Chapter Three: The Implications of What If

"Love me for who I am, and I will show you who I can be."

Janit Gambhir, Aspiring Film-Maker and Modernite (Batch of 1999)
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Anandana.

If you wrote her biography, you would have more than enough material to keep you busy in your study, editing meticulously so as to not leave out a single detail that made her everything that she was.

DPS RK Puram, IIT Delhi, and finally IIM Bangalore.

At the age of 20, she had a book published, which she had co-authored with a fellow student at IIT called Hacked to Death, which chronicled the life of a small town computer genius turned hacker turned God of cyber crime, who is finally apprehended by the cyberpol at Times Square, where he is shot dead while makeing a last ditch attempt to escape. This book sold over 10,000 copies in Europe and North America.

Add to that her love for squash, which she played at the national level for five years, and the many music competitions where she won the award for best singer. In her days at IIT, she was also involved with a rock band who called themselves Vikram Betaal. A name they came up with because Vikram was the guy who started the band, and the fact that they didn't have a drummer initially; and were hence reduced to participating only in acapella competitions for the first six months of their existence!

In 2002, after graduating from IIM, Anandana came back to Delhi and began, what was to be a short, but hugely successful career at Ernst and Young as a Group Manager. She loved her work, and didn't mind the crazy hours, the frantic late night calls from sub-ordinates and of course, the absence of love that came with such a lifestyle.

Having said that, every now and then, in the last few moments of consciousness, before she passed out in her bed out of exhaustion, she would think about computer programs and Vikram Betaal. And each time these memories came back to her, asking questions she knew she didn't have answers to, she would try and convince herself that the next weekend she would do something about it. Many such weekends came and went.

One year passed, and by now she had resigned to her corporate lifestyle. Twenty odd cups of coffee in a day, sandwiches for meals and buckets of alcohol on Fridays, when she went out with a couple of friends from work to Cafe Sound of Music.

Her petite frame had now begun to show early signs of obesity. She, however, continued to live in denial telling herself they were just love handles. Whenever she chatted with her childhood friend Ekta, she would joke about how her hymen had grown back.

It was around this time when she met Jayant. He was a great looking, articulate guy and the chemistry had been almost instantaneous. She really didn't care that he was much younger than her. He was that endless glass of cold water for the desert traveller that she had begun to imagine herself as.

Infact, he's the one who encouraged her to get involved with music again. He even forced her to record a couple of songs at the studio for him. On most days, they would spend most of their time making love and conversation, both very random.

She realised he was more than just a passing phase only when he moved in with her one fine day, uninvited.

However, like most good things in Anandana's life, this too came to an end. Two years and a whirlwind romance later, she was forced to dump him because of the drug habit he had developed. She had warned him again and again, but he had persisted.

Now she remembered him as the guy who taught her how to sing again, nothing more and nothing less.
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One year had gone by since she had last seen Jayant. She thought about him briefly on the 18th of April, their two year anniversary when everything had come to an abrupt, screeching halt.

Anandana had moved on.

Today she was 27, married, and assisting her husband in his garment export business.

The marriage had happened all of a sudden. It was the result of another whirlwind romance Anandana had gotten herself into. Only this time, the prospective groom was a millionaire, a tea totaller and someone who's parents would get very upset if he moved in with his girlfriend. And so, they got married, and in the process got bound by law to live with each other!

A few months into marriage, life was lucid, rhythms well set, and expectations well defined.

Then on one such day, when her life was following a set pattern she was almost addicted to, out of the blue, she received a call from Jayant. It was the 21st of April. He sounded desparate and insisted on meeting her. She was a little reluctant because she hadn't spoken to him in over a year, but she went to meet him anyway. She knew well from past experience that she didn't have to worry from a safety point of view.

But while driving to Ruby Tuesday at the DT Mall, she tried to fathom why he had suddenly called on her.

Jayant was in a very bad shape when she met him, pitiful to be precise. He told her about how much he loved her, how much he had missed her this last one year, about the drugs, about some rehab in the UK and about his desire to move back in with her. He pleaded in front of her and begged her to give him a chance.

