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The 3 mistakes of my life

The 3 mistakes of my life by Chetan Bhagat
A Story about Business, Cricket and Religion

                                                          Acknowledgements


My readers, you that is, to whom I owe all my success and motivation. My life belongs to you now, and serving you is the most meaningful thing I can do with my life. I want to share something with you. I am very ambitious in my writing goals. However, I don't want to be India's most admired writer. I just want to be India's most loved writer. Admiration passes, love endures.
To Shinie Antony, a friend who has been with me all these years and who critically reviews my work and ensures that it is fit for my reader's consumption. My family, which continues to support me in all my ventures. Specially, my brother Ketan Bhagat for his critical feedback from Sydney and cricket freak brother -in-law Anand Suryanaryan who told me more about cricket than anyone else would have.
The people of Gujarat, in particular Ahmedabad, where I spent some of the most wonderful and formative years of my life.
My publishers Rupa and Co, who have fulfilled all my dreams and continue to pursue the goal of making India read.
My friends in the film industry, who have given me a new platform to tell my stories from, and who teach me new things everyday, in particular Atul Agnihotri, Raju Hirani, Alvira Khan, Sharman Joshi, Vipul Shah, Imtiaz Ali, Shirish Kunder, Farah Khan and
Salman Khan.
The Madras Players and Evam Theatre Group, who turned my stories into wonderful plays.
My friends in the media, especially those who have understood my intentions for my country and are with me.
My colleagues at Deutsche Bank, my friends in Mumbai and Hong Kong. God, who continues to look after me despite my flaws.

Prologue



It is not everyday you sit in front of your computer on a Saturday morning and get an email like this:

From: Ahd_businessman@gmail.com Sent: 12/28/2005 11.40 p.m. To: info@chetanbhagat.com
Subject: A final note

Dear Chetan

This email is a combined suicide note and a confession letter. I have let people down and have no reason to live. You don't know me. I'm an ordinary boy in Ahmedabad who read your books. And somehow I felt I could write to you after that. I can't really tell anyone what I am doing to myself - which is taking a sleeping pill everytime I end a sentence - so I thought I would tell you.

I kept my coffee cup down and counted. Five full stops already

I m a d e t h r e e m i s t a k e s ; I d o n ' t w a n t t o g o i n t o details.
My suicide is not a sentimental decision. As many around me know, I am a good businessman because I have little emotion. This is no knee -jerk reaction. I waited over three years, watched Ish's silent face everyday. But after he refused my
offer yesterday, I had no choice left.
I have no regrets either. Maybe I'd have wanted to talk to Vidya once more –
but that doesn't seem like such a good idea right now.
Sorry to bother you with this. But I felt like I had to tell someone. You have ways to improve as an author but you do write decent books. Have a nice weekend.

Regards
Businessman

17, 18, 19. Somewhere, in Ahmedabad a young 'ordinary' boy had popped nineteen sleeping pills while typing out a mail to me. Yet, he expected me to have a nice weekend. The coffee refused to go down my throat. I broke into a cold sweat.
‘One, you wake up late. Two, you plant yourself in front of the computer first thing in the morning. Are you even aware that you have a family?' Anusha said. In case it isn't obvious enough from the authoritative tone, Anusha is my wife.
I had promised to go furniture shopping with her – a promise that was made ten weekends ago.
She took my coffee mug away and jiggled the back of my chair.  ‘We need
dining chairs. Hey, you look worried?’ she said.
I pointed to the monitor.

`Businessman?' she said as she finished reading the mail. She looked pretty shaken up too.
And it is from Ahmedabad,' I said, 'that is all we know.' `You sure this is
real?' she said, a quiver in her voice. `This is not spam,' I said. `It is addressed to me.'
My wife pulled a stool to sit down. I guess we really did need write extra
chairs.
`Think,' she said. `We've got to let someone know. His parents maybe.'
`How? I don't know where the hell it came from,' I said. And who do we
know in Ahmedabad?'
`We met in Ahmedabad, remember?' Anusha said. A pointless statement, I
thought. Yes, we'd been classmates at IIM-A years ago. ‘So?’
`Call the institute. Prof Basant or someone,' she sniffed and left  the room.
'Oh no, the daal is burning.'
There are advantages in having a wife smarter than you. I could never be a detective.
I searched the institute numbers on the Internet and called. An  operator
connected me to Prof Basant's residence. I checked the time, 10.00 a.m. in Singapore,
7.30 a.m. in India. It is a bad idea to mess with a prof early in the morning.
`Hello?' a sleepy voice answered. Had to be the prof.
`Prof Basant, Hi. This is Chetan Bhagat calling. Your old student, remember?'
`Who?' he said with a clear lack of curiosity in his voice. Bad start.
I told him about the course he took for us, and how w e had voted him the
friendliest professor in the campus. Flattery didn't help much either.
'Oh that Chetan Bhagat,' he said, like he knew a million of them. You are a writer now, no?'
'Yes sir,' I said, 'that one.'
'So why are you writing books?'
'Tough question, sir,' I stalled.
' Ok , a s i mp l e one . Wh y ar e y ou cal l i ng me s o e ar l y o n a Saturday?' I told him why and forwarded the email to him.
'No name, eh?' he said as he read the mail.
'He could be in a hospital somewhere in Ahmedabad. He would have just checked in. Maybe he is dead. Or maybe he is at home and this was a hoax,' I said.
I was blabbering. I wanted help – for the boy and me. The prof had asked a good question. Why the hell did I write books – to get into this?
'We can check hospitals,' Prof said. 'I can ask a few students. But a name
surely helps. Hey wait, this boy has a Gmail account, maybe he is on Orkut as well.'
'Or-what?' Life is tough when you are always talking to people smarter than
you.

'You are so out of touch, Chetan. Orkut is a networking site. Gmail users sign up there. If he is a member and we are lucky, we can check his profile.'
I heard him clicking keys and sat before my own PC. I had just reached the
Orkut site when Prof Basant exclaimed, 'Aha, Ahmedabad Businessman. There is a brief profile here. The name only says G. Patel. Interests are cricket, business, mathematics and friends. Doesn't seem like he uses Orkut much though.'
'What  are  you  talking  about  Prof  Basant?  I  woke  up  to  a  suicide  note, written exclusively to me. Now you are telling me about his hobbies. Can you help me or...'
A pause, then, 'I will get some students. We will search for a new y oung patient called G. Patel, suspected of sleeping pill overdose. We will call you if we find anything, ok?
'Yes, sir,' I said, breathing properly after a long time.
'And how is Anusha? You guys bunked my classes for dates and flow forget

me.'



'She is fine, sir.'
'Good, I always felt she was smarter than you. Anyway, let's find your boy,'

the prof said and hung up.
Besides furniture shopping, I had to finish an office presentation. My boss, Michel's boss was due from New York. Hoping to impress him Michel asked me to  make  a  presentation  of  the  group,  with  fifty  charts. For three consecutive nights last week I had worked until 1:00 a.m., but had gotten only halfway.
'This is a suggestion. Don't take it the wrong way. But do consider taking a
bath,' my wife said.
I looked at her.
'Just an option,' she said.
I think she is overcautious sometimes. I don't bite back.
'Yes, yes. I will,' I said and stared at the computer again.
Thoughts  darted  through  my  head.  Should  I  call  some  hospitals  myself?
What  if  Prof  Basant  dozed  off  again?  What  if  he  could  not  coll ect  the s tude nts?  Wh at if G. Patel  was  dead? And  why  am I becoming so involved here?
I took a reluctant shower. I opened the office presentation, but found myself unable to type a single word.
I refused breakfast, though regretted it moments later – as hunger and anxiety did not go well together.
My phone rang at 1.33 p.m.
`Hello,' Prof Basant's voice was unmistakable. 'We have a match at Civil Hospital. His name is Govind Patel, twenty-five years of age. A second-year student of mine found him.'
‘And?'

‘And he is alive. But won't talk. Even to his family. Must be in shock.’
‘What are the doctors saying?’ I said.
'Nothing. It is a government hospital. What do you expect? Anyway, they will
flush his stomach and send him home. I won't worry too much now. Will ask a student to check again in the evening.'
'But what is his story? What happened?'
All that I don't know. Listen, don't get too involved. India is a big country. These things happen all the time. The more you probe, the more the chances of the police harassing you.'
Next, I called the Civil Hospital. However, the operator did not know about the case and there was no facility to transfer the line to the ward either.
Anusha, too, was relieved that the boy was safe. She then announced the plan for the day – the dining chair hunt. It would begin at Ikea on Alexandra Road.
We reached Ikea at around three o'clock and browsed through the space-saving
dining sets. One dining table could fold four times over and become a coffee table –
pretty neat.
'I want to know what happened to the twenty-five-year-old businessman,' I
muttered.
'You will find out eventually. Let him recover. Must be one of those crazy reasons of youth – rejection in love, low marks or drugs.' I stayed silent.
'C'mon, he just emailed you. Your ID is on your book cover. You really don't need to get involved. Should we take six or eight?' She moved towards an oak-wood set.
I protested that we rarely had so many guests at home. Six chairs would be
enough.
'The marginal capacity utilisation of the two chairs would be less than ten per cent,' I said.
'You men are least helpful,' she tossed back and then selected six chairs. My mind strayed back to the businessman.
Yes, everyone was right. I shouldn't get involved. But yet, of all the people
in the world, this boy had sent me his last words. I couldn't help but get involved.
We ate lunch in the food court next to Ikea.
'I have to go,' I told my wife as I played with my lemon rice. 'Where? To the office. Ok, you are a free man now. I did my shopping,' my wife said.
'No. I want to go to Ahmedabad. I want to meet Govind Patel.' I did not
meet her eye. Maybe I was sounding crazy.
‘Are you nuts?’
I think it is only in my generation that Indian women started slamming
their husbands.
'My mind keeps going back,' I said.
'What about your presentation? Michel will kill you.'

