The 3 Mistakes Of My Life (6 page)

pulled out stools and we sat outside. I picked a ladoo.

'What is this, Omi? Wearing shoes?' Bittoo Mama's eyes were lined with kohl.

He had a red tikka in the middle of his forehead.

'Mama?' Omi squeaked. I looked at my feet. I wore fake Reebok slippers. Ish

wore his old sneakers.

'Your shop is in a temple, and you are wearing shoes? A Brahmin priest's boy?'

'Mama, c'mon this is outside the temple. None of the other shopkeepers wear...'

'Other shopkeepers are useless baniyas so you will also become like them? Do

you do puja every morning before you open?'

'Yes, Mama,' Omi lied point-blank.

'You also,' Mama said, referring to Ish and me. 'You are Hindu hoys. You have

your shop in such a pure place. At least remove your shoes, light a lamp.'

'We come here to work, not to perform rituals,' I said. I now paid full rent every

month to be in this shop. Nobody told me how to run my business.

Mama looked surprised. 'What is your name?'

'Govind.'

'Govind what?'

'Govind Patel.'

'Hindu, no?'

'1 am agnostic,' I said, irritated as I wanted to shut the shop and go home.

'Agno...?'

'He is not sure if there is God or not,' Ish explained.

'Doesn't believe in God? What kind of friends do you have Omi?' Mama was

aghast.

'No, that is an atheist,' I clarified. 'Agnostic means maybe God exists, maybe he

doesn't. I don't know.'

'You young kids,' Bittoo said, 'such a shame. I had come to invite you and look

at you.'

Omi looked at me. I turned my gaze away.

'Don't worry about Govind, Mama. He is confused.' I hate it when people take

my religious status for confusion. Why did I have to or not have to believe in

something?

Ish offered the Frooti to Bittoo Mama. It softened him a little.

'What about you?' Mama asked Ish.

'Hindu, Mama. I pray and everything.' Ish said. Yeah right only when six balls

were left in a match.

Mama took a large sip and shifted his gaze to Omi and Ish As far as he was

concerned I did not exist.

What did you want to invite us for Mama?' Omi said.

He lifted the red velvet cloth and unwrapped a three-foot-long brass trishul. Its

sharp blades glinted under the shop's tubelight.

'It's beautiful. Where did you get it from?' Omi queried.

'It is a gift from Parekh-ji. He said in me he sees the party's future. I worked

day and night. We visited every district in Gujarat. He said, "if we have more

people like Bittoo, people will be proud to be Hindu again." He made me the

recruitment in-charge for young people in Ahmedabad.'

Ish and I looked at Omi for footnotes.

'Parekh-ji is a senior Hindu party leader. And he heads the biggest temple trust

in Baroda,' Omi said. 'What, he knows the CM or something, Mama?'

'Parekh-ji not only knows the CM, but also talks to him twice a day,' Bittoo

Mama said. 'And I told Parekh-ji about you, Omi. I see in you the potential to

teach Hindu pride to young people.'

'But Mama, I'm working full time...'

'I am not telling you to leave everything. But get in touch with the greater

responsibilities we have. We are not just priests who speak memorised lines at

ceremonies. We have to make sure India's future generation understands

Hindutva properly. I want to invite you to a grand feast to Parekh-ji's house. You

should come too, Ish. Next Monday in Gandhinagar.'

Of course, blasphemous me got no invitation.

'Thanks, Mama. It sounds great, but I don't know if we can,' Ish said. How

come some people are so good at being polite.

'Why? Don't worry, it is not just priests. Many young, working people will also

come.'

'I don't like politics,' Ish said.

'Huh? This isn't politics, son. This is a way of life.'

'I will come,' Omi said.

'But you should come too, Ish. We need young blood.'

Ish stayed hesitant.

'Oh, you think Parekh-ji is some old, traditional man who will force you to read

scriptures. Do you know where Parekh-ji went to college? Cambridge, and then

Harvard. He had a big hotel business in America, which he sold and came back.