To all his questions she had only one answer, "I'm married Jayant, infact I'm expecting my first child."

She was trembling when she said that, not knowing how he would respond.

He didn't say anything for almost a minute.

She felt the need to explain herself and so she began to narrate the events of the year gone by.

At first he sat there, staring at her in disbelief. But his surprise soon melted into a smile, much to her surprise. He was taking it well, or so she thought. He asked her a lot of questions about her life, her new job, but he was clearly most interested in Sameer. He wanted to know every single detail about him.

Three hours went by, and for a while Jayant immersed himself in Sameer's life.

Anandana's phone rang. Jayant knew it was Sameer because she said," If you had called me anytime in the last three hours I would've told you that you have a long life Sam!"

Sam, Jayant thought to himself. SAM, he said again in his mind.

Once she cut the phone, she looked at Jayant and told him she needed to leave immediately. He didn't object and dropped her to her car, which was parked in the basement of the mall. She thanked him and said,"It was 'refreshing' to meet you after so long. Something I didn't think possible. Thanks for understanding."

After she had driven off, Jayant wandered around in the parking lot for while, aimlessly. When the security guard asked him why he was just lounging around, he apologised and left. That night he went to his parents' house for the first time in almost two years.
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September 10th, 2006:

An electronic music album debuts at No.9 on Top of the Pops. One week later it debuts at No. 23 on the Billboard Charts.

Much hype has been created around the release of this CD because Sony-BMG, the record label that has released the album insists that part of the contract with the artist renders it unlawful for them to disclose any details about him, whatsoever. The only thing they are willing to disclose is that the artist is a male in his twenties, and that he's currently working on his second album.

A gentlemen named Clarke Goodwin has claimed that the title track is based on a melody which he created sometime earlier this year. No one is taking him seriously because he is currently undergoing rehabilitation at the Rhoserchan Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Centre in Mid-Wales.

Every electronic music aficionado lives on in desperate hope that someday this artist will make a public appearance.

For now they have conditioned themselves to be content with his pseudonym, Sam.
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Chapter Two: The Boy Next Door

"I am a servant of the wind, riding high on its will, but alas! I fall by the wayside each time it stops to catch its breath."

Tanmay Sahay, (Diary entry from sometime in 2006)
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(ELEVEN MONTHS LATER)

Jayant had been here only a week, and was clearly struggling, trying desperately to adjust to his new environment. He stood out for more reasons than one, the obvious being that there was a resolve wich never escaped his facial expression, like a constant tensing of the forehead muscles. He was here with the singular aim of coming clean. This was something uncommon at Rhoserchan.

He also held the distinction of being the only Indian at the facility, and the only other coloured face you could see apart from the day shift Janitor. The difference between them being that the Janitor was your chronic socialite, making small talk with anyone and everyone and Jayant was the local recluse, confined to his thoughts as a matter of lifestyle.

Jayant's skin tone, flair for music and his characteristic Kurtas made him attract more than his fair share of attention. Almost everyone at the centre had tried to approach him, talk to him and he had declined to say more than a 'hello', or 'how are you today.' But the only person he spoke to for more than ten seconds, that I can recall, was the catering incharge, in an attempt to request for some Indian food.

As for me, I didn't make any attempt to speak to him because in my mind he was competition. He was much better looking, despite the hunched back and shadows under his eyes that looked like black holes. Add to that his fantastic choice of music had me green with jealousy. He had cropped hair, and no tattoos or earrings. Even so, if you saw him you knew he was someone deeply involved with music. Infact, he was everything I was trying so desperately to become. What bugged me even more was I wore heavy metal band T's, had about 10 piercings and 7 tattoos but when people met me they still asked me what I did!