'I  know.  He  won't  get  promoted  unless  he  i mpresses  his  boss.'  My wife looked at me. My face was argument enough. She knew I would not talk sense until I had met the boy.
'Well, there is only one direct flight at 6 p.m. today. You can check the tickets.' She dialled the Singapore Airlines number and handed me the phone.


I  entered  the  room  the  nurses  had  led  me  to.  The  eerie  silence  and  the darkness made my footsteps sound loud. Ten different instruments beeped and LED lights flickered at regular intervals. Cables from the instruments disappeared into the man I had travelled thousands of miles to see – Govind Patel.
I noticed the curly hair first. He had a wheatish complexion and bushy
eyebrows. His thin lips had turned dry because of th e medicines.
`Hi, Chetan Bhagat ... the writer you wrote to,' I said, unsure if he could place me.
`O ... How did ... you find me?' he said, finding it difficult to speak.
`Destined to, I guess,' I said.
I shook hands and sat down. His mother came into the room. She looked so
sleep-deprived, she could use a sleeping pill herself. I greeted her as she went out to get tea.
I looked at the boy again. I had two instant urges – one, to ask him what
happened and two, to slap him.
`Don't look at me like that,' he said, shifting in his bed, 'you must be angry. Sorry, I should not have written that mail.'
‘Forget the mail. You should not have done what you did.'
He sighed. He took a hard look at me and then turned his gaze sideways.
`I have no regrets,' he said.
`Shut up. There is nothing heroic in this. Cowards pop pills.' `You would have done the same, if you were in my place.' `Why? What happened to you?'
`It doesn't matter!
We fell silent as his mother returned with tea. A nurse came in and told his mother to go home, but she refused to budge. Finally, the doctor had to intervene.
She left at 11.30 p.m. I stayed in the room, promising the doctor  I would leave soon.
`So, tell me your story,' I said, once we were alone.
` Wh y ? Wh at ca n y o u d o abo ut i t? You ca n' t ch a ng e wh a t happened,' he said tiredly.
`You  don't  just  listen  to  stories  to  change  the  past.  Sometimes,  it is
important to know what happened.'
`I am a  businessman. To me, people only  do things  out of  self -interest. What's in it for you? And why should I waste my time telling you anything?'

I stared at the soft-skinned face that hid such hardness inside. `Because I will want to tell others,' I said. There , that was my incentive.
And why would anyone care? My story is not trendy or sexy like the IITs
and call centres.'
He removed the quilt covering his chest. The heater and our conversation kept the room warm.
`I think they will care,' I said, 'a young person tried to kill himself. That does not seem right.'
`No one gives a fuck about me.'
I tried, but found it difficult to be patient. I considered slapping him again.
`Listen,' I said, pitching my voice to the maximum allowed in a hospital.
'You  chose  to send  your  last  mail  to me.  That  means  at a  certain level you trusted  me.  I  located  you  and  flew  out  within  hours  of  your  mail.  You  still question if I care? And now this cocky attitude, this arrogance is part of your business? Can't you talk to me like a friend? Do you even know what a friend is?'
A nurse came peeking into the room on hearing my loud voice. We became quiet. The clock showed midnight.
He sat there stunned. Everyone had behaved nicely with him today. I stood up and turned away from him.
‘I know what a friend is,' he said at last.
I sat down next to him.
‘I do know what a friend is. Because I had two, the best ones in the world.'

One

India vs South Africa
4th ODI, Vadodra
17 March 2000
Over 45

`Why the fuck did you have to move?' Ishaan's scream drowned out the stadium din on the TV. I had shifted up to a sofa from the floor.
`Huh?' I said. We were in Ishaan's house — Ishaan, Omi and I. Ishaan's mom
had brought in tea and khakra for us. 'It is more comfortable to snack on the sofa. That is why I moved.'
`Tendulkar's gone. Fuck, now at this stage. Omi, don't you dare move now.
Nobody moves for the next five overs.'
I looked at the TV. We were chasing 283 to win. India's score a ball ago was
256-2 after forty-five overs. Twenty-seven runs in five overs, with eight wickets to spare and Tendulkar on the crease. A cakewalk. The odds were still in India's favour, but Tendulkar was out. And that explained the frowns on Ishaan's forehead.
'The khakra's crispy,' Omi said. Ishaan glared at Omi, chiding him for his
shallow sensory pleasure in a moment of national grief. Omi and I kept our tea cups aside and looked suitably mournful.
The crowd clapped as Tendulkar made his exit. Jadeja came to the crease and
added six more runs. End of forty-six overs, India 262/3. Twenty-one more runs to win in four overs, with seven wickets in hand.
Over 46
'He made 122. The guy did his job. Just a few final closing shots left. Why are you getting so worked up?' I asked during a commercial break. I reached for my tea cup, but Ishaan signalled me to leave it alone. We were not going to indulge until the fate of the match was decided. Ishaan was pissed with us anyway. The match was in Vadodra, just two hours away from Ahmedabad. But we could not go - one, because we didn't have money, and two, because I had my correspondence exams in two days. Of course, I had wasted the whole day watching the match on TV instead, so reason number two did not really hold much weight.
'It  is  5.25  runs  required  per  over,'  I  said,  not  able  to  resist  doing  a mathematical calculation. That is one reason I like cricket, there is so much
maths in it.
'You don't know this team. Tendulkar goes, they panic. It isn't about the average. It is like the queen bee is dead, and the hive loses order,' Ishaan said.
Omi nodded, as he normally does to whatever Ishaan has to say about cricket.
'Anyway, I hope you realise, we didn't meet today to see this match. We have to
decide what Mr Ishaan is doing about his future, right?' I said.
Ishaan had always avoided this topic ever since he ran away from NDA a year ago. His dad had already sarcastically commented, 'Cut a cake today to celebrate
one year of your uselessness.'
However, today I had a plan. I needed to sit them down to talk about our lives. Of course, against cricket, life is second priority.

'Later,' Ishaan said, staring avidly at a pimple cream commercial.
'Later when Ishaan? I have an idea that works for all of us. We don't have a lot
of choice, do we?'
'All of us? Me, too?' Omi quizzed, already excited. Idiots like him love to be part
of something, anything. However, this time we needed Omi.
'Yes, you play a critical role Omi. But later when Ish? When?'
'Oh, stop it! Look, the match is starting. Ok, over dinner. Let's go to Gopi,' Ish
said.
'Gopi? Who's paying?' I was interrupted as the match began.
Beep, beep, beep. The horn of a car broke our conversation. A car zoomed
outside the pol.
'What the hell! I am going to teach this bastard a lesson,' Ish said, looking out
the window.
'What's up?'
'Bloody son of a rich dad. Comes and circles around our house everyday'
'Why?' I said.
'For Vidya. He used to be in coaching classes with her. She complained about
him there too,' Ish said.
Beep, beep, beep, the car came near the house again.
'Damn, I don't want to miss this match,' Ish said as he saw India hit a four. Ish
picked up his bat. We ran out the house. The silver Esteem circled the pol and came back for another round of serenading. Ish stood in front of the car and asked the boy to stop. The Esteem halted in front of Ish. Ish went to the driver, an adolescent.
'Excuse me, your headlight is hanging out.'
'Really?' the boy said and shut off the ignition. He stepped outside and came to the front.
Ish grabbed the boy's head from behind and smashed his face into the bonnet.
He proceeded to strike the headlight with his bat. The glass broke and the bulb hung out.
'What's your problem,' the boy said, blood spurting out of his nose.
'You tell me what's up? You like pressing horns?' Ish said.
Ish grabbed his collar and gave six non-stop slaps across his face. Omi picked
up the bat and smashed the windscreen. The glass broke into a million pieces. People on the street gathered around as there is nothing quite as entertaining as a street fight.
The boy shivered in pain and fear. What would he tell his daddy about his broken car and face?
Ish's dad heard the commotion and came out of the house. Ish held the boy in an elbow lock. The boy was struggling to breathe.
'Leave him,' Ish's dad said.
Ish gripped him tighter.
'I said leave him,' Ish's dad shouted, 'what's going on here?'
'He has been troubling Vidya since last week,' Ish said. He kicked the boy's face
with his knee and released him. The boy kneeled on the floor and sucked in air. The last kick from Ish had smeared the blood from his nose across his face.
'And what do you think you are doing?' Ish's dad asked him.
'Teaching  him  a  lesson,'  Ish  said  and  unhooked  his  bat  stuck  in  the windscreen.

'Really, when will you learn your lessons?' Ish's dad said to him. Ish turned away.
'You go now,' Ish's dad said to the beeping driver, who folded his hands. Seeing that no one cared about his apology, he trudged back to his car.
Ish's dad turned to his neighbours. 'For one whole year he's been sitting at home. Ran away from the army of his own country and then wants to teach lessons to others! He and his loafer friends hanging around the house all day long.'
One sidelong glance at his dad and Ish walked back home.
'Where the hell are you going now?' Ish's dad said.
'Match. Why? You want to curse me some more?' Ish said.
'When you've wasted your entire life, what's another day?' Ish's father said and
the neighbours half-nodded their heads in sympathy.
We missed the final five overs of the match. Luckily, India won and Ish didn't get that upset.
'Yes, yes, yes,' Ishaan jumped. 'Gopi on me tonight.' I love idiots.
Actually, Ishaan is not an idiot. At least not as much as Omi. It is just that
both of them suck at studies, especially maths, and I am good at it. Hence, I have this chip on my shoulder. It does sound a bit conceited, but it is the only chip on my shoulder. For instance, I am easily the poorest of the three (though I will be the richest one day), even though Ishaan and Omi aren't particularly wealthy. Ishaan's dad works in the telephone exchange, and while they have lots of phones in the house, the salary is modest. Omi's dad is the priest of the Swamibhakti temple, which actually belongs to Omi's mom's family for generations. And that does not pay well either. But still, they are a lot better off than me and my mom. My mom runs a small Gujarati snacks business, and the little bit of money I make from tuitions helps us get by, but that's about it.
'We won, we won the series 3-1,' Omi repeated what he read on the TV screen.
Of course, it would have been too much for him to express such original insight. Some say Omi was born stupid, while some say he became stupid after a cork ball hit him on the head in Class VI. I didn't know the reason, but I did know that maybe the best idea for him would be to become a priest. He wouldn't have much of a career otherwise, given that he barely scraped through Class XII, after repeating the maths compartment exam twice. But he didn't want to be a priest, so my plan was the best one.
I ate the khakra. My mother made it better than Ishaan's mom. We were
professionals after all.
'I'll go home to change and then we will go to Gopi, ok?' I said as Ishaan and
Omi were still dancing. Dancing after an Indian victory was a ritual we had started when we were eleven, one that should have stopped by thirteen. However, here we were at twenty-one, jigging like juveniles. Ok, so we won, someone had to. In mathematical terms, there was a pretty good probability - did it really need jumping around?

