An Other Tale of Two Cities

Prologue

Huajin’s son had two fathers. One was ShanJuan, who, though wasn’t the biological father, lent his name to him. Another was Weimin, his step father. May be he had three, if you counted BoJin, the real biological father. Or was he? It could have been any one of the thousand or more eminent personalities of Shanghai that Huajin met regularly at the parties. Only HuaJin could say for sure. But she wasn’t even thinking about that. She didn’t seem to care who it was.

When Huajin left Bojin and married ShanJuan, Bojin had committed suicide, some said he had poisoned himself due to shame at the loss of his position as World Badminton No.1 to his friend ShanJuan. Some said he poisoned himself due to the loss of Huajin, to the same friend. Some said Huajin poisoned him to free herself in favour of the new World Champion. Whatever, ShanYuan had a troubled conscience for a few days. But he convinced himself that all is fair in Love and War. He also told himself that a dead friend, however dear, wasn’t worth a fraction of Huajin, lying in his arms.

Within days of of moving in with ShanYuan and death of Bojin, Huajin announced that she was five months pregnant. ShanYuan knew it wasn’t his child. But by then he was enslaved to HuaJin’s beauty and poise that he claimed that the son was his to avoid the risk of annoying her. He was ready to lend his name to the child to be born to his wife.

Huajin always exercised such control over her paramours. They knelt, crawled and begged before her, so that she wouldn’t leave them, every single night that they got to spend with her. She had the capacity to bring them to life. She had the capacity to drive them to death.

After her son was born, Huajin got into the social circuit quickly, getting back to physical shape and exercising all her charms on those who could shower wealth and power on her. She had all the fun at the expense and humiliation of ShanYuan. In the next two years, she discovered what she really wanted from life. It wasn’t money. Money didn’t interest her any more. She could get however much she wanted at her command. But ‘Power’ was what she liked to possess. She toyed with several party members till she found the fastest path to the Corridors of the Power; Weimin.

Weimin, as his name suggests was a People’s Hero. He was thirty, when she first met him and she was twenty three. Her son was still two year old. Weimin was the fastest growing power center in the Party. He had ample help from his father, who was the right and left hand of the then President of China. The President owed it to him to become the President. The power of the father-son combination was such that, when Weimin showed his interest in Huajin, the thousand and odd eminent personalities of Shanghai deserted the streets that she strode, in favour of Weimin. Those few that crossed either his or her path were turned to nought and they had to desert the city, any way.

It was no secret that Weimin and Huajin were living as husband and wife, but never married for several years. During this time, they were known to have a second son, who Weimin decided to hide from public view as it could complicate his earlier marriage and his political life. In any case, Huajin was married to ShanYuan when their son was born, so he was officially registered as the son on ShanYuan. The three elders knew the truth and most of their friends and acquitances suspected it.

ShanYuan was broken, first of his heart, then of his game and then of his money and then of his health and then of his mind. By the time Weimin and Huajin decided to wed, ShanYuan had become a mental wreck and behaved unpredictably. He was full time drunk and became a permanent junk. In this condition, ShanJuan protested and would not free HuaJin for her to marry Weimin. He even slapped her once and humiliated Weimin in public. ShanJuan made two mistakes. He had become a nuisance for HuaJin and he crossed the path of Weimin. In the next few days, the news was that ShanYuan died of ‘illness of the heart’. And in the next few days, Weimin married HuaJin and they went out on their honeymoon to Hawaii.

When Weimin was forty eight, he was a member of the Poliburo and was considered the most influential among its twenty five members. He was strongly recommended for a position in the Politburo Standing Committee, which was a select subset of the Politburo, with seven members and was more powerful than the Politburo itself. But his father, the Chairman of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference was already a senior member of the Standing Committee and so Weimin wasn’t considered immediately for the position. His father had offered to step down, without in any way diluting his powers, under a deal, in favour of his son. Weimin was promised to be elevated at the ‘next available opportunity’, by the then President. But four years since then, the opportunity never had favoured Weimin. Weimin’s father, had been the king maker and the maker of all Presidents since in the last two decades. He actually ruled China by default, whoever was President. The current President also owed his Presidency to him, but once elected he did not surrender to Weimin’s father’s commands; who was demanding a much bigger price. He wanted the President to be subservient to his son, Weimin. The President did not relent and harbour contrary ideas of being independent, incensing Weimin and his father.

Weimin, encouraged by his supporters was secretly pushing his agenda and increasing his sphere of influence in the Politburo and the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China that appoints the Politburo. The expectation was that the father - son duo would soon have a stranglehold on the Politburo Standing Committee, the Politburo and the Central Committee. Many of them who acknowledged this, shivered at the thought. If Weimin, who already had a third of the Politburo behind him, could take his influence one notch higher, his powers would be limitless.

