Episode 01: The Secret Message

 

Krishnan, 1980

If someone had predicted that Vichu would change someone’s life through his cricket, I would have just laughed.

Vichu was my neighbour, classmate, confidante, and cricket partner. We had been inseparable. We shared a strong bond that comes from suffering from the same academic difficulties. The original group had comprised three members. Vani, Vichu’s older sister had been a part of the gang. We called ourselves the VKV gang – short for Vani, Krishnan and Vichu. Vani had been a perfectly normal girl until something changed. She suddenly grew taller, developed a maddening air of superiority, and started twisting my ear when she was displeased with me. She dropped out of our gang voluntarily. I was not entirely displeased, given her new attitude. That thickened my bond with Vichu further.

I had an additional reason to like Vichu. He was the only boy who was smaller than me in our cricket team. Our team consisted mostly of boys from the higher secondary classes. Vichu and I were magnanimously accepted into the team although we were both in class eight. We mostly acted as practice bowlers and substitute fielders. On the rare occasion one of us got to play in the eleven, we rarely got to bat or bowl. That did not stop us from fantasizing as to what we would do when we got an opportunity in an actual game.

We considered ourselves lucky to be in the team.  If you have forgotten your own early teen years, you can’t appreciate what it was like to play with boys who had already traversed their growth spurt. If you are the junior member, the bigger boys seem to be about twelve feet tall and as muscular as Arnold Schwarznegger (as he was in the 80s, that is). When a team of such strong specimens accepts you as a member, you are grateful, even if you know you are only there to make up the numbers.

The contest between the IOB Colony and Rajaji Extension was what the team lived for. We lived in IOB Colony. Rajaji extension was a set of adjacent streets. Someone who had been to Delhi discovered that the South Extension was called SouthEx and renamed their team ‘RajEx’. We considered the name yet another symptom of their vanity, but reluctantly adapted the name. The rivalry was intense. To us, the rivalry was akin to India vs. Pakistan, or Manchester United vs Arsenal. The senior members of the team all knew each other’s game well and would continuously plot against the other team. Vichu and I were too insignificant to feature in those plans of course.

Our captain was Alphonse. His deputy was Ponnan. They both were the most valuable players, our star batsmen and lead bowlers.  The string of events that I'm going to describe started on the eve of a challenge game against RajEx. Ponnan had sent word, asking Vichu and me to meet him at the Pillaiyar Temple near Kaveri, our usual spot for team discussions. We went as instructed. We were told that we would both be in the playing eleven the next day. We were both pleasantly surprised.

After the team meeting, the two of us walked home, discussing our hopes, fantasies, and fears. Most fears involved Suresh, the captain of the opposing team. Suresh was tall, strong, and bowled fast. He had a fierce temper. He was notorious in our school. He was rumored to have beaten up the physical education teacher when the latter had said something insulting to him in public. He also used to make dark threats to the juniors when they failed to comply with his instructions. The most common threat was the ‘poison ivy treatment’. He never elaborated, but the boys used to whisper that it involved applying poison ivy leaves to your unspeakable parts, leaving you to choose between dying of itch or dying of embarrassment when you seek treatment.

The big day dawned. We used to play with the “cork” ball, which was as heavy as the real cricket ball, but lasted longer. It hurt like hell if you get hit. We played without pads or gloves. Helmets were unheard of. A critical requirement to be in the team was not to cry if you got hit on your shin.

Alphonse won the toss and decided to bat first. As usual, he and Ponnan scored most of the runs. We suffered a middle order collapse, and before we knew, Vichu and I were batting together as the last pair. We put up a stout defense, with no intention of scoring. We frustrated the opposition for six long overs and were applauded warmly when we returned. We were dismissed for 124.

At the “lunch” break, when we usually ate peanut brittles and drank water, Vichu declared to me that we had done our part in the game. Suresh was annoyed that his team could not get us out, that usually meant he would be angry when he batted. Ponnan was sure to capitalize on that anger and get him out cheaply. The seniors usually hid us in remote corners where our lack of speed and poor catching were not exposed. So, it did seem plausible that our role would be insignificant from then on.

Vichu and I could both bowl, in the technical sense of the word. We both had legitimate bowling actions. I was a self-styled “fast” bowler in my age group, but called myself a leg spinner in the senior team, as “fast” meant something else in that group. Vichu was an off spinner. Neither of us had bowled in a real game.

RajEx started their innings steadily. Suresh was accumulating runs, but wickets kept falling on the other side. There was a mishap in about five overs. Ponnan hurt his hand trying to stop a ball. He did not make a big deal of it, but in a few minutes, we knew from the swelling that it might be serious. He was ferried away on a bicycle for some parental scolding and x-rays.

That left Alphonse in a tight spot. He had exactly four bowlers, not counting us juniors. He told both of us to be ready to bowl. I had butterflies in my stomach. I felt my action was a lot cleaner and less embarrassing, so I was bound to get to bowl ahead of Vichu.

