Three Mistakes Of My Life Part 8

'Naseer Alam,' Ali repeated.

'I have heard the name somewhere. But I can't recall...' Omi murmured, but Ish ignored him.

'Dr Verma's clinic is in the next pol. Let's go,' Ish said.

'Welcome, nice to have someone young in my clinic for a change.' Dr Verma removed his spectacles. He rubbed his fifty-year-old eyes.

His wrinkles had multiplied since I last met him three years ago. His once black hair had turned white. Old age sucks.

'And who is this little tiger? Open your mouth, baba,' Dr Verma said and switched on his torch out of habit. 'What happened?' 'Nothing's wrong. We have some questions,' Ish said.

The doctor put his torch down. 'Questions?'

'This boy is gifted in cricket. I want to know how he does it,' Ish said.

'Does what?' Dr Verma said. 'Some people are just talented.' 'I bowled four b.a.l.l.s to him. He slammed sixes on all of them,' lsh said.

'What?' Dr Verma said. He knew lsh was one of the best players in the neighbourhood.

'Unbelievable but true,' I chimed in. 'Also, he sat down after four b.a.l.l.s. He said his head hurt'

Dr Verma turned to Ali. 'You like cricket, baba?'

'No,' Ali said.

'This is more complicated than the usual viral fever. What happened after the four b.a.l.l.s, baba?'

'Whenever I play with concentration, my head starts hurting, Ali said. He slid his hands into his pocket. I heard the rustle of marbles.

'Let us check your eyes,' Dr Verma said and stood up to go" to the testing room.

'Eyesight is fantastic,' Dr Verma said, returning. 'I recommend you meet my friend Dr Multani from the city hospital. He is an eye specialist and used to be a team doctor for a baseball team in USA. In fact, I haven't met him for a year. I can take you tomorrow if you want.'

We nodded. I reached for my wallet. Dr Verma gave me a stern glance to stop.

'Fascinating,' Dr Multani said only one word as he held up Mi's MRI scan. He had spent two hours with Ali. He did every test imaginable - a fitness check, a blood test, retinal scans, a computerised hand-eye coordination exam. The Matrix style MRI, where Ali had to lie down head first inside a chamber, proved most useful.

'I miss my sports-doctor days, Verma. This love for Amdavad made me give up a lot,' Dr Multani said. He ordered tea and khakra for all of us.

Are we done?' Ali said and yawned.

'Almost. Play marbles in the garden outside if you want,' I )r Multani said. He kept quiet until Ali left.

'That was some work, Multani, for a little headache,' Dr Verma s.iid.

'It is not just a headache,' Dr Multani said and munched a kliakra. 'Ish is right, the boy is exceptionally gifted.'

'How?' I blurted. What was in those tests that said Ali could smash any bowler to bits.

'The boy has hyper-reflex. It is an aberration in medical terms, but proving to be a gift for cricket.'

'Hyper what?' Omi echoed.

'Hyper reflex,' Dr Multani lifted a round gla.s.s paper weight from I lis table and pretended to hurl it at Omi. Omi ducked. 'When I ihrow this at you, what do you do? You reflexively try to prevent 1 he attack. I didn't give you an advance warning and everything happened in a split second. Thus, you didn't do a conscious think to duck away, it just happened.'

Dr Multani paused for a sip of water and continued, 'It matters little in everyday life, except if we touch something too hot or too cold. However, in sports it is crucial.' Dr Multani paused to open .1 few reports and picked up another khakra. I looked at Ali outside from the window. He was using a catapult to shoot one marble to hit another one.

'So Ali has good reflexes. That's it?' Ish said.

'His reflexes are at least ten times better than ours. But there is more. Apart from reflex action, the human brain makes decisions in two other ways. One is the long, a.n.a.lysed mode - the problem goes through a rigorous a.n.a.lysis in our brain and we decide the course of action. And then there is a separate, second way that's faster but less accurate. Normally, the long way is used and we are aware of it. But sometimes, in urgent situations, the brain chooses the shortcut way. Call it a quick-think mode.'

We nodded as Dr Multani continued: 'In reflex action, the brain short-circuits the thinking process and acts. He can just about duck, forget try to catch it. However, the response time is superfast.

Sports has moments that requires you to think in every possible way - a.n.a.lysed, quick-think or reflex.'

And Ali?' Ish said.

Dr Multani picked up the MRI scan again. 'Ali's brain is fascinating. His first, second and even the third reflex way of thinking is fused. His response time is as fast as that of a reflex action, yet his decision making is as accurate as the a.n.a.lysed mode. You may think he hit that superfast delivery of yours by luck, but his brain saw its path easily. Like it was a soft throw.'

'But I bowled fast.'

'Yes, but his brain can register it and act accordingly. If it is hard to visualise ...

imagine that Ali sees the ball in slow motion A normal player will use the second or third way of thinking to hit a fast ball. Ali uses the first. A normal player needs years of practice to ensure his second way gets as accurate to play well. Ali doesn't need to. That is his gift.'

It look us a minute to digest Dr Multani's words. We definitely had to use the first way of thinking to understand it.

'To him a pace delivery is slow motion?' Ish tried again.

