JUST DREAM!

BY BISWADEEP GHOSH

For a few people I know, only the past matters. About the present, the less said the better. One such guy is Roger Storywala, an elderly man with enough time at his disposal since he retired a couple of years ago. A bachelor out of necessity rather than choice - every woman Storywala happened to fancy had chosen someone else - this gentleman played cricket when young. Chinaman was the delivery he essayed to master, only to deliver innocuous full tosses that his opponents at the third division level butchered with ruthless glee.

However Googly, which is what his friends call him, is a self-employed cricket commentator who does not need any incentive to take off. Lifting his spectacles, he rolls his eyes, and talks about C K Nayudu's special shots. He does that so animatedly that anyone with no cricketing sense can easily believe that Googly saw the great Nayudu bat, sitting in a privileged seat inside the pavillion. If his listener is a truly ignorant species, Googly's habit of manufacturing lies is lethal. Those who trust his tales become susceptible to embarrassment. But then, that's what he is all about: a blend of fact and fiction in which names from the past do heroic cricketing deeds.

It is because of his fiction-mongering that I hadn't been too fond of Googly for a long time. Reasonably well-informed about the game, I would trap him on the wrong foot with his stumps all exposed quite often. "You know, Amar Singh was such a great pacer that Farrokh Engineer had serious trouble trying to keep wickets to him," he once said, setting forth a toothless grin. "As a matter of fact, Singh had knocked down the great Vivian Richards with a bouncer." None of the three had played together ever, I corrected him. Shamelessly, Googly modified himself, "I mean, those would have been genuine possibilities had Engineer or Richards confronted the sublime might of Singh." I did not pursue the conversation any further. Somehow, I thought I knew why he lied so much. He had nothing better to do and nothing else to talk about, a pity indeed.

So addicted to lying is Googly that he drifts towards fiction even while watching matches. The last one-dayer between India and the West Indies was one such occasion. When Ajit Agarkar bowled an incoming beauty to get rid of the clueless West Indian batsman Sewnarine Chattergoon, he mumbled, "Not bad, but Karsan Ghavri had once bowled three such deliveries in an over." When Virender Sehwag got out for 95, he affirmed, "Aggressive as usual, but there is nothing to beat the innings of Vinoo Mankad against a rampaging Wes Hall that I saw some 60 years back." When India lost once again, he gripped a cushion and grumbled, "The present Indian team is the weakest we have had. I remember the day when Sunil Gavaskar and Vijay Merchant had gone out to open against Michael Holding and Andy Roberts. It was...." The trauma of defeat preoccupied me such that I ignored what followed.

Sometime later, I switched off the TV and looked at Googly. Fast asleep on the sofa nearby, his face showed a soft smile. In his sleep, he seemed to be imagining a spectacular Indian triumph. After the loss of Agarkar's wicket when India chased the target, Kapil Dev had walked in and attacked a Dwayne Bravo delivery. The ball sailed out of the ground and stayed hit for a few kilometres. It finally landed in Brian Lara's house, a dream finish in a dreamer's world.

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