favourite till you almost ruined his chances.’
‘He won it fair and square. But these are just for the flat races. I was no good at the other field events. Long jump for instance and Discus.’
‘You collected a number of runners up silver medals, too. You couldn’t have won the Sportsman of the year shield, two years running, if you were not good at the field events you took part in. There, look on the second shelf.’
‘Gosh! When did you arrange all this?’
‘Some days now. The carpenter took an unconscionably long time to make the shelves. That’s my favourite, the one you’re holding.’
Dusty looked down at the cup. It read: “First prize. School Cross-country Race”. He laughed. ‘Hardly cross country. From the Gateway of India to Colaba point. Of course, as I told you, I had an unfair advantage.’
‘You mean, for a village boy, it was a piece of cake?’
‘Five to six miles was the usual daily tramp, not counting chasing after cattle.’
‘Well, you were streets ahead of the others and scarcely out of breath. I was proud and grateful. You justified all my investment in time and money.’
Dusty put the cup back and looked pensively out through the open curtains of the window. Then he turned and studied Sam. His gentle smirk betrayed a combination of mischief and smugness.
‘Sorry, Dusty, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’
‘I’ll be miles away from Bombay, you know, way up in the Himalayan foothills.’
‘The right place for a cold hearted sod.’ Sam mumbled, good-humouredly.
A month passed, and a week later Dusty was asked to attend the Army Selection Board in Poona. Sam saw him off at the Victoria Terminus Station. ‘You’re looking terribly smart in your blue blazer,’ he said.
Dusty blew on his nails and polished them against his collar.
‘It’s good to be confident, but remember, people don’t like cocky youngsters. You’ll find it plain sailing, yes, but try to hide some of your genius. Let others have the pleasure of discovering it.’
Dusty raised a placating hand and nodded. He loosened his tie. ‘I hope, Poona will be cooler. Oh, before I forget, thanks for sending me off First Class. I do hate crowds. God, haven’t I changed from that barefooted village boy you rescued, or rather, I should say, championed.’
‘Yes, but I might not have befriended you if you were indeed just barefooted. You were clean, sandal-shod, when I first saw you. Dear old Boman, he was no fool. And I’m no saintly missionary. But you’ve drifted. A penny for your thoughts, dear boy.’
‘Sam, tell me I don’t look Anglo-Indian. Punjabis can be light skinned. And Russy, I mean Rustom. Remember Rustom? He was shades lighter than me.’
‘I’m not sure, now. It’s strange how a nudge can influence one’s thinking! If you remember, I thought you were Parsee. Let’s not dwell on this.’
They studied each other for a while. Then Sam said: ‘You haven’t asked.’
‘Because as far as I’m concerned, no news is good news.’
‘Actually, I’ve had news. This morning. Before we set out. Not from Goa but London, which explains the long silence. You’ll be happy to know it is good news. I’m happy too. Funny,’ Sam chuckled, ‘how the thought of your absence from me made my heart grow fonder.’
‘You do have a look of Henry Fonda.’
‘Ha, ha. Now that’s not worthy of you.’ Sam glanced at his watch, then stopped a fat, middle-aged man, who wore a white cotton suit and pith helmet. ‘Excuse me, is there a delay in departure?’
The man stared at Sam. With officious gestures he tucked a green and red flag under one arm, removed a whistle from his mouth and beamed a bureaucratic smile. ‘My name is Deshpande. I ham train guard.’
‘Sam gave a nod and offered his hand, which Deshpande shook with great vigour. ‘You see, gentleman, there’s been hold-up. Train will now depart in haff hour. But it is electric train, gentleman, and so it will make up time. Worry
‘He won it fair and square. But these are just for the flat races. I was no good at the other field events. Long jump for instance and Discus.’
‘You collected a number of runners up silver medals, too. You couldn’t have won the Sportsman of the year shield, two years running, if you were not good at the field events you took part in. There, look on the second shelf.’
‘Gosh! When did you arrange all this?’
‘Some days now. The carpenter took an unconscionably long time to make the shelves. That’s my favourite, the one you’re holding.’
Dusty looked down at the cup. It read: “First prize. School Cross-country Race”. He laughed. ‘Hardly cross country. From the Gateway of India to Colaba point. Of course, as I told you, I had an unfair advantage.’
‘You mean, for a village boy, it was a piece of cake?’
‘Five to six miles was the usual daily tramp, not counting chasing after cattle.’
‘Well, you were streets ahead of the others and scarcely out of breath. I was proud and grateful. You justified all my investment in time and money.’
Dusty put the cup back and looked pensively out through the open curtains of the window. Then he turned and studied Sam. His gentle smirk betrayed a combination of mischief and smugness.
‘Sorry, Dusty, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’
‘I’ll be miles away from Bombay, you know, way up in the Himalayan foothills.’
‘The right place for a cold hearted sod.’ Sam mumbled, good-humouredly.
A month passed, and a week later Dusty was asked to attend the Army Selection Board in Poona. Sam saw him off at the Victoria Terminus Station. ‘You’re looking terribly smart in your blue blazer,’ he said.
Dusty blew on his nails and polished them against his collar.
‘It’s good to be confident, but remember, people don’t like cocky youngsters. You’ll find it plain sailing, yes, but try to hide some of your genius. Let others have the pleasure of discovering it.’
Dusty raised a placating hand and nodded. He loosened his tie. ‘I hope, Poona will be cooler. Oh, before I forget, thanks for sending me off First Class. I do hate crowds. God, haven’t I changed from that barefooted village boy you rescued, or rather, I should say, championed.’
‘Yes, but I might not have befriended you if you were indeed just barefooted. You were clean, sandal-shod, when I first saw you. Dear old Boman, he was no fool. And I’m no saintly missionary. But you’ve drifted. A penny for your thoughts, dear boy.’
‘Sam, tell me I don’t look Anglo-Indian. Punjabis can be light skinned. And Russy, I mean Rustom. Remember Rustom? He was shades lighter than me.’
‘I’m not sure, now. It’s strange how a nudge can influence one’s thinking! If you remember, I thought you were Parsee. Let’s not dwell on this.’
They studied each other for a while. Then Sam said: ‘You haven’t asked.’
‘Because as far as I’m concerned, no news is good news.’
‘Actually, I’ve had news. This morning. Before we set out. Not from Goa but London, which explains the long silence. You’ll be happy to know it is good news. I’m happy too. Funny,’ Sam chuckled, ‘how the thought of your absence from me made my heart grow fonder.’
‘You do have a look of Henry Fonda.’
‘Ha, ha. Now that’s not worthy of you.’ Sam glanced at his watch, then stopped a fat, middle-aged man, who wore a white cotton suit and pith helmet. ‘Excuse me, is there a delay in departure?’
The man stared at Sam. With officious gestures he tucked a green and red flag under one arm, removed a whistle from his mouth and beamed a bureaucratic smile. ‘My name is Deshpande. I ham train guard.’
‘Sam gave a nod and offered his hand, which Deshpande shook with great vigour. ‘You see, gentleman, there’s been hold-up. Train will now depart in haff hour. But it is electric train, gentleman, and so it will make up time. Worry
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