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Krishnamurthy decided his idea of an inter-block cricket match was a masterstroke. It was going to be eight years since he had moved to Dollars colony with his wife. Krishnamurthy, or Murthy as he was called by most of his friends, had not intended to become one of those doddering old men, who sat around doing nothing, after his retirement. A brisk walk in the morning, followed by a hot breakfast and Kamalam’s signature filter coffee kick-started his typical day. He then read The Hindu for an hour, following it up with an hour or two in the Residents’ Welfare Association’s office going through the accounts and performing his duties as Association Treasurer diligently. Then, it was time for lunch at home, followed by a short nap. He then joined ‘his gang’ for evening walk, at least four rounds around the colony. Then they would all sit down on the benches near the kids’ park and chat till dinner time.

His friends looked up to Murthy to keep up morale, thanks to his quick wit and high energy levels. Off late though, a hint of ennui had crept into their group. Most of them were in the late sixties and early seventies age range, and suffered from mild but nagging health issues. The lack of something to look forward to – a productive day – the way they had during their work life, was also affecting them.

A cricket match in the colony was the perfect solution to get all the oldies off the benches, literally, and raise spirits. Subru and Dinesh had agreed immediately, but the rest were reluctant. Reddy said, “Saar none of us are spring chickens anymore. Do you really think we can get teams out of the senior citizens here?”

However, Murthy had thought it through. Team 1 would be chosen from blocks 1 to 4, while Team 2 would be extracted from blocks 5 to 8. Murthy blustered, “From so many blocks you think we cannot get 22 players? If it’s so difficult, we can also include a few young fellows in their 50s.”

Murthy, being from block 2, was unanimously elected captain of team 1. His best friend from SBI days, Subramaniam aka Subru, lived in block 8 and was anointed captain of team 2.

Murthy declared, “This team 1, team 2 and all doesn’t give a kick. We need to infuse this milky coffee with a shot of whiskey. How about the name ‘Chennai Cheetahs’ for team 1?”

Dinesh laughed, “Saar we are all old sheep and goats. You want to call ourselves cheetahs and all?”

“Come on saar, we cannot be so low on confidence even before we start. Spirit is everything! See those West Indies fellows or even the Australian fellows, how aggressive they are. That’s how they win matches.”

Soon he convinced Subru to name his team Palavakkam Panthers.

Subru joked, “Murthy saar, now we are rival captains. You better stay away from me. Don’t try to eavesdrop on our team strategies.”

Ground was not an issue. There was a large open area within their compound itself, where blocks 9 to 12 would be coming up in a couple of years. Next on agenda was finding enough players. Subru said, “That Punjabi fellow is there in block 5. Something Singh. He is also one hatta gatta type. Must eat lot of parathas and butter. Will be good at hitting sixes. We can ask him to join.”

Murthy was also making plans with his teammates. “That Malayali fellow is there no… Arun Kumar. Didn’t Subru say he used to play cricket in college?” Murthy asked his teammates. As if on cue, he spotted Arun Kumar walking, a cloth bag in hand, on the way to the grocery store in the office block. He waved his hand and called out, “AK saar, come here. We are planning an inter-block cricket match next month. You have to join my team.”

Arun Kumar was hesitant, “No, no, I last played during my IIT days. Now it will be difficult.”

Murthy was convincing though, “Saar we are just playing a friendly match. Fifteen overs only. You cannot say no.”

In two days, they had found players for both teams. Then it was time to find a coach. Reddy said his grandson’s cricket coach Wajid Shaikh could train them for three days in a week. Even Murthy was skeptical. “Oh Muslim fellow aah? Must be a fast bowler like Shoaib Akhtar, Wasim Akram and all. How can he come down to our level saar? That too he teaches kids. We cannot afford to break our hands and legs at this age.”

“No, no, saar, don’t worry. I have explained to him very clearly. It is only a friendly match. We don’t need high intensity training. He can do it,” Reddy was reassuring.

When the topic of refreshments came up, Murthy volunteered.

“My missus makes the best filter coffee in South Chennai. In North Chennai my akka makes the best coffee. My wife can’t compete with her, but don’t tell her I said this.” He chortled at his own wit. “Kamalam also makes excellent medu vadai. Some 50 numbers should be enough, no?”

Though he had volunteered in the heat of the moment, Murthy was a little wary of bringing up the topic with his wife over dinner that night. “So Kamalam, you know for our cricket match, we will be needing snacks and coffee. I said my missus makes the best coffee in Chennai. You think you can make some vadai too? Or should we order samosas from outside?” he asked mildly.

Thankfully Kamalam didn’t look irritated or put upon. “Sure, will around 40 to 50 vadai do?”

“Yes,” he responded, relieved.

The day of the match dawned bright and sunny. Chennai Cheetahs won the toss, opted to bat first and scored 62 runs, which Arun Kumar joked was also the median age of the group. Murthy scored a match winning 24, which included two boundaries, before getting run out and sent back to the pavilion. Palavakkam Panthers put up a good fight but could notch up only 56 runs. The teams feasted on Kamalam’s crisp, delicately flavoured vadais and steaming hot filter coffee after the match.

The next day Murthy woke up with a slight back pain, but that was to be expected, thanks to his unaccustomed acrobatics during the cricket match. He thought he would ask Kamalam to give him a back massage with warm sesame oil later. He decided to skip his morning walk and start the day with coffee and the newspaper straightway.

When he walked into the living room, Kamalam was standing near the front door, their large, black VIP suitcase on the floor, beside her feet. She was wearing a dark leaf green silk saree, with a narrow zari border, not the kind of saree she would wear at home. He came to a halt near the sofa, and looked at her, puzzled.

Kamalam had her palms clasped together in front of her, and started talking in an almost formal tone. “Since we got married, I have taken care of the running of our home, from cooking to grocery shopping without complaints. When Ashwin was in school, I supervised his homework, took him for football coaching, made sure he ate well and slept on time. Even for his US visa formalities, I never troubled you as you were General Manager then, and your posting at head office meant more responsibilities. When we moved to Dollars colony after you retired, I thought finally you will have time for me. That we would cook together, watch movies, go for walks together. But you are as busy as ever. You know since my brother-in-law passed away, my akka lives all alone in that big house of hers in Besant Nagar. I feel she will appreciate my company more than you. So I am moving in with her.”

Murthy opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came out.

“Dosai mavu is there on the kitchen counter. There’s grated coconut in the fridge. You can make chutney if you want,” she continued.

“I don’t know how to make chutney,” Murthy blurted out.

“You can learn. It’s not as difficult as playing cricket at your age,” Kamalam replied gently.

Her diamond nose ring sparkled in the morning sun. She suddenly looked like a Ravi Varma painting he had seen in a museum in Mysore; an older but just as elegant version of Damayanti.

Kamalam waited a moment, maybe to see if he would say something. When he stayed silent, she picked up the suitcase, stepped outside and closed the door behind her.