LADIES FACING TOWARDS POINT – SEASON II – THE WHITE ELIXIR AND THE END OF SCIENTIFIC CRICKETSH (SIC)

Ladies Facing Towards Point Picture

(This is an Archie gag illustration conceived and drawn by this writer)

Dedicated to my classmates  Venky (Venkatesh Gopal)  whose tomfoolery   made  this  piece  possible and the twins, Meesai (Ramkumar)  and Lava (Shivakumar)  whose hospitality at their Dwaraka Colony home  ensured  we  played  way more cricket  than required……..even the evening  before the 12th Board Exam !

(Contd from Season I)

Link : https://thezolazone.wordpress.com/2016/05/11/ladies-facing-towards-point-season-i-scientific-cricketsh-sic/)
A for Abraar Aaameed

For some strange reason, Dharma disappeared whenever we had the batting lessons.

Mr.Sambandham presided over these.

First we had attendance (God knows why – maybe he wanted to hand out the course completion certificates to genuine trainees ?).
In our group, attendance would start with ‘A’ for “Abrar Aameed (Ahmed)”. This was a strapping, seemingly sober but cheeky and well to do chap who came to the camp on his Enfield Silver Plus ( a vehicle that was a cross between a bike and a moped).

Riaz Ahmed  would be in the pillion seat.

He somehow managed to park his own cricket kit on that small vehicle too.

After the attendance ritual was over, we had to line up in rows, leaving enough space between us to swing our bats.

Mr.Sambandham would then announce each step in the batting drill sequence which we had to execute.

Venky, myself, my brother, Riaz and Abrar Aameed would position ourselves next to each other.

The drills were very challenging to execute, not because they were tough but because of Abrar and Venky anticipating and repeating Mr.Sambandham s moves.

“Position feet apart !!” yelled Mr.Sambandham

(Abrar Aameed would repeat but in a hoarse whisper  “Position feet apart”)

Next instruction,

BAACKLEEEFTTTT ……………………( he waited for the echo to die down)

“Backleeeft….” Repeated Abrar Aameed

 

“Right foot back across the crease.. !!!” announced Mr.Sambandham

(Again Abrar’ s loud whisper “Right foot back across the crease”)

 

Lift the BATSH (sic) …… !!”

 

At this point Venky would start gagging and choking in anticipation of the punchline.

 

Unlike the rest of us, Abrar’s concentration never wavered………………………………………………….

 

His face remained serious.
Ladies……” Abrar started whispering in anticipation of  what was to come……………..

but the rest of  Abrar’s  soliloquy  was drowned under the full blast of Mr.Sambandham’s next batting drill instruction.

“LADIES……FACING…….. TOWARDS…….. POINT !!!”

At this point Venky could restrain his gagging no longer and would burst out laughing because Riaz would snigger and join the chorus at this point and repeat the punchline

Ladies facing towards Point !

After that any more batting instruction was pointless.

Oh I forgot. What we were trying to execute was the Forward Defense.

After bringing the bat down from its never ending freeze in mid air while executing the backleeft,

Mr.Sambandham  demonstrated how to bring the bat down and plonk it right next to the left leg to  meet the ball.

But he took so long to do it I wondered if the ball may not have already taken the stumps out for a night on the town together with drinks on the house for the opposing team.

The Corollary to that  batting instruction was interesting too.

“You have to SSSMEELLLLLL the BAALLLLL !!!”

I was reminded of that again when the young Velu Naicker, bleeding profusely from the nose and with a gash on the eyebrow, is dumped from the police jeep back at his slum dwelling in Dharavi after being given the lathi treatment.

I shuddered.

If we thought the forward defense was incredible the backfoot defense tested our imagination even more.

The ball was supposed to be climbing from short of length but Mr.Sambandham s demonstration was straight out of a slow motion duet from a Sudhakar- Radhika flick.

And on top of everything Mr.Sambandham was again  smelling the ball – of the backfoot !

 

But ofcourse, the formalities had to be completed first.

“BAACKLEEEFTTTT ……………………”

“Right foot back across the crease.. !!!”

“Lift the BATSH (sic) …… !!”

(And then the ship’s foghorn announcement)

“LADIES……FACING…….. TOWARDS…….. POINT !!!”

Hell –  Mr.Sambandham  wasnt much taller than Gavaskar and there are countless Patrick Eager camera shots (ripped out from Sportstar centerfolds) and countless replays from the Prudential Cup of ’83 showing how he (Gavaskar)  negotiated Garner s acute angle lifters………He was in the air and his feet were pointed straight down like a duck in the water !! He sure as hell didnt smell the ball.