'Only to his brain, as it a.n.a.lyses fast. Of course, if you hit him with a fast ball he will get hurt.'

'But how can he hit so far?' Ish said.

'He doesn't hit much. He changes direction of the already fast ball. The energy in that ball is mostly yours.'

'Have you seen other gifted players like him?' I wanted to know.

'Not to this degree, this boy's brain is wired differently. Some may call it a defect, so I suggest you don't make a big noise about it'

'He is Indian team material,' Ish said. 'Dr Multani, you know he is.'

Dr Multani sighed. 'Well, not at the moment. His headaches are a problem, for instance. While his brain can a.n.a.lyse fast, it .ilso tires quickly. He needs to stay in the game. He has to survive Until his brain gets refreshed to use the gift again.'

'Can that happen?' Ish said.

'Yes, under a training regimen. And he has to learn the other aspects of cricket.

I don't think he ever runs between the wickets. The boy has no stamina. He is weak, almost malnourished,' the iloctor said.

I am going to coach him,' Ish vowed. And Omi will help. Omi will make him eat and make him fit.'

'No, I can't,' Omi refused as all looked at him. 'Dr Verma, tell I hem why I can't.' 'Because he's a Muslim. Multani, remember Naseer from the Muslim University? Ali is his son.'

'Oh, that Naseer? Yes, he used to campaign in the university elections. Used to be a firebrand once, but I have heard that he has toned down.'

'Yes, he is in politics full time now. Moved from a pure Muslim to a secular party,' Dr Verma said.

Ish looked at Dr Verma, surprised.

'I found out after you guys left yesterday. Sometimes I feel I run a gossip centre, not a clinic' Dr Verma chuckled. 'Anyway, that's the issue then. A priest's son teaching a Muslim boy.'

'I don't want to teach him,' Omi said quickly.

'Shut up, Omi. You see what we have here?' Ish spoke.

Omi stood up, gave Ish a disapproving glance and left the room.

'How about the state academy?' Dr Verma said. 'They'll ruin him,' Ish said.

'I agree.' Dr Multani paused. 'He is too young, Muslim and poor. And he is untrained. I'd suggest you keep this boy and his talent under wraps for now.

When the time comes, we will see.'

We left the clinic. I took out four marbles from my pocket and called Ali.

'Ali, time to go. Here, catch.'

I threw the four marbles high in the air towards him. I had thrown them purposely apart.

Ali looked away from his game and saw the marbles midair. He remained in his squat position and raised his left hand high. One, two, three, four - like a magic wand his left hand moved. He caught every single one of them.

CHAPTER Six

He won't agree, I spoke to him already,' Ali huffed. We reached the end of Belrampur to get to his house. He lived in a particularly squalid pol. Ali pressed the bell. I noticed his father's nameplate had a motif of the secular political party.

Ali, so late again,' his dad said as he opened the door. He wore an impeccable black achkan, which contrasted with his white beard and a tight skullcap of lace material. He looked around sixty, which meant Ali came late in his life.

And who are you gentlemen?' he said.

'I am Ishaan,' Ish said. And this is Govind and Omi. We are Ali's friends.'

'Friends?' Ali's dad said, underlining the absurd age difference.

'Yes abba, they came to play cricket at the school. They have a sports shop. I told you, remember?' 'Come in,' Ali's dad said.

We sat in the living room. Ali's mother, wearing a brown-Coloured salwar suit, brought in gla.s.ses of roohafza. Even though a dupatta covered most of her face, I could make out that she must've been at least twenty years younger than her husband. She scolded Ali for not studying for his test the next day. I think Indian mothers have two tasks - to tell children to eat more or study more.

'We wanted to talk about coaching Ali,' Ish began after Ali left the room with his mom.

'Cricket coaching? No, thanks. We are not interested,' Ali's dad said in a tone that was more conclusive than discussion oriented.

'But uncle...,' Ish protested.

'Look above,' Ali's dad said and pointed to the roof, 'look, there are cracks on the ceiling. There is this room and one other tiny room that I have taken on rent.

Does it look like the house of a person who can afford cricket coaching?'

'We won't be charging Ali,' Ish said.

I glared at Ish. I hate it when he gives discounts at the shop, but a hundred per cent off is insane.

'What will he do with cricket coaching? Already school is difficult for him after the madrasa. This is the first time Ali is studying maths. And I can't even afford a maths tutor...'

'Govind teaches maths,' Ish said.

'What?' Ali's dad and I said together.

'Really, he is the best in Belrampur. He got hundred per cent marks in the Cla.s.s XII board exam.'

I double glared at Ish. I was fully booked in tuitions and I already taught his clown of a sister for free. 'But Ish, I can't,' I said.

'Maybe we can do a combined deal. If you allow him cricket coaching with us, we will teach him maths for free,' Ish said ignoring my words.

'How can I teach for free? I have paying students waiting,' I said.

Ish glanced at me with disdain as if I had shot down his mission to Mars.

'For free?' I mouthed to him.

'I will pay whatever I can,' Ali's dad said in a m.u.f.fled voice.

'I am sorry, but this is how I earn my living. I can't...' I said, in a desperate attempt to salvage my a.s.shole image.