I came out of the shower and dressed again.
‘Want to eat anything?’ my mother voiced her most quoted line from the kitchen.
‘No, I am going out with Ish and Omi to Gopi.’
‘Gopi? Why? I make the same things. What do you get at Gopi that I can’t give you at home?’
Peace and quiet, I wanted to say.
‘It’s Ish’s treat. And I want to talk to them about my new business.’
‘So you are not repeating the engineering entrance,’ my mother came out of the kitchen. She raised dough-covered hands, ‘You can take a year to prepare. Stop taking tuitions for a while, we have money now.’
My mother felt guilty about a million things. One of them was me not making it to a good engineering college. Tuitions and supporting my mom’s business meant I could study less for the entrance exams. I didn’t make it to IIT or any of the top institutes. I did make it to a far-flung college in Kutch, but it wasn’t worth it to leave my tuition income, friends, cricket at Nana Park and mom for that. Not that I felt any emotion, it just did not seem like the right trade. I could do maths honours right here in Ambavad University, continue tuitions and think about business. The Kutch college did not even guarantee a job.
‘I don’t want to be an engineer, mom. My heart is in business. Plus, I have already done two years of college. One more and I will be a graduate.’
‘Yes, but who gives a job to a maths graduate?’
It was true. Maths honours was a stupid course to take from an economic point of view.
‘It is ok. I needed a degree and I can get it without studying much,’ I said. ‘I am a businessman, mom. I can’t change that.’
My mother pulled my cheeks. Chunks of dough stuck to my face.
‘Be whatever. You are always my son first.’
She hugged me. I hated it. I hate a display of emotion more than emotion itself.
‘I better go.’
‘That is your tenth chapatti,’ Ish told Omi.
‘Ninth. Who cares? It is a buffet. Can you pass the ghee please?’
‘All that food. It has to be bad for you,’ Ish said.
‘Two hundred push-ups.’ Omi said. ‘Ten rounds of Nana Park. One hour at Bittoo Mama’s home gym. You do this everyday like me and you can hog without worry.’
People like Omi are no-profit customers. There is no way Gopi could make money off him.
‘Aamras, and ras malai. Thanks,’ Omi said to the waiter. Ish and I nodded for the same.
‘So, what’s up? I’m listening,’ Ish said as he scooped up the last spoon of aamras.
‘Eat your food first. We’ll talk over tea,’ I said. People argued less on a full stomach.
‘I am not paying for tea. My treat is limited to a thali,’ Ishaan protested.
‘I’ll pay for the tea,’ I said.
‘Relax, man. I was only joking. Mr Accounts can’t even take a joke. Right, Omi?’
Omi laughed.
‘Whatever. Guys, you really need to listen today. And stop calling me Mr Accounts.’
I ordered tea while the waiter cleared our plates.
‘I am serious, Ish. What do you plan to do with your life? We are not kids anymore,’ I said.
‘Unfortunately,’ Ish said and sighed. ‘Ok, then. I will apply for jobs, maybe do an NIIT computer course first. Or should I take an insurance job? What do you think?’
I saw Ish’s face. He tried to smile, but I saw the pain. The champion batsman of Belrampur would become an insurance salesman. Belrampur kids had grown up applauding his boundaries at Nana Park. But now, when he had no life ahead, he wanted to insure other people’s lives.
Omi looked at me, hoping I’d come up with a great option from Santa’s goodie bag. I was sick of parenting them.
‘I want to start a business,’ I began.
‘Not again,’ Ish said. ‘I can’t do that man. What was it the last time? A fruit dealership? Ugh! I can’t be weighing watermelons all day. And the crazy one after that, Omi?’
‘Car accessories. He said there is big money in that,’ Omi said as he slurped his dessert.
‘What? Put seat covers all day. No thanks. And the other one – stock broker. What is that anyway?’ Ish shrugged.