Day after day Mr Sambandham’s admonition left me baffled until it was clarified.

 

Apparently, the intended instruction was to have us open the face of the bat so that it pointed towards the Point fielder (whew).

Ofcourse, Mr.Sambandham’s French pronunciation of the “is”  caused the whole confusion.

French pronunciation is when “Amit” comes out as “Ameeeth” , so “is” came out as “ees”.
His French pronunciation  morphed  the “Blade is  to what sounded like  “Ladies.

 

Finally “graduation” day arrived and we were to get our certificates.

The legendary off spinner ( and fielding / fitness maniac) Venkatraghavan had been invited as Chief Guest.

That was soon after India s 1983 World Cup triumph and the main speaker at the ceremony mentioned that instead of having a passenger like Sunil Valson in the squad if Venkatraghavan had been selected  he would have had the West Indies in knots from the league phase.

Interesting aside – India had just played a series in West Indies prior to the World Cup and when counting all the matches from that series onwards till the end of the World Cup –  they won every alternate match.

Since West Indies won the league phase match –  going by the pattern – India predictably won the final.

But as our favourite Yorkshireman would say “thats just a pile of rrooobiishsh !”

Mr.Sambandham then made some introductory remarks and sure enough rounded it off with his chest swelling.

We teach ssciientifeec CRICKETSH

When it was Venkatraghavan’ s  turn to speak he told the audience

“Mr.Sambandham mentioned  SCIENTIFIC cricket.  Believe me I  DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS

Mr.Sambandham looked deflated and his face went small (literal translation from tamil)

Loud titters from the audience  and Venkatraghavan chuckled.

The White Elixir

It was a pleasant evening and for once even a  no-no lofted shot in the nets was applauded by the assistant coaches.

We didnt have champagne at the end  of the evening but something even better.
I didnt like the traditional goli soda. It didnt taste good nor did it agree with my gastronomic construct.

The YMCA tea kadai owner had an alternative. He poured a concoction in a glass tumbler from a different bottle.

Venky, my brother and I were already halfway into our daily post coaching session ration of kadala urundai (chikki) when the stall owner handed me the glass with the fizzy white liquid.
The first gulp hit the roof of my mouth with a sharp, sweet sting which caught me unawares and sent me into a tizzy.

The next gulp again hit the roof of my mouth and  flushed  away the remnants of the kadala urundai sticking stubbornly to my root canal.
When I came to my senses I looked at Venky.
“Its called Panneer Soda” he said  in a Roger Moore tone .

(You know…. Roger Moore matter of fact tone “His name’s Jaws…..He KILLS people” that sort of thing)

The lad in the blue-striped track suit

I looked forward to the coaching camp next summer and both – the cricket nets and the panneer soda didnt disappoint.

By then I’d changed schools and this time Abrar Aameed and Riaz weren’t there. I met a whole new set of boys.

Ever since the 4th std I’ve wanted a track suit. The one with the white striped borders. I saw L.Siva (L.Sivaramakrishnan)  wear one at a coaching camp I attended at CP Art center.

It wasnt common at that time even among athletes. You had to really earn it.

The next summer ,  I saw a lad at the YMCA nets with a blue track pant with white side stripes.

 

He wore spectacles……………  I wondered how he managed with them when playing.

He wasnt the height you’d expect for a fast bowler but he really got the ball to lift at good pace. And his action was ideal for his height. The delivery stride was a looooong step and came down with a thud after being lifted at almost 60 degrees – like a javelin thrower      or     like the  Viswaroopam  in the original Dasavatharam (depending on your religious affiliation).

 

It reminded me of Geoff Lawson’s   (the Aussie fast bowler of the mid-eighties) bowling action.

Actually the spectacles helped by giving  him a  predatorial look which  could  be useful in  intimidating a batsman.

“He’s in the Tamilnadu junior team” my partner whispered.

 

I watched him for sometime in wonder.

He seemed oblivious to his surroundings but I suspected he KNEW everyone’s eyes were on him.

My suspicions were confirmed when he suddenly strode purposefully in my direction.

 

“You from Vidya Mandir ?” he barked with a  proprietorial  air.

Obviously he studied in Vidya Mandir too.

“Well I’m joining there after this summer” I clarified diffidently.

 

For the next ten minutes he took me under his wing since he could see I was having major problems with my delivery stride and consequently overstepping.