I walked back home.
The narrow lanes of the old city were bustling with the evening crowd. My house and Ishaan's were only half a kilometre apart. Everything in my world fell between this distance. I passed by the Nana Park, extra packed with kids playing

cricket as India had won the match. I played here almost every day of my school life.
We still come here sometimes, but now we prefer the abandoned bank branch compound near my home.
A tennis ball landed at my feet. A sweaty twelve-year-old boy came running to me. I picked up the ball for him. Nana Park is where I had first met Ishaan and Omi, over fifteen years ago. There was no dramatic moment that marked the start of our friendship. Maybe we sized each other up as the only six-year-olds in the ground and started playing together.
Like most neighbourhood kids, we went to the Belrampur Municipal School,
hundred metres down Nana Park. Of course, only I studied while Ish and Omi ran to the park at every opportunity.
Three bicycles tried to overtake each other in the narrow by lane. I had to step inside Qazi restaurant to let them pass. A scent of fried coriander and garlic filled the narrow room. The cook prepared dinner, a bigger feast than usual as India had won the match. Ishaan and I came here sometimes (without telling Omi, of course) for the cheap food and extraordinary mutton. The owner assured us
'small mutton', implying goat and not beef. I believed him, as he would not have survived in the neighbourhood if he served beef. I wanted to eat here instead of Gopi. But we had promised Gopi to Omi, and the food was fantastic there as well. Food is a passion here, especially as Gujarat is a dry state. People here get drunk on food.
Yes, Ahmedabad is my city. It is strange, but if you have had happy times in a
city for a long time, you consider it the best city in the world. I feel the same about Ahmedabad. I know it is not one of those hip cities like Delhi, Bombay or Bangalore. I know people in these cities think of Ahmedabad as a small town, though that is not really the case. Ahmedabad is the sixth largest city in India, with a population of over five million. But I guess if you have to emphasise the importance of something, then it probably isn't as important in the first place. I could tell you that Ahmedabad has better multiplexes than Delhi or nicer roads than Bombay or better restaurants than Bangalore - but you will not believe me. Or even if you do, you won't give a damn. I know Belrampur is not Bandra, but why should I defend being called a small-town-person as if it is a bad thing? A funny thing about small towns is that people say it is the real India. I guess they do acknowledge that at one level the India of the big cities is fake. Yes, I am from the old city of Amdavad and proud of it. We don't have as many fashion shows and we still like our women to wear clothes. I don't see anything wrong with that.
I stepped out of Qazi and continued my way home, turning in the pol towards
Omi's temple. Of course, we called it Omi's temple because he lived there, but the official name was the Swamibhakti temple. As I entered the by lane, two people fought over garbage disposal around the crammed pol.
There are things about my small town neighbourhood that I want to change. In some ways, it is way behind the rest of Ahmedabad. For one, the whole old city could be a lot cleaner. The new city across the other side of the Sabarmati river has gleaming glass and steel buildings, while the old city finds it difficult to get rubbish cleared on time.
I want to change another thing. I want to stop the gossip theories people come up with about other people. Like the theory about Omi becoming stupid because a cricket ball hit him. There is no basis for it, but every pol in Belrampur talks

about it. Or the theory that Ish was thrown out of NDA and did not run away. I know for a fact that it is not true. Ish cannot handle unquestioned authority, and even though he was really excited about the army (which was his only option), he could not stand some Major ordering him around for the next two decades of his life.  So  he  paid  the  penalty,  cited  personal  reasons  like  ailing  parents  or something and ran right back to Belrampur.
And of course, what I want to stop the most - the weirdest theory that I became
emotionless the day dad left us. Dad left mom and me over ten years ago, for we found out he had a second wife across town. As far as I can remember, I was never good with emotional stuff. I love maths, I love logic and those subjects have no place for emotion. I think human beings waste too much time on emotions. The prime example is my mother. Dad's departure was followed by months of crying with every lady in every pol coming down to sympathise with her. She spent another year consulting astrologers as to which planet caused dad to move out, and when would that position change. Thereafter, a string of grandaunts came to live with her as she could not bring herself to stay alone. It wasn't until I turned fifteen and understood how the world worked that I could coax her into opening the snacks business. Of course, my coaxing was part of it, the rest of it was that all her jewellery was officially sold by then.
Her snacks were great, but she was no businessman. Emotional people make
terrible businessmen.  She  would sell on credit and buy on cash  - the first mistake a small business can make. Next, she would keep no accounts. The home spending money was often mixed with the business money, and we frequently had months where the choice was to buy either rice for our consumption or black pepper for the papads.
Meanwhile, I studied as much as I could. Our school was not Oxford, and emphasis on studies was low with more teachers bunking classes than students. Still, I topped maths every single year. People thought I was gifted when I hit a hundred in maths in class X. For me, it was no big deal. For once, the gossip vine helped. The news of my score spread across pols, and we had a new source of income - tuitions. I was the only maths tutor in Belrampur, and bad maths scores had reached epidemic proportions. Along with khaman and khakra, trigonometry and algebra became sources of income in the Patel household. Of course, it was a poor neighbourhood, so people could not pay much. Still, another thousand bucks a month was a lifestyle changing event for us. From fan, we graduated to cooler. From chairs, we went to a secondhand sofa. Life became good.
I reached Omi's temple. The loud rhythmic chime of the bell interrupted my
thoughts. I checked my watch, it was 6 p.m., the daily aarti time. I saw Omi's dad from a distance, his eyes closed as he chanted the mantras. Even though I was an agnostic, there was something amazing about his face - it had genuine feeling for the God he prayed to. No wonder he was among the most liked people in the community. Omi's mother was beside him, her maroon saree draped along her head and hands folded. Next to her was Bittoo Mama, Omi's maternal uncle. He was dressed in a white dhoti and saffron scarf. His huge biceps seemed even larger with his folded hands. His eyes, too, were transfixed in genuine admiration for the idols of Krishna and Radha.
Omi would get into trouble for reaching the aarti late. It would not be the first time though, as matches in Nana Park were at a crucial stage around 6 p.m.


'How was the match?' mom said as I reached home. She stood outside the house.
She had just finished loading a hired auto with fresh dhokla for a marriage party. Finally, my mother could delegate routine tasks like delivery and focus on her core competence - cooking. She took out a dhokla piece from the auto for me. Bad business - snucking out something from a customer order.
'Great match. Nail-biting finish, we won,' I said, walking in.
I switched on the tubelight inside. The homes in our pol required light even during daytime.
'If I have a good Diwali season, I will get you a colour TV,' mom vowed.
'No need,' I said. I removed my shoes to get ready for a shower, 'you need a bigger grinder urgently, the small one is all wobbly'
'I will buy the TV if only the business makes extra money,' she said.
'No. If you make extra money, put it back in the business. Don't buy useless things. I can always see the match in colour in Ishaan's house.'
She left the room. My mother knew it was futile arguing with me. Without dad around, it was amazing how much say I had in the house. And I only hoped Ish and Omi would listen to my proposition as well.
My love for business began when I first started tuitions. It was amazing to see money build up. With money came not only things like coolers and sofas but also the most important stuff - respect. Shopkeepers no longer avoided us, relatives re- invited us to weddings and our landlord's visit did not throw us into turmoil. And then there was the thrill - I was making money, not earning it under some boss or getting a handout. I could decide my fate, how many students to teach, how many hours per class - it was my decision.
There is something about Gujaratis, we love business. And Ambadadis love it more than anything else. Gujarat is the only state in India where people tend to respect you more if you have a business than if you are in service. The rest of the country  dreams  about  a  cushy  job  that  gives a  steady  salary and  provides stability. In Ahmedabad, service is for the weak. That was why I dreamt my biggest dream - to be a big businessman one day. The only hitch was my lack of capital. But I would build it slowly and make my dream come true. Sure, Ish could not make his dream of being in the Indian cricket team real, but that was a stupid dream to begin with. To be in the top eleven of a country of a billion people was in many ways an impossible dream, and even though Ish was top class in Belrampur, he was no Tendulkar. My dream was more realistic, I would start slow and then grow my business. From a turnover of thousands, to lakhs, to crores and then to hundreds of crores.
I came out of the shower and dressed again.
"Want to eat anything?' my mother voiced her most quoted line from the kitchen.
'No, I am going out with Ish and Omi to Gopi.'
'Gopi? Why? I make the same things. What do you get at Gopi that I can't give
you at home?'
Peace and quiet, I wanted to say.
'It's Ish's treat. And I want to talk to them about my new business.'

'So you are not repeating the engineering entrance,' my mother came out of the kitchen. She raised dough-covered hands, 'You can take a year to prepare. Stop taking tuitions for a while, we have money now.'
My mother felt guilty about a million things. One of them was me not making it
to a good engineering college. Tuitions and supporting my mom's business meant I could study less for the entrance exams. I didn't make it to IIT or any of the top institutes.
I did make it to a far-flung college in Kutch, but it wasn't worth
it  to leave my tuition income, friends, cricket at Nana Park and mom for that. Not that I felt any emotion, it just did not seem like the right trade. I could do
maths honours right here in Amdavad University, continue tuitions and think about business. The Kutch college did not even guarantee a job.
'I don't want to be an engineer, mom. My heart is in business. Plus, I have already done two years of college. One more and I will be a graduate.'
'Yes, but who gives a job to a maths graduate?'
It was true. Maths honours was a stupid course to take from an economic point of view.
'It is ok. I needed a degree and I can get it without studying much,' I said. 'I am a businessman, mom. I can't change that.'
My mother pulled my cheeks. Chunks of dough stuck to my face.
'Be whatever. You are always my son first.' She hugged me. I hated it. I hate a display of emotion more than emotion itself. 'I better go.'