‘So what the fuck do you want to do? Beg people to buy insurance. Or sell credit cards at street corners? You, Ish, are a military school dropout,’ I said and paused for breath. ‘And you got a compartment in Class XII, twice. You can be a priest, Omi, but what about us?’
‘I don’t want to be a priest,’ Omi said listlessly.
‘Then, why do you oppose me even before I start? This time I have something that will interest you.’
‘What?’ Ish said.
‘Cricket,’ I said.
‘What?’ both of them said in unison.
‘There you go, nice to get your attention. Now can I talk?’
‘Sure,’ Ish waved a hand.
‘We are going to open a cricket shop,’ I said.
I deliberately left for the restroom.
‘But how?’ Omi interrogated when I returned. ‘What is a cricket shop?’
‘A sports store really. But since cricket is the most popular game in Belrampur, we will focus on that.’
Ish’s silence meant he was listening to me.
‘It will be a small retail store. Money for a shop deposit is a problem, so I need Omi’s help.’
‘Mine?’ Omi said.
‘Yes, we will open the shop right inside the Swami temple complex. Next to the flower and puja shops. I noticed an empty shop there. And it is part of the temple land.’
‘A cricket shop in a temple complex?’ Ish questioned.
‘Wait. Omi, do you think you can arrange that? Without that our plan is a non-starter.’
‘You mean the Kuber sweet shop that just closed? The temple trust will rent it out soon. And normally they let it out to something related to temple activities,’ Omi said.
‘I know. But you have to convince your dad. After all he runs the temple trust.’
‘He does, but Mama looks after the shops. Will we pay rent?’
‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘But not immediately. We need a two-month waiver. And we cannot pay the deposit.’
‘I’ll have to go through mom,’ Omi said. Good, his mind was working.
‘Sorry to ask again, but a cricket shop in a temple complex? Who will buy? Seventy-year-old aunties who come for kirtan will want willow bats?’ Ish scoffed.
The waiter had cleared our tea and presented the bill. By Gopi protocol, we had to be out of the restaurant in two minutes.
‘Good question. A cricket shop by a temple does sound strange. But think – is there any sports shop in Belrampur?’
‘Not really. You don’t even get leather balls. Ellis Bridge is the nearest,’ Ish said.
‘See, that’s number one. Number two, the temple is a family place. Kids are among the most bored people in temples. Where are they going to hang out?’
‘It is true,’ Omi said. ‘That is why so many balloon wallahs hover outside.’
‘And that is where Ish comes in. People know you were a good player. And you can give playing tips to every kid who comes to buy from us. Slowly, our reputation will build.’
‘But what about Christian or Muslim kids? They won’t come, right?’ Ish said.
‘Not at first but the shop is outside the temple. As word spreads, they will come. What choice do they have anyway?’
‘Where will we get what we sell?’ Ish said.
‘There’s a sports equipment supplier in Vastrapur who will give us a month’s credit. If we have the space, we are good to go without cash.’
‘But what if it doesn’t run?’ Ish asked with scepticism.
‘Worst case, we sell the stock at a loss and I’ll cover the rest through my tuition savings. But it will work, man. If you put your heart into it, it will.’
Both of them remained silent.
‘Guys, please. I need you fo
r this. I really want to run a business. I can’t do it without partners. It’s cricket,’ I appealed to Ish.
‘I’m in,’ Omi smiled. ‘I don’t have to be a priest and I get to work from home. I’m so in.’
‘I won’t handle money. I’ll focus on the cricket,’ Ish said.
I smiled. Yes, he was coming around.
‘Of course. You think I will let you handle cash? So, are we partners?’ I stretched out my hand.
Omi hi-fived me and Ish joined in.
‘What are we going to call it?’ Omi said in the auto.
‘Ask Ish,’ I said. If Ish named it, he would feel more connected to the project.
‘How about Team India Cricket Shop?’ Ish suggested.
‘Great name,’ I said and watched Ish smile for the first time that evening.