 

“First measure your run-up” he said and  strode purposefully to the wicket as if urging me to do the same.

 

But I was a bundle of nerves that day and  almost did a fast moonwalk shuffle while approaching the wicket.

After looking on with patient exasperation for sometime, he cut his losses  and went  back to his net practice.

 

EPILOGUE

“Officer”

More than a year had passed and by now cricket was out of my system replaced by athletics. I still went to the YMCA but to the running track,  where two rival clubs – DBAC ( Don Bosco Athletic Club) and its break away faction Star Track trained.

I “interned” with DBAC meaning that I was allowed to train with the club’s athletes and few months down the line the club would decide whether I could join as a member.

Unlike what I read about middle distance training the coach A.J.De Souza ( we all called him “AJ”) didnt believe in logging 100 miles a week.  His mantra was alround athleticism and agility. So he had the 200 m athletes running the 800 m and the 800 m athletes doing shot put, and the filed specialists doing  hurdles and so on.
My training partner was a Santhome school athlete with the unlikely name  Basu, ( his mother tongue is  Tamil).

Today he is a top flight celebrity fitness trainer.

This was a motley group of different ages and consisting of both boys and girls and was very different from the cricket group. They seemed to prefer break dancing to playing or even talking about cricket.
Like Riaz there was a nice amiable “dada” who took me under his wing, a Loyola college athlete named Gavin.

That year, we shifted house once again to Mylapore and I had my first “taste” of the Malabar Saloon. I asked  for  a  “Machine Cut” since I loved the soothing, hypnotic   sensation of the “machine”  on the place where the hair ends at the neck .  Actually its sounds so much more better in Tamil – kichikichimoottufying.

But the experience at the Malabar Saloon was something else.  When I asked for the machine cut, the barber responded by completing the exercise in  a couple of  seconds.

To my horror, with just two big swipes  of the machine tool,  the entire scalp on my sides was gone and I landed up for  training at the DBAC  looking  like an army recruit.
When  Gavin saw me that day, he burst out laughing.

After that he dubbed me “Officer” after the movie ‘ An Officer and a Gentleman’  which was running at the  Casino theatre to the packed patronage of the Loyola crowd along with their opposite numbers at Stella Maris and the nickname stuck for as long as I trained at DBAC.

 

The “Entertainment unit”

For a few days we had to lay off the training and do some maintenance work . This included making a new long jump pit in the next ground after the main running track.

After an hour of toil on the unhelpful ground Gavin jested. “AJ  !! …………….  At the rate at which we are digging up this place we’ ll find Jesse Owens’ skeleton !!”

We neednt have worried.

The drudgery disappeared when an entertainment squad made its appearance bang out of nowhere in the form of a film  unit.

There was  a pot bellied supervisor  wielding a megaphone (I use the word ‘supervisor’  for want of a better word)

The youngish  extras were mounted  on a battered bike each.

There was  a car straight out  of  a fifties movie loaded with female extras.

 

The only decent bike was a colorful Ind-Suzuki (one of the hot motorcycles of that time apart from the Enfield Explorer).

And the hero, a tall, fair dude with coolers was riding it.  He was a newcomer with the unlikely name – Kapil Dev.

The Ind-Suzuki’s yellow and pink color scheme was in sharp contrast to the beat up, dull drab grey of the  two wheelers of the male extras. I reckon this was to ensure that the hero got the requisite attention.

 

And the heroine ?

She (actress Radha) was placed on the bonnet of the car in a hep  ‘T’ and slacks and  went through the special routine with the dance director.

 

It was hilarious.

 

The first bunch of dance steps was executed  very near the long jump pit with all the actors in kho-kho position and each one crouching and then looking up on by one to the song’s interlude  beat enunciated by some (then)  unnamed singer “Chumuku Chumuku Chum  Chunguch ….Chumuku Chumuku Chum….”

 

Take one  didn’t pass muster.

 

Hectic  confabulations between the protagonists.

 

We were wondering what would come of this strategic pow-wow.

 

Again back to crouching kho-kho position to the same interlude beat.

Chumuku Chumuku Chum Chunguch ….Chumuku Chumuku Chum….

 

This was repeated ad-nauseum for some time.

 

It then came to a point where the song  beat accelerated  from 100 to 150 syllables per minute.

 

As if on cue, the unit dispersed  as suddenly as they came .

 

And how !

 

The hero and male extras did a turn around scrub on their bikes and  vroomed ahead.

