Read Online The Taliban Cricket Club by Timeri N. Murari - Free Book Online

necessarily like my excelling at it. Years later, when I told him I played cricket for my college team, I detected a strong note of disapproval in his laughter. I learned then that even good men found it hard to escape the powers that they had granted to themselves.
    â€œShe was good at it,” Jahan said.
    â€œCan we learn to play and win in three weeks is what I want to know,” Parwaaze said.
    â€œYou won’t be brilliant. It will take a lot of practice to learn the basics of the game—catching, throwing, hitting—but cricket really demands individual creativity, it encourages experimentation, it encourages a rebellious spirit, all within the boundaries of the game. As a batsman you hit the ball in your style, while another one will hit the ball in the way that suits him best. And as a bowler, you create your technique of bowling the ball, either fast or slow. You don’t have to conform to one method.”
    My cousins looked dumbstruck again.
    â€œI don’t think the minister has thought about the game as you have,” Parwaaze said softly. “If he thought about cricket the way you describe it, he would cancel his plan immediately.”
    â€œWell, thinking about the game this way already puts us at an advantage—this is how the best cricket is played. But more important, where will you find eleven people crazy enough to want to learn this game?” I asked.
    Parwaaze waved the question away. “We have our cousins all doing nothing. Just sitting around getting depressed every day. This will be their chance.” We had twenty-eight cousins scattered across the city. Ten were girls. He ticked off the boys who were around the same age. “There’s Atash, Royan, Omaid, Bahram, Darab, Fardin, Namdar, and Shahdan. How many is that?”
    â€œEight.”
    â€œNine,” Jahan said, raising his hand.
    â€œBut not all of them will want to play,” I said, deflating their enthusiasm gently. “And will they want to leave?”
    â€œSome of them definitely will want to. We talk about nothing else but how to get out and do something with our lives.”
    â€œWhat do we play with?” Qubad asked.
    â€œBat, pads, a ball. I still have Shaheen’s old kit in the basement. Just remember that the other teams have to learn the game too,” I said. “So you’ll be on the same level. You won’t master the sport, but at least you might be better than they are. Besides, you’ve got me. I bet I know a lot more about cricket than any of their guys do. And I want you to win.”
    â€œWhat a-about you?” Qubad asked in concern. “Okay, if we we win and l-leave, you’re still here.”
    â€œI have Shaheen. He’ll send the money and ticket as soon as I write him for it. He knows I must wait for Maadar before I can join him in the States. Who knows? I may not be here for the full three weeks to see the final,” I said sadly. “But let’s focus on the game. I’ll give you a good grounding no matter what—we’re not going to miss this opportunity.”
    â€œLet’s start now,” Parwaaze said, jumping to his feet.
    â€œI’ve got to look for the kit. Tomorrow. Don’t tell Maadar about what we saw today,” I warned them. “I don’t want her worrying.”
    When Jahan and I went back inside after bidding the cousins good-bye, Mother wasn’t in bed but had negotiated her way down the stairs and was in the kitchen. She looked so normal sitting at the table, as if nothing was wrong. Her energy came in cycles, it seemed. She was making a quorma, chopping onions with the plums at her side. She would fry the onions first, and then add the meat, the plums, the vegetables, and the spices. Finally, she would add the water and allow it to simmer until it became a delicious stew. She had sent Abdul to the bakery for the naan and they were piled on the table. As always, there was