That is your tenth chapatti,' Ish told Omi.
'Ninth. Who cares? It is a buffet. Can you pass the ghee please?'
'All that food. It has to be bad for you,' Ish said.
'Two hundred push-ups.' Omi said. 'Ten rounds of Nana Park. One hour at Bittoo Mama's home gym. You do this everyday like me and you can hog without worry.'
People like Omi are no-profit customers. There is no way Gopi could make money off him.
'Aamras, and ras malai. Thanks,' Omi said to the waiter. Ish and I nodded for
the same.
'So, what's up? I'm listening,' Ish said as he scooped up the last spoon of
aamras.
'Eat your food first. We'll talk over tea,' I said. People argued less on a full stomach.
'I am not paying for tea. My treat is limited to a thali,' Ishaan protested.
'I'll pay for the tea,' I said.
'Relax, man. I was only joking. Mr Accounts can't even take a joke. Right, Omi?' Omi laughed.
'Whatever. Guys, you really need to listen today. And stop calling me Mr
Accounts.'
I ordered tea while the waiter cleared our plates.
I am serious, Ish. What do you plan to do with your life? We are not kids
anymore,' I said.

'Unfortunately,' Ish said and sighed. 'Ok, then. I will apply for jobs, maybe do an NIIT computer course first. Or should I take an insurance job? What do you think?'
I saw Ish's face. He tried to smile, but I saw the pain. The champion batsman
of Belrampur would become an insurance salesman. Belrampur kids had grown up applauding his boundaries at Nana Park. But now, when he had no life ahead, he wanted to insure other people's lives.
Omi looked at me, hoping I'd come up with a great option from Santa's goodie bag. I was sick of parenting them.
'I want to start a business,' I began.
'Not again,' Ish said. 'I can't do that man. What was it the last time? A fruit dealership? Ugh! I can't be weighing watermelons all day. And the crazy one after that, Omi?'
'Car accessories. He said there is big money in that,' Omi said as he slurped his dessert.
'What? Put seat covers all day. No thanks. And the other one - stock broker. What is that anyway?' Ish shrugged.
'So what the fuck do you want to do? Beg people to buy insurance? Or sell credit cards at street corners? You, Ish, are a military school dropout,' I said and paused for breath. 'And you got a compartment in Class XII, twice. You can be a priest, Omi, but what about us?'
I don't want to be a priest,' Omi said listlessly.
'Then, why do you oppose me even before I start? This time I have something
that will interest you.'
'What?' Ish said.
'Cricket,' I said.
'What?' both of them said in unison.
'There you go, nice to get your attention. Now can I talk?'
'Sure,' Ish waved a hand.
'We are going to open a cricket shop,' I said. I deliberately left for the rest room.
'But how?' Omi interrogated when I returned. 'What is a cricket shop?'
'A sports store really. But since cricket is the most popular game in Belrampur,
we will focus on that.'
Ish's silence meant he was listening to me.
'It will be a small retail store. Money for a shop deposit is a problem, so I need
Omi's help.'
'Mine?' Omi said.
'Yes, we will open the shop right inside the Swami temple complex. Next to the flower and puja shops. 1 noticed an empty shop there. And it is part of the temple land.'
'A cricket shop in a temple complex?' Ish questioned.
'Wait. Omi, do you think you can arrange that? Without that our plan is«a non- starter.'
'You mean the Kuber sweet shop that just closed? The temple trust will rent it out soon. And normally they let it out to something related to temple activities,' Omi said.
'I know. But you have to convince your dad. After all he runs the temple trust.'
'He does, but Mama looks after the shops. Will we pay rent?'

'Yes,' I sighed. 'But not immediately. We need a two-month waiver. And we cannot pay the deposit.'
'I'll have to go through mom,' Omi said. Good, his mind was working.
'Sorry to ask again, but a cricket shop in a temple complex? Who will buy?
Seventy-year-old aunties who come for kirtan will want willow bats?' Ish scoffed.
The waiter had cleared our tea and presented the bill. By Gopi protocol, we had to be out of the restaurant in two minutes.
'Good question. A cricket shop by a temple does sound strange. But think - is there any sports shop in Belrampur?'
'Not really. You don't even get leather balls. Ellis Bridge is the nearest,' Ish
said.
'See, that's number one. Number two, the temple is a family place. Kids are
among the most bored people in temples. Where are they going to hang out?'
'It is true,' Omi said. 'That is why so many balloon wallahs hover outside.'
'And that is where Ish comes in. People know you were a good player. And you
can  give  playing  tips  to  every  kid  who  comes  to  buy  from  us.  Slowly,  our reputation will build.'
'But what about Christian or Muslim kids? They won't come, right?' Ish said.
'Not at first but the shop is outside the temple. As word spreads, they will come. What choice do they have anyway?'
'Where will we get what we sell?' Ish said.
'There's a sports equipment supplier in Vastrapur who will give us a month's credit. If we have the space, we are good to go without cash.'
'But what if it doesn't run?' Ish asked with scepticism.
'Worst case, we sell the stock at a loss and I'll cover the rest through my tuition
savings. But it will work, man. If you put your heart into it, it will.' Both of them remained silent.
'Guys, please. I need you for this. I really want to run a business. I can't do it
without partners. It's cricket,' I appealed to Ish.
'I'm in,' Omi smiled. 'I don't have to be a priest and I get to work from home. I'm so in.'
'I won't handle money. I'll focus on the cricket,' Ish said. I smiled. Yes, he was coming around.
'Of course. You think I will let you handle cash? So, are we partners?' I
stretched out my liand.
Omi hi-fived me and Ish joined in.
'What are we going to call it?' Omi said in the auto.
'Ask Ish,' I said. If Ish named it, he would feel more connected to the project.
'How about Team India Cricket Shop?' Ish suggested. 'Great name,' I said and watched Ish smile for the first time that evening.
'Two rupees fifty paise each, guys,' I said as the auto stopped near my pol in
Belrampur.
'Here you go Mr Accounts,' Ish said and passed his share.


Two

The Team India Cricket Shop opened with the smashing of a coconut on the morning of 29 April 2000. All our immediate families had come. My mother and Omi's family were visibly happy while Ish's parents were silent. They still visualised Ish as an army officer, not a shopkeeper in Belrampur.
'May Laxmi shower all blessings on you hardworking boys,' Omi's mother said
before she left.
Soon, it was just us in our twenty-feet-by-ten-feet shop. 'Move the counter in,
the shutter won't close,' Ish screamed at Omi. Omi's forehead broke into sweat as he lifted the bulky counter-top yet again to move it back an inch.
I stepped out of the shop and crossed the road for the tenth time to look at the
board. It was six feet wide and two feet tall. We had painted it blue - the colour of the Indian team. In the centre, we had the letters 'Team India Cricket Shop' in the colours of the Indian flag. The excited painter from Shahpur had thrown in the faces of Tendulkar and Ganguly for free. Ganguly had a squint and Tendulkar's lips looked bee-stung, but it all added to the charm.
'It's beautiful,' Omi said as he joined me in looking at the board.
Our first customer came at 12 noon. An under-ten boy strolled to the front of our store as his mother bought puja flowers. The three of us sprung into action.
'Should I ask him what he wants?' Omi whispered to me. I shook my head. Pushy meant desperate.
The boy looked at tennis balls and bounced a few of them. While no one played tennis in Belrampur, kids played cricket with them.
'How much for the balls?' The boy moved to local balls. Clearly this was a price-
sensitive customer. He bounced five different ones on the ground.
'Eight bucks. You want one?' I said.
He nodded.
'You have money?'
'Mummy has,' he said.
'Where is mummy?'
'There,' he pointed in the general direction of the other temple shops. I picked up the balls he had bounced and placed them in the basket.
His mother came running into our shop.
'There you are Sonu, stupid boy,' she pulled his elbow and took him out.
'Mummy, ball' was all he could say about his potential purchase.
'Don't worry, we will sell,' I told my business partners.
We made our first sale soon after. Two young brothers wearing branded clothes
came to the shop.
'How much for tennis balls?' one boy said.
'Eight bucks for Arrow, six bucks for the local basket there,' Ish said.
The boys moved to the local basket. They, started the ball-bouncing routine again as my heart wept.
'So where do you play cricket?' Ish asked them. 'Satellite,' the elder boy said. Satellite was an upmarket neighbourhood on the other side of the Sabarmati
river.
'What are you doing in the old city?' Ish said.

'We came to the temple. It is Harsh bhaiya's birthday,' the younger boy said.
I realised we had struck real-estate gold. The temple was ancient and drew in
people from the new city, too. And it was a birthday, every chance of pockets being loaded.
'You want to see bats?' I asked from the cash counter. The boys shook their heads.
Ish turned to me and signalled silence.
'Happy birthday, Harsh. You bowler or batsman?' Ish said.
Harsh looked up at Ishaan. A grown-up man asking an eleven-year-old if he was a bowler or batsman was a huge honour. It meant he was now old enough to
be specialised, even though he may not have thought about it.
'Er, I am more of a batsman,' Harsh said.
'Defensive or attack?' Ish asked as if he was interviewing Tendulkar on ESPN.
'Huh?' Harsh said.
'You like shots?' Ish asked. Which kid didn't? Harsh nodded.
'Show me your stance,' Ish said. He turned to nie and asked for a bat, I went to the stack of willow bats. I had bought them directly from a Kashmiri supplier in Law Garden. I picked the right size for the boy. Size six and two hundred bucks. Not top of the line, of course, but the best we could hope to sell here.
Harsh took a stance on the empty space in front of the shop. Like every kid, he
leaned his entire weight on the bat while standing. Ish moved over and gently straightened Harsh's back. He moved his wrist upwards, and told him to balance the weight evenly on the legs.
'And now, whenever you attack, use the front leg to move forward but do not forget the back leg. That is your support, your anchor. Notice Tendulkar, he keeps one leg fixed.'
An awestruck Harsh air-struck a few strokes.
'Give me some tips, too,' the younger one whined.
'First me, Chinu,' Harsh said.
Ish turned to Chinu. 'What are you, Chinu?'
'All-rounder,' Chinu said promptly.
'Great. Show me your bowling grip.'
Their parents finally found our shop. It was time to go to the temple.
'Mummy, I want the ball,' Chinu said. 'How much?' his mother said. 'Six rupees,' Ish said.
She took out a twenty-rupee note and asked me to give two. 'I want the bat,
mummy,' Harsh said. 'You already have a bat.'
'This one is better for my stance, mummy. Please.' Harsh took a stance again.
He had improved with the lesson but his mother ignored him.
'How much is this?' she said.
'Two hundred rupees,' I said.
'Too expensive. No Harsh, we are not getting a bat.'
'My birthday present, mummy, please.' Harsh cajoled.
'Yes but beta, why buy something from this temple shop. Old city doesn't have
good quality. We will go to the Navrangpura market.'
'It is excellent quality, aunty. We source from Kashmiri suppliers. Take my
word,' Ish said.
'Aunty' eyed us with suspicion.