A part of me decided not to like him. And this decision made me something Jayant would never be, malicious.
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The Rhoserchan Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Centre in Mid-Wales is one of the better facilities in the UK, and it was also the most recent. Its 100 acre landscaping makes for excellent and colourful viewing, especially in spring. Every now and then, it's manicured lawns manage to attract a tourist or two who want to spend a summer afternoon doing nothing.

I remember when I first came here 12 months ago for two weeks of intensive counselling. I wasn't an addict then, I was just experimenting. My only mistake was that I had been caught with amphetamines and skunk in my study drawer. I realised then, that even if you're 22 years old and reading chemistry and music at the university, your Mommy's gonna put your ass into rehab if she thinks you're on drugs!

However, this time I was in for long. The brown sugar had thinned me down to a point where my skin looked like someone had stretched a rubber over my bones in a desperate attempt to make me look human. Having said that, I didn't mind my physical situation at all as long as it was my ticket to unrivalled attention, from friends and family alike.

Since I knew it would be a year before they would let me get out of here, I figured the sooner I got used to my surroundings, the better. I walked through the corridors. The halls of residence were no less luxurious than The Plaza in Cardiff, about 100 kilometres from here. There were 24 rooms, and all were on the ground floor. Each room was about a 150 square feet with wall to wall carpeting which was beige in colour. The rooms were equipped with state of the art facilities. There was a remote for almost everything, even the window screens. The walls were white. The furniture, in contrast was laquered to a near perfect black.

All rooms had a study table, expensive stationary, a 52 inch plasma screen and if you wanted one, a laptop. The washrooms were surprisingly common, monitored strictly by the security guards stationed at all six of them. The far end of the building had a small theatre with a screen just big enough for you to get the cinematic thrills.

When I climbed up the stairs, following the signs that said library I was thrilled to see that the entire first floor was the recreation hall. There were snooker tables, chess and checker boards, and video games like the ones at the malls. Smooth jazz echoed through the announcement speakers, lending an eclectic feel to the setting. One corner of the hall had a sound-proof glass enclosure where they had made a library and a reading room of sorts. For anyone with nothing to do, this place was second only to paradise (I say this because they tell me paradise is full of beautiful women who want to have sex with you all the time).

I spent the first one month reading Bob Dylan's autobiography called Chronicles, perfecting my breaks on the snooker table and beating Mr.Smith at checkers. He was a middle aged family man. A business loss and unemployment had prompted him to take up drinking alcohol full time. However, his recovery was remarkable, aided of course by the expert doctors and counsellors we had at our disposal here at Rhoserchan.

By the second month, surprisingly, I was bored of entertaining myself. So after consultation with my counsellor, I decided to start writing a diary.

The only thing I missed here was wind, the absence of which was attributed to a weather phenomenon called 'perennial high pressure zone.'

They had only recently WiFi-ed the entire facility, because the 'patients' had requested to be able to sit in the lawn and chat/write/browse etc. Now I could sit in the warm comfort of the sunshine and pen down the happenings of the day. The food was catered by the nearby Four Seasons, and there wasn't a fancy they couldn't entertain.

Put simply, it was more resort than rehab where the rich and the famous came from time to time to get conveniently de-addicted.
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That Monday afternoon, when Jayant first approached me, was like any other. It must have been around noon, because the shadows were trying to hide desperately. I sat cross legged in the open field with the laptop. I was writing my first diary entry for the day, narrating to the text file how I had almost fallen down after slipping in the shower. If you think slipping in the shower is uneventful, you haven't spent enough time at a rehabilitation centre.

Jayant came and sat right next to me, but he didn't utter a word. He was wearing a regular white T-shirt today with light blue jeans that were visibly faded. Instead of shoes/slippers, he was wearing what I later found out were called juttis in India. He had bought them from a place called Jaipore. There was a visible stubble on his face. What scared me was the scar on his left wrist, carefully hidden under the Omega that he was wearing. There was a red thread tied on his right wrist. I had seen many Indians in London wearing it, especially during fall.

He stared into space for the twenty odd minutes he sat, occasionally glancing at my laptop screen. Then he got up left, almost suddenly.

