Iqbal

Iqbal had been practicing without a coach all his life. And now, he had one. A player who had lost his touch. After arranging the three wooden sticks in the ground, Iqbal went back to his mark and ran in with all his strength. His aim was to know the sticks to the ground. Mohit stood at the crease not knowing what to expect while Iqbal's sister Khatija sat comfortably on top of a haystack behind the stumps. Iqbal raced in and aimed one for the "wickets". Mohit read the ball and knocked it off easily. Unfazed, Iqbal went back to his mark and raced in, determined to hit the stumps again. Mohit could not believe it. Shaking his head, he dismissed this one, just as easily and called Iqbal to him.

"Don't try to....hit....the wickets....with every" he said puffing and panting while trying to signal with his hands at the same time. Exasparated, he looked around and called out to Khatija who was following their game. If this had to work, he needed help talking to Iqbal, a deaf mute. Khatija translated in sign language, the exact ideas that Mohit wanted to convey. "Don't aim for the stumps with every ball. The batsmen can read you if you do that. Hold your decision on what you want to do with the ball, till the last minute. If you do not know what you wish to do with the ball, how would the batsmen have any clue ? At the last moment, ask your heart what you wish to do, and then make the batsmen hit the ball in the area where you want him to." Iqbal nodded along, not quite sure what to make out of this.

They lined up the buffaloes and Iqbal got ready with some paint. "So this one, is Kapil. This one is Kumble. This one is ...". Mohit tried to identify the buffaloes. They went around the "field" and stationed the buffaloes at crucial fielding positions. When the ran out of buffaloes, they took the posters of their favorite players and added some numbers on them. They had 11 fielders all around them now. Mohit explained through Khatija what he wanted Iqbal to do. Khatija was to hold up a number behind Mohit (so that Mohit could not see it). Iqbal had to force Mohit to hit the ball towards the fielder whom Khatija chose. After the shot, Mohit would check to see how accurate his bowling was. And so it started. Khatija was very excited. Her brother was the best player in the world. She had a confidence about him that no one ever did. With a smug grin, she held up a number. Iqbal saw the number and ran in, not sure where to bowl. Mohit hit it away and turned back to see if Iqbal had done his job. He had not. He turned to Iqbal and taunted him. "Where are you bowling ? No. 6 is this way, not over there!". Iqbal nodded and went back thinking he got he hang of this. Khatija held up another number. He ran in and bowled again. Mohit hit it towards one of the buffaloes and turned back and checked. Another misfire from Iqbal. He taunted him again. Iqbal realized what was happening. Khatija picked a number again, her spirits still high. She somehow thought her brother can get *this number* correctly. With a blind trust that surpassed all logic, she held up another number. Iqbal bowled just as he wanted to, and Mohit hit the target fielder. He turned back and checked to confirm this. He had done it. But, he needed to make sure the boy had understood it all. They continued this for a while. Khatija knew her brother had aced it. She picked numbers with a broad smile and unwavering enthusiasm - the lone cheerleader for this amateur. Iqbal got his spots with relative ease. With each shot, his concentration increased while Khatija kept getting excited. She could not hold it any longer when the session ended. She ran down shouting out loud towards her brother who might have just won the World Cup single-handedly. It was her belief that had won that evening. She knew her brother could master the game and he had begun to demonstrate just that. She ran towards him taking long strides and flung herself at him hugging him tightly. They were celebrating the first of their many victories!