Alphonse shuffled the four bowlers skillfully to get more wickets, but Suresh was still batting. He was smirking, reminding us of the over limits for the senior bowlers. He told his partner in a needlessly loud voice that he was waiting for ‘fresh meat’.

Alphonse used his ingenuity to pick up two more wickets, leaving Suresh with the last batsman. Suresh was skillfully farming the strike, protecting his partner. They still had twenty-six runs to get. Meanwhile, I could see that Alphonse was looking worried. Two bowlers had run out of their quotas and he and Murali had only two overs each. He had to bring one of us juniors on.

I took deep breaths and was prepared to be called to bowl. To my surprise, he gestured Vichu to warm up to bowl from the Raja Garden end.

Call me a snob if you wish, but I was surprised that Vichu was picked to bowl ahead of me. I loved Vichu like a brother, but his action was ... strange, to put it mildly. His bowling routine went something like this. He would mark his run up, as though his steps were predictable. He would start running in unevenly, slow down, look towards the sky and raise both hands as if pleading for divine assistance. His left arm would remain relatively still, while he would rotate the right hand and bend his neck at a strange angle. He would be looking at the ground at the time of release. The plan was to bowl  off-breaks, but it was usually hard to tell what might transpire. Years later, when I saw a bowler called Paul Adams bowl for South Africa, I was reminded of Vichu. But Adams was stylish in comparison.

Coming back to the game, we all realized that Suresh just needed a few boundary hits, and the game would be as good as over.  Suresh was smacking his lips, mouthing the words ‘fresh meat’ at Vichu. Alphonse tried to look confident but failed miserably. He moved me to fine third man to stop any wides.

Vichu duly started his gyrations as he ran towards the bowling crease. When the ball was released, it seemed to come straight to me. The slip fielder stopped the ball, and the umpire giggled as he signaled a wide. I could hear the batting team laugh heartily from the makeshift stands behind me. Alphonse moved fielders around, as if that might make the bowling more accurate.

Vichu, looking defeated, walked back to his bowling mark, ran in again, and released the ball after the usual sequence. It looked somewhat wide of the off stump as well. Suresh looked contemptuous as he shaped to cut. The ball turned sharply after pitching well outside off. Suresh persisted with his shot, but to his surprise, the ball hit the bat close to the handle. It ballooned towards Murali at point who calmly caught it.

It was hard to describe the pandemonium that followed. We all ran to Vichu, who did not seem to have understood what had happened. We hugged, shook hands, and screamed our collective lungs out. Alphonse was bragging aloud as to how his  surprise move accounted for Suresh.  When I turned to look at Suresh, I expected him to be trundling back with a bowed head, dragging his bat. On the contrary, he was standing with a raised bat, eyeing Vichu with unmistakable rage.

I could not speak to Vichu on the way home, as the team insisted on walking with him. As we bicycled to the school the next day, I was rehearsing my lines to warn Vichu of Suresh’s reaction. He surprised me by asking, “What do you think Suresh will do?”

“What Suresh will do?”

“You know, he looked pretty angry yesterday”.

“It was a game, and he got out. He can’t be mad at you. Don’t worry!”. That sounded hollow even as I spoke. We were talking about he-who-must-not-be-named!

As we talked more, the threat seemed more and more real. It was only a matter of time before Suresh would find Vichu, but we decided to evade him long as we could. During the lunch break, and phys-ed period, we decided to not go to the playground, but hide out in an empty classroom at the east end of the school. In the evening we left the school as late as possible, and rode our bicycles along the riverside, avoiding the road.

In the next few days, our fear had abated somewhat. Three days later, we were camping at the east end at the lunch break. We had spread comic books on the table, trying to arrange them in a sequence. The door burst open. It was Suresh. He was holding a brown paper bag that my mind quickly associated with poison-ivy.

Vichu and I stood frozen, unable to speak. He walked slowly towards us, like a tiger stalking its prey. He looked calm as he addressed me, “So you have been helping him hide!”

I did not know what to say.

He resumed thoughtfully, as if speaking to himself, “I’m trying to figure out whom I should take care of first!”.

I finally found my tongue, “Suresh, I can explain everything!”

“I’m sure you can. But I don’t need any explanations”. He paused for a bit and resumed. “Here is what I have decided. I will deal with you one at a time. I want you to meet me here at lunch tomorrow. And Vichu should meet me here at the end of the day tomorrow”.

I agreed, not knowing exactly whether it was good news. Vichu, the perpetrator, stood silent through all this.

Vichu had heard somewhere that sesame oil minimizes the sting of poison ivy. The next morning, we both applied generous amounts of oil, just in case. I coasted through the morning classes with no idea what was being taught. The lunch hour came before I was ready. I did not feel like eating. I left my lunch box at my desk, and headed to the east end, quivering from head to toe.

Suresh was already seated when I reached the rendezvous. He had another envelope in his hand, but it did not seem like it might contain poison ivy. I couldn’t be sure of course.