Even at this stage, the Weimin family was running a parallel Government in China. This parallel Government was developing serious hostility with the regular Government under the new President. Weimin was working hard to getting elected as the President of China in the next election. There was no problem in that with the current establishment. They knew that there were others too with similar ambition, which was only natural and they didn’t consider each one a threat. But Weimin was different.

Weimin, too impatient to wait his turn for Presidency, considered himself as the defacto President of China as on date. He chose to confront the President on matters of importance for him. Due to the frequent confrontation, the President looked weak and destabilized. The President has been trying to consolidate his powers in the last two years, but had been finding it difficult due to Weimin-father duo.

The President was continually gauging the strength of Weimin and his father had been working covertly to erode the support structure of Weimin’s father and having achieved some success, was looking for an appropriate issue and timing to strike at Weimin.

Part I

Book 1: The Table

Chapter 1

The War Room

Kula entered the ‘war’ room. If he was excited, he did not show.

The atmosphere was tense. Rajiv was fully outfitted. A branded polo shirt, wristband and a matching sports shoe, socks all branded and new, as though he was the ambassador for the brand and the sport. But it was well known that he was not sponsored by the brand, at least not yet. Sponsorship did not happen at this level of the game. It was after all the final rounds of the Annual sports event in a small upcoming all boys’ school, Dalco Higher Secondary School in a non-descript small town called Mathur in Tamil Nadu, India. The war was all about the school Table Tennis tournament.

Kula entered the sidelines of the Hall that was also an open players’ area. He had made it to the Quarter finals this year. He was considered a surprise Quarter finalist, though he had made it to the semi finals last year as well, before he lost. ‘Fluke’; the boys said then. Even the most fair among them felt he didn’t deserve to reach the Semi-finals that year, though they conceded that he showed some flashes of brilliance and a played a gutsy though crude game. It was difficult for most to digest his place either in the Quarter’s this year or the Semi’s last year; especially for a guy who could not afford practicing the game at the school table. His PT master and chief TT coach, Mahadevan, was the only one who believed that Kula’s previous year’s run was due to his brilliance and he even felt that he was unlucky to have lost the semi-final by just a whisker. Kula had surprised himself and was extremely satisfied at having reached the Semi Final level. His successful run was beyond his wildest dream. That was last year.

But this year it was considered a much tougher draw and all the contenders had improved leaps and bounds since last year. The games were played at much higher level of proficiency due to constant practice and even some private coaching. So far, so good! ‘Kula will reach the final’, Mahadevan was heard challenging in the War-room, with his colleagues, who found it difficult to believe him. The final would be a different game altogether; Kula would have no chance. Between Sai and Kula, Mahadevan reckoned that the worthy should win; and hence he favoured Sai.

As Kula entered the hall, Pari made a comment to his pals that Kula was a misfit in the elite company of the Quarter finalists and his pals laughed out loud. Kula had learnt to ignore such comments, as he was very focused on the game. Standing beside meticulously outfitted Rajiv, Kula was a stark contrast. He was wearing a faded set of school uniform and his white shirt that had yellowed by overuse and could have been ironed better. He was wearing a black leather shoe that was his school uniform that had not seen polish in recent weeks. It was evident for the entire crowd that he could not afford sport shoes, but he did not seem to care. Kula was carrying his treasured, though now worn out TT bat that he had been presented by Mahadevan in recognition of his reaching the semi’s the previous year. One of Pari’s pals whispered to him with a wink, ‘Did you notice that Kula’s TT bat had worn out, though he never plays? Pari jeered in reply, wondering aloud if Kula’s mother used his TT bat to prepare dough for chappathis. Kula just laughed out loud along with them in their jest. He was never offended as though he knew that he should never get offended and always laughed along with Pari and his ilk. He relied on his friends to let him play a game or two a week, on the school table. These were his blessed moments and his reward for hanging on near the table everyday, watching every shot, studying every movement, offering unsolicited tips to his friends on their game, ‘Didn’t you see it coming?, Didn’t you see the ball swing? Didn’t you feel the pulse of the ball?

The referee whistled to bring order to the hall. The games were about to begin. There were to be a total of seven matches today; four Quarterfinals, two Semifinals and the Finals.

Kula had a tough draw. He will meet Niranjan in the Quarters. Niranjan, the last year winner was expected to reach the finals where he most probably would meet Sai. Sai was the new kid in the school, joined only six months earlier and so his game was not ranked last year. But the practice matches were always won by Sai and all his opponents were lost against him without a clue. Kula never had an opportunity to play Sai. But had observed and studied his game and had a very healthy respect for Sai’s game. He used to plead with others to let him play a single game against Sai, ‘I will try my best to win. But losing against Sai could actually do me good’. But he never got to play.

