjoy listening to them…because…uh…they're just two years elder to me so…”
I stop talking. Yeah. Very convincing, Bhavika. Absolutely brilliant. I have the urge to roll my eyes at the white lie that I've told Ma. But there's no way I'm admitting that I may have a teeny tiny crush on the captain of a rival country. Imagine the scandal I'd create if I told anyone in my building that I like Jack's smile.
Gaurav Dada, who lives on the first floor and claps so loudly during RCB matches that I can hear it on the third floor, will stop letting me occasionally bat with him and his friends from the C wing, if he finds out that I'm siding with a foreigner. No, I cannot risk that.
“Tell me whatever you want to, Bhavika but I don't believe you.” Ma’s words echo after me as I rush to wear the t-shirt correctly.
*****
“Did you see that, Ma! That was a brilliant bowl! Jack could have easily hit a boundary over the covers but he chose to defend. Hah. Turns out he isn't as good as the commentators believe. You should have seen how they were talking about him during the last match. It wasn't even commentary but pure flattery. If I didn't know anything better, I'd think their scripts were all written by some fangirl.”
Ma eyes me closely before she smiles and mutters to herself. She thinks I don't hear it but I do.
“If I didn't know anything better, I'd think my girl has a massive soft spot for this British boy.”
My heart starts beating wildly and so I watch the rest of England's innings with my mouth shut.
Ma's right. I do have a soft spot for Jack.
You see, I've known many boys. Some have pretty smiles. Some have kind hearts. And some are good at cricket.
You can't blame it on me if I develop a soft spot for someone who's all three. I can't wait for Ma to hear Jack speak. The moment he'll thank the interviewers for a question or bring up his parents or just be his genuinely nice self, Ma will get why I like him.
Correction, Secretly. Why I secretly like him.
A copy of an abridged version of Romeo and Juliet stares at me from my study table. I had picked it up after studying Julius Caesar in school. I wanted to read something more by the same writer but I couldn't find the original copies in our school's library and hence I had to settle with an abridged version of the story.
The doomed love story between the son and daughter of rival families.
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine being in the stadium as Jack's acquaintance. Being in the stand with his family. Even in the vision I'm wearing the Indian Jersey. I smile, satisfied with myself.
The best way to avoid a tale akin to Romeo and Juliet is to not start it in the first place.
And so for the first time I decide to concentrate on the Indian guys.