 

The heroine was in full flow, waving her hands and torso like a ballet dancer  on the bonnet of the “oldsmobile”.

 

And they rode off into the sunset…… literally…as it was late evening.

 

 

After  the ‘entertainment’,  I decided to walk around the campus a bit before going home.

 

I strolled past the Tea/Snack stall, and turned right and walked beside the main track and then to the farthest end of the campus.

It was ages since I’d been to the cricket nets.

 

Sure enough there were a group of lads with  a willow each in hand.

 

They were all in ‘statue’ mode  or ‘freeze’……..

 

And  they lifted their bats  held it in the air…..waiting for the next step in the sequence

“BAACKLEEEFTTTT ……………………”

“Right foot back across the crease.. !!!”

“Lift the BATSH (sic) …… !!”

 

Until  the familiar voice of Mr.Sambandham came blaring through  like a factory fire alarm with  the next  familiar instruction in the sequence……..

NOTHING  had changed

Apparently, the Ladies were STILL  FACING TOWARDS POINT !!

 

(Concluded)

Illustration note : In the picture,  readers will observe that only Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge are looking at the Point fielder.

Also observe the difference in expression – while Veronica is sizing up her quary………………

in contrast Betty’ s expression is almost a KR Vijaya-like,  adoring gaze – she seems to be looking at the heavens and Archie at the same time

Ladies Facing Towards Point Picture

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LADIES FACING TOWARDS POINT – SEASON I – SCIENTIFIC CRICKETSH (SIC)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY  (MAY 31ST)  MEESAI  &  LAVA  !!

Ladies Facing Towards Point Picture.jpg

 

(This is not an Original Archie comic gag……This is  an “original” conceived and  drawn by this writer)

Dedicated to my classmates,  the twins Meesai (Ramkumar)  and Lava (Shivakumar),  whose hospitality at their Dwaraka Colony home  ensured  we  played  way more cricket  than required……..even the evening  before the 12th Board Exam !   and Venky (Venkatesh Gopal)  whose tomfoolery   made  this  piece  possible. 

 

PROLOGUE

After the match, the same evening,  my father had a sitdown with me.

“Did you observe how the opposing captain kept switching the fielders when they missed fielding or catching the ball  ?”

“You didnt do that……………………..”

(He let that sink in before going on)

“ You’ ve got to keep your team  focused and on their toes.”

(Again he waited for me to digest this)

 

He wasnt  finished.

 

“One more thing…If a fielder is playing the fool,  whats the point in rushing upto him and berating him ? “
“ All you have to do is go upto the bowling crease and get the ball in your hand. “

“Then look around at the fielders …….just eyeball them……nothing else”

“ That way  they   will be forced to pay attention.”

“ Thats how you take charge”

 

End of  lecture on how to succeed in life.

 

I wish I could have reported a successful aftermath to that performance review  but no such luck.

 

“We  teach  Scientific Cricketsh (sic)”

The “leadership briefing” was after a match between The School, KFI ( my current school) and Bharath Higher Secondary school, which incidentally was  the very first school that I attended ……………………….for all of six months before I shifted to The School, KFI at POE’ S Garden ( popularly known as “PO-YES” Garden, named after the roller coaster romantic American poet and mystery writer Edgar Allan Poe, who died tragically young)

The student strength at KFI being what it was i.e abysmally low (the student teacher ratio when I first joined was 1 : 3……. in favour of the TEACHERS ! ) we had to dig down to the 5th standard to put together a school team. Any guy who was a hulk with beefcake beyond his years, in whichever class, was drafted and then we prayed that the ball would somehow meet the bat and brute strength would do the rest.

Unlike the other older J.Krishnamurthi Foundation schools such as Rishi Valley or Rajghat, the Madras chapter had as yet never played an inter-school match.

We did quite well for ourselves, organizing the funds  for a cricket kit with an oh so lovely Symonds willow, painted in seductive Crimean yellow and a delicious cherry red BDM cricket ball.

The cricket kit came in a big, tough, green bag.

We got a big kick trying out the gloves and the snow white pads and the star of the show, the abdomen guard (more on that later).

One of my classmates weighed in with an original Grey Nichols bat and we were in business.

In Rishi Valley School, where I studied earlier, I wasn’t in the class team and was relegated to carrying the drinks, what with the telugu dadas of the class ruling the roost.

I consoled myself by devouring the cricket sections of the Children s World, Sportsweek and Sportstar at the school Reading room and waxing eloquent to anyone who would listen about C.K.Nayudu, Mohammed Nissar  (India’s fastest bowler till Javagal Srinath came along) and Neville Cardus.