'I was the team captain for all municipal schools in the area, aunty. I have personally chosen the bats,' Ish said with as much heart as Omi's dad said his prayers.
'Please, mummy,' Harsh said and tugged at her saree. The tug connected to
aunty's purse, which opened and brought out two hundred-rupee notes.
Done. We had closed the deal of the day. The bat cost us a hundred and sixty, so forty bucks profit, I exclaimed mentally.
'Goodbye, champ.' Ish waved to Harsh.
'I'll come to your shop on my happy birthday,' Chinu said.
'Yes! You are amazing, Ish,' I said and hi-fived everyone.
'The kid is a quick learner. If he practices, he will be good. Of course, his mother will stuff him with studies the moment he reaches Class X. The only stance he will take is to sit on a desk with his books,' Ish said.
'Don't be depressing, man,' I said. 'We made forty bucks on the bat and four on the two balls. We are forty-four bucks in profit, sir.'
We sold some candy and two more balls in the next two hours. Our total profit for the day was fifty bucks. We moved the bats and the ball baskets inside and closed shop at 7.00 p.m., after the puja. To celebrate our opening we chose the chana-bhatura stall. At four bucks a plate, I could expense it to the business.
'Do I get to take some money home? I really want to give mom my first salary,'
Omi said as he tucked in half a chili with his hot bhatura.
"Wait, this isn't real profit. This is contribution. We earn th< rent first and then we will see.' I placed my empty plate back a the stall. 'Congrats guys, we are in
business.'

Three Months Later


'Eight thousand three, four and five hundred,' I said as I emptied the cashier's box. 'This is our profit for the first three months after paying rent. Not bad, not bad at all.'
I  was  super-pleased.  Our  shop  had  opened  at  an  opportune<  time.  The summer vacations had started and India had won the one-day series with South
Africa. Kids with lots of time and patriotism flocked to Team India Cricket Shop the day they received their pocket money.
Some came even without money, if only to meet Ish and ge tips on cricket. I didn't mind as it helped us pass the time. The dull aspect of opening a shop is boredom. We opened from nine to seven, and even with twenty customers a day it meant only around two customers an hour.
'So we get our share now?' Omi said excitedly.
I  divided  the  money  into  four  stacks.  The  first  three  stacks  were  fifteen hundred rupees each - the money each of us could take home. The remaining four thousand was to be retained in the business.
'What do you mean retained? What do we need to retain it for?' Ish questioned even as Omi happily counted his notes.
'Ish, we need to keep a war chest in case we want to renovate the store. Don't
you want a better glass countertop? Or nice lighting?' Ish shook his head.
'Sure we do. And ... I have expansion plans,' I said. 'What?'

'There is a new shopping mall under construction at Navrangpura char rasta. If you book early, you can get a discount on renting a shop.'
'Renting? But we already have a shop,' Ish said, puzzled and irritated at the same time.
I knew why Ish grumbled. He wanted to buy a TV for the shop, listening to matches on radio during shop hours was no fun.
'No Ish, a proper shop. Young people like to shop in swanky malls. That is the
future. Our shop has been doing good business, hut we can't grow unless we move to a new city location.'
'I like it here,' Omi said. 'This is our neighbourhood. What we sell is being used
by kids in Nana Park.'
'I don't want this short-sighted mentality. I will open a store in a mall, and by
next year have one more store. If you don't grow in business, you stagnate.'
'Another shop? What? We will not be working together?' Omi said.
'It is Govind's bullshit. We have only started and he already aspires to be
Ambani. Can't we just buy a TV?' Ish said, 'Shah Electronics will give us on instalment if we pay a down-payment of four thousand.'
'No way. We keep the four thousand for business.'
'Well, the TV belongs to the business, no?' Ish said.
'Yes, but it is a dead asset. It doesn't earn. We have a long way to go. Three
thousand  a  month  is  nothing.  And  Ish  doesn't  let  me  keep  notebooks  and pencils...'
'I said this is a sports store. I don't want kids to think about studies when they
come here.'
Ish and I had argued about this before. I saw an easy opportunity, but Ish
protested every time.
'Ok, here is a deal,' Ish said, 'I agree to the notebooks, not textbooks mind you, only notebooks. But we buy a TV. I have to watch matches. I don't care, here take
my fifteen hundred.'
He threw his share of cash at me.
Omi tossed in his money as well. As usual, I had to surrender to fools.
'Ok, but we need to increase the revenue. Target for next quarter is twenty thousand bucks.'
They ignored me as they discussed TV brands. I shook my head and outlined my strategy for increasing revenues.
'Will you do coaching classes?' I asked Ish.
'What?'
'Kids love your cricket tips. Why not do cricket coaching for a fee?'
'Me? I am not that good man. And where? In the temple?' 'No, we will do it in the abandoned SBI compound.' 'Why? Aren't we making enough?' Omi said. 'We can never make enough. I want to get to fifty thousand a quarter. Omi, you can give fitness training to the students.' 'So more work for us. What about you?' Ish said. 'I am going to start offering maths tuitions again.' 'Here?'
'Yes, a couple here, or in the SBI compound itself while you guys give cricket
coaching.'
Omi and Ish looked at me like I was the hungriest shark in the world.
'C'mon guys. I am making sure we have a solid healthy business.'
'It is ok. Just the shop is so boring, Ish,' Omi said. He was excited about making kids do push-ups.

'Yeah, at least I will get to hit the pitch,' Ish said.
I tossed in my fifteen hundred, too, and we bought a TV the same day. We set it
permanently at the sports channel. Omi brought mats and cushions and spread them in front of the TV. On match days, we would all sit there until a customer arrived. I had to admit, it made the day go by much quicker.
I changed the board on the shop. Under the 'Team India Cricket Shop', it also said 'Stationery, Cricket Coaching and Maths Tuitions available'. I may not have
diversified geographically, but I had diversified my product offering.

Three

Apart from cricket, badminton was the other popular game in Belrampur. In fact, the girls only played badminton. It was an excellent turnover business. Shuttle cocks needed to be replaced, rackets needed rewiring and badminton rackets didn't last as long as cricket bats.
School stationery became the other hit item in the following weeks. Only some kids  played  sports, but  every  kid  needed  notebooks,  pens  and  pencils, and
parents never said no to that. Many times, someone buying a ball would buy a notebook, or the other way round. We offered a total solution. Soon, suppliers came to us themselves. They kept stuff on credit and returnable basis - chart paper, gum bottles, maps of India, water bottles and tiffin boxes. It is only after you open a shop that you realise the length and breadth of the Indian student industry.
We kept the cricket coaching and tuitions at the same price -250 rupees a
month. Customers for maths tuitions were easier to get, given the higher demand and my track record. I taught at the SBI compound building in the mornings. Ish used the compound grounds for the two students who signed up for cricket tuitions.
They were the best players in the Belrampur Municipal School and had fought with their parents to let them try coaching for three months.
Of course, we still spent most of our time in the shop.
'Should we do greeting cards?' I wondered as I opened a sample packet left by a
supplier. At five-rupee retail price and two-rupee cost price, cards had solid margins. However, people in Belrampur did not give each other greeting cards.
'This is in-swinger, and this is off-swinger. By the way, this is the third ball in
two weeks. What's up Tapan?' Ish asked a regular customer. Thirteen-year-old Tapan was one of the best bowlers of his age in the Belrampur Municipal School. Ish gripped the cricket ball and showed him the wrist movement.
'It is that nightmare Ali. Ball keeps getting lost with his shots. Why did he move to our school?' Tapan grumbled as he rubbed the ball on his shorts.
'Ali? New student? Haven't seen him here,' Ish said. All good players visited our store and Ish knew them personally.
'Yes, batsman. Just joined our school. You should come see him. He wouldn't
come here, right?' Tapan said.
Ish nodded. We had few Muslim customers. Most of them used other Hindu
boys to make their purchases.
'You want to sign up for cricket tuitions. Ish will teach you, he played at the district level,' I could not help pitching our other service.
'Mummy will not allow. She said I can only take tuitions for studies. No sports coaching,' Tapan said.
'It is ok, have a good game,' Ish said, ruffling the boy's hair.
'You see this. That is why India doesn't win every match,' Ish said after Tapan left.
Yes, Ish has this ridiculous theory that India should win every match. 'Well, we don't have to. It won't be much of a game otherwise,' I said and closed the cash box.
'Our country has a billion people. We should always win,' Ish insisted.

