When Pillai sir lifts one finger as the razor comes near his chin, it…

Read the passage and answer the questions given below it.

By the time the covers came on, Shankar’s Modern Hair Cutting Saloon held eleven men and two chairs. India needed thirty-four from twenty-six balls. On the old transistor, the commentator, shouting a minute earlier, began sadly to describe the clouds.

Shankar went back to the first chair, where Pillai sir had sat half-shaved for twenty minutes. Coming in, the retired teacher had told the shop that cricket wasted a nation’s afternoons. He had repeated this at every boundary.

“Finish it, Shankar,” he said now. “There is nothing to wait for.”

But when the razor came near his chin, he lifted one finger, and Shankar stopped. The radio said the groundsmen had begun sweeping water off the covers.

On the bench, the boys argued over the rain rule. The tea boy from next door, sent for the empty glasses, had not gone back. Two weather apps on two phones disagreed: heavy rain at the ground, said one; clear skies, said the other. The phones passed from hand to hand, as if one might yet be talked round.

Pillai sir gave an affected yawn. “In my day, men watched the sky for their crops,” he said. Then, in the same bored voice, he asked who was at the crease.

“Your old student, sir,” said Shankar. “The one you made stand on the bench for playing cricket in the corridor.”

Pillai sir looked into the mirror. “He could never do fractions,” he said at last. “But he always knew when to run.”

At six the umpires walked out. Shankar picked up the razor. Pillai sir pushed his hand gently away and turned his chair to face the radio. “Leave the other side,” he said. “I will come back for it.”