The Dressing Room Of Eden Gardens

Each One of Us Is Ares

Kolkata 2001- Day 5- Last Session

Sourav cracks his back as he stands up from his crouch at silly mid-on. It wasn't his usual fielding position, not because he was too prideful to field there, but because he was genuinely terrible at latching on to catches from a crouch. In their early years, every bowler had learnt that bit quickly and poor Rahul was shuffled all around the close-in catching positions without Sourav ever having to use his "elder to you" card. Rahul had even complained after a particularly long tiring time in the crouch that he wished Sourav wasn't so terrible at springing up. Ofcourse the man had apologised immediately, Rahul had a never ending list of silly things he would apologize for. The only one to challenge his ability to apologize was Laxman.

No his talent for close-in fielding wasn't why he was there. It was simply to annoy the Australians. None of them were able to hit down the leg often, so he hadn't even bothered with a helmet. After all. What he really was doing was getting under their skins. Shane Warne may be having a few choice words in particular, something Sourav was mightily proud of. Hell, Steven Waugh may have a rather changed opinion of his bestfriend. Nobody had seen that barb coming from Rahul, he wasn't sure if Rahul himself had processed it. But god was he proud. The good boy giving it back to his own hero, the one man he nauseatingly could speak for hours about? Hell yeah.

He caught the ball Sachin tossed in his direction, sighing as he took stock of the situation. The light was going to begin to dim, not long from now. And truth be told, he did not trust Mcgrath and Kaspro-most-confusing-ever, to give away their wickets at such a stage. Hence. Something must be done. Most of the lull in wickets was happening because his bowlers were tired. Sachin wasn't used to bowling for so long. Harbhajan had thrown down thirty overs already. And while the twenty year old was currently probably the strongest man in the team, it was a bit of an overkill to think he would be able to go on with the same spark as in the beginning-

Wait.

Spark.

He looked at Harbhajan, stretching idly, staring into nothing, a frown on his face. The kid was young. Very young. Very hot blooded. More than a little foolish. More than a little emotionally misguided. Why had he been trying to manipulate the Australians, when he could just manipulate the guy who essentially a time bomb waiting to go off? And what else could a young hotblooded lad get fired up from, if not from his captain's anger?

He pulled his lips away from its growing smirk and settled it into a firm glare. Before this series, he had begun to heavily doubt in his own ability to be a captain. But if this worked... well if this worked, Sourav may be on to something more than he had estimated for himself.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He flexes his neck from his spot at short fine leg. Nearly ten overs had passed since he had picked up the ninth wicket. He hadn't played many international matches, so maybe he was wrong, but in his limited experience, the number elevens and tens do not hold on so stubbornly. He was getting a little worried.

Because as the only official spinner in the team, this was his responsibility wasn't it? Sachin Paji had already taken three wickets and was supporting him wonderfully. But it was him that Dada had thrown all his cards it. He could remember, sitting with his sisters, watching the news horrified and awed at the reports of the Indian Team's captain threatening resignation over him, a little nobody from Punjab with a history of disciplinary issues and little else to boast of. He knew Sourav Ganguly ofcourse, he had played for India before. It had just been Sourav then. Not Dada. But Sourav- the India batsman who played him well in the nets. They did not hang out in the same circles and well, how could he hang out with a man who was challenging the best batsman of the country for the topspot. Sourav would go on to become the captain of the team Harbhajan was constantly on the fringes of because he couldn't keep himself on a straight line and there would be even more reason for Harbhajan to not get to interact with the man. He hadn't really thought all that much about it though.

But then that news had come, the very public way Sourav was challenging the cricketing authorities, demanding his inclusion. For someone so used to getting on the bad side of everyone, it had felt nice. It had felt stupidly nice. It felt validating that someone other than his late father still believed in him. It felt bewildering that India's captain was betting his own career on him. To comply had never come naturally to Bhajji, he did not like being told what to do. But from then onwards he had sworn to do whatever Sourav asks him to do. Whatever Dada asks him to do.

"You have my support Bhajji. But so do the others. I will not have you disrespect any of them," he had warned on day one, familiar with his reputation of lost tempers. Bhajji had nodded. And swallowed every time someone missed an easy catch, bitten his cheek to keep his words to himself when once, it had been Dada himself.

"You can do whatever you want after four. But until four your time is mine," Dada had told him when he had asked permission to leave early, "You can't go," he had said and Bhajji had held his rousing temper in check and stormed back to the field.

Dada comes up to him, annoyance clear on his face as Sachin Paji's 5-run over ends.

"These are fucking tailenders Bhajji," Dada grits out glaring at the batsmen.

Bhajji stretches his arm and narrows on Mcgrath, he knows what their plan is, he himself is a tailender. To stay relaxed and hit if it is in the zone and block if not.

"They will take the match away if we let them," he turns back to Bhajji and handing him the ball, "Win me this match," his captain demands.

Bhajji marks his run up and rolls the ball over in the air, looking at the field Dada sets for him, thinking of the task ahead.

First ball. No run. It wasn't a ball particularly hard to hit but it wasn't a ball with a four over it either. Someone like Rahul Dravid would have let it go but Sourav Ganguly would have smashed it. Mcgrath defends it.

Second ball. No run. Another ball not hard to hit, nor hard to defend. Dravid would have hit this one but Mcgrath chooses to pad it away.

Third ball he bowls, a ball identical to the last, except it's fuller, it rises less, and comes in a little. Mcgrath tries to pad it, taking a stride, but it's in line with the wickets and not long enough for their appeal to not be legit. He screams and turns to the umpire.

The umpire accedes.

India wins.

His captain had demanded. And Bhajji had delivered.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have not slept.

I will not sleep.

Do not question. I am very very stressed. If I stress post and drop of the face of earth again, know that I am alive. Just stressed. Dont worry.

Anyway. Who else wishes that Mahi was just born in a different country? Fucccccck this one. It does not deserve this golden man. Seriously. I want to start fights now. I will fight everyone. No disrespect to my captain or you will only be catching death.