Unfortunately I didn’t speak in ABAP (the national language of the erstwhile Madras Presidency minus Madras, of which Hyderabad is the capital) so no one listened to me.

Back home at The School, KFI, Madras,  I became the barnyard bully.

Being  bigger and uglier than most unlike in Rishi Valley  where I was the 98 pound weakling profiled in the Archie comic ads (for the bullworker machine), I assigned pretty much most of the roles to myself – Opening batsman, opening bowler, Captain……. you name it.

My father used to attend the inter-class matches regularly and the practice sessions too, enthusiastically running and fetching the balls whenever it slipped past the wicket keeper.

The term  “ Inter-class”  is a misnomer.  The school strength being what it was,  the teams were a jumble drawn from all the classes.

 

Our first inter-school match was with Bharath Higher Secondary  and it was held at the YMCA.

This  was unofficially arranged by our PT master Mr.Sundarrajan.

After the match, one Mr.Sambandham (name changed) from the YMCA introduced himself (actually imposed himself was more like it) and lectured us on the benefits of attending a coaching camp and handed us a pamphlet giving details of the upcoming summer coaching camp at the YMCA.

 

“We teach how to play scientific cricketsh” he announced.

 

His tone when he said “scientific cricketsh” (whatever the hell it was) was similar to the manner in which one passes on the secret  recipe of Coca Cola or the expected questions in the next ten IIT JEEs.

Three of us – my brother, myself and my classmate Venky  –  duly signed up for  the summer coaching camp.
We opted for the morning session which started at 6:30 am and  caught the early morning bus in our fresh whites, BDM bat and abdomen guard.

It was left to my bewildered (and beleaguered) mother to rustle up something for us to eat early in the morning and make sense of all the  instructions given by the assorted procession of guests at our home regarding  the sportsman’s  diet.

 

One guest, a Rajput Customs officer advised “Rasam Gisam ellaam saapdaadhay paa…..Kaarthaala oru muttai  RAWvaa adee…..”

 

My mother sensed this was  too wide outside the offstump and racked her brains for ideas to implement this since I’d have barfed the dish recommended  by our guest.

Finally to make  the egg  palatable, she emptied the contents of the shell into hot water but ensured it didn’t diffuse  –  so that it was suspended like some laboratory specimen  in the water –  and added a dash of salt to ensure it tasted okay and got me my protein ration at the same time.

Today that  inspired piece of cuisine is called egg drop soup and commands a price of 200 bucks a bowl at the top line Chinese restaurants.

The other piece of advice was  to run with spikes on beach sand.

Even to my ignorant mind that sounded crazy.

 

I learnt decades later that athletes never use spikes for training – only for races.

 

 

“Your Head is  like a  Camer-r-r-r-aaa !!”

 

Getting up early was a pain but after  we reached the nets,  something happened which gave us a big kick……….

Something we’d NEVER experienced before in our makeshift practice venue back at our school.

 

When we ran in  towards the wicket and released the ball, it turned  NINTY DEGREES !!

 

But the initial euphoria of playing in a real cricket net  and  seeing the leather  cherry  swing  began to wear off soon.

It was the damn Madras heat  – within half an hour  after the coaching session began, the heat became unbearable.

And after finishing our session, going back home at the time when the morning traffic was in full swing was a bigger ordeal.

Venky  made some discreet enquiries and came up with the brilliant suggestion of switching to the Nets Evening Session instead of the Morning Session.

 

P.K.Dharmalingam was the coach and he was a real bird about two things –

First………….. FIELDING,

Second…… ….wearing the Abdomen guard.

His refrain was “You can get into the nets without the bat but DON’T  get in without the abdomen guard !

‘Dharma’ (as he was referred to privately)  was probably past  fifty,  his hair was gone on the top almost entirely but as far as fitness was concerned he was far, far ahead of his time.

His washboard waist could have given actress Raveena Tandon a run for her money.

His laser diction was L.K. Advani all the way.

He wasnt much concerned with batting but was very particular about fielding and avoiding no balls.

 

His first  major instruction was “Your head is like a CAMER-R-R-R-AAAAA !!!” ………………………….

And  the corollary to that :

“So at all times KEEP  YOUR  EYES  ON  THE  BALL !!!”
The words seemed to echo for some time and he glared deliberately at us waiting for his words to sink in before the next salvo – “Cricket is always played SIDEWAYS unlike other games !!

