‘Why didn’t you go to school today? Are you not well?’
‘I had a little fever but I’m fine now. I’m playing after a really long time. I might be really bad at it.’
‘Should I break or should you?’
‘You break, it will give you a little advantage.’
Mindful of not cutting a sorry figure, I flicked the striker with all the might of my fingers. Not one coin found a pocket. The striker skipped the board and rolled under the sofa. She crouched and pulled it out with a broom.
‘You’re such easy pickings!’ she said and promptly cleared half the carrom table.
Four more turns and the game was over.
‘Don’t feel bad. I have not lost a single game in years and I’m talking about people who take this game seriously.’
‘Did you call me over so you could beat me?’
‘We can move to Scrabble if you want. Or ludo? Or snakes and ladders,’ she said.
‘We will play another game of carrom. But this time something should be on stake.’
‘I just wiped off the board, Raghu. How do you—’
‘Let’s play,’ I said and arranged the carrom coins. ‘If I win you will have to do something that I ask you to do and vice versa. Shouldn’t be a problem since you’re good at this, right?’
‘You have a deal,’ she said.
I spat on my hand, and thrust it out.
‘We need to shake hands?’ she asked.
‘That’s the way I have been taught. It’s tradition,’ I told her.
We shook on it.
I should admit I wasn’t sure of my victory. At best I would have given myself a 40 per cent chance.
Little did she know that three years ago, I had fractured two fingers on my right hand when Dada had inadvertently closed the door on them. After the fractures healed my physiotherapist suggested playing carrom to regain mobility in those fingers. For three months I had played day and night and night and day, trying to outdo myself. My obsession ground to a halt when Maa–Baba decided that Sami was a bad influence and his coming home every day for a game of carrom was slowing my academic progress.
Unbeknownst to me, the carrom board was kept out in the rain and sun for a week. The wood rotted and with it my flights of fancy of being the best carrom player humanity had ever seen.
‘That was amazing!’ she exclaimed as I cleaned up the board.
‘I didn’t know I still had it in me.’
‘You’re a liar. You led me to believe that you don’t play well. And that begs the question, what is it that you want from me?’
I told her what needed to be done. She didn’t think twice before agreeing. I had given myself a much slimmer chance on that. We got back to our carrom. The rest of the games were keenly contested. She won the overall tally, I think.
Even though Ganguly had earlier hit a sublime 183 against Sri Lanka, his highest score ever, neither Dada nor Baba showed any joy. Pakistan had shot down two Indian pilots, one dead, another captured. Baba looked like something had broken inside him.
‘One of you should have been in the army, killing these fanatics. What do you think they would do to the poor pilot, Nachiketa? Raghu, tomorrow I will find out what the process of going to the NDA is—’
‘Ei ki bolchho, what are you saying? No one is going to the army from my house,’ Maa snapped.
‘I don’t mind,’ I said.
Maa looked at me in horror and said, ‘If you even think about going to the army you will see my dead body. Touch me and swear you will not go.’
