The Three Mistakes Of My Life | Page 6

driver,
an adolescent.
'Excuse me, your headlight is hanging out.'
'Really?' the boy said and shut off the ignition. He stepped outside and came to
the front.
Ish grabbed the boy's head from behind and smashed his face into the bonnet.
He proceeded to strike the headlight with his bat. The glass broke and the bulb
hung out.
'What's your problem,' the boy said, blood spurting out of his nose.
'You tell me what's up? You like pressing horns?' Ish said.
Ish grabbed his collar and gave six non-stop slaps across his face. Omi picked
up the bat and smashed the windscreen. The glass broke into a million pieces.
People on the street gathered around as there is nothing quite as entertaining as
a street fight.
The boy shivered in pain and fear. What would he tell his daddy about his
broken car and face?
Ish's dad heard the commotion and came out of the house. Ish held the boy in
an elbow lock. The boy was struggling to breathe.
'Leave him,' Ish's dad said.
Ish gripped him tighter.
'I said leave him,' Ish's dad shouted, 'what's going on here?'
'He has been troubling Vidya since last week,' Ish said. He kicked the boy's face
with his knee and released him. The boy kneeled on the floor and sucked in air.
The last kick from Ish had smeared the blood from his nose across his face.
'And what do you think you are doing?' Ish's dad asked him.
'Teaching him a lesson,' Ish said and unhooked his bat stuck in the
windscreen.
 'Really, when will you learn your lessons?' Ish's dad said to him.
Ish turned away.
'You go now,' Ish's dad said to the beeping driver, who folded his hands. Seeing
that no one cared about his apology, he trudged back to his car.
Ish's dad turned to his neighbours. 'For one whole year he's been sitting at
home. Ran away from the army of his own country and then wants to teach
lessons to others! He and his loafer friends hanging around the house all day
long.'
One sidelong glance at his dad and Ish walked back home.
'Where the hell are you going now?' Ish's dad said.
'Match. Why? You want to curse me some more?' Ish said.
'When you've wasted your entire life, what's another day?' Ish's father said and
the neighbours half-nodded their heads in sympathy.
We missed the final five overs of the match. Luckily, India won and Ish didn't
get that upset.
'Yes, yes, yes,' Ishaan jumped. 'Gopi on me tonight.' I love idiots.
Actually, Ishaan is not an idiot. At least not as much as Omi. It is just that
both of them suck at studies, especially maths, and I am good at it. Hence, I have
this chip on my shoulder. It does sound a bit conceited, but it is the only chip on
my shoulder. For instance, I am easily the poorest of the three (though I will be
the richest one day), even though Ishaan and Omi aren't particularly wealthy.
Ishaan's dad works in the telephone exchange, and while they have lots of phones
in the house, the salary is modest. Omi's dad is the priest of the Swamibhakti
temple, which actually belongs to Omi's mom's family for generations. And that
does not pay well either. But still, they are a lot better off than me and my mom.
My mom runs a small Gujarati snacks business, and the little bit of money I
make from tuitions helps us get by, but that's about it.
'We won, we won the series 3-1,' Omi repeated what he read on the TV screen.
Of course, it would have been too much for him to express such original insight.
Some say Omi was born stupid, while some say he became stupid after a cork
ball hit him on the head in Class VI. I didn't know the reason, but I did know that
maybe the best idea for him would be to become a priest. He wouldn't have much
of a career otherwise, given that he barely scraped through Class XII, after
repeating the maths compartment exam twice. But he didn't want to be a priest,
so my plan was the best one.
I ate the khakra. My mother made it better than Ishaan's mom. We were
professionals after all.
'I'll go home to change and then we will go to Gopi, ok?' I said as Ishaan and
Omi were still dancing. Dancing after an Indian victory was a ritual we had
started when we were eleven, one that should have stopped by thirteen. However,
here we were at twenty-one, jigging like juveniles. Ok, so