The next day he came around the same time, in his kurta and jeans and jutti. He repeated the previous day's behaviour. This continued for three more days. He came, he sat and he left me wondering. On Saturday, I looked up at him before he sat down and said,"You're welcome to sit here, but comfort doesn't come for free. If you wanna sit here and absorb all the positive energies I'm giving out, you're going to have to do something in return nigger!"

He smiled, amused with my choice of words maybe, and asked,"What kind of help dude?"

The fact that he said 'dude' almost startled me. I tried my best to hide the surprised expression and continued.

"I'm chatting with this chick who has wanted to do me ever since she realised I was ugly, depressed and paranoid. And she's insisting on visiting me sometime next week."

"So?", he asked, wondering why I wasn't making sense.

"I'm not allowed visitors dude!" I announced.

"Why?", he contested, looking surprised.

"That's none of your fucking business. But if you really wanna know, DUDE, the last time my blokes came n' visited me here they brought me some stash which the matron found out about. She called my mother up and they decided it was best that only family be allowed to visit me!"

"I still don't get it. How can I help you there?", he said, now completely puzzled.

"Well, when this chick comes next week, her name is Cathy, I want YOU to sign her in as your guest so that she can come into the halls of residence and then she and I can fuck like rabbits till kingdom come!"

"Uh, ok!", came his reply, stinking of callous indifference. He sat down next to me and looked straight into my eyes for the first time. I could tell he must've been much better looking than he was now. I wanted to be nasty but curiosity got the better of me.

I started a conversation with him and dug out the following details:

Jayant was 24, and had just been shifted here from the Government Clinical Rehabilitation Facility at Glasgow, where he was kept in a padded cell for almost two weeks. In the last one year he had developed many an addiction. It started with cocaine, and when he couldn't afford it he moved on to heroin and finally to crack.

I asked him who was taking care of the rehabilitation expense to which he replied that he was associated with a record label and it was they who had sent him here.

If you saw him from a distance, you would perceive him as a regular Indian boy walking in the streets of London, rapping in Punjabi and saying Ain't it in that peculiar Indian accent. Except that his face told a slightly different story.

He told me almost everything. His beginnings, his interests, his dislikes and how he had transitioned from one drug to the next.

Our conversation ended abruptly when I asked him why he was so determined to kick his habit. He said he'd rather not talk about it and got up and left immediately.

For the next one week we spoke about almost everything, dissecting aspects of our lives, arguing about music, commenting on political affairs. I did not ask him about that which he feared most. Cathy came and went. I even offered Jayant the opportunity to do Cathy, which he declined politely, looking a little violated.

Within a couple of weeks we were inseparable, or so I thought. He and I had a lot in common, apart from being the only 20 somethings at the facility, music being the obvious front runner in that list. I hate to admit that I had grown to like him a lot, even at the cost of becoming the white boy who hung out with the 'Indian' kid. Every now and then, I couldn't help but pray that he would lose his looks, his charm and his sense of creativity with melodies. But a couple of minutes later I would take my words back and apologise to God for having said that.

I had my room changed so that he and I could be in adjacent rooms. This way he could stay till late in my room and we could sit on the laptop, writing lyrics and composing music. He introduced me to a very different genre of fusion created by these guys who called themselves Midival Punditz and I returned the favour by getting him hooked on to Vast, a gospel rock band.

I always spoke of how we should start a band together once we got out of here and he always responded with that smile of his. I know now that the smile was more in response to 'once we're out of here' and not the 'we should start a band together.'
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A month or so later, one night after supper, Jayant and I were taking a short walk just outside the residence halls. I noticed that we had nothing to say to each other. Such an obvious and deliberate silence unnerved me. Had we exhausted all possible conversation or was this just a chance occurrence? An indication perhaps that we no longer required words to communicate.

I looked at him and suddenly blurted out,"What's the matter?"

He looked at me and said nothing. He looked visibly distraught. I asked him again, urging him to confess to me. For once I was genuinely concerned about another person in this world.