‘Two rupees fifty paise each, guys,’ I said as the auto stopped near my pol in Belrampur.
‘Here you go Mr Accounts,’ Ish said and passed his share.
Two
The Team India Cricket Shop opened with the smashing of a coconut on the morning of 29 April 2000. All our immediate families had come. My mother and Omi’s family were visibily happy while Ish’s parents were silent. They still visualised Ish as an army officer, not a shopkeeper in Belrampur.
‘May Laxmi shower all blessings on you hardworking boys,’ Omi’s mother said before she left.
Soon, it was just us in our twenty-feet-by-ten-feet shop.
‘Move the counter in, the shutter won’t close,’ Ish screamed at Omi. Omi’s forehead broke into sweat as he lifted the bulky countertop yet again to move it back an inch.
I stepped out of the shop and crossed the road for the tenth time to look at the board. It was six feet wide and two feet tall. We had painted it blue – the colour of the Indian team. In the centre, we had the letters ‘Team India Cricket Shop’ in the colours of the Indian flag. The excited painter from Shahpur had thrown in the faces of Tendulkar and Ganguly for free. Ganguly had a squint and Tendulkar’s lips looked bee-stung, but it all added to the charm.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Omi said as he joined me in looking at the board.
Our first customer came at 12 noon. An under-ten boy strolled to the front of our store as his mother bought puja flowers. The three of us sprung into action.
‘Should I ask him what he wants?’ Omi whispered to me.
I shook my head. Pushy meant desperate.
The boy looked at tennis balls and bounced a few of them. While no one played tennis in Belrampur, kids played cricket with them.
‘How much for the balls?’ The boy moved to local balls. Clearly this was a price-sensitive customer. He bounced five different ones on the ground.
‘Eight bucks. You want one?’ I said.
He nodded.
‘You have money?’
‘Mummy has,’ he said.
‘Where is mummy?’
‘There,’ he pointed in the general direction of the other temple shops. I picked up the balls he had bounced and placed them in the basket.
His mother came running into our shop.
‘There you are Sonu, stupid boy,’ she pulled his elbow and took him out.
‘Mummy, ball’ was all he could say about his potential purchase.
‘Don’t worry, we will sell,’ I told my business partners.
We made our first sale soon after. Two young brothers wearing branded clothes came to the shop.
‘How much for tennis balls?’ one boy said.
‘Eight bucks for Arrow, six bucks for the local basket there,’ Ish said.
The boys moved to the local basket. They started the ball-bouncing routine again as my heart wept.
‘So where do you play cricket?’ Ish asked them.
‘Satellite,’ the elder boy said.
Satellite was an upmarket neighbourhood on the other side of the Sabarmati river.
‘What are you doing in the old city?’ Ish said.
‘We came to the temple. It is Harsh bhaiya’s birthday,’ the younger boy said.
I realised we had struck real-estate gold. The temple was ancient and drew in people from the new city, too. And it was a birthday, every chance of pockets being loaded.
‘You want to see bats?’ I asked from the cash counter.
The boys shook their heads.
Ish turned to me and signalled silence.
‘Happy birthday, Harsh. You bowler or batsman?’ Ish said.
Harsh looked up at Ishaan. A grown-up man asking an eleven-year-old if he was a bowler or batsman was a huge honour. It meant he was now old enough to be specialised, even though he may not have thought about it.
‘Er, I am more of a batsman,’ Harsh said.
‘Defensive or attack?’ Ish asked as if he was interviewing Tendulkar on ESPN.
‘Huh?’ Harsh said.
‘You like shots?’ Ish asked. Which kid didn’t? Harsh nodded.
‘Show me your stance,’ Ish said. He turned to me and asked for a bat. I went to the stack of willow bats. I had bought them directly from a Kashmiri supplier in Law Garden. I picked the right size for the boy. Size six and two hundred bucks. Not top of the line, of course, but the best we could hope to sell here.
