Soumya recalls a cricket match in which his two brothers and his father played. An interesting walk down the memory lane, punctuated with humour. An exclusive for Different Truths.

This time the greatest cricketing clash between father and son, which takes place every four years, the match between India and Pakistan in the World Cup happened to take place on Father’s Day.  This sent my thoughts on a flashback to a cricketing encounter with my father.

My father was a keen sportsman, a university blue in three different sports and had captained in university in one of them – football.  Even in his fifties, he played competitive Golf and was reasonably fit.

My father, one of the oldest among the active players usually captained the senior’s team.  Amongst us, three brothers, two of us were indifferent sportsman … but my youngest brother was a good athlete and the star bowler in the junior’s team.

In the residential complex where we stayed, we use to hold an annual cricket match between the seniors and the juniors.  My father, one of the oldest among the active players usually captained the senior’s team.  Amongst us, three brothers, two of us were an indifferent sportsman and was in the junior’s team just to make up the numbers, but my youngest brother was a good athlete and the star bowler in the junior’s team.  Inevitably, the junior team won.

On this occasion, the seniors won the toss and elected to bat. The first few batsmen were soon dispatched without adding much to the total.  Then my father came into bat.

My father, known during his cricketing days famous for his sixers, promptly dispatched it to the boundary.

My brother was balling to him.  The first ball, in difference to his age and their relationship, was a simple slower delivery.  My father, known during his cricketing days famous for his sixers, promptly dispatched it to the boundary.  Startled and embarrassed, the next delivery was his usual good delivery, attempting to yorker the batsman.  My father went to his backfoot and drove this pass the ball to another boundary. Now, red in the face, my brother who later confessed that he was completely warm under the collar and feeling humiliated, lengthened his run up and delivered one of his fastest, slightly short pitched.  My dad gently matched it over the slips where I was fielding for another boundary.

The ladies who made up most of the spectators were waiting to see Mukherjee bold Mukherjee caught Mukherjee all in the same family, but the ball was coming at a lightning speed and my reflexes were slow.

I think now my father would have realised my brother’s mood and embarrassment.  So he carefully blocked the next two deliveries calling out good ball in encouragement.   In the final ball of the over, which was slightly outside the off stump, he gave an edge, I don’t know till date whether it was deliberate or not.  The ball came flying to me at second slip.  The ladies who made up most of the spectators were waiting to see Mukherjee bold Mukherjee caught Mukherjee all in the same family, but the ball was coming at a lightning speed and my reflexes were slow.  In those matches, pads and gloves were the only protection and only for the batsman and the wicketkeeper, helmets were unknown and guards were not used.  The ball slipped through my fingers and hit me where it hurt the most.  Just before blacking out from the intense pain, supposed to be second only to that of childbirth, I could hear laughter from the spectators.

My father too was solicitous but not apologetic as the fault was entirely mine.

I do not remember what happened to the match afterwards for I lost all interest from that point onwards, but I understand that my father had retired not out and took me to the local clinic.  Actually, I was more embarrassed than hurt.  My father too was solicitous but not apologetic as the fault was entirely mine.

Till this day, I do not know whether he was trying to be helpful and ended up embarrassing us both.  Now that he is no more with us, memories of this game and many other such intimate interactions come flooding back.

Photos from the Internet