He looked calm. Not at all like I pictured. He came straight to business. “You are friends with Vani, right?”

“Yes, of course Suresh”, I said quickly, in a timorous voice.

“I want you to give her this.”, he said, handing me the envelope.

“What is this?”

“I find her good looking… Actually, you don’t need to know. Just give her this. Make sure there is no one else around.”

“What – Vani, good looking?”, I asked, distracted from my fears.

“You are in enough trouble already. Don’t make it worse by being nosy! Just be sure to give it to her. And not a word to anyone else!”. He looked menacing again.

I hastily withdrew. I did not mention the envelope to Vichu. I didn’t ask him what his punishment was. I might have had to break my oath of secrecy if I raised the topic.

I did not have a chance to see Vani alone for the next day or two. One evening, I saw her ascend the stairs to go to the terrace. I took the envelope, dashed to her house, and followed her to the terrace. This task did not seem daunting now. It was just Vani. And I used to be in their house all the time, so nothing odd about me going to the terrace.

When she saw me, she just raised a silent eyebrow, resembling a French queen asking a peasant if he was going to harp on bread again. She had a book in her hand.

“I was asked to give you this”, I said, trying to give her the envelope.

“By whom?”, she asked with a stony face.

“Hm, can’t you just read it? It’s all in there”.

“Actually, I want you to open it and read it. I may take it, depending on the contents”

I got uncomfortable. “Vani, I’m not supposed to..”.

“I will tell you what you're not supposed to do. You're not supposed to carry messages to young girls from strangers. If you don’t want to be in further trouble, open it and read it!”

I lost my nerve. That sounded like blackmail. I thought it was unjust, coming from a childhood friend, but I figured I had no option but to comply. I opened the letter, handed her the envelope, and unfolded the single sheet inside. It was one of those colourful sheets, with flowers and quills as the background.

“Dear Vani, this is Suresh, your admirer”, I started reading.

I heard footsteps from the staircase. I felt a surge of panic. I did not want to be caught with that letter. I tried to push the sheet to Vani, who backed away, with her hands behind her. I remembered something I had seen in a spy movie just in the nick of time. I crumpled the sheet up, put it in my mouth and started chewing.

Vani’s mom emerged from the stairs. I vaguely realized that she smiled, and asked me what I was eating, but I fled without replying. My heart was hammering fast.

Suresh found me the next day. I told him I had handed Vani the envelope and did not wait for a response. That seemed to satisfy him. I seemed to be off the hook.

The next month went uneventfully. Vichu seemed to be back to his cheerful self.

During the summer break, my father told us that he was being transferred to the head office, and moved all of us to Madras at a short notice. I lost touch with everyone. This was way before social media came into existence, and I was not resourceful enough to find a way to get back in touch with my friends. I heard that Vichu went to study in Coimbatore a few years later, but nothing more.

Krishnan, 1999

So, almost two decades later, I met the scourge from my past. I was speaking at a software conference in Hyderabad. Most people in the audience were students. At the end of the speech, some of them came up to ask questions and shake hands.

When I say I spoke, I don’t want you to think I had great pieces of wisdom to dispense. I was a speaker because my company was a co-sponsor. It was my job to go to such conferences and give people the impression that we had an interest in the wider technology community, while subtly positioning our brand. 

After the young students finished embarrassing me, I found someone waiting outside the cluster. It took me a few seconds to recognize the man. It was Suresh!

My initial reaction was an irrational fear. Then I remembered that I was no longer 13. It also helped that he was beaming from ear to ear.  He was still muscular, but much less substantial than I remembered.

“Krishna, what a surprise! You were wonderful up there”, he said, indicating the podium.

“Thanks Suresh. It has been ages! Great to see you. What are you doing here?”

“I teach at the University. I came here, chaperoning some students. Not willingly, mind you! But I am so glad I came. I got to meet you. Where do you live?”

“I live in Delhi. You live here at Hyderabad, I see. How are you? Married? Kids?”

“Yes, I will tell you everything. I have to go now though. Can you come home for dinner?”

“I have to attend a speaker’s dinner tonight”.

“Skip it”.

“I can’t skip it altogether. But I can attend the early part, and excuse myself. I can confirm later. Give me your address”.

He scribbled his address behind his business card. I was debating whether I wanted to go. I had no great affection towards him. But he might be able to tell me all about our old friends. That will beat listening to the snobs at the conference all evening.

Finally, I decided to go, and left the dinner early. I took a taxi to the address.

Suresh opened the door, grinning ear-to-ear. The smile did not seem forced. I gave him the box of chocolates that I had brought. He led me to a comfortable living room. His wife ran into the room screaming and hugged me.

It was Vani!

Over dinner, there were a few jokes at my expense - such as paper roast being appropriate on the menu. Vani also twisted my ear, 'for old times' sake'. For once, I didn't mind being bullied.

Continued in Episode 2