Hundred Hundred Finale and the broken trust

Subhash Mathur was born and brought up in small towns in Rajasthan. During his school and college education at Jaipur, he was keenly involved in sports, journalism, and public speaking. His civil services career has given him a platform for spreading his ideas about modernizing tax administration to benefit the common man. Post-retirement he is devoting his energies, along with his wife Tilak, to public and humane causes.

      The 100 Hundred Finale and the Broken Trust 

25th June was always a special day in my life. 

It was my birthday.

It was made even more exciting because the Final of the newly minted 100- Hundred was also scheduled for 25th June.

100 H had swept away T10 - T20- ODI off the table and into the dustbin.

100 H was played in two halves in alternating segments in Mixed doubles format.

It was gender neutral with 12 players in each team.  Grounds had been made larger to accommodate the extra fielder.

And the Finale was slotted for 25th June.

Additionally I was going to touch ‘83 on that day. 

Happy birthday to You.  

Thanks. 

83 looks like old age but in 2032 the new age ‘Don’t Grow Old’ pills had been fine tuned to keep Senior Citizens youthful and peppery.

The previous evening I had persuaded my grand nephew to make all preparations ‘glitch’ proof.  

No disruptions. On any account.

 My seat was reserved next to the Ice box full of soft drinks.  I avoid hard drinks on ‘must stay awake ‘occasions .

Fresh snacks would be ordered from 999 during the game. I loved sautéed Prawns.

Excitement was in the air and I was lit into H 100.

My family that is my 80-plus wife Chirpy and children had agreed to join me in the drawing room to watch the game.

 Birthday celebrations after the game.

Defending champions Namibia were pitted against the new Cricket Kings, Netherlands.

I was rooting for Namibia.  I really liked Mbanga Jr.  He was in Sir Gary mould. And sis Abena had cornered huge glory in the past six months. She was known as the ‘Foxer’.

Man Friday had ensured that I was up and about on 25th before 8 and was ready for breakfast.

As I waited for 2 water poached eggs with buttered toast I scanned the Morning Star hurriedly.

One large cuppa hot sweet and steaming tea was already at my elbow.

Weathermen predicted a clear balmy evening over the Hammer Complex,   Rochester.

So far so Good.

As usual, I was tiring by 11.  Man Friday gently tucked me into the bed for my usual pre-lunch nap. That kept me going for the rest of the day.

As per custom I would wake up around 12 but that didn’t happen on 25th.

Worried, Man Friday rushed into my bedroom and tried to wake me up but to no avail.  

He even slapped me twice. On my cheek!

 Audacious fellow.

Shortly thereafter he shouted for the other family members to converge and check me out.

Each one tried cajoling me into wakefulness.

My wife Chirpy of 62 years togetherness walked in and took control. She whispered sweet nothings into my ears. But they fell on deaf ears.

I could hear some subdued sobbing and sense lots of frenetic activity.

Our building resident doctor was being contacted but he was in the shower.

Soon I heard my son Munnu [Manohar for the uninitiated] calling for the ambulance.

He vaguely mentioned Escorts Jaipur to Grandy Ambika.

Our eldest Bahu, Vatika started chanting Babu ji ‘Kitne acche the’ but quickly corrected herself into ‘Kitne acche hain ‘ 

After all I wasn’t declared dead just yet.

Out of the blue Ambika groaned and blurted out ‘Oh my God, Babaji will miss the Finale’.

How cute! 

Finally, the resident Doc Hari blustered his way onto my bedside with a serious countenance.  Hurriedly he conducted a feverish preliminary exam just to confirm what I already knew:

 That I was’ Dead as a Dodo’.

Exam over he solemnly announced:

‘It’s all over. Call the relatives.

And left hurriedly.

 Family took over.

Just then the voices started fading away. Why was I left alone?

Oh! I realized that they were now busy with the arrangements.

When will the funeral happen?

Today?  Too late.  Tomorrow would suit everyone.

Which ‘Shamshan’ Ghat will be nicer? And so on.

Let’s divide the work of informing the Family and friends.

We have to give time for the outstation family to join.

Eldest Bahu Vatika was entrusted with drafting the obit for the local papers. She began feeling important.

Just then I heard Mansi, the younger daughter crying inconsolably on the speakerphone. And giving out instructions to Munnu in between the sobs.

You know Munnu, she blurted out ‘We need a befitting funeral For the Doyen!

Befitting? Never mind. Doyen! Seriously.

And wait till I reach and please please don’t do anything stupid in the meanwhile’ Mansi admonished Munnu.

Just then Chunnu, the younger one joined the conference call – Hey wait for us to reach. Don’t be in a rush.

Mansi as usual ignored Chunnu and went on: put Papa comfortably on an ice slab under a see-through tent.  For clear ‘darshan’.

How lovely.  

And listen Munnu light a few candles and Agarbatti – Papa loved the rose scent.

Let’s make him feel comfortable and important. Yeah put him in the drawing room. It’s a large room.

And yes, before I forget book the Zia band.

We will take him in a Song and Dance grand procession. I loved him you know.

And Munnu, listen don’t forget to call Dangi Chachi and Piyu Bhua. They would be livid if we didn’t inform them straight away.

They were close to Papa.

See you all soon. The chatter ebbed away.  

In the midst of all the activities I lay comfortably on the Ice Slab. For some odd reason I didn’t feel the cold at all.  

Lots of activity was happening. People were coming in and going out .

Visitors entered the Flat with mildly shaking folded hands. And bare footed. Tip toeing to stand in front of me almost touching my fee.

Very soon some mantras chanting started. The Priests had landed I surmised.

It was finally getting kind of claustrophobic. I could feel it in my bones.

But exhaustion finally took over.  I fell asleep.

As morning dawned I was jolted awake as someone had removed the tent. And two strangers were taking off my clothes.

What the hell was going on? 

They didn’t even ask me. But it didn’t matter to anyone anymore.

Just then I remembered: I was dead anyway.

I should not butt in unnecessarily.

As clothes resisted being taken off they were just cut open. And cast asunder.

Eeeks!

‘Nange  aayey the Nange he jaayey ge’

And quickly bathed me with cold water. How I hated cold baths.

Swoosh! Without warning I was lifted in the air and then placed on a rickety bed. With six relatives holding it afloat.

Barely.

Ah! The Last Journey had begun.  

 But I still was desperate to know – who won the final?

Grandy Ambika made sure that I knew. Namibia she shouted out to no one in particular. But I understood.

Briefly the procession halted at the exit gate of the building to enable the women folk to howl, sob and pay a tearful farewell.

Soon,  I was riding  a elevated heavily bedecked truck with Zia band ahead,  striking soul foul tunes till Mansi shouted for more peppy numbers.

Zia obliged with ’Zindagi Ek Safar Hai Suhana’. I wanted to get up and do a jig.  

Frenetic activity began once I was laid on the wooden Pyre!

Ouch!

Soon I could feel that heat from the Pyre. Wood was burning gloriously around me.

I could see mourners backing away but the Family stood ground bravely ignoring the heat and the smoke .  They were murmuring farewell chants:

‘Farewell dear Papa for we lived a happy a happy life with you ’.

Chirpy stood so lost and forlorn as if in deep thought.   Obviously, she was in shock. After all, I had broken our Solemn Pact – she would go first.

 I shed a tear for leaving Chirpy all alone.

Surrounded by the family I made my way to ‘Jannat ‘with my Sanchit Karma in tow.

‘Ashes to Ashes! Dust to Dust’

Amen.

PS . This story was first published in the Arbit section of Rashtradoot a Jaipur daily 

https://epaper.rashtradoot.com/search/1/2023-03-18/6