He talks your language. Oh, and he used to play cricket too, for the Cambridge

college team.'

'I will come if Govind comes,' said Ish the idiot.

Mama looked at me. In his eyes, I was the reason why Hindu culture had

deteriorated lately.

'Well, I came to invite the three of you in the first place. He only said he doesn't

believe in God.'

'I didn't say that,' I said. Oh, forget it, I thought.

'Then come.' Mama stood up. 'All three of you. I'll give Omi the address. It is

the grandest house in Gandhinagar.'



People called me Mr Accounts; greedy, miser, anything. But the fact is, I did

organise an all-expense-paid booze party to motivate my partners at the shop. It

is bloody hard to get alcohol in Ahmedabad, let alone bulky bottles of beer. One of

my contacts - Romy Bhai - agreed to supply a crate of extra strong beer for a

thousand bucks.

At 7 p.m. on the day of the party, Romi Bhai left the beer -wrapped in rags - at

the SBI compound entrance. I came to the gate and gave Romi Bhai the day's

newspaper. On the third page of the newspaper, I had stapled ten hundred-rupee

notes. He nodded and left.

I dragged the cloth package inside and placed the bottles in the three ice-filled

buckets I had kept in the kitchen. I took out the bottle opener from the kitchen

shelf, where we kept everything from Maggi noodles to boxes of crackers to burst

when India won a
match.

Another person may see the abandoned SBI branch as an eerie party venue.

This used to be an old man's haveli. The owner could not repay and the bank

foreclosed the property. Thereafter, the bank opened a branch in the haveli. The

owner's family filed a lawsuit after he died. The dispute still unresolved, the

family obtained a court injunction that the bank could not use the property for

profit. Meanwhile, SBI realised that a tiny by lane in Belrampur was a terrible

branch location. They vacated the premises and gave the keys to the court. The

court official kept a key with Omi's dad, a trustworthy man in the area. This was

done in case officials needed to view it and the court was closed. Of course, no

one ever came and Omi had access to the keys.

The property was a six-hundred square yard plot, huge by Belrampur

standards. The front entrance directly opened into the living room, now an

abandoned bank customer service area. The three bedrooms on the first floor

were the branch manager's office, the data room and the locker room. The branch

manager's office had a giant six-feet vault. We kept our cricket kit in the

otherwise empty safe.

We hung out most in the haveli's backyard. In its prime, it was the lawn of a

rich family. As part of the bank branch, it was an under-utilised parking lot and

now, our practice pitch.

I rotated the beer bottles in the ice bucket to make them equally cold.

Ish walked into the bank.

'So late,' I said. 'It is 8.30.'

'Sorry, watching cricket highlights. Wow, strong beer,' Ish said as he picked up

a bottle. We had parked ourselves on the sofas in the old customer waiting area

downstairs. I reclined on the sofa. Ish went to the kitchen to get some bhujia.

'Omi here?' Ish said as he opened the packet.

'No, I am the only fool. I take delivery, clean up the place and wait for my lords

to arrive.'

'Partners, man, partners,' Ish corrected. 'Should we open a bottle?'

'No, wait.'

Omi arrived in ten minutes. He made apologies about his dad holding him back

to clean the temple. Omi then prayed for forgiveness before drinking alcohol.

'Cheers!' all of us said as we took a big sip. It was bitter, and tasted only

slightly better than phenyl.

"What is this? Is this genuine stuff?' Ish asked.

We paused for a moment. Spurious alcohol is a real issue in Ahmedabad.

'Nah, nobody makes fake beer. It is just strong,' I said.

If you filled your mouth with bhujia, the beer did not taste half as bad. In fact,

the taste improved considerably after half a bottle. As did everyone's mood.

'I want to see this Ali kid. Three customers have mentioned him,' Ish said.

'The Muslim boy?' Omi said.

'Stop talking like your Mama?' Ish scolded. 'Is that relevant? They say he has

excellent timing.'

'Where does he play?' I enquired through a mouthful of bhujia.