He turned away and said,"It's a year since I last saw her. It's been ONE FUCKING YEAR!"

"Saw who???", I asked, almost shouting.

That's when he told me his story, his real story. Everything in his life right now was centred around one particular night, exactly one year ago. That night of broken glass and broken hearts. And I realised everything he had said to me before this day was inconsequential. I didn't know whether to curse him for not opening up to me earlier, or to embrace him for finally having done so.

"You're one helluva guy I said", suddenly feeling the need to weep myself. I hugged him tightly and wept. He just stood there, saying nothing. A gentle breeze began to blow. It was cool, refreshing and very uncharacteristic for a Rhoserchan evening.

A few minutes and many a tear later, we walked back to our rooms in silence.

We didn't wish each other our ceremonial "Good night, and good luck!", a habit we had developed after watching a George Clooney movie about three weeks ago.

I really wish that we had, because when I woke up in the morning he was gone. And that's the last I ever saw of him.
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Chapter One: The Penthouse, the Couple, and a Couple of Incidents

"There is always some madness in love. But there is also some reason in madness."

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 - 1900), "On Reading and Writing"
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Whatever had to happen was over and done with. What was happenning right now was inconsequential. But what was going to happen had an uncomfortable uncertainty about it. Anandana had never been able to stay silent this long.

The setting, ironically, was near perfect. The living room of a Gurgaon penthouse. The moonlight dancing its way into the room, helped along by a gentle breeze that brought with it the freshness of the open fields nearby. Their recliners were facing the balcony. The leather upholstery added the necessary touches of chic. The coffee table behind them boasted of a bottle of Dom Perignon resting carefully in the ice box, and alongside it lay a packet of Malboro Reds and two almost melted, bitter bars of Lindt. There was a large, almost life sized sketch of a horse hanging on the wall to their left. Most people wondered why it was there, only to find the "Husain" signature on the bottom right of the painting, giving them their answer almost immediately.

The music was loud, thanks to the overly enthusiastic Bose speakers. Or maybe because one of our protagonists was averse to silence today, for the voices in his head were loud, disturbing and desperately searching for an answer. An answer he knew he didn't have.

They sat there staring into the moonlit darkness, each hoping the other would speak.

"Can we listen to some Beethoven instead of this nonsensical trance???", pleaded Anandana, almost yelling.

"The next track is the 5th.", replied Jayant.

"No, now! I'm had enough of nonsensical music for one lifetime", she ordered. As soon as she said that, she started wondering why this word nonsensical had replaced nonsense in her vocabulary. Maybe her friend Ekta had something to do with it.

"Whatever you say!", came the delayed and subdued reply, interrupting her thought. Jayant got up from his recliner and moved lazily towards the remote of the music system which was lying on the sofa. He was relieved she had spoken, it was a good sign.

"And lower the god-damn volume while you're at it!", she yelled, trying to sound as threatning and malicious as she could.

He started smiling almost immediately after she said that. She was angry, and that's exactly why it was going to be ok. Soon she would scream, yell, abuse, punch, kick, break, breakdown and let it all out. That's the way it had always been, at least for the last 2 years since he had known her.

He lowered the volume, changed the track and lit himself a cigarette. Then, very schemingly, he wiped the smile off his face, replacing it with an "I'm so scared of your anger/please don't hurt me" look and went back into the comfort of his recliner.

Ten seconds passed. Jayant took a long drag from his cigarette.

"Don't just sit there and stare into space you good for nothing space bunny!", Anandana screamed. She knew him well, and also knew it was her anger that had prompted this look on his face, an indication that he was willing to play his part.

Everything happened, almost as predicted. Fifteen minutes later she was in his lap, with her head buried into his chest, weeping silently.

The setting, however, was visibly violated. The bottle of champagne had been smashed on to the floor, the melted bars of bitter chocolate were now spread on the sofa, and the packet of cigarettes had been thrown out of the window. There was a cigarette burn on his left arm, close to his wrist. She had never been this violent.

