Back in 2004, I had a long summer holiday and a ton of free time. I was 8 years old and a huge cricket fan. I knew the names of most players and had recreated India winning the World Cup so many times in my head. The summer before was heartbreaking, with India losing to Australia in the World Cup final. I was devastated when Sachin got out in the final, switched off my TV, and vowed never to return to a game that could hurt you so bad. Yet it only took a couple of months before I was hooked on cricket again. I had seen, in my short lifespan, India witness their first Test win in Australia, a thrilling record ODI run chase against England, where Ganguly ripped off his shirt on the Lord's balcony, and a memorable World Cup in Africa in 2003.
However, there was one team of whom I had only heard stories — Pakistan. They were the eternal foe, the last enemy. India and Pakistan had not played bilateral ties with each other in a long time due to political issues. Some of the older boys who played cricket with me claimed to have seen Pakistan vs. India matches. I am sure most of them were lying or repeating stories that they had heard somewhere else. Yet, anyone who knew anything about the Pakistani cricket team had our respect and attention. I had seen a glimpse of the rivalry in the 2003 World Cup, when India destroyed the fabled bowling attack of Pakistan. When I came to know that there would be an India-Pakistan bilateral series in 2004, I was thrilled.
That year, exams had finished in early March, and we had 3 months of long vacations. The summers are long and dry in India, and there's little to do during the day. My mother was hell-bent on teaching me to read and write Malayalam during the summers. I hated deciphering those wretched symbols my ancestors had called alphabets. But I was determined to finish the alphabet book before the matches started, so that India-Pakistan could have my full attention.
April came, and with that came cricket. India and Pakistan were playing each other for the first time in my lifetime, and I sure was not going to miss a ball. I started waking up at 9, started having breakfast during the lunch break for the players, and scheduled my lunch during the tea break. I had meticulously planned every detail. Once the day ended, I would watch the discussions to understand what follow-on and second innings meant.
During evenings, I watched as my mother worked around the kitchen garden. She had planted yam and tapioca in the garden. My brother and I had nothing to do and would watch as she watered her plants daily. We had nothing better to do. We helped whenever we could, but it seemed like my mother wanted to do things on her own.
The first Test was sealed by the first triple centurion in Indian cricket, Virender Sehwag. I couldn’t grasp how rare of an achievement it was. He had smashed the Pakistani bowlers all around. He reached 100, 200, and 300 with sixes. The fourth day had finished with India on the verge of victory, needing one more wicket. I was still watching the post-match discussions when my mother gave a sharp cry from the garden. She had pulled out a tapioca root, only to find a giant rodent. There were at least 3 of them, and they were huge. My mother asked us to go back in as she chased the rodents away.
As my dad came home in the evening, she told him of the rodent visitors we had. They decided that it would be wise if we were to stay away for a couple of days, while my dad could get the garden fixed. I was devastated. I would miss India's win. I begged, pleaded, and cried as my mother packed our bags. Off we went to our pastor's place for two days.
We came back a week later to a garden free of rats, and an Indian side leading the Test series 1-0 against Pakistan. Post that summer, whenever the topic of Multan was discussed, I blatantly lied about how I saw Dravid take the catch to get Yousif Youhana out and win India the match. That summer, while my mother lost her garden, I had learned to lie.
