Big-ticket day, only 2 tickets for F-1 family

In fact, he’s short of a few tickets himself. Yes, the man who’s carving his own niche in international sport as the first Indian Formula One driver doesn’t have enough tickets for his family. His parents and his two siblings are here, but he has only two tickets.

‘‘Two tickets between the four of them?’’ I ask, incredulous.

‘‘No,’’ he says laconically. ‘‘Two tickets between five family members. Don’t forget my wife.’’

Today, the Karthikeyan clan was left with no option but to play tag-team, taking turns to watch Jordan’s Indian debutant finish ninth fastest in the first qualifying session—1:44.357. Renault driver Giancarlo Fisichella secured provisional pole, setting the fastest time of 1:33.171 at the 5.303 km Albert Park circuit.

Driving in difficult conditions, Karthikeyan finished nine places ahead of seven-time world champion Michael Schumacher, who finished last at 18th spot.

But late this evening, there is no trace of ego when we met. No chest-thumping. He is his normal humble self, still marginally bewildered by the enthusiasm over his performance in tricky weather conditions on a slippery track.

On William Street in the city, the young man in a dark jumper and black trousers walks towards the main entrance of a high-rise office block. Pedestrians walk past him, not giving him a second glance. A few cars and taxis drive by, but none of their occupants even looks in his direction.

Karthikeyan wears his anonymity comfortably.

Only the discerning observer would have noticed the second man following him. And then they would have spotted the vital clue. In the arms of the second man is a neatly folded uniform. The second man is Piers Hunnisett, Karthikeyan’s British agent. He is carrying the driver’s distinctive yellow Jordan overalls.

I shake his hand and he grins. It’s an impulsive grin, like a schoolboy who has been caught stealing his headmaster’s mangoes. We take the lift up to where the Tata crew have set up the video conference to be held simultaneously with journalists in several Indian cities. He ambles down the corridor and peers around the corner to inspect the setup.

He gazes intently at the television monitor, which is beaming through real-time scenes of the rooms in various Indian cities where journalists will question him about his amazing success on the track today.

He’s shaking his head in mild dismay. ‘‘There’s no one there,’’ he points out, to no one in particular. ‘‘They’re probably being kept outside. They’ll be there soon,’’ says Hunnisett. ‘‘Must be too early there,’’ concludes Karthikeyan. It is almost as if he is comforting himself in advance. You know, just in case there’s no one in the entire country who has any questions for him.

He checks his watch. Five minutes to go. He takes the yellow overalls and looks around for somewhere to change. I put my camera behind my back and, jesting, tell him I won’t photograph him while he undresses. He chuckles. Then he vanishes, much like a magician’s bunny. When he reappears a couple of minutes later, wearing the overalls, he cannot resist another peep at the television monitor. This time he is mollified by the sight of three journalists and the promise of more to come.

While we wait, we speak of mundane things, of cabbages and kings. When was the first time he met Michael Schumacher? This week, at an FIA media conference. He has no qualms about revealing how he introduced himself to the world champion, who in turn welcomed him to Formula One.

He speaks of his pride in being Indian, his soft tone failing to disguise his intense patriotism and his fervent hope that his feats might one day inspire other ordinary Indians to do the same.

He settles down in a chair in front of his sponsors’ logos. Waiting. Watching. The conference is already behind schedule. There is a minor technical problem. Several minutes pass, but he appears unfazed. Then he gets up and moves close to the monitor. He sits on a desk alongside, his legs dangling.

Every so often he cranes his neck to check if any more people have arrived in the various Indian cities. He’s not looking at his watch. He’s not clicking his tongue. He’s not shaking his head in exasperation.

You can see he’s totally at ease. Just watch his left leg. It shakes metronomically, from side to side, in rhythmic motion. It pivots back and forth, using the heel as a fulcrum. Watch it for too long and it’ll hypnotise you. Then he changes. The leg switches instead to an up-down motion. It’s as if Karthikeyan is some phantom rock guitarist from the Seventies, searching for a waah-waah pedal. The leg shake is the classic giveaway.

You can take the boy from India, but you just can’t take India from the boy. At heart, this simple man who made history today is just another tambi.