The madness had come to an abrupt halt when she cut herself badly at the heel from a broken piece of the champagne bottle. She collapsed onto the sofa, not being able to bear the pain. Jayant picked her up and carried her till the recliner. As he was putting her down, she refused to let go of him and they fell on each other. Around that time the music had changed from Beethoven's 5th to Crash Into Me, lending a movie-like feel to the already dramatic proceedings.

She lay in his arms weeping, still. And he sat there with his arms around her wondering, when?!? The images of credit cards and thousand rupee notes flashed in front of his eyes.

He caressed Anandana's hair out of restlessness, trying desperately to not think of the kitchen drawer. That's when he realised things weren't going to sort themselves out.

Jayant waited till she had fallen asleep. He then carried her to the bedroom, cautiously avoiding any pieces of glass he might have tripped over. Gently, he placed her on the bed. Before standing up again, he stared at her. The calmness on her face was in striking contrast to the rage she had exhibited not so long ago. Her body was anything but tense, which made him wonder how quickly the muscles had relaxed. He gave her a peck on her forehead, in response to which she smiled and cuddled up a little more. He covered her body with the satin quilt and made his way out of the room, switching of the bedside lamp and closing the door behind him.

If You're Going to San Fransisco echoed in the living room as he made his way to the kitchen.

Without switching on the lights, he opened a drawer and pulled out an expired credit card, a rolled up thousand rupee note and a tiny box filled with something that you or me would write off as salt or crushed sugar.

He went straight into the washroom. Two lines later, he thought of getting a drink and changing the music.

He changed the track, and If You're Going to San Fransisco gave way to Lets Go to Mars.

He went towards the window, with a desire to refresh his nostrils by exposing them to the cool breeze. He could see the Gurgaon skyline in the distance. Below him was a solitary highway, the Gurgaon-Faridabad road. Trucks and tempos were going about their business as always, making noises and avoiding collisions.

Even after the nostrils were rejuvenated he stood there, aimlessly observing the movement of the dots of light below him. The music was exciting him. He needed that drink, now!

He turned around, almost energetically and made his way to the kitchen. He made himself a small whiskey-water and took a huge gulp. The sensation of a liquid in parched throat eased his senses. He picked up the glass and made his way to the bathroom for some more gum numbing.
The moment he got out of the kitchen, he shrieked out of fright and the glass escaped his grip, sending it smashing on to the floor.

There she stood, motionless and enraged.

The music changed to Beethoven's 5th, for a second time that night.

My Ode to a Hard Fought Greatness

***

Belgium, sometime in 1991:

I was scared. I was also on top of the world.

It was my moment of truth. A chance to escape mediocrity and to attain greatness.

I had dreamt of this moment since that hot summer afternoon of 1984. But this wasn't just my dream. It was the dream of my entire family.

"Do dreamer's rise to the occassion?", I asked myself. My palms were getting more and more sweaty as everyone cleared the area.

"Go on Michael... give it your best shot!", my new boss said to me.

I acknowledged his encouragement with half a smile, and realised there was more at stake than my moment of truth.

To add to it all, I had lied. And they knew it! What surprised me was that they were still giving me this chance. They must have seen something in me, or had they exhausted all other options? I guess the world will never know.

I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer.

Once I was out of the pit lane, I raced.

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Michael Schumacher made his Formula One debut with the Jordan-Ford team at the 1991 Belgian Grand Prix as a replacement driver for the imprisoned Bertrand Gachot (incarcerated for spraying tear gas in a London taxi-driver's face).

Schumacher was signed by Eddie Jordan after he was greatly impressed at a Silverstone test the previous week, and Schumacher assured Jordan that he had vast experience at the challenging Spa circuit, despite the fact that he had only been around the track once—and on a borrowed bicycle!

Schumacher impressed the paddock by qualifying seventh in his first competition in an F1 vehicle, matching the team's season-best grid position, and out-qualifying his seasoned team mate, Andrea de Cesaris, an 11-year veteran. He retired on the first lap of the race with clutch problems.

