Homecoming

Chapter 6: Smiles and Sorrows

I am so, so sorry for the hiatus. My partner surprised me with a visit, so I was unable to write. Hope you like this part. 

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Flashback:

Oct, 2019. 

Whenever an ODI series is going well, Shubman thought, a jinx is not far behind. Be it an injured player, a controversy, or a new meme - there is always something or the other, just waiting to eclipse the team, which usually resulted in a team bonding activity or worse, a series of lectures from Rohit bhai, the coaches, or a management expert (Shubi could handle everything, but the lecture series reminded him too much of the corporate world outside cricket, where employees were crammed in a dimly lit office, working as a hive of bees. The image still brought him shivers).

This time, it was one of those rare occurrences that no one could predict - a new trend had emerged, where people wore masks of ICT members and played out a hilarious (or sometimes, downright demeaning) play-act. Some people, like Rohit bhai, commented on it in his 'Mumbaiyya' style, which elicited some chuckles, while some went on a rant about how social media was the bane of all existence and how everyone should just concentrate on the game ahead (this, from KD bhai). Shubman - even though he showed nothing outward - was constantly worried about all this impacting his performance; he knew he had a problem - he always had a problem with letting things go and this time was no different. He knew his constant mulling over it only made his performance worse, and everyone could see it in the nets. He just hoped Rohit bhai would not bench him because of it (there he went again, overthinking!).

He was sitting in the leisure room of the academy while worrying about all of this, when a sudden commotion brought him out of his thoughts. He looked towards the door, where a crowd had gathered. Confused, he started walking toward the crowd, when a sudden booming laugh caught his attention.

The crowd parted, and the person responsible for the laugh appeared in his field of vision.

Shubman stood dumbfounded, because in front of him stood two people, dressed (somewhat shabbily) in what he assumed were Raavan and Naarad costumes.

Not any people, but the jokesters of ICT - Ishan and Surya bhai.

Ishan was dressed in clothes Shubman assumed were rented (he hoped) from Ramleela naatak mandali, black silk with gold border. He wore a lot of jewelry and sported a hilarious moustache too big for his face, but the most remarkable thing was the mukut (crown) on his head, which he had to keep adjusting as it was a tad too big for him. Coupled with a sword in another hand, he looked every inch the Raavan from naatak mandali shows that Shubman used to frequent (albeit a more hilarious one).

Surya bhai was dressed in a simple saffron-colored dhoti (loincloth) with a matching dupatta, lots of tilak and tikas (sandalwood marks ) on his body, khartal (musical instrument) and the veena in his hands.

And then they opened their mouths.

"Kaa ho Naradwa, hum ee kaha pohoch gaye?"

(O Naarad, where have we reached?)

"Humka khabar naahi Raavan, par tohaar sang hai toh jaroor paatal hi hoga.)

(I have no idea Raavan, but if I am with you, it has to be hell.)

At this, Raavan tried to hit Naarad, but between hitting him and trying to adjust his too-big-for-his-head crown, Ishan ended up boinking his own nose, which created peals of laughter throughout the room.

The coaches, used to their antics, just smiled and let them be. The team, on the other hand, was fully entertained, and was constantly trying to undo the knots of Surya bhai's dhoti or yank Ishu's fake moustache, which took up half his face.

Weird, Shubman thought, how just a moment ago he thought he would be crushed under the weight of the world, and here was his Atlas, holding up the world for him (although he would drop it in a second to save his dhoti from slipping down).

When Ishan looked away from Tilak, who was now trying to pose using his sword, he found Shubman alternating between laughing and gasping for breath.

He found his steps turning automatically towards his best friend, who had not stopped smiling since he entered the room. He stood in front of Shubman, with a hand on his waist, and said,

"Ee kaunsa battessi hai, itna chamchamata hua?"

(What are these shining sets of teeth?)

At this, Shubman busted out laughing, his hand automatically going to Ishan's waist to steady himself.

"Whatever are you wearing Ishu? Did you finally decide cricket wasn't for you and decided to try for Bollywood instead? And what even is that horrible accent?"

"Just trying to boost the team's morale. You, especially, I know, are constantly thinking about those ridiculous skits on social media. So I thought, why not? Also, I make a handsome Raavan, don't you think?"

"You look like an idiot."

"Yes, but I am your idiot and you looooooove me."

This, was said with exaggerated smooching sounds, which only added to the hilarity of the situation.

One minute they were bickering, and the next, they promptly burst out laughing.

As Ishan kept laughing, Shubman had a sudden recollection of a cute child he had seen on one of his trips back home. The child, carefree and innocent, kept laughing unabashedly, and for a few moments, Shubman felt like all was right in the world.

Deja vu, he thought, looking at his best friend laughing like he had no worries of the world.

Beautiful, he thought next.

Uh oh.

Present:

The hospital room was bathed in glowy, warm lights, but that did not make Shubman forget why he was there. They did nothing to lessen the ache in his chest as he saw his best friend, his Ishu, lying on the bed, with none of the smiles that he had always graced him with, just a thousand tubes attached to him and a sickly pallor that Shubman was quickly matching.

He wished the ground would swallow him, or that his heart would finally burst with the way it was beating, but he wished for one thing the most - for Ishan to wake up - to scold him, beat him, call him names - but just, once, wake up.

He found himself rooted to the spot, but tried to get his legs to move. Now was not the time to be a coward, he reminded himself, as he took agonized steps towards Ishan.

The stark white sheets seemed to swallow him, and the soft beeping of the heart monitor provided a rhythmic backdrop to the otherwise silent room. Shubman reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against Ishan's cheek oh so softly.

Shubman closed his eyes at the first brush of his fingers, his mind trying to brand this moment in his heart forever, the touch becoming a sacred moment.

He recalled the moments leading up to this - Virat bhai's eyes silently asking him to choose, his own heart beating a mile a minute.

What else could he choose, when his breath was currently rattling around in the ribcage of his best friend? There was no decision to be made, no thoughts to be had. Who else would he choose but Ishan?

His reverie was broken by the shrill voice of his ringtone, which promptly made him open his eyes, his hand reaching in his pocket for the phone.

He finally found his phone, but when he saw the stark "SARA" on his phone, he recoiled from the bed.

Sara.

Oh dear lord.

He had forgotten about his girlfriend.