'Statistically impossible.'
'Why? Australia has twenty million people. Yet they win almost every match.
We have fifty times the people, so fifty times the talent. Plus, cricket is India's only game while Australia has rugby and football and whatever. So there is no way we should be defeated by them. Statistically, my friend, Australia should be a rounding error.'
'Then why?' I said.
'Well, you saw that kid. Parents will spend thousands teaching kids useless trigonometry and calculus they will never use in real life. But if it is sports coaching, it is considered a waste of money.'
'Don't worry, we have them covered. Our shop now offers both.'
'It is not about the business Govind. Really, is this just about money for you?'
'Money is nice...'
'These kids, Govind. Look at them, thirteen-year-olds holding their bats with pride. Or the way they want to learn to bowl better. They have a fire in their eyes
before every little match at Nana Park. When India wins, they dance. They are they only people Ij see with passion. I like being with them.'
'Whatever,' I shrugged.
'Of course, in two years time they will reach Class X. Their bats will be replaced with physics books. And then the spark will begin to die. Soon, they will turn into
depressed adults.'
'That is not true, Ish. Everyone needs a passion. I have mine.'
'Then why are most grown-ups so grumpy? Why can't they smile more often
and be excited like those kids at Nana Park?' 'Can you stop being grumpy now and help me clean the
shop?'

'Ok, ok, we will do a booze party,' I laughed. Omi and Ish had gripped me tight from both sides until I relented.
'Where is my son Omi?' Bittoo Mama entered our shop at (losing time and proceeded to hug his nephew. He held a box of sweets in a red velvet cloth.
'Where were you, Mama?' Omi said. Since the shop opened, he had never
visited us.
'I toured all over Gujarat, with Parekh-ji. What an experience! Here, have some
besan ladoos. Fresh from Baroda,' Bittoo Mama said. I ordered a Frooti. Ish pulled out stools and we sat outside. I picked a ladoo.
'What is this, Omi? Wearing shoes?' Bittoo Mama's eyes were lined with kohl.
He had a red tikka in the middle of his forehead.
'Mama?' Omi squeaked. I looked at my feet. I wore fake Reebok slippers. Ish
wore his old sneakers.
'Your shop is in a temple, and you are wearing shoes? A Brahmin priest's boy?'
'Mama, c'mon this is outside the temple. None of the other shopkeepers wear...'
'Other shopkeepers are useless baniyas so you will also become like them? Do you do puja every morning before you open?'
'Yes, Mama,' Omi lied point-blank.
'You also,' Mama said, referring to Ish and me. 'You are Hindu hoys. You have your shop in such a pure place. At least remove your shoes, light a lamp.'

'We come here to work, not to perform rituals,' I said. I now paid full rent every month to be in this shop. Nobody told me how to run my business.
Mama looked surprised. 'What is your name?'
'Govind.'
'Govind what?'
'Govind Patel.'
'Hindu, no?'
'1 am agnostic,' I said, irritated as I wanted to shut the shop and go home.
'Agno...?'
'He is not sure if there is God or not,' Ish explained.
'Doesn't believe in God? What kind of friends do you have Omi?' Mama was aghast.
'No, that is an atheist,' I clarified. 'Agnostic means maybe God exists, maybe he doesn't. I don't know.'
'You young kids,' Bittoo said, 'such a shame. I had come to invite you and look
at you.'
Omi looked at me. I turned my gaze away.
'Don't worry about Govind, Mama. He is confused.' I hate it when people take my religious status for confusion. Why did I have to or not have to believe in something?
Ish offered the Frooti to Bittoo Mama. It softened him a little.
'What about you?' Mama asked Ish.
'Hindu, Mama. I pray and everything.' Ish said. Yeah right only when six balls
were left in a match.
Mama took a large sip and shifted his gaze to Omi and Ish As far as he was
concerned I did not exist.
What did you want to invite us for Mama?' Omi said.
He lifted the red velvet cloth and unwrapped a three-foot-long brass trishul. Its
sharp blades glinted under the shop's tubelight.
'It's beautiful. Where did you get it from?' Omi queried.
'It is a gift from Parekh-ji. He said in me he sees the party's future. I worked
day and night. We visited every district in Gujarat. He said, "if we have more people like Bittoo, people will be proud to be Hindu again." He made me the recruitment in-charge for young people in Ahmedabad.'
Ish and I looked at Omi for footnotes.
'Parekh-ji is a senior Hindu party leader. And he heads the biggest temple trust
in Baroda,' Omi said. 'What, he knows the CM or something, Mama?'
'Parekh-ji not only knows the CM, but also talks to him twice a day,' Bittoo
Mama said. 'And I told Parekh-ji about you, Omi. I see in you the potential to teach Hindu pride to young people.'
'But Mama, I'm working full time...'
'I am not telling you to leave everything. But get in touch with the greater responsibilities we have. We are not just priests who speak memorised lines at ceremonies. We have to make sure India's future generation understands Hindutva properly. I want to invite you to a grand feast to Parekh-ji's house. You should come too, Ish. Next Monday in Gandhinagar.'
Of course, blasphemous me got no invitation.
'Thanks, Mama. It sounds great, but I don't know if we can,' Ish said. How come some people are so good at being polite.

'Why? Don't worry, it is not just priests. Many young, working people will also come.'
'I don't like politics,' Ish said.
'Huh? This isn't politics, son. This is a way of life.'
'I will come,' Omi said.
'But you should come too, Ish. We need young blood.' Ish stayed hesitant.
'Oh, you think Parekh-ji is some old, traditional man who will force you to read scriptures. Do you know where Parekh-ji went to college? Cambridge, and then Harvard. He had a big hotel business in America, which he sold and came back. He talks your language. Oh, and he used to play cricket too, for the Cambridge college team.'
'I will come if Govind comes,' said Ish the idiot.
Mama looked at me. In his eyes, I was the reason why Hindu culture had deteriorated lately.
'Well, I came to invite the three of you in the first place. He only said he doesn't believe in God.'
'I didn't say that,' I said. Oh, forget it, I thought.
'Then come.' Mama stood up. 'All three of you. I'll give Omi the address. It is the grandest house in Gandhinagar.'

People called me Mr Accounts; greedy, miser, anything. But the fact is, I did organise an all-expense-paid booze party to motivate my partners at the shop. It is bloody hard to get alcohol in Ahmedabad, let alone bulky bottles of beer. One of my contacts - Romy Bhai - agreed to supply a crate of extra strong beer for a thousand bucks.
At 7 p.m. on the day of the party, Romi Bhai left the beer -wrapped in rags - at the SBI compound entrance. I came to the gate and gave Romi Bhai the day's newspaper. On the third page of the newspaper, I had stapled ten hundred-rupee notes. He nodded and left.
I dragged the cloth package inside and placed the bottles in the three ice-filled buckets I had kept in the kitchen. I took out the bottle opener from the kitchen
shelf, where we kept everything from Maggi noodles to boxes of crackers to burst when India won a match.
Another person may see the abandoned SBI branch as an eerie party venue. This used to be an old man's haveli. The owner could not repay and the bank foreclosed the property. Thereafter, the bank opened a branch in the haveli. The owner's family filed a lawsuit after he died. The dispute still unresolved, the family obtained a court injunction that the bank could not use the property for profit. Meanwhile, SBI realised that a tiny by lane in Belrampur was a terrible branch location. They vacated the premises and gave the keys to the court. The court official kept a key with Omi's dad, a trustworthy man in the area. This was done in case officials needed to view it and the court was closed. Of course, no one ever came and Omi had access to the keys.
The  property  was  a  six-hundred  square  yard  plot,  huge  by  Belrampur
standards. The front entrance directly opened into the living room, now an abandoned bank customer service area. The three bedrooms on the first floor were the branch manager's office, the data room and the locker room. The branch

manager's  office  had  a  giant  six-feet  vault.  We  kept  our  cricket  kit  in  the otherwise empty safe.
We hung out most in the haveli's backyard. In its prime, it was the lawn of a rich family. As part of the bank branch, it was an under-utilised parking lot and now, our practice pitch.
I rotated the beer bottles in the ice bucket to make them equally cold. Ish walked into the bank.
'So late,' I said. 'It is 8.30.'
'Sorry, watching cricket highlights. Wow, strong beer,' Ish said as he picked up a bottle. We had parked ourselves on the sofas in the old customer waiting area
downstairs. I reclined on the sofa. Ish went to the kitchen to get some bhujia.
'Omi here?' Ish said as he opened the packet.
'No, I am the only fool. I take delivery, clean up the place and wait for my lords to arrive.'
'Partners, man, partners,' Ish corrected. 'Should we open a bottle?'
'No, wait.'
Omi arrived in ten minutes. He made apologies about his dad holding him back
to clean the temple. Omi then prayed for forgiveness before drinking alcohol.
'Cheers!' all of us said as we took a big sip. It was bitter, and tasted only slightly better than phenyl.
"What is this? Is this genuine stuff?' Ish asked.
We paused for a moment. Spurious alcohol is a real issue in Ahmedabad.
'Nah, nobody makes fake beer. It is just strong,' I said.
If you filled your mouth with bhujia, the beer did not taste half as bad. In fact, the taste improved considerably after half a bottle. As did everyone's mood.
'I want to see this Ali kid. Three customers have mentioned him,' Ish said.
'The Muslim boy?' Omi said.
'Stop talking like your Mama?' Ish scolded. 'Is that relevant? They say he has
excellent timing.'
'Where does he play?' I enquired through a mouthful of bhujia.
'In our school. Kids say his most common shot is a six.' 'Let's go check him
out. Looks like the school has your worthy successor,' 1 said.
Ish turned silent. It was a sensitive topic and if it was not for the beer, I would
not have said it.
'Succeeding Ish is hard,' Omi said. 'Remember the hundred against Mahip
Municipal School, in sixty-three balls? No one forgets that innings.' Omi stood up
and patted Ish's back again, as if the ten-year-old match had ended minutes ago.
'No one forgets the two ducks in the state selection trials either,' Ish said and
paused again.
'Screw that, you were out of form, man,' Omi said.
'But those are the matches that fucking mattered, right? Now can we flip the
topic?'
Omi backed off and I gladly changed the subject. 'I think we should thank our sponsors  for  tonight  -  The  Team  India  Cricket  Shop.  In  seven  months  of
operation, our profit is 42,600 rupees. Of which, we have distributed 18,000 to the partners and 22,000 is for the Navrangpura shop deposit. And the remaining
2,600 is for entertainment like tonight. So, thank you, dear shareholders and partners, and let's say cheers to the second bottle.'
I took out the second bottle for each of us from the ice bucket.

