I call him Breadman because he gave people their daily bread. he was a cook employed by the son-in-law of our neighbour. Whenever the daughter and son-in-law of our neighbour paid a visit, they brought him along. He was a deaf-mute and hence could not be left alone. He could not hear even a temple bell rung next to his ear and could only make incoherent sounds.
Barring this handicap, he was in excellent health. He was a good cook with a strong sense of smell. He got a lot of pleasure when the food cooked by him was appreciated. His eyes would light up like a pair of diamonds and he would make guttural sounds. He was great fun to us children.
If he was annoyed, he would drop metallic utensils on the floor or start playing music with a roller pin on metal containers. We would rush to the kitchen and ask him to stop the noise. " What noise ? " he would gesture, thereby indicating that what disturbed us had no effect whatsoever on him. Very often, he would go on doing the work in hand without the slightest sign of disturbance.
Once, we were playing cricket in the compound. He came and watched us for a while. Then he asked us what we were doing. I wrote in the dust with the help of my finger that it was a game called cricket. " Can I play ? " he gestured. We were too happy to get a good fielder whom as a batsman, we could easily dismiss, being a novice.
Most of us thereafter, malingered in the fielding. The cook would gleefully hop in long strides to the ball anywhere in the field. he took a special pleasure in catching the ball in the air. he was at first perplexed as to why the batsman was not given out everytime he caught the ball in the air. It took us some effort to explain to him the rule that the ball had to be caught in the air before it touched the ground after leaving the bat. he violently disagreed with the LBW rule on the ground that being hit in the legs was sufficient punishment to the batsman. By the time his turn came for batting, he had learnt all the rules of the game even if he disagreed with some of them. He was the last to bat and we vied with each other to bowl to him in the hope of earning a cheap wicket.
One after another, we bowled. Leg spin, off spin, googly, pace and so on. He held the bat like a club raised above his shoulders. Unerringly, he would smack the ball whether it was short pitched, good length, over pitched or full toss. As we grew tired, we started bending the rules, then making new rules such as the batsman having to field the ball, if it crossed the boundary line and finally outright cheating. nothing worked. By this time, the news had spread and some college going boys joined in. The distance between the stumps was surreptitiously reduced. The older boys had even lesser compunction than us in regard to the rules. They threw the ball at him instead of bowling. The deaf-mute batted on.. It was getting dark and we appealed for bad light. He rejected our appeal on the ground that he could still sight the ball. Finally some bright chap suggested to him that it would be a great honour if he retired. he did so with a K-R-E-E G-A-H kind of sound.
Instead of us chairing him, he chaired us, two on his shoulders, one on his back and two in his arms. He romped his way to the kitchen and deposited us on the floor simply by shaking himself.
There and then we resolved that we might hazard being on the wrong side of Sir Donald's bat but never again, would we ask this breadman to play with us. How about sending such a one to rescue our tiring, tiring, tired players on their losing forays abroad ?_
No comments:
Post a Comment