Again he looked around to see if  that got into our thick skulls.

 

One day, he conducted a session of field and throw back to the keeper drills.

After demonstrating how the ball should be thrown a few times, he went silent.

You could hear him think.

He was racking his brains for ideas on how to motivate this  bunch to take fielding more seriously instead of waiting with tongues hanging out for “GAAJEE”  (chance to bat).

 

He then asked us to gather around in a close circle and went down on the ground in a pose which can only appropriately be described as  “kundhikkinu” in Madras lingo and  narrated an incident.

“There was a South African fielder named Collin BBBllllaaand who played for South Africa.”

“ In a test match versus England , Ken Barrington (the famed English batsman)  played a shot which should have been a sure four through cover”

“But Colin Bllllaaandd intercepted the ball by  swooping  in from cover and ran out Barrington all in one action. That’s how important fielding is. ”

 

After narrating this super short story, he looked around at us for some time sternly.

If Dharma  expected  inspirational  tears  from us, he had another thing coming.

We still preferred our  beloved “Gaajee” to fielding practice.

 

Riaz Ahmed

The coaching camp was a great forum to meet boys from different parts of Madras. There was one guy of medium height, almost short.

A bowler named Gordon Rosario. He looked just like  Imran Khan but there was no pause to leap prior to the delivery stride.

He ran through the delivery stride at the same constant pace as his run up which was almost comical to watch.

 

Another guy, Riaz Ahmed, was our “dada”.

We really looked upto him. He was beautifully proportioned, had  amiable grey eyes and  a lazy feline  manner.

He was the fastest of the whole bunch of lads.

He had this lovely zig zag nano second glide before delivering the ball which Dharma hated.

Actually that glide was quite beautiful to watch.

Dharma told him to cut out the zig zag glide since Riaz was losing pace but either it fell on deaf ears or he couldnt implement the suggestion.

Dharma watched him for some time and then decided enough pussy footing around.

When Riaz went back up to the start of his run up Dharma plonked himself a couple of feet astride the bowling stumps.

It was liking having 2 umpires standing side by side at the bowler s end !

Now if Riaz wanted to bowl, he had three choices. One, he would have to maneuver  himself through the space available in a “Triplicane” back alley.

Two, he would have to bowl wiiiiiiide off the crease like Mudassar Nazar, the Pakistani all rounder

Or

Three, he would have to continue the nano second glide and shove Dharma from the bowling crease.

What happened ultimately was that Riaz kept stopping halfway into his run up and lost his rhyrthm temporarily.

Exasperated Dharma moved onto the next group.

 

Another group nets. Another comedy.

 

The batsman kept stepping out to practically every ball.

After a few minutes, Dharma had suffered enough of this and whispered a few instructions to the bowler which the bowler pretended not to hear.

But the instructions were executed to the T by the bowler.

The bowling action was completed but the ball was not delivered.

Sure enough the batsman stepped out halfway down the pitch.
Immediately Dharma pounced on the batsman.

What are you trying to do ? Hit the ball from the bowler’ s hand or gift an easy stumping to the opposition ??!!”

 

Did I mention he was a real bird about fielding well ?

At the very least he was intense and passionate about it.

Anyone goofing off during fielding practice would be at the receiving end of his verbal “chin music”.

When I attended the camp next summer also, after joining a new school, nothing had changed.

One of my new classmates came in for the treatment.

While in a jocular exchange with his fielding partner he muffed a sitter during relay catch practice.

 

Dharma went in for the kill.

” Ball-a paakkaama AVANAYAY   yayndaa paaththundrukka ??!! “

Avan enna SRIDEVI yaa ??!!”

The victim wanted to sink through the floor.

 

Dharma  also had an awesome memory.

One evening I landed up at the YMCA in my “civvies” i.e in colour clothes since it was an off day for the group I was in.

While lounging about near the pavilion I spotted Dharma and immediately went up to greet him.
“I’ve come to watch my brother play” I said.

“Oh ! Shridhuh (Sridhar) is playing in the match today uh ?”

I was astounded.

He must have seen a thousand lads pass through his nets and its not as if we were potential junior Tamil Nadu cricket material or even 5th Division.

Yet I couldnt for the life of me figure how he remembered my brother’s name.

Must have been the sincerity displayed by kid bro in fielding practice :-):-)

 

(To be concluded)

Next Part  : Season II – The  End  Of Scientific  Cricketsh  and  The  White  Elixir