Everyone expected the match between Kula and Niranjan to be one sided for Niranjan was the last year winner and Kula had, by majority opinion, ‘reached the last four just by fluke’. ‘Hypothetically’, some one said, ‘If Kula wins against Niranjan he would meet Pari in the Semi’s’. Kula did just that, to the disbelief of everyone. He won easily against Niranjan and the game was very one sided. Everyone said, ‘Niranjan had a bad day’. So it was still Niranjan’s ‘bad day’ and not Kula’s good game. Pari was relieved the most. He was afraid of Niranjan and thought he would be his nemesis. He did not think much of Kula. No one seemed to think much of Kula.

It was Pari’s turn to go, next. Pari was a lot tougher. He took one game off Kula. After the game, Pari did not lose his face. He had taken a game off Kula, while Niranjan was washed out and smiled. So did the entire school. ‘So Pari was the better of the two’ they said. It was as though Kula did not exist. The fight really was about Pari and Niranjan, as though Kula was just incidental, like a scale used in between them to compare their relative strengths. Kula did not seem to mind this snub. He was seen telling Pari, ‘Didn’t you see it coming? You should have, when I chopped..’, as though it was any other evening, any other practice match. Pari was seething in anger and it was evident that he did not see it coming then. and even after Kula explained to him.

Chapter 2

The Arjuna moment

'Drona, the teacher of both the Kaurava and Pandava Princes was giving the boys a lesson on archery. He asked the boys to aim at a bird perched on a tree far away. He asked one by one as they took aim, ‘what do you see’. Each one of them saw the beautiful mountains behind the tree, the lush green tree with beautiful red flowers and some fruits. They also saw the bird on the tree; all but one. The lone one said, ‘Yes, I see the eye of the bird, nothing else’. He was Arjuna, who became the master, world beating archer...'

…..Mahabharata, an Indian epic.

The school bought its first Table Tennis Table two years back and prided, ‘The First and Only TT Table in the Town, for boys’. There were only two boys’ schools. The other TT table was in the Girls only school. Since then all the students vied for a place at the table. The unfavourable demand supply gap was exploited by the school. The limited place was accessible only for a privileged few students. Sheer inspiration and competence wasn’t enough and the table was grossly out of reach for a whole lot of underprivileged students. Kula was one of them and was consigned to be sitting on the benches, of whom there were quite a few in the initial days. For most students in the audience TT was novel entertainment. For some, it was pleasure to watch their friends play and fun time to root or hoot. Slowly the novelty of the table wore off and the audience thinned out.

Kula was different. The TT table became his Bodhi tree. He discovered himself, while sitting beside and watching the game. He felt the game was playing inside him, just like the flow of blood in his veins and feel of the senses through his nerves. One could see him as if in a trance, mesmerized by the game. He became a talking point for a few and a butt of jokes for another few.

As he did not play the game himself, he had the privilege of watching the ball from both the perspectives. He played every game that he watched, in his mind, point by point, shot by shot and frame by frame. He analyzed each shot for its merits. He simulated each stroke in his mind several times and he analyzed how best to respond to each of the stroke, from the position of the opponent, the angle, the timing, the speed of the ball before and after the contact with the bat, the spin of the ball, the swing of the ball due to the humidity and the air circulation within the hall. He even surmised that the humidity and the air movement depended on the number of persons in the hall. He saw all these through his mental picture from the sound of the tap on the bat within a few microseconds, and he was ready for the ball, well before it reached ‘his side of the table’. As he was not actually playing, he mentally simulated his movement, the legs gliding without any inertia, the body floating and flexing as required effortlessly and his arms positioned accurately and his bat on the wrist as fulcrum deflecting, pushing or smashing the ball precisely with the right momentum, speed, angle, spin and swing that it landed on the other side, exactly at the spot of bother for an unprepared opponent that often the reflexes failed his rival, who had no clue how to handle the shot.

But it was not all over for Kula. He switched, rather jumped sides, and was ready to meet the ball on the other side of the table, mentally of course. He was there studying the ball on its merit and positioning himself right and effortlessly with a sleight of arms and wrist, accurately smashing the ball with precision, with the right momentum and placement that would have the opponent guessing and on the wrong foot… He continued switching the sides, as he played mentally on both sides of the table every time the ball changed sides and for every shot and till the point was won or lost. It was as though someone was mono acting a Shakespearean drama. He was often seen swinging his arm holding an imaginary bat, hitting an imaginary ball with precision.

Kula was sometimes overwhelmed by the intensity of his reflexes and physically glided quickly into the play area, ready to take the shot with his imaginary bat, only to crash on to the player who was also moving fast to meet the ball himself. He grinned sheepishly as the players shouted at him, jeered at him, called him a spoilsport, called him a nuisance. But everyone knew it was not intentional, he meant no harm and so everyone forgave him. Everyone but the vicious Pari loved him and wanted him to be by the table. ‘He loves the game of TT’, they all said. Pari’s harsh tongue mocked him, ‘His love would never be consummated’.. and drew mischievous grins from his loyal pals. Was it intended to be prophesy or a curse? Nobody could tell.