Harsh took a stance on the empty space in front of the shop. Like every kid, he leaned his entire weight on the bat while standing. Ish moved over and gently straightened Harsh’s back. He moved his wrist upwards, and told him to balance the weight evenly on the legs.
‘And now, whenever you attack, use the front leg to move forward but do not forget the back leg. That is your support, your anchor. Notice Tendulkar, he keeps one leg fixed.’
An awestruck Harsh air-struck a few strokes.
‘Give me some tips, too,’ the younger one whined.
‘First me, Chinu,’ Harsh said.
Ish turned to Chinu. ‘What are you, Chinu?’
‘All-rounder,’ Chinu said promptly.
‘Great. Show me your bowling grip.’
Their parents finally found our shop. It was time to go to the temple.
‘Mummy, I want the ball,’ Chinu said.
‘How much?’ his mother said.
‘Six rupees,’ Ish said.
She took out a twenty-rupee note and asked me to give two.
‘I want the bat, mummy,’ Harsh said.
‘You already have a bat.’
‘This one is better for my stance, mummy. Please.’ Harsh took a stance again. He had improved with the lesson but his mother ignored him.
‘How much is this?’ she said.
‘Two hundred rupees,’ I said.
‘Too expensive. No Harsh, we are not getting a bat.’
‘My birthday present, mummy, please.’ Harsh cajoled.
‘Yes but beta, why buy something from this temple shop. Old city doesn’t have good quality. We will go to the Navrangpura market.’
‘It is excellent quality, aunty. We source from Kashmiri suppliers. Take my word,’ Ish said.
‘Aunty’ eyed us with suspicion.
‘I was the team captain for all municipal schools in the area, aunty. I have personally chosen the bats,’ Ish said with as much heart as Omi’s dad said his prayers.
‘Please, mummy,’ Harsh said and tugged at her saree. The tug connected to aunty’s purse, which opened and brought out two hundred-rupee notes.
Done. We had closed the deal of the day. The bat cost us a hundred and sixty, so forty bucks profit, I exclaimed mentally.
‘Goodbye, champ.’ Ish waved to Harsh.
‘I’ll come to your shop on my happy birthday,’ Chinu said.
‘Yes! You are amazing, Ish,’ I said and hi-fived everyone.
‘The kid is a quick learner. If he practices, he will be good. Of course, his mother will stuff him with studies the moment he reaches Class X. The only stance he will take is to sit on a desk with his books,’ Ish said.
‘Don’t be depressing, man,’ I said. ‘We made forty bucks on the bat and four on the t
wo balls. We are forty-four bucks in profit, sir.’
We sold some candy and two more balls in the next two hours. Our total profit for the day was fifty bucks. We moved the bats and the ball baskets inside and closed shop at 7.00 p.m., after the puja. To celebrate our opening we chose the chana-bhatura stall. At four bucks a plate, I could expense it to the business.
‘Do I get to take some money home? I really want to give mom my first salary,’ Omi said as he tucked in half a chili with his hot bhatura.
‘Wait, this isn’t real profit. This is contribution. We earn the rent first and then we will see.’ I placed my empty plate back at the stall. ‘Congrats guys, we are in business.’
Three Months Later
‘Eight thousand three, four and five hundred,’ I said as I emptied the cashier’s box. ‘This is our profit for the first three months after paying rent. Not bad, not bad at all.’
I was super-pleased. Our shop had opened at an opportune time. The summer vacations had started and India had won the one-day series with South Africa. Kids with lots of time and patriotism flocked to Team India Cricket Shop the day they received their pocket money.
Some came even without money, if only to meet Ish and get tips on cricket. I didn’t mind as it helped us pass the time. The dull aspect of opening a shop is boredom. We opened from nine to seven, and even with twenty customers a day it meant only around two customers an hour.
‘So we get our share now?’ Omi said excitedly.
I divided the money into four stacks. The first three stacks were fifteen hundred rupees each – the money each of us could take home. The remaining four thousand was to be retained in the business.