Soliloquy

In memoriam, Anil Mittal Sir (1959-2020)
My murshid, guru and ustaad

“Shama-sa go hai sarapar tum zubaan lekin
Dekhta hoon ‘Zafar’ is bazm me khamosh tumhe”

12th September is the hardest day of the year. It wasn’t until five years ago, when you were still with me, blessing me with your presence, admonishing me for my mistakes and showering me with your love with the largesse of those who have seen it all. I remember the day I lost you – 12 September 2020 – well enough for the date to become a haunting reminder of what I could never get again in my life.

It was a Saturday, and I was home for lunch after training when I received a phone call from a well-wisher informing me that you were no more. You had been unwell the past month, coming in and out of the hospital after getting some blockages in your heart removed, but you had been doing fairly well until the end came, all of a sudden and without warning, especially after you had shown signs of getting well.

I missed out on speaking to you on Teacher’s Day that year, which was an unforgivable offence for which I still blame myself; I had tried hard to connect to your hospital room at Yashoda, but they would not let me speak to you, nor would they budge me through when I had knocked on their doors owing to protocols necessitated by Covid-19. Now, I do not remember when I last spoke to you – I am reminded of this haunting memory every Teacher’s day, and the week starting from it is the toughest for me every year. It was Teacher’s Day a week ago from today, and I could hardly keep myself together. Yet I knew that I must go on, for you would not be too pleased with me if I gave in to things that made me weak.

***

That the end came after you had come back home, got better and lay down for a siesta after a hearty breakfast was, in many ways, better for us, knowing that you did not have to suffer. Yet, to be a pallbearer at the age of 21 – ten days short of turning 22 – under those dark skies was not easy, and the tears that fell that monsoon afternoon were, for all means and purposes, my effort in seeking to unite with you. How could I possibly live on in a world without you?

You, who had guided me through every storm in my life and made me see the silver lining in the most obtuse of clouds, had also not prepared me sufficiently well to live on without you. All the meaning I had had in my life until then was because of you, and everything that I am today is because of you. Never did a man stand as tall as you did when facing obstacles in life and not letting them dictate the course of your actions; as much as I learnt about being a better cricketer from you, I certainly learnt more about becoming a better man.

Every trait that I, in the prime flush of youth today, possess has your bearings. While my father helped me pick my first cricket bat up and taught me the basics, if it were not for you, he and I would not have been on this journey today, and I would certainly not have been brave enough to face the world after everything I had to go through.

After every setback and challenge, you sat me down, took my words at face value and reinstilled the notion of being a good man through it all, and spoke about how staying incorruptible was the only way to achieve immortality. You were the most upright man I knew, and you would not bend for anything you did not believe in; to be able to put these learnings to good use is my most significant endeavour.

While, to many, your greatest contribution in my life may seem your call in selecting me in the St Andrews ‘A’ team when I was a rank outsider in 2012 (boys who had transferred from government schools such as Kendriya Vidyalayas were looked upon as being little better than vermin) with no pedigree to call my own in a prestigious private school swarming with brats of the rich and corrupt, I view your gifts in a more nuanced way – you taught me to stand up for my rights, to stay true to my values and to never give in on the face of pressure.

***

Everything I am today is because of my parents and YOU, and even my father, who was a notable wicketkeeper-batter in his youth, held on to everything you said – if only to repeat them at home every evening. Rahul Dravid, whom I worship as only a man can worship his hero, shares his birthday with yours – not to mention all your qualities. Even Mr Anirudh Singh, who became as close a mentor to me as one could have after your demise, was your student, and I cannot help but marvel at the fact that the three men who have shaped my life have all been connected with you.

You were the God whom I could touch, feel and speak to, and I lamented deeply on the night of 12 September 2020 that it was not fair for the Gods to take one of their own away from the world. What I firmly know is that you have garnered disciples in heaven by now, to whom you share your knowledge without the expectation of any returns, and when the time comes, I shall be there waiting in line to take your blessings and work under your shadow yet again.

If I could be even half the man that you are in my eyes when the time comes for me to leave these earthly realms, I shall consider myself very fortunate indeed. In this life, and in every other life, I know that I was blessed to have you as my murshid and guru, and will knock on every door of heaven as much as possible to have you in my life again.

To paraphrase Rasikh Azimabadi:

“Shagird hai hum Anil Sahab se ustaad ke, ‘Mohul’
Ustaadon ka ustaad hai ustaad humara”

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