'In our school. Kids say his most common shot is a six.' 'Let's go check him

out. Looks like the school has your worthy successor,' 1 said.

Ish turned silent. It was a sensitive topic and if it was not for the beer, I would

not have said it.

'Succeeding Ish is hard,' Omi said. 'Remember the hundred against Mahip

Municipal School, in sixty-three balls? No one forgets that innings.' Omi stood up

and patted Ish's back again, as if the ten-year-old match had ended minutes ago.

'No one forgets the two ducks in the state selection trials either,' Ish said and

paused again.

'Screw that, you were out of form, man,' Omi said.

'But those are the matches that fucking mattered, right? Now can we flip the

topic?'

Omi backed off and I gladly changed the subject. 'I think we should thank our

sponsors for tonight - The Team India Cricket Shop. In seven months of

operation, our profit is 42,600 rupees. Of which, we have distributed 18,000 to

the partners and 22,000 is for the Navrangpura shop deposit. And the remaining

2,600 is for entertainment like tonight. So, thank you, dear shareholders and

partners, and let's say cheers to the second bottle.'

I took out the second bottle for each of us from the ice bucket.

'Stud-boy,' Ish slurred, standing up, 'This business and its profit is all owed to

Stud-boy, Mr Govind Patel. Thank you, buddy. Because of you this dropout

military cadet has a future. And so does this fool who'd be otherwise jingling bells

in the temple all his life. Give me a hug, Stud-boy.'

He came forward to give me a hug. It was drunk affection, but genuine enough.

'Will you do me one more favour buddy?' Ish said.

'What?'

'There is someone who wants maths tuitions,' Ish said.

'No, I am full, Ish. Seven students already...,' I said as Ish interrupted me. 'It is

Vidya.' 'Your sister?'

'She finished Class XII. She is dropping a year now to prepare for the medical

entrance.'

'You don't need maths to become a doctor.'

'No, but the entrance exams do. And she is awful at it. You are the best man,

who else can I trust?'

'If it is your sister, then I mean...,' I took a breath. 'Wow, Vidya to join medical

college? Is she that old now?'

'Almost eighteen, dude.'

'I teach younger kids though, class five to eight. Her course is more advanced. I

am not in touch.'

'But you got a fucking century in that subject, dude. Just try she needs any

help she can get.'

I said nothing for a while, trying to remember what I knew of Vidya, which was

little.

'What are you thinking. Oh, I know, Mr Accounts. Don't worry we will pay you,'

Ish said and took a big sip.

'Shut up, man. It is for your sister. Ok, I'll do it. When do we start?'

'Can you start Monday ... no Monday is Parekh-ji's feast. Damn, Omi what the

fuck are we going to do there?'

'The things we do to keep your Mama happy.' I couldn't wait to move to

Navrangpura.

'Parekh ji is supposed to be a great man,' Omi said. 'And I always listen to you

guys. Come for me this time.'

'Anyway, Tuesday then,' I said to Ish. 'So is she going to come to the bank?'

'Dad will never send her out alone. You come home.'

'What?' I said. Maybe I should have accepted a fee. 'Ok, I'll move some classes.

Say seven in the evening?'

'Sure, now can you answer one maths question, Mr Accounts,' Ish said.

'What?'

'You ordered a crate with ten bottles. We drank three each. Where is the tenth

one?' Ish stood up swaying.

I stood as well. 'The question is not where the tenth one is, but who does it

belong to.' I lunged for the ice bucket. Ish dived in as well. Cold water splashed

on the floor as we tugged at the bottle. After a ten-second tiff, he released it.

'Take it, dude. What would I do without you?'

Four

We reached Parekh-ji's residence at around eight in the evening. Two armed

guards manning the front gate let us in after checking our names. The entrance

of the house had an elaborate rangoli, dozens of lamps and fresh flowers.

'See, what a gathering,' Bittoo Mama met us at the door. 'Have dinner before

the talk begins.' From an aarti plate, he put big red tikkas on our foreheads. He