Khel khel mein

sunil gavaskar looked terribly upset as he put a spoonful of misal in his mouth. he looked at milkha singh, who tried to do the same and had misal sticking all over his moustache and beard. the restaurant in downtown delhi was fairly crowded. but nobody paid much attention to two of the finest sportsmen in the country, as they grappled with a maharashtrian mouthful."i am the flying sikh," thundered singh. "but right now i feel like flying off the handle. this arjuna award is forty years too late. was the government sleeping all this while?" gavaskar shook his head. "and look what happened when don bradman went to sleep. he dreamt up a dream team! what nonsense! how can anybody know what bradman saw in his dreams? and am i supposed to believe that all his life he only kept dreaming of a cricket team?" "it's possible," says singh. "some people count sheep when they don't get sleep. maybe bradman used to shortlist cricketers for his dream team when he didn't get sleep!" gavaskar hardly felt consoled. "but he thought i was a good technician whose chief fault was lack of aggression. technician? hey, come on, i am a batsman not a refrigerator repairman. and what does he mean by lack of aggression? did he expect me to show my middle finger to the umpire or bang my bat against my forehead?" "try running," suggested singh. "i have done it for years. first i ran for medals, now i am running away from an award i don't want." "i am used to running between wickets," said gavaskar slowly. "but now i find myself on a sticky wicket." "it must be the rains," reasoned singh. gavaskar kept his cool. "let's talk about your problem." "the arjuna award has lost its sheen," mumbled milkha singh. "though uma bharati has promised to polish it up, i am still not interested. but she is asking me to accept it in sportsman's spirit. for that she will have to wait till i die. then i can come back in my sportsman's spirit to accept the award!" gavaskar almost choked on his misal. "but why is she insisting that you shouldn't penalise her by rejecting the award?" singh frowned. "ha, women! anything to hide their age. she says i shouldn't penalise her because she wasn't even born in 1958 when i was awarded the padma shri!" just then a familiar bearded face popped up at their table. "padma! did anybody mention my padma lakshmi!" milkha singh was not amused. "who are you?" he asked. "i am salman rushdie! haven't you heard of me?" "no," said singh. "are you a sportsman?" rushdie shook his head. "no, but i am also into running." "really?" asked gavaskar. rushdie nodded. "yes. i mean, for a long time, i was running for my life from people who didn't like me. and now i am running after a woman i like! padma lakshmi!" "so what's your problem?" asked milkha singh. "well, all along i was on a hitlist and now i am not even on the booker prize shortlist! so there is a fury building up inside me." sunil gavaskar and milkha singh both pushed their plates towards salman rushide and said in chorus, "here, have some misal."