(This is a fiction piece - the fourth in a series of ... many.)
(See: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)
(Recap: A writer and a student - who is also the narrator - make a trip to a village to investigate a curious incident involving the burning down of a landlord's house. They realise that the Naxals may have something to do with this and arrange a meeting with them. Now, they meet the Panchayat Secretary to get his sense of what is going on. This series is set during the time Gavaskar retired - late '80s/early 90s.)
The Panchayat Secretary offered tea: the writer’s
broad smile suggested enthusiasm.
We were in the Panchayat office – a
recently constructed one-room structure, narrow and long, like the compartment
of a train. At one end was the entry door and the peon’s table. Next to it, was
a sturdy wooden chair bearing the letters “PCT 02” in white paint, on its arms
and legs. Cupboards bearing brown files overflowing with yellowing paper lined
the walls. Paperwork was to bureaucracy what debate was to democracy:
superfluous, painstaking, vital. (Surely, I thought, somewhere in there, will
be a file on a list of furniture items in the office with a row marked “Peon’s
Chair” and “PCT 02” written adjacent to each other). A clock that was six hours
behind (six hours ahead would be incongruous in a government office) and a calendar bearing the picture of
Saraswati adorned walls whose paint still gleamed.
The Secretary seemed distracted, drumming
his hands on the table, eyebrows knotted. The writer’s gaze went from the
Secretary to the spread-open sports page of the Udayavani – the Kannada daily
– that lay on the Secretary’s table.
“India doing badly?”, the writer asked.
“This Kapil Dev”, the Secretary responded,
“He should retire.”
“I am not sure, to be honest.”
“Why?”
“Kapil is still two players for the price
of one: he’s a frontline bowler, a respectable batsman and the best outfielder
in the team. That is very hard to replace.”
“Have you heard of Prashant Devadiga?”, the
Secretary asked, “He bowls in the Mangalore leagues – he’s faster than Kapil
and can hit just as many sixers.”
This was usually the point where a serious
cricket-fan would disengage: Mr Dev and Mr Devadiga in the same sentence was a
laughable construct.
