For the love of cricket

He loved cricket. Cricket was one of the few things that brought joy to his life. He had always wanted to become a cricketer. Growing up he dreamed of spending his days in the maginificient stadia of the world. He played all the time with his friends on the busy street next to his chawl in south bombay. He had a mean bouncer and a lethal yorker in his arsenal. He was fondly called Mumbai 17 ka Zaheer Khan.

“Arey kya hatrick liya Bhajji ne! Mai tha udharich. Dekha mai!”. He was bragging to his friends. One of the perks of his job was that he got to see his favorite sport live - well, almost. He was lying. Every single time a wicket fell, he had been doing the only thing more important than cricket - selling peanuts. He missed watching every single of the three wickets that Harbhajan Singh took that day. He was sad he missed the wicket, but was happy that the customer forgot to ask for change. “Batsman ko chamkaich nahi kidhar aaya ball!”, he would continue his brag.

His friends didn’t know he sold peanuts. They enjoyed the interesting stories from the stadium that he would have for them. Like his peanuts he would embellish them a little with salt, and his audience lapped it up with glee. They never asked what work he did. They knew the folly of asking such meaningless questions. What was important was that there was some work and some money.

He was never depressed that he didn’t get to play cricket. He knew where he came from and what that meant. He knew he had to be resourceful to survive. He was glad he had figured out a way for himself to be as close to the game as possible.

He was in the stands when Mahendra Singh Dhoni “finished it off in style”, and India won the world cup. That night he told his wife - “Chote ko apan cricket sikhayenge”. She giggled at the suggestion. He smiled.