For Dravid only: it’s between love and lover

In the mad, bad rush of Indian cricket, behind the runs, wickets, headlines, ad jingles and slow motion replays, it often takes just one face to remind you of all those who live a million lives with this team, die a thousand deaths when they lose. Even if it’s in Durban, South Africa’s own little India, where every second face on the street outside is brown.

As long as she can remember, says Sandra, she has been a fan of Rahul Dravid. She has sung when he’s won, screamed when his wicket has fallen. She has “tons” of Dravid posters in her room, and now, a year after college, facing the biggest test of her life, all she can think about is whether “Rahul will come” in time.

She has to go, she can’t wait for long. Her father is ill, her boyfriend has to work. “But Rahul?” “She’s crazy about him, man,” says Mark, “she’s crazy about me too.”

But do I deserve it, he asks. For, after Rahul Dravid, Mark is the other mission in Sandra’s life. She fell in love with him at church one day, knowing that he was a “gangster, a thug”.

“I had been on daroo and ganja for 20 years,” says 33-year-old Naidoo. “I never knew my father. When I was 13, I ganged up with the wrong guys,” he says, suddenly rolling up his sleeves to show the scars of fights he has lost count of.

“I used to poke people at the back with my katti (knife), I have fought in every street corner of Durban. I have been poked too, many times. Then I met Sandra, she walked up to me and gave me a ladoo. She changed my life”

Sandra turns away from the door. “He used to land up at my house every night, drunk, senseless, and start calling out my name. My neighbours would rush out, my father would drag me in. And I used to cry all night,” she says. “But there was always Rahul.”

Mark, these days, is on medication. “One tablet a day to keep me calm.” And Sandra says he’s not fighting anymore. But as she turns away again, Mark whispers, “I can’t. I have been in lock-up and they have put me on watch for five years. There are four more to go and if I land up in trouble, I am in jail forever.”

Then, both turn towards the door. Suddenly, Mark shudders. “I once cut a man’s throat, you know, like this,” he says, running his forefinger across his neck. “Have you done mandrax?” “Shut up,” says Sandra, “the team will arrive soon.” Mark slumps back.

“She is so frail, just 23. Is 10 years too much between husband and wife? We are getting married next year, you know,” says Mark. He’s sobered up, he promises. “I have a job in Toyota,” he says. “Now it’s just me, she and He,” he says fingering the steel cross dangling near his heart.

Sandra gets up with a start. “Enough. Can’t keep father waiting,” she says, pulling Mark up. But Rahul? “When Rahul comes, tell him I was here.”