"So what’s your story then?" He asks.
I don’t take my eyes off the bowler: "what do you mean?" It’s been ages since I watched a game in progress. The last few months have been a little disorienting. All I did was leave home and move across town to a different part of the city. I could well have been on a different planet.
Are my playing days long behind me?
I spring to my feet and hail the guy who is taking guard: "Sid!" He doesn’t look up. "SID!" I yell, aware the guy next to me is watching me with bemusement. "Check out my story…" I grin at the boy/ man. Throwing in a wink for good measure I set off at a run onto the pitch.
Now the batsman has no choice but notice me. He stops mid-action, holding up his bat before dropping it to the ground. "Ruby?" He takes off his helmet. I run up to him and fling my arms around him; aware the game has stopped not just at our pitch but also all around us. It’s quite normal for many games of cricket to take place simultaneously in the park. Quite dizzying to watch all of them in progress too: like many planets whirling in their own little solar systems. Somehow, they all manage to co-exist, keeping to their orbits, never really colliding with each other. Much like how the people of the city live. Jostling shoulders, adjusting themselves to accommodate others; touching but somehow not colliding with each other. The art of living parallel lives, peeking in on each other. Seeing but not acknowledging.
I place my arms on Sid’s waist and stand up on tiptoe. Making sure the boy/ man is watching us I raise my lips to his cheek. There are hoots, whistles around us. I swear Sid blushes red. Exultant I turn to where the stranger last stood. It feels important somehow to have him watch us. Without realising it, I am taking my first steps at becoming a woman: getting a man to notice me… By ignoring him.
But, he’s gone.
Just like that, all the excitement drains out of me, leaving me as dry as a martini-glass after Ma has finished her evening cocktail, leaving behind only the imprint of her lipstick.
The only reason to live, is so I can perform in front of an audience.
As I turn to go, Sid clutches my arm, pulling me back to him. On his face: confusion.
I fake a bored look: I hope he is not going to make a big fuss of it now.
Understanding dawns in his eyes: he knows I am not interested anymore, that I was just playing him along. Anger fills the hollows in his cheeks and he grabs me roughly pulling me to my toes. Even stretched to that height, I only just touch the base of his throat. His grip around me tightens as if he is going to snap me in half. His face lowers towards me. He’s going to kiss me.
I’ve always wanted to be kissed by Sid. But, on my terms only.
I lean back on his arm, as far as I can. Then thwack! I slap him. His neck snaps back. The momentum’s a little harder than I intend it to be.
It takes him by surprise; enough for him to drop his arm to his side. Sid takes a step back, freeing me. He looks so befuddled I almost want to laugh in his face.
I turn and run, cutting through the silence that has pounced on the team. The adrenaline is pumping in my ears, my heart beating so fast I think it will leap out of my chest. I reach the edge of the field, breathless and pause to look back at the boys.
They are still watching me, shell-shocked.
That was so much fun. I think I am going to enjoy growing up after all.
I had a good teacher.
—This was just a taste of Ruby Iyer’s life. Enjoy her complete story in The Many Lives of Ruby Iyer.
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About the author
A near life story told Laxmi Hariharan to write never stopped. She is the author of The Many Lives of Ruby Iyer and the kindle bestselling, epic fantasy The Destiny of Shaitan (Bombay Chronicles, 1). Laxmi blogs for the Huffington Post among others. London is where she creates. Bombay is what fires her imagination.
The Ruby Iyer Diaries: A Bombay Story Page 4