'Stud-boy,' Ish slurred, standing up, 'This business and its profit is all owed to Stud-boy, Mr Govind Patel. Thank you, buddy. Because of you this dropout military cadet has a future. And so does this fool who'd be otherwise jingling bells in the temple all his life. Give me a hug, Stud-boy.'
He came forward to give me a hug. It was drunk affection, but genuine enough.
'Will you do me one more favour buddy?' Ish said.
'What?'
'There is someone who wants maths tuitions,' Ish said.
'No, I am full, Ish. Seven students already...,' I said as Ish interrupted me. 'It is
Vidya.' 'Your sister?'
'She finished Class XII. She is dropping a year now to prepare for the medical entrance.'
'You don't need maths to become a doctor.'
'No, but the entrance exams do. And she is awful at it. You are the best man, who else can I trust?'
'If it is your sister, then I mean...,' I took a breath. 'Wow, Vidya to join medical college? Is she that old now?'
'Almost eighteen, dude.'
'I teach younger kids though, class five to eight. Her course is more advanced. I
am not in touch.'
'But you got a fucking century in that subject, dude. Just try she needs any help she can get.'
I said nothing for a while, trying to remember what I knew of Vidya, which was
little.
'What are you thinking. Oh, I know, Mr Accounts. Don't worry we will pay you,'
Ish said and took a big sip.
'Shut up, man. It is for your sister. Ok, I'll do it. When do we start?'
'Can you start Monday ... no Monday is Parekh-ji's feast. Damn, Omi what the
fuck are we going to do there?'
'The things we do to keep your Mama happy.' I couldn't wait to move to
Navrangpura.
'Parekh ji is supposed to be a great man,' Omi said. 'And I always listen to you guys. Come for me this time.'
'Anyway, Tuesday then,' I said to Ish. 'So is she going to come to the bank?'
'Dad will never send her out alone. You come home.'
'What?' I said. Maybe I should have accepted a fee. 'Ok, I'll move some classes.
Say seven in the evening?'
'Sure, now can you answer one maths question, Mr Accounts,' Ish said.
'What?'
'You ordered a crate with ten bottles. We drank three each. Where is the tenth one?' Ish stood up swaying.
I stood as well. 'The question is not where the tenth one is, but who does it belong to.' I lunged for the ice bucket. Ish dived in as well. Cold water splashed on the floor as we tugged at the bottle. After a ten-second tiff, he released it.
'Take it, dude. What would I do without you?'



Four


We reached Parekh-ji's residence at around eight in the evening. Two armed guards manning the front gate let us in after checking our names. The entrance of the house had an elaborate rangoli, dozens of lamps and fresh flowers.
'See, what a gathering,' Bittoo Mama met us at the door. 'Have dinner before
the talk begins.' From an aarti plate, he put big red tikkas on our foreheads. He told us Parekh-ji would make a speech after dinner.
We moved to the massive food counter. A Gujarati feast consisted of every
vegetarian snack known to man. There was no alcohol, but there was juice of every fruit imaginable. At parties like this, you regret you have only one stomach. I took a jain pizza and looked around the massive living room. There were fifty guests dressed in either white or saffron. Parekh-ji wore a saffron dhoti and white shirt, sort of a perfect crowd blend. Ish looked oddly out of place with his skull and crossbones, black Metallica T-shirt. Apart from us, everyone had either grey hair or no hair It looked like a marriage party where only the priests were invited Most of them carried some form of accessory like a trishul or a rudraksha or a holy book.
Ish and 1 exchanged a what-are-we-doing-here glance.
Omi went to meet a group of two bald-whites, one grey-saffron and one bald- saffron. He touched their feet and everyone blessed him. Considering Omi met these kind of people often, he had one Of the highest per-capita-blessings ratio in India.
'The food is excellent, no?' Omi returned. Food in Gujarat was always good. But
still people keep saying it. Ish passed his Jain-dimsum to Omi.
'Who are these people?' I asked idly.
'It is quite simple,' Omi said. 'The people in saffron are priests or other holy
men from around the city. The people in white are the political party people. Why aren't you eating any dimsums?'
'I don't like Chinese,' Ish said. 'And who is Parekh-ji?'
'Well, he is a guide,' Omi said. 'Or that is what he says to be humble. But actually,  he  is  the  chairperson  of  the  main  temple  1  rust.  He  knows  the politicians really well, too.'
'So he is a hybrid, a poli-priest,' I deduced.
'Can you be more respectful? And what is this T-shirt, Ish?'
Everyone shushed as Parekh-ji came to the centre of the living room. He carried a red velvet cushion with him, which looked quite comfortable. He signalled everyone to sit down on the carpet. Like a shoal of fishes, the saffrons separated from the whites and sat down in two neat sections.
'Where the hell do we sit?' Ish said as he turned to me. I had worn a blue T-
shirt and couldn't find my colour zone. Bittoo Mama tugged at Omi's elbow and asked us to join the saffron set. We sat there, looking like the protagonists of those ugly duckling stories in our mismatched clothes. Bittoo Mama came with three saffron scarves and handed them to us.
'What? I am not...,' I protested to Omi.
'Shh ... just wear it,' Omi said and showed us how to wrap it around our neck.

Webpage- HTML

What is a Web Page?
A web is a page with hypertext links that cross-reference text in the Internet .A web page is also know as HTML pages because it is coded in HTML language.
Today web pages(HTML pages ) are the standard interface of the internet.

Power of HTML
Earlier HTML pages could only hold text.However, since the boom of Internet people have added more and more capabilities to this langauge.
It can now have images,animations,multimedia contents and even interactive application.

What is HTML ?
Most HTML tags have two parts the strarting tag that indicates the start of text or formatting and the closing tag that indicates the end of text of formatting .
The closing tag is the same as the starting tag,the only differneces is that it begins with a / just after the < sign

Creating and editing web pages
Since a web page is a text file it can be created or edited in any text editor. However, there is application specially made for designing web pages. These applications are known as HTML editors.
Use any editor of your choice to create web pages.

A blank HTML page
A blank HTML page has the following code:
<html>
<head>
<title>It appears in the title bar</title>
</head>
<body>
It appears in the page
</body>
</html>

Creating your first web page
The above written code is a blank web page.Copy it to Notepad.Write the title of the page between the <TITLE> and </TITLE> tags.And write some one or two paragraphs of the between the <BODY> and </BODY> tags.
Give the save command and in the file name box type the filename inside double quotation("")with an extension of '.htm'.Now you can open the document in any browser and view it.

Tags and their Properties

Most of the HTML tags have their properties. The properties of every tag goes inside the opening tag .A tag can have any number of properties separated by space .Most of the properties have a value.For example if you are specifying the color property then its value will be the name of the color. A tag with properties will be written like.
<tag property1="value" property2="value">

Body tags and their meaning

Opening Tag	Closing Tag	Use
<body>	</body>	Visible area of the HTML Page
<Font>	</font>	Formatting start and end.
<p>	</p>	Paragraph start and end
<hr>	[None]	Horizontal line
<br>	[None]	Line Break
<B>	</B>	Start and end bold text.
<I>	</I>	Start and end Italic text.
<u>	</u>	Start and end Underline text.

Example
<html>
<head>
<title>First page</title>
</head>
<body>
<p align="center">
<font size="5" color="green" face="verdana"><b><i><u>Welcome to my site</u></i></b></font>
</p>
<hr size="3" width="100%"color="red">
</body>
</html>

More tag propeties.
Propeties                           Value
<p> tag                         align Paragraph alignment[left,center,right and justify]

<h1>to<H6>Tag        Heading one(It is the greatest font size)                                      <H2>....<h6>It is smallest font then the previous font size

<hr> tag                        width Width of line in pixel or percent
                                    align alignment[left,center and right]
                                    Color Color or line(IE only)
                                    size size of the Horizontal line

<Font> Tag                     Font face
                                     Font size
                                     Font color

List tags and their us 

Opening Tag	Closing Tag	Use
<ul>	</ul>	Start and end of the bullet list
<ol>	</ol>	Start and end of the number list
<dir>	</dir>	Start and end of directory list
<li>	</li>	Start and end of the list item
<div>	</div>	Start and end of division or paragraph
<img>	none	Insert image.
<a>	</a>	Hyperlink or anchor.

Tag Properties
<UL>tag
Type                          Type of bullet(circle,sqaure or disc)

<OL> tag
Type                          Type of numbering(1,A,a,I or i)
Start                          Beginning count of numbering (e.g.1,2,3,4 etc)

<div>tag
Align                           Alignment of paragraph(left,center,right ro justify)

Example
<html>
<head>
<title>List </title>
</head>

<body>
<p><strong>Computer Course</strong> </p>
<ol start="5" type="i">
<li>Java</li>
<li>Oracle</li>
<li>C++</li>
<li> HTML</li>
<li>Javascript</li>
</ol>
</body>
</html>

img tag properties

Property	Value
SRC	Location of the image(e.g."c:\windows\circle.gif")
WIDTH	Width of the image in pixel
HEIGHT	Height of the image in pixel
ALT	Alternate or tool-tip text
VSPACE	Space to the right and left of image in pixels
HSPACE	Space to the right and left of image in pixels
NAME	Name of the image.
LOWSRC	Location of a lower resolution image
ALIGN	Alignment of text with imag.(top,middle,bottom etc)

Example
<html>
<head>
<title>Image</title>
</head>

<body>
<p align="center"><strong>Welcome to My site</strong></p>
<p align="center"><strong><img src="C:/scene.jpg" alt="Click here" name="Image1" width="200" height="200" hspace="10" vspace="10" id="Image1"></strong></p>
</body>
</html>

Anchor tag properties

Property                                   Value
<A>Tag
Name                                  Name of the anchor
HREF                                   Location of the file that is referenced.
TARGET                               Name of the window or frame to open the target file.

