One.

“CRACK!”

“Bhaaaag, Irffan!!!!”…. The sweaty hot gullies of Sultan Nagar echoed with screams of half a dozen kids feverishly indulged in their game. Life continued at its pace for the rest; men in pathanis and white caps walking by. Irfan sprinted, the whole of his Bhairampada cricket career at his stake – his team needed only one run to cheer. He had never been in a losing team so far, at the age of twelve. The front tire of a green Pulsar was his only goal, as he zeroed towards it with his outstretched bat. Sunil threw the ball at the tire-turned wicket, full of hope…

A second later…

“Yaaayy!!! Jiit Gaye!!!! Dhin Chak, Dhi chak!!!!” An overexcited Irfan threw his bat in the air, as his teammates ran to lift him in glory. Irfan was busy dancing in his victory ishtyle as his teammates handed him a kala-khatta Pepsi cola. And he grinned proudly, for a free treat tasted even better. A few spectators merely smirked and walked away. Farid bhai, however; managed to squeeze a smile. Seventy four years old and running a local paan shop; Irfan was his only prized possession, his gem of an orphan grandson. Irfan fondly called him "chacha ji". A gleam shone across his old freckled face as his brown stained, tobacco eschewed gums showed up. Absent minded, he stared at Irfan, paving out a few more details in his dream future for the grandchild. He wanted Irfan to grow up and be a car mechanic. From his life savings, he had even managed a small gala in the near-by municipal estate to establish the repair shop. Irfan, meanwhile, continued to celebrate; oblivious to his chacha ji's dream.

Two buildings away, perched in an aram khursi on the second floor; a steel cold pair of watchful eyes observed the same kid, carefully thinking. Zakir had been patiently watching this adolescent kid now, steadily for over ten years. A confirmation call, and the much awaited plan would kick into action.

Irfan’s destiny was about to change. Forever.