Fifteen minutes on the Blue Line

My phone beeps to an SMS saying "Hello, where you are?", to which I hastily type "At Indraprastha. Gimme 15 mins.", after being slightly amused at its deliberately flawed structure. I purchase a token for Connaught Place. I somehow don't like the name Rajiv Chowk. Very few people use it anyway.

"Bag kholo", I hear a rather portly gentleman in uniform gesture at me. I open the bag and show him its contents, among which is a camera. "Tasveer mat kheechna", he sternly warns me.

By now I can hear the train coming from Pragati Maidan. "Haan mujhe pata hai, yaar", I retort and hastily zip my bag, about to leave the concourse for the platform.

"Zaraa apni language sudhaaro." Before I could ask, he says, "Mai aapka koi dost nahin hoon. Ghar pe aap apne bhai ko 'yaar' bulaate ho kya?" I think about nodding before starting to run to catch this one.

(A minute elapses)

I can see the Jama Masjid, the Gopaldas Building and Statesman House, among other landmarks as the train leaves for Pragati Maidan. There are many people waiting at the station. A visibly confused bespectacled man sits to my right. A woman says "The next station is (pause) Mandi House" in a pre-recorded announcement in an annoying British accent. "Agla station (pause) Mandi House (slightly longer pause) hai", a man with a deep voice follows after.

We pass Tilak Bridge in a hurry. Our elevation decreases palpably as we continue on Sikandra Road. The Mandi House station is underground, much to the amazement and delight of a kid sitting a little to my left. Again, quite a few people enter, and by now, all the seats have been occupied. The man at my right now seems a little worried; he asks me how to get to Pitampura.

Barakhamba Road station comes. I prepare myself for the deluge of people I expect to see at Connaught Place. I relinquish my seat, and two people rush to occupy it. Instinct, agility and audacity count, when an empty seat is in contention.

There isn't much distance between this station and my destination. A lot of people get up, as expected, and start building up near the door on the right, as both announcers inform us in their different ways. A robust young woman tells her attractive friend to get out as fast as she can because there will be pushing from the other side too.

There are indeed a lot of people at the platform at Connaught Place. After the pushing and shoving, I get out, rather satisfied at my tenacity. I direct my bespectacled friend to the platform for the Yellow Line, and pause to look around.

Now I wish I could go back on my (exceedingly informal, now that I reflect) acknowledgment of DMRC's rules, for the station looks beautiful.

January 3rd

He had missed the previous year's test match due to personal reasons. This was always going to be a big occasion for him, playing in front of his home crowd. There is something about the Sydney Cricket Ground that makes you want to step up your game a notch or two.

I had just dismissed Ponting that arrogant shit, with a nice straight ball he had no clue about. Now for Steve Waugh, the one Aussie I've always secretly admired for a variety of reasons. He would definitely be a little rusty seeing as he had missed a whole season, but I'm sure he was fired up too.

I attempted to catch him plumb first up, the same way I had dismissed Ponting. He shuffled across, thus heightening my hopes, but flicked it past mid-wicket for a boundary. That was such a put-off. That must have given him so much confidence. One would have expected him to play it safe; but he surprised me with his audacity.

I then tried the short ball, and it came off well; trying to pull it, he copped it on the arm. I glared at him, but he was looking away, not in the least to evade my glare. Both of us knew he was in pain, but he didn't want to show it. Come on, it's Steve Waugh. Who doesn't know he has problems with short stuff. I had read newspaper reports which said he asked McGrath to bowl short at him during practice for a while now, so he would have been a little surprised with the outcome. The next one was fuller; he nicked it just short of first slip where it was misfielded. He set off for a single, and I deliberately ventured in his way to brush against him. Still no reaction.

I could see him rubbing his arm every few overs. I bowled him some more bouncers to soften him up, but he just wouldn't pull or hook. He'd sway away, wanting to have nothing to do with them. I must have beaten him at least ten times in that one spell. He would look ungainly at times, but he'd make the best use of whatever talent he had. He looked very determined to stay there. I would often be compelled by this urge to sledge him, but by now I respected him too much for that. It probably wouldn't have worked either. Perhaps I would have been a lot more comfortable sledging him ten years ago. Waqar tried some in-swingers but to no avail - either flicked or dug out. Saqlain's doosras he picked with utmost ease.

We bowled them out for 250. I took five for sixty odd, so I should be happy. But I'm not. I couldn't get him out. He remained nabaad on 115.

He wanted to make this his day. He was that sort of a person.