Kishore Singh: T-20's over: can we talk now?

PEOPLE LIKE US

It is my habit once I am back from work to make calls to various members of the clan, to enquire of their health and to offer unsolicited, or according to my wife, unwelcome advice and help.Which is why I was relieved she was not at home one evening this week, and so I got busy with the telephone. "Call me back later, there's a match on," said my son in Pune. I was both disappointed and apprehensive, for he had appeared for an exam earlier in the day, but if he didn't want to speak to me, I suppose there was nothing I could do. I called my parents in Bikaner instead, and I could hear the television on in the background, and my mother said, did I know how critical the catch was and that we were sure to lose the match now, and who the hell was on the phone anyway?

My daughter was in Jaipur, on French leave from school, so I thought I would speak to her, but when I called her on her mobile, she said she was watching the finals at my brother's house, and if it wasn't anything urgent, she'd like to get back to it because it promised to be a nail-biting finish.

Because my colleagues in office had told me there was a cricket match on between India and Pakistan, I wasn't exactly ignorant, but even if it was the final match, why was everyone being hysterical? I decided to check the status on television, and having found the sports channel, it seemed for a while that India was going to win, and then it seemed we might lose, but when I wanted to switch the TV off, my servant pleaded to be allowed to watch the rest of the match. Which is how I came to see the poor Pakistani batsman being caught out, so it seemed we had won after all.

And with the match now over, it was time for me to start making my calls once again.

At first it was difficult to make myself heard for all the firecrackers bursting outside, but when I got through to my son a second time, he said, "Dad, can you believe it, we've won!" I said yes, I knew we'd won, and how had he done in his exam, and he said, again, we'd won, and he couldn't talk now, or any time soon, did I mind getting off the phone till later?

Usually when I'm upset I call my sister in Ahmedabad, but that evening she didn't have time for me when I told her my son was refusing to talk to me over the phone. "We've won," she crowed, "now get off the phone so I can go get myself something to celebrate with. And," she added for good measure, "please don't call back tonight." By now I knew there was no point in calling my father, who might want to discuss the finer points of the game with someone who had watched the whole match, and clearly my daughter, like my son, had shown no inkling of wanting to speak with me.

Oh well, I thought to myself, I'll just call a friend instead, but when he didn't answer the phone, I asked for the cook to serve me my dinner so I could turn in early.

But the cook, it seemed, had gone down to the park to discuss the win with the maids in the neighbourhood. Having made myself a sandwich, I sat down to read when my wife called to say her car had broken down, could I come over to help? "Don't you know we've won a match," I said smugly, "so I can't speak to you right now."