NOTE: Hyperlink is the part of the references another document. When you click on a hyperlink the referenced document is opened. Anchor is a reference point inside a document that can be referenced by a hyperlink. When<A>tag is used as anchor it doesn't have a closing tag.

Table in an HTML document

In HTML a table begins with a <TABLE> tag and ends with a </TABLE>tag.
Between the <TABLE> tag there are the rows that are enclosed between <TR>and </TR>tags. So there is one pair of <TR>and </TR>tags for each row.
Inside these rows are the cells, which are enclosed between the <TD> tag pairs inside every row should be the same. The contents of the cell goes between the <TD>and </TD> tags.

Example
<HTML>
<HEAD><TITLE>Table </TITLE>
</HEAD>
<BODY>
<table>
        <tr>
                 <td>
                         Row 1, Col 1
                 </td>
                 <td>
                         Row 1, Col 2
                 </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
                 <td>
                         Row 2, Col 1
                 </td>
                 <td>
                        Row 2, Col 2
                 </td>
       </tr>
</table>
</BODY>
</HTML>

Contents of a cell
The context of a cell is written between the <TD>and </TD>tags.A cell of table can contain any text,HTML,image or even another table(i.e.you can have a table inside another table).
Tables are used in web pages to arrange the layout and /or to display tabular data.

Table/cell Properties
<Table>and <TD>tag

Property	Value
WIDTH	Width of table /cell in pixel or percent
HEIGHT	Height of table/cell in pixel or percent
BGCOLOR	Background color of table/cell
BACKGROUND	Background image of table/cell

<Table> Tag only

Property	Value
BORDER	Thickness of table border in pixel
BORDERCOLOR	Color of table border
CELLSPACNING	Space between cells in pixel
CELLPADDING	Space between cell border and content in pixel

More tag properties
Property                        Value
<Td>tag only
ROWSPAN                      Number of rows the cell spans

Example

<HTML>
<HEAD>
<TITLE></TITLE>
</HEAD>
<BODY>
<table border="1" align="center" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="2" width="60%" height="80%">
<caption>Simple Table With Formatting</caption>
       <tr>
              <td>
                     Row 1, Col 1
              </td>
              <td>
                    Row 1, Col 2
              </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
             <td>
                    Row 2, Col 1
             </td>
             <td>
                    Row 2, Col 2
             </td>
       </tr>
       <tr>
              <td colspan="2" rowspan="2" align="center" valign="center">
              This is a double-width, double-height cell with centered contents.
              </td>
       </tr>
</table>
</BODY>
</HTML>

Images in HTML document
As we learnt earlier, a web page can only store text. So any images that appear inside the page is not inside the HTML document. Actually the image is a different file and there is a tag in the HTML page specifying the location of the image.The browser displays the image in the page as if it were a part of that document.

Image Formats in a HTML page
There are two types of image formats used in web pages.GIF(Graphics Interchangeable Format ".gif")and JPEG(Joint Photographics Expert Group ".jpg").The PNG(Portable Network Graphic ".png") format is still consideration and most probably will be used as web graphic format in the future.

Inserting image into the HTML page
IF you have a JPEG or GIF image you can insert it into HTML page by inserting the<IMG>tag.Refer to lecture 3 for the properties of the <IMG> tag looks like:
<IMG SRC="image surce" width="image width" height="image height">
Example <img src="images/picture.gif" width="150" Height="30>
The SRC property of the <IMG> tag is must.All other tags are optional.If you dono't specify the width and height property the image dimesion is calculated automatically.If you don't specify the width and height property the image resized in the browser while displaying. If the width and height property is not specified then the browser will take a little longer time to display the image as it has to calculated the values, so it is better to specify them at design time.
Other properties the<IMG> tag are ALT and LOSRC.The ALT property is used to specify the text that will appear if the image cannot be shown in the page or when the mouse moves will be loaded before the actual high-resolution image is loaded .This property is used when low source image instead of a blank page before the large image appears.
The format will be something like this:
Example:
<IMG SRC="image/picture.gif width="150" height="30" ALT="Home Buttom" lowsrc="images/smalliamge.gif">

Forms in a HTML document

Forms are used in a web page to collect information form the user .Generally user cannot write or edit a web page in the browser but in a form he can type and enter data,which can be collect by the web site owner.
For example a from can be used to accept the username and password of a user to log him onto the system or to take his details for any other purpose.

Tags for inserting a form
A form is inserted into a web page using the <FORM> and</FORM>tag.All the elements of a form tag are put between these tags inside the <INPUT >tag.The Type property of the <INPUT>tag determines the type of form element it is.For example <INPUT TYPE="text"> will be a text box and <INPUT TYPE="password">will be a password box.The <INPUT>Tag doesnot have a closing tag.
All types of form fields are inserted using the <INPUT>Tag except the Drop Down and list Box.These are enclosed between <Select> and </select>tags.The list items are placed between these tags.Each list item is enclosed between a pair of <Option> and </option>tags.

The type of elements in a from

From Element	<INPUT>Tag Type	Description
Text Box	Text	Field where the user can enter any text
Password Box	Password	Field where the user can enter password
Text Area	Textarea	Field where the user can enter multiple line of text
Check box	Checkbox	Filed where the user can check one or more of available option
Radio Button	Radio	Filed where the user can select any one of available option
Button	Button	Command buttton used to enter a command
Submit Button	Submit	Command button used to submit the form
Reset Button	Reset	Command button used to reset the form
Drop Down Box		Filed where the user can select an item from the drop down menu
List Box		Field where the user can select one or more items from a list

Example

here is a blank web page with only a from

<HTML>
<HEAD>
<TITLE>Form Page</TITLE>
</HEAD>
<BODY>
<form>
Full Name:<INPUT TYPE="text" NAME="name"><br>
Gender:<INPUT type="radio" name="gender" value="male">Male<input type="radio" name="Gender" value="female">Female<br>
Age Group:<select name ="age">
<option value="12">12</option>
<option value="13">13</option>
<option value="14">14</option>
<option value="15">15</option>
<option value="16">16</option>
</select>
<Input type="submit" value="submit form"<input type="reset" value="reset From">
</form>
</body>
</html>

From Elements and their properties

<FORM>Tag properties

Property	Value
NAME	Name of the Form
METHOD	How the form data will be sent(Get or Post)
ACTION	The script or program file that will handle the form data

Text Field/Password Field/File Field

Property	Value
NAME	Name of the Field
SIZE	Width of field in number of characters
MAXLENGTH	Themaximum number of character allowed (Including space)

Check BOX/Radio Button(INPUT TYPE="CHECKBOX"><INPUT TYPE="RADIO ">

Property	Value
NAME	Name of the check box/radio button
VALUE	Value to pass when checked
CHECKED	Doesnot have a value,the box will appear checked initially

BUTTON /SUBMIT BUTTON /RESET BUTTON

<input type="button">/<input type="submit">/<input type "reset">

Property	Value
NAME	Name of the Button(optional)
VALUE	Text on the button face

Hidden field <input type ="hidden">

Property	Value
NAME	Name of the field
VALUE	value of pass

Drop Down/List Box<select><option></select>

<Select> Tag

Property	Value
NAME	Name of the field
SIZE	Number of lines in the list box .

<option>Tag

Property	Value
VALUE	Value to be passed when selected
SELECTED	Doesnot have a value,appears selected initially

Text Area<textarea></textarea>

Property	Value
NAME	Name of the field
ROWS	Height of the field in number of line
COLS	Width of the field in number of characters
WRAP	Type of text wrapping[off,virtual or physical]

Frame

Until now wach web page when opend takes over the entire browser screen.The browser screen could not be split into separate(unique) sections,showing different but related information.

The HTML tags that divide a browser screen into two or more HTML recognizable unique region is the <FRAMESET></FRAMESET> tags.Each unique region is called a frame.Each frame can be loaded with a different document and hence,allow multiple HTML documents to be seen concurrently.

The HTML frame is a powerful feature that enables a web page to be broken into different unique section that,although realated ,operate independently of each other.

The <FRAMESET> Tag

The spliting of a browser screen into frames is accomplished with the <FRAMESET> and </FRAMESET> tags embedded into the HTML document .The <FRAMESET></FRAMESET>tags require one of the following two attributes depending on whethher the screen has to be divided into rows and columns.

ROWS	This attribute is used to divide the screen into multiple rows.It can be set equal to a list of values.Depending on the require size of each row.The values can number of pixel,percentage of screen resolution and the symbol of * which indicates the remaining space of the screen
COLS	This attribute is used to divide the screen into multiple columns.It can be set equal to a list of values.Depending on the require size of each Columns..The values can number of pixel,percentage of screen resolution and the symbol of * which indicates the remaining space of the screen

Example

<FRAMESET ROWS="33%,33%,33%>

            <FRAMESET COLS="50 %,50%">

             </FRAMESET>

             <FRAMESET COLS="50%,50%">

             </FRAMESET>

</FRAMESET>

The <FRAME> Tag

Once the browser screen is divided into rows(Horizontal sections)and columns (Vertical Sections),Each unique section defined can be loaded with different HTML documents.This is achieved by using the <FRAME>tag,which takes in the following attributes :

Propery	Value
SRC	Indicates the URL of the document to be loaded into the frame.
MARGINHEIGHT	Specifies the amount the amount of white space to be left at top and bottom of the frame
MARGINWIDTH	Specified the amount of white space to be along the sides of the frame
NAME	Gives the frame a unique name so it can be targeted by other documents.The name given must begin with an Alphanumeric character.
NORSIZE	Disables the frames resizing capability
SCROLLING	Controls the appearance of horizontall and vertical scrollbars in a frame.This takes the values YES/NO/AUTO

Example
<FRAMESET ROWS="30%,*">

               <FRAMESET COLS="50%,50%">

                         <FRAME SRC="file1.htm">

                         <FRAME SRC="file2.htm">

                </FRAMESET>

               <FRAMESET COLS="50%,50%">

                         <FRAME SRC="file3.htm">

                         <FRAME SRC="file4.htm">

                 </FRAMESET>

</FRAMESET>

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