A/N: I watched Chak De India last week and loved it! It was brilliant. This story is set sometime in the seven years between Kabir the captain and Kabir the coach. Hope you enjoy it!
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The World Cup
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'Hello? Kabir, are you listening to me?'
'Huh? Sorry, what did you say?' He gave a start, looking up from what he was doing.
Her expression turned to one of annoyance. 'You didn't hear any of that, did you?' Without waiting for the half-made excuses about to come out of his mouth, she snapped, 'What on earth are you doing?'
He hastily dropped the toothpick he had been playing with. Half-time, he decided. 'Nothing,' he lied, fixing his gaze on her. 'What were you saying?'
She looked slightly appeased, and promptly continued talking about herself, the clothes she had bought the previous week, herself, the rise in make-up prices, herself... Kabir found his attention wandering, as it did on any of these meetings. However, there seemed to be no way to make his mother understand that there was no point in meeting any of them; he just didn't care. The game was his life, his love, his everything.
Absently, he picked up the toothpick again, using it to push the last remaining pea from his mattar paneer. Right, left, right, left... The 'ball' zigzagged, dodging various members of the other 'team': the piece of paneer leering at it opposite, the sliver of onion trying to block its way. Kabir decided that the onion had committed a foul.
And now he had arrived just before the two salt cellars, the goalposts (nets were too hard to simulate). It was the moment of truth, the match-decider. There were only thirty seconds left; time was ticking away. This penalty shot could make or break the game. His brow creased with a concentration so intense that he could feel sweat beading on his forehead, he positioned his 'hockey stick' carefully behind the 'ball'. One carefully timed flick of the wrist propelled the ball forward, straight through the goalposts.
Goal! His inward celebration turned into slight amusement mixed with horror, as his eyes followed the last pea soaring through the air and landing directly between...
Well. Amusement prevailed over horror; a grin plastered itself over his features as he congratulated himself on his perfect aim. And Meera or Meena or whatever her name was did what any woman would have done to a man staring where he was staring and grinning his head off.
Holding a hand to his stinging cheek, watching her storm out, Kabir couldn't contain his laughter. India wins the World Cup!
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A/N: So how was it? Hope you guys had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Please do review!