Saurav Ganguly's Shirt . . .

In the times of renewed Indo-Pak rivalry on the Cricket Field, an old piece of yarn . . .

This is the story of my life. . .

Once a successful, admired and well traveled shirt, I am now old, arthritic and coming apart at the seams. I have seen it all - success, fame, women, the world. And I saw it all with my master, Saurav Ganguly, HRH Prince of Calcutta.
My origins were humble; I was born in a mill in Ludhiana. Well, if one examined it deeply, it was not exactly a humble coming into the world, for I and my 299 siblings were created for the exclusive use of the Royal family of the country, The Indian Cricket Team. Our upbringing, if one could call it that, was uneventful, and then one fine day we were packed into cardboard boxes and our journey into the wide world began. As we flew eastward, my excited brothers and sisters wagered bets on who in the Royalty they would serve during the coming months. I had no such anxiety, leaving it to fate and his sidekick, destiny to decide on whom, I would belong to.

Some days later, I and three of my older brothers were parted from the rabble, and handed over to one of the members of the Royal family. Wrapped in cellophane and cardboard, it was difficult to find out which of the Royalty had got us. My brothers argued amongst themselves, they would not talk to meas I was one of the youngest in the family, and swore fiercely that theywould rather pop their buttons, then have the physio or the manager inherit us. I was nervous and couldn’t sleep the night before the match and stuffed my ears with cotton wool to stop hearing the bickering of my brothers. In the morning, ignoring my brothers, hands grabbed me roughly and tearing the wraps open, threw me onto the bed.

As I lay on back, I was overcome with emotion, looking at the bare-bodied person who was toweling himself vigorously. Tears flowed down my cheeks, in happiness, in pride and most of all in worship! Saurav Ganguly, the Prince of Calcutta, the King of the Indian Cricket Team had chosen me as his Shirt, his raiment, his protection from the elements of the wicked world!!

Saurav loved me. He took me everywhere for the next three months, we traveled, we partied and we played some Cricket. Saurav took good care of me, he insisted on my being clean, berating several house-keeping lads at various hotels when I was not. He never dived or tumbled around on the field when I was with him, though I did get a few grass stains occasionally when he lost his footing. His leadership blossomed under me and he reached heights of fame and fortune, with me around. It was a happy and peaceful existence for a while and then the most unbelievable thing happened.

Everybody has a defining moment, the acme, the zenith, in life and mine came one summer evening in London at the holy ground of Cricket, Lords. I was sitting comfortably around my Master’s shoulders in the late evening sunlight, as two young lads were batting, parsimonious Knights to my Master’s Princely lavishness. My Master seemed tense, kept leaning forward with his eyes focused on the middle of the ground and chewing on the beads around his neck. Suddenly, letting out a roar like the tiger he was, he jumped to his feet, tore me of his back and started twirling me around his head, all the while screaming like someone in the grips of dementia!

Dizzy, though I was with the helicopter rotor-like revolutions, the feeling I had was one of dying and going to heaven! Without a doubt, I was Famous, theSalvadore Dali of clothing, the envy of all shirts. The whole enclosure, the whole stadium and the whole Cricket playing world knew me. I wasphotographed a million times, reams were written about me, my pictures were plastered on all the leading newspapers in the world and for a while I was a permanent fixture on several television networks’ prime time entertainment! My Master, My Lord, My Prince had transformed me from a good shirt to a great one!

Though there were other happy times, it never came close to that evening in London, and then my master started using my services less and less. I couldn’t fault him because I was getting old, graying and arthritis was creeping into my joints. Finally, he gave me to the bellboy at the Maurya Sheraton in New Delhi and though treated abysmally by this slothful character, I did not have a bath after leaving my Master and was finally employed as a rag to shine shoes, my mind was at rest. I had my moment in the golden rays of the Sun. I was a Famous Shirt for a while and I had served Royalty, not a privilege made available to every shirt.

Now, as I await death, lying in a pile of garbage with one hand amputated and gaping holes in my once, proud body, I wonder where and what my Master, HRH Prince Saurav Ganguly is doing and I remember Thomas Gray’s famous line

‘The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day. . . '