March, 2011

When the squad for World Cup 2011 began reporting, Virat was to be found dragging his suitcase with rather a heavy heart.

It was a nice occasion. His first World Cup kicking off. How many people even got the chance?

Still, he wished his friends were here to celebrate the moment with him. Rohit had been shattered after the squad was declared. Virat dared not update him about the goings-on in the camp. Jaddu was in some remote village outside Jamnagar where there was no network. 

And somehow, though he'd never found it difficult to barge into elders' conversation--

Viru paji and Gauti bhai were arguing about something (the former riling up the latter, from the looks of it) as usual; Raina was clinging on Mahi bhai's back as he spoke to Yuvi pa, and Ashish bhai was holding court to the rest out of which nobody but Zaheer bhai listened seriously.

--today, he couldn't bring himself barge in.

For the first time in an age, Virat felt self-conscious. What was he, a 22-year-old, even doing here, amongst a bunch of overachievers?

He felt his kit to check he hadn't forgotten anything.

Which was really weird, because he never forgot anything, and considered it an insult to even double-check.

As a result of his dawdling, he found himself getting into the bus last, and he spotted only one empty seat: next to that prim and uptight spinner, Ashwin.

He'd made his debut less than a year ago, so Virat and Rohit had got to know him a tiny bit, and goodness, the guy defined the term uptight. He used to look down his nose to Virat pouring water down Rohit's neck unawares in such a manner that Virat had started feeling ashamed. He spoke at team meetings in such a serious tone, holding his own against the seniors with the extraordinary amount of cricket statistics he seemed to know of, Rohit had wrinkled his nose and whispered to Virat, "Nerd."

Virat had nodded emphatically, recalling those kids at school with thick glasses who used to sit in the front bench, listening to every word the teacher spoke and casting disapproving glances at pranksters (including Virat).

Having to sit beside Ashwin was not how Virat would have envisioned his start to his first World Cup.

"'Morning," Virat said.

"It is past twelve," said Ashwin.

"So?"

"So it is no longer morning, it is afternoon."

Virat groaned inside his head. Ashwin turned back to the magazine he was reading. 'Developments in curating: A brief history,' the page flashed.

"Curating?" asked Virat, curious and disbelieving. "Pitch curating?"

Ashwin nodded.

"You are reading the history of pitch curating?" repeated Virat, just to be sure.

"Honestly, Virat," said Ashwin. "Can't you read?"

"I can," said Virat, nettled. "I simply could not believe anyone would read the history of pitch curating."

"I simply cannot believe a person would comment on others while they're reading instead of reading themselves."

Ashwin raised the magazine to eye level to block out Virat's dumbfounded expression.

***

Unfortunately, as Virat found out soon enough, Rohit's absence meant he was forced to talk to Ashwin a lot more than he'd have liked to. Of course, he could've kept quiet, but quiet simply didn't suit him. He liked to talk all the time as much as Ashwin hated it. So since Virat couldn't always summon up the courage to go and talk to the seniors, he fell back to badgering Ashwin about what he was reading, or thinking, even as he gave savage replies in clipped tones.

Things came to a head the day Virat found Ash reading the working of an Ouija board over dinner.

"What, moved on from cricket to paranormal?" asked Virat.

"You have a point, Virat?"

Virat thought it'd be insulting to admit he didn't have a point, so he improvised quickly, "If you're into paranormal stuff, I dare you to sit through my favourite horror movie without freaking out."

That made Ashwin look up with a frown. Virat knew Ashwin's sort couldn't bear to turn down a challenge, but he was also quite sure Ashwin had never watched a horror movie before, so if he flung his favourite (read, scariest) one on him, he would freak out worse than ever in his life.

"Okay," said Ash.

"And we can do a planchet while we're at it."

"Okay."

Virat was just slightly thrown off. But never mind, soon Ash would be wishing he'd never said okay to one of Virat Kohli's challenges.

***

Much to Virat's disappointment, Ash sat through the movie without flinching a second time.

When he didn't react at the scariest moment which Virat still had nightmares about every time he rewatched the movie, Virat asked, aggrieved, "Have you watched this before?"

"No. Why?"

"Enough of the movie," decided Virat. "The planchet. Will you do or will I?"

"Me," said Ash. "I'm excellent at it."

"You've done it before?"

Ash looked baffled. "Have you not? You suggested, so I thought--"

"A pen and a paper," broke in Virat. "Anything else?"

"A candle."

They had a tiff over whom they should call (Virat suggested Hilter, which Ash considered very insensitive, which Virat in turn considered very boring), and decided on Don Bradman.

They darkened the room, placed the sheet on the table and made the circle, copied the numbers and alphabets--well, Ash wrote them from memory, and Virat couldn't find anything to change when he checked with the sources on the net.

"We have to close our eyes, keep a finger inside the circle, and think of him with respect," commanded Ash. "Come on."

Virat, inwardly sniffing about how serious Ash seemed--as if Don Bradman was really going to appear--obeyed.

He didn't believe in anything supernatural, yet he felt a chill settle down upon them as Ash started chanting, requesting Don Bradman to show himself.

"This is a request to Sir Don Bradman...if you can hear us, please show yourself..."

Around, things seemed to be getting unnaturally quiet.

Virat felt something on the back of his neck and shivered.

Imagining...he was imagining things...

"...a request to Sir Don Bradman..."

How was it getting so cold?

"...please show yourself..."

Virat was already wound up after the movie, and as a sharp breeze whistled in through the window, rustling the curtains, he jumped out of his skin. 

A shadow jumped. 

Virat screamed.

"Stop--stop it--Ash, stop it!"

Ash jerked out of his reverie. "What?"

"What's happening?"

"Don Bradman's coming to visit us," said Ash in an obvious way.

"He--I've changed my mind," said Virat, swallowing. "I don't want to talk to bygone spirits."

Ash looked astonished. "But you were the one who said you wanted to. I've seen lots of people who can't stomach planchet, of course, but you said--"

"I didn't think--I didn't believe--"

"What, you didn't believe it would happen?" said Ash in a bored voice.

"No--no, of course not," stammered Virat. "Did you?"

"Obviously I did, Virat. I was the one doing it."

"Are you saying you wouldn't have believed it would happen if I was the one performing it?" asked Virat.

"Yes," said Ash.

If Virat's heart hadn't been racing so fast, he might've come up with a suitable retort. Instead, all he said in a rather small voice was, "Can I stay over for the night?"

"I hope you don't kick in your sleep."

***

From that day onwards, Virat would think twice before calling Ash boring.

He might go as far as to say Ash was the most interesting person he'd ever met, and by the time a month had gone by, he was glad Ash was in the World Cup squad, at least, even if Rohit and Jaddu weren't.

Ashwin would probably never admit even to himself that he was glad Virat was in the squad with him--he was loath to be dependent on anyone at all--but it could not be denied that over the tour, he read a lot less, spoke a lot more, and felt tiny bursts of triumph every time he managed to impress Virat Kohli into speechlessness.

***

***

A/N: Talking to someone who loves the 2013 team like I do, I have renewed energy to complete this book.
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