It was 27th Feb 2011. A pretty usual day but for the fact that team India was to meet England in a World Cup league match. The way team India had been performing in recent past, it wasn't supposed to be hot clash, especially considering the fact that England had been routed 6-1 in a recently concluded Australian outrage. Even Sidhu said before the start that it was 70:30 in India's favour. Still, being a cricket fan, I thought I would watch every ball of it.
It was Sunday and I decided it would be the first Sunday during my stint at Danapur when I wouldn't be going out to office. At 10 AM, it occurred to me that my driver Santosh would be waiting. I called him and said he was free for the day. He sighed a relief and mentioned something about his ill bua ji. I said "sure, go and take care of her".
Back in the cosy confines of my bed, I fell asleep in no time, following the age old adage "an open line AME should sleep whenever he gets time". It was 2 PM when my cook woke me for lunch. A sumptuous lunch, another century by Sachin, no calls from carriage control, a 300+ total posted by Indian batsmen.... it was going good. In the evening, my colleague AOM called asking for my driver. Upon enquiry, I found Santosh's bua ji had a brain hemorrhage and the whole family was in hospital with her. The name of the ailment struck a dismal chord in a far corner of my mind. I had lost two of my dear ones to this dreadful disease. Assuring him of any help needed, I pressed the end call button and apprised my AOM buddy of my inability to help. Soon, my eyes were glued to the TV screen.
As couple of hours passed, I could sense the lack of luster in the bowling and fielding showed by team India. It was slowly coming up, a defeat I mean. And soon it was pretty much evident. The ball crossed the rope more often than the ads which marked the end of overs. Like a devoted Indian fan, I said a small prayer to God asking him to wake up the bowlers and fielders. And the very next two deliveries sent back the two dudes who were troubling the whole of India. The game digressed from its normal path and headed towards a cliff. Though in the jiff of excitement, I was once reminded of another cliff-hanger, the old lady fighting the fatal hemorrhage - a tied battle. I prayed for her too and prayed again that this prayer be answered too. The match now hanged from the cliff as Shahjad, the number 10 batsman, sent the ball into the air beyond the rope. For a flash of a second, I remembered the match played by Aamir’s team in Lagaan. Was it the revenge of the English?
The match ended finally and it ended in a draw. It was a tie for sure but somehow I felt both the teams had lost it. India had lost it before the 25th over and England lost it in the last ball. Amidst the losses, I felt the difference between a win and a tie was too big.
The doorbell woke me up the next morning at 8 with Santosh at my door. With a bit of discomfort, he blurted out slowly, “Sir, she was fine and stable when I left her at midnight. My brother just called me and said she left us. I need the day’s off.” I just nodded.
The difference between a tie and a defeat was much bigger.