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After a customary wait of around 15 minutes, and the usual rejection by around 10 auto drivers, I was finally offered a ride to my destination by Syed Dastagir Sardar. There was something uncharacteristic about him. It could have been his readiness to take me to Brigade road, or it could have been his politeness even when asked to take a longer route to pick a friend up. Anyway, I was on my way and that is all that counted.
My friend, The Fat Knight as he is popularly known, started ranting about a movie he’d watched the previous night as soon as he got into the rick. ‘United’ it was called, a movie on Sir Bobby Charlton. The conversation that followed was something worthy of those magical foreign movies you buy from shady shops in National Market. Those Iranian types.
Fat Knight: “Dude, watched ‘United’ yesterday. Superb movie!”
I, the ardent Manchester United fan, shook my head in joy at the admission from a Chelsea supporter.
Fat Knight: “I didn’t know it was about Bobby Charlton. He doesn’t rate the present England team too much. He says that they will never win the world cup.”
“Where is the magic, the Iranian type,” you might ask. Well, here it is.
Syed (head slightly turned, in fluent English): “Which team are you talking about?”
We exchanged confused glances, The Fat Knight and I.
Fat Knight (Continues, unimpressed by his curiosity): “England. There is this guy named Bobby Charlton (slight condescension in his tone)…
Syed (Interrupting him): “Of course I know Sir Bobby Charlton. (We gasped at the prefix). And Bobby Moore.” (Fat Knight fainted. I woke him up with a sprinkle of sweat from my forehead) 1966, World Cup.” (I fainted.)
The Auto driver, by now our hero, went on and on. He was a Karnataka player in his early days, a real, living, contemporary to Charlton, Moore and Best when you think about it. On our mention of us being from Kerala, he listed a few teams he had played against; Titanium, one of the superpowers in football during the 60s, being one of them.
By the time we arrived at our destination, us men of large proportions had been reduced to midgets. We were in the presence of greatness. Fat Knight even went ahead and invited him to join us for lunch.
“No, thanks. You guys carry on and have a nice day,” said Syed Dastagir Sardar (he’d grown in our eyes by now, you see) as he collected the exact amount displayed on the meter. He merged into a field of autos, disappearing, probably amidst many such unusual stories we were yet to hear.
As we walked to up to our restaurant, we were still in awe. We recalled how he’d mentioned one of his brothers, a former Indian footballer by the name Hafeez. And we wondered, just wondered, whether he’d also be telling his stories from his glory days. To some passenger. In some city. In some corner of our cricket-mad country.
FYI, this article made its first appearance on http://www.fansonstands.com/content/kick-balls
