Why the fuck did you have to move?’ Ishaan’s scream drowned out the stadium din on the TV. I had shifted up to a sofa from the floor. `Huh?’ I said. We were in Ishaan’s house Ishaan, Omi and I. Ishaan’s mom had brought in tea and khakra for us. ‘It is more comfortable to snack on the sofa. That is why I moved.’ `Tendulkar’s gone. Fuck, now at this stage. Omi, don’t you dare move now. Nobody moves for the next five overs.’ I looked at the TV. We were chasing 283 to win. India’s score a ball ago was 256-2 after forty-five overs. Twenty-seven runs in five overs, with eight wickets to spare and Tendulkar on the crease. A cakewalk. The odds were still in India’s favour, but Tendulkar was out. And that explained the frowns on Ishaan’s forehead. ‘The khakra’s crispy,’ Omi said. Ishaan glared at Omi, chiding him for his shallow sensory pleasure in a moment of national grief. Omi and I kept our tea cups aside and looked suitably mournful. [download]
Format : Ebook.Pdf
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