Jab I met Chhota Pant!

A filip to all the gully cricketers, who dream to swing their bats in the middle of the applauding crowd, wearing the jersey of India and clenching the victorious six- rewinding to the epic drive of a Roorkie-rookie to grace himself as India's youngest 'man of the match'.

The poster Ravi loves to look at. Image Source: NDTV Sports

Cricket is a sport that almost every Indian kid is passionate about since birth. A sward where the confines of caste, class, religion or gender all blend in the white dust, and it becomes all about whose performance is of greater virtuosity. Cricket is heartened by almost every parent. Sometimes, it becomes the bonding agent between the dad and son. The coaches don’t remain coaches anymore; they are embellished to a mentor for life. Cricket is a festival; when our country wins a tournament, it’s Diwali in every alley. Gully, gully of India bustles with a bunch of aspiring young cricketers, and here I am today, writing a brief encounter with little Ravi, or what he favours to call himself, ‘Chhota Pant’.

I was returning home, concluding a busy day at office. Habitual drudgery, my shoulders are so accustomed to it, that at times, when it feels airy, they wonder in awe whether I have lost my job. My fatigued foot was suddenly bumped by something; a ball rolled towards me, “Uncle! Please pass the ball.” A little kid tottered. I picked the ball up and handed it over on his tiny palm. He carried a bat, twice his size. I understood he couldn’t gather the strength to pick the whole thing up, so he dragged it around. “Beta, do you know how to play cricket?” I asked him with a curious smile. He instantly replied, “Yes! I am the best batsman in my friends’ group. Do you want to see my moves?” Seeing the kid reflecting such an enthusiasm, took me back to my childhood, when I too used to be a cricket fanatic.

“Of course! Chalo, let’s play a mini match. But tell me first, who’s your favourite cricketer?” I raised my eyebrow to emphasize on my question. Ravi promptly said, “Rishabh Pant. And do you know everyone calls me Chhota Pant, because of all my craziness towards him?”

I laughed. “Hahaha! Okay, so Chhota Pant, what makes you adore him this much?” His enthusiasm was tamed by a mellow yet painful simper. “You know, not everybody is born with a silver spoon. We, the unfortunates, have to make our own way by all means. Rishabh Sir is also one among us. He too struggled to reach where he stands today, unconquerable. I read that his mother used to take him to Delhi for practice at Sonnet Cricket Academy. As they couldn’t arrange a place in the city, they took shelter in the Gurudwara.”

“But soon, his course of life changed with the Delhi v/s Assam’s U-19 tournament. The 150 he battered, became the ringing bell of his glorious career”, I added. Ravi was surprised to see me possessing knowledge of his favourite cricketer. “Hey! I too can follow the trails of popular cricketers and their performances. You, youngsters, portray us as oldies that are stuck at 80 from their 40s!” Ravi burst into laughter. “No, I didn’t mean that. People of your age are generally bragging about Tendulkar, Ganguly, and how we missed the ‘golden era’. That’s why, I was amazed.” Ravi tried to calm me down.

“Every age group gets glued to the TV when the IPL season arrives. The Delhi Capitals was lead by whom? Our Rishabh Pant, one of the youngest captains. Next to Manish Pandey, he was the youngest to score a hundred in IPL.” I turned my nose up with pride for storing this observation in my mental hard drive.

“IPL? He was charismatic in the Ranji Trophy, much before than this. From 48 balls, he dug the fastest century in 2016 against Jharkhand. Not just that, he was Delhi’s captain in 2016-17 Vijay Hazare Trophy, right after Gautam Gambhir”, Ravi seemed like a talking encyclopedia of Rishabh Pant. I was dumbfounded by how much his micro brain can consume, and here I am, already forgetting today’s Excel sheets.

“He was the youngest to make a debut at the age of 19 in a T20I match. He was named in India’s team for several ongoing international tournaments at that time. As a wicket-keeper, his excellence was brought out in the first Test against Australia, when he took eleven catches. It is considered to be the highest number recorded by an Indian wicket keeper in a Test match.

2019-20 wasn’t good to him; he had to row through failures and many scornful remarks thrown at him. But he resurfaced to the arena of gamechangers; this time, stronger. In the first inning of Melbourne Test, when one by one, all the first half of the Indian battalion was benched due to injury, it was Rishabh Pant, who scored 97 out of 118 balls. His winning 148 partnership with Pujara restored India’s regality from a supposedly drowning game. His sportsmanship was awarded with the epithet of ‘man of the match’”

I interrupted Ravi’s elegant speech of Pant’s history. “Okay, okay, but did you forget we were supposed to play the match? Now, shall we start or should I sit here and resume listening to your Pant-gatha?” He sheepishly grinned. “No, let’s go! I am too excited to defeat you with my winning six.” I nodded my head and said, “Yeah, yeah, let’s see…” and I wrapped his neck with my arm. He too tried to put his slender arm on my shoulder. I bent down to ease it up for him. As his arm grazed my weary shoulder, it didn’t feel heavy anymore. I tucked my shirt out from the scheduled stiffness, folded my trouser, and told Ravi, “I will throw the ball with my best spin, no mercy!” I winked.