Aravind Adiga: Selection Day

‘Sofia.’

At once both of them skidded to a halt.

‘Spotty Neck Sofia.’

Putting his hands on his hips, Manju turned his lower lip inside out; while Radha, just a year older but so much wiser, smiled.

‘Everyone saw Young Lions on TV.’ He touched his brother on the shoulder. ‘You’re the brother of a Young Lion. Which girl in school do you like?’

By way of reply, Manju said, ‘Shut up,’ because their father was coming up behind them.

The three walked down from the bridge and went into the suburb of Kalanagar.

An armoured car painted in camouflage drove past them; they had reached the Matoshree compound, home to the most important man in Mumbai. Surrounded by sandbags, a machine-gun unit guarded the home of Bal Thackeray, Permanent Boss of the city. They passed the guns, and roadside canteens serving hot breakfast, and then the Kumars stood before the Middle Income Group (MIG) Cricket Club.

Making his sons wait by the gate, Mohan Kumar negotiated with the security guard:

‘We were on the TV. Young Lions . We’re here to see …’

‘Tommy Sir doesn’t come until ten o’clock.’

‘He told us nine o’clock. We came all the way for him. My boys shouldn’t miss a day’s cricket practice.’

‘Can’t practise here,’ the guard said. ‘Down the road.’

Where they found a rubbish dump, and a patch of ragged green beyond it.

Radha and his father took the ragged green. Manju strapped on his pads near the rubbish, one eye on the big holes in the ground. Ratholes. Tightening his calf-muscle, Manju raised his right foot on a low brick wall to doublecheck that his pads were fastened. Going down on his haunches, Manju now launched himself over the ratholes. Master Kumar, Rat-Tamer, jumped up and down; underground, rodents shivered. While doing his jumps, Manju turned himself 180 degrees, to see his father lecturing Radha.

‘The bat is touching your toes, Radha. You won’t be able to drive cleanly.’

Manju saw the irritation on his brother’s face.

But the Man had to be obeyed, and Radha readjusted his stance. From a distance, Manju gripped his bat and waited. Radha Kumar attacked; Manjunath Kumar imitated.

The ball had flown from Radha’s bat to a distant corner of the wasteland, and Manju took off, until his father announced: ‘He who hit it will retrieve it. That is the rule.’

So Radha raised his bat, sucked his teeth, and ran after the ball.

Radha Krishna Kumar meant to honour his end of his father’s contract with God. Two years ago, God sent his living viceroy, Sachin Tendulkar, to meet Radha at a practice match at the MCA grounds: Sachin stood at the wicket, and Radha was tossed the ball by Tommy Sir. The boy, who had let his hair grow long, like Sachin’s, and had watched Sachin’s videos, especially Perth 1992 and Sydney 2004, at least 120 times each, spun the ball right past Sachin’s forward defensive stroke and into his stumps. ‘Well done, sir,’ God’s viceroy said and, as everyone clapped, made Radha the gift of his own batting gloves.

At the age of fourteen and a half, Radha was now conscious that his father’s rules, which had framed the world around him since he could remember, were prison bars. He saw the red cricket ball inside a thicket of wild grass and thorns. Getting down on his knees he put his hand into the thorns.

Why must a boy not shave till he’s twenty-one?

Because the cut of a razor makes hormones run faster in his blood.

And why must a boy not drive a car till his father allows him to?

Because indiscipline will destroy anything, even a secret contract with God.

Drenched in sweat and his father’s mad theories, Radha seized the ball and threw it back at Mohan, who had already started stepping back to catch it. Radha admired the method, the textbook correctness of his father’s pose. Before teaching his boys, Mohan Kumar had taught himself the science of cricket. But when the ball landed in his palms, it hit the flesh and bounced out, and Radha smiled, and became a year older.

‘I told you not to come! He hates fathers!’

Radha and Manju saw Pramod Sawant, their head school coach, half walking and half running towards them, pumping his arms.

Mohan Kumar summoned his boys to his side and put his arms on their shoulders, as if posing for a group photo.

‘They’re my children, I made them,’ he shouted back, ‘and neither you nor your Tommy Sir is going to steal them from me.’

Coach Sawant clacked his tongue.

‘Steal them? This boy loves you, Mohan. If anyone says a bad word about his father, Manju will murder them. But for their sake, you must leave now. Tommy Sir’s plan is visionary .’

Mohan Kumar pulled both his restless sons into his body.

‘Why must I leave? My sons always play better when I am watching them. I’ve never heard of a cricket scout who doesn’t like fathers.’

But Coach Sawant reached over and squeezed Mohan Kumar’s right shoulder.

‘Do it for your sons, Mohan …’

After a moment, Kumar let go of Radha. Part of any Bombay school coach’s job is to declaw the parent and gently prise from his grip the boys who will contribute to the greater glory of Bombay cricket. Sawant smiled, pointed at Manju, and made ingratiating contractions with his eyes.

‘… both your sons, Mohan. And you must go now .’

•

More of Mohan Kumar’s rules for his sons

Cricket Rules

Same as Life Rules. Keep your head absolutely still. Play straight. Do not loft or hit across the line before the time is right. Hoard. Hoard runs on top of hoarded runs.

Food Rules

No Chinese, noodles, potatoes, fried or otherwise, or junk food. No oil, no ghee, no sugar. Green, bright vegetables, rich in antioxidants. If I ever catch you, Radha, eating dosa at that dirty stall near your school, I’ll wake-your-skin-up.

Golden Proverbs

Learn your proverbs, boys. For instance: ‘A thousand maggots in the cow-dung patty, but they’re all dead by sunset.’ Interpretation? Whatever your worries, they’re gone by six o’clock. That’s not a very true proverb, by the way. Here’s one more: ‘On its way into town, the king’s white horse turned into a donkey.’ Think about the meaning of that, my boys. If both of you fail in cricket, boys, the three of us will have to sit outside Dahisar station and beg for our food. But if you really want to understand the life that waits for you as adults, this is the only proverb you need: ‘Big thief walks free. Small thief gets caught.’

How to talk about your father with strangers

There is a Chutney Mafia in this city, run by men called Shetty: and they are determined to crush your father’s life. Do not discuss any aspect of his past, or what happened to your mother, with anyone.

•

Twilight was her favourite hour.

Manju remembered coming home screaming Amma! Amma! only to find their hut empty because his mother was outside, in the strange light, walking in circles by herself. Thinking by herself. Planning something by herself. Perhaps planning to leave him and his brother and run away. Manju breathed slowly. Brilliant sunlight all around — but he was sitting next to his brother, and shaded and protected by Radha Krishna’s bulk, he was free to dream. He kept his eyelids half closed, until Radha said: ‘Manju, this is all bullshit. Total bullshit.’

Manju opened his eyes wide, looked around, and nodded, before he knew what his brother was talking about.

‘That man is never going to give us any money, Manju. It’s a waste of time. Let’s go. What do you say, scientist?’

Forty minutes had passed since Head Coach Pramod Sawant had brought them over to the club, so that they could be shown to the ‘visionary’. Who was apparently the man in the red T-shirt, with the logo that said, Manchester United Gold Key Challenge Supporter.