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August 2005:

After completing my training routine, I sat down with Corrina, Gina and Mick. It was a much needed day off. My team and I were struggling at work.

To add to that, this new guy at work, called Fernando, was giving me a run for my money. No one in the last five years had been able to challenge my abilities and now this kid of 24 was nursing dreams of taking my place.

I was talking to Corrina about how we should send the children to a private residential school in Monaco when my cell phone rang. The ISD code indicated the call was from the United States. I was a little puzzled because I didn't know too many people from there.

The guy on the line told me his name was Steve Jobs, and that he was the CEO of Pixar Animations.

I chuckled and asked him the most obvious question of all,"Why the hell are you calling me up???"

I could almost hear him smiling when he said,"You're going to love my offer Michael!"

I met him the following week and he convinced me to do something I had never even thought of.

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In 2005, Michael Schumacher delivered a vocal performance in Disney-Pixar's animated feature film "Cars".

His character in the film, a trademark Rosso Corsa Ferrari F430 who comes to Luigi's Casa della Tires (which makes Luigi himself and his friend Guido faint from joy), was named after him.

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The first time I became the best in the world was 1994, three long years after my chance debut. I was with Benetton that year.

The season was a tough one, with massive ups and downs. The weekend at Imola (Italy), in particular, was very tough on me. I was exposed to many vulnerabilities.

The last race of the season was to become a keenly contested and controversial finale to the rollercoaster season. I clearly remember crashing out of the race, taking Damon (my closest competitor) out with me. Ironically, it was Damon's crashing out that ensured my driver's championship victory that year.

Everyone accused me of foul play. But I knew I had erred, nothing more and nothing less.

The detail that took a little while to sink in was that I was the best in the world!

Little did I know it was the first of the seven, maybe eight times that were to follow.

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Schumacher won his first World Championship in 1994 while driving for Benetton, in an extremely controversial season marred by allegations of cheating and the deaths of Ayrton Senna and Roland Ratzenberger at the San Marino Grand Prix at Imola.

Schumacher started the season strongly, winning six of the first seven races. The raw speed of the Benetton was a surprise to the other teams, who levelled allegations of cheating. They claimed Benetton had found a way to violate the FIA-imposed ban on electronic aids, including Traction Control and Launch Control. On investigation, the FIA discovered illegal software on their car (and the cars of several rival teams), but could not prove that it had been used.

After Senna's death, Damon Hill inherited the responsibility of fighting for the championship. Hill struggled to keep pace with the Benetton in his Williams-Renault, but due to several mid-season controversial disqualifications and bans for Schumacher, he began to close the gap in the standings.

In the British Grand Prix, Schumacher was penalized for overtaking on the formation lap. He then ignored the penalty and the subsequent black flag during the race, for which he was disqualified and later given a two-race ban.

Things took a turn for the worse at Spa, where Schumacher was disqualified after winning the race, after his car was found to have illegal wear on its skidblock.

Leading by a single point going into the final race in Australia, Schumacher clinched the title after colliding with Hill in a highly controversial incident, taking both drivers out.

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10th September 2006:

We won at Monza. We had to, otherwise my story would have been different.

Among the many things I announced to the world that Sunday afternoon, here is an excerpt that captures its essence:

"...Sorry, it may have taken longer than some of you wanted but you have to find the right moment and we feel this is the right moment.

To make it short, this is going to be my last Monza race. At the end of this year I have decided together with the team that I’m going to retire from racing.

It has been an exceptional, really exceptional time what motorsport in more than 30 years has given to me. I really loved every single moment of the good and the bad ones. Those moments make life so special.

In particular I should thank my family starting with obviously my Dad, my passed-away Mum and obviously my wife and my kids who at all times supported what I was doing.
And without their support, without their strengths to survive in this business and this sport, and to perform, I think it would have been impossible.

I can’t be thankful enough to my family, but as well to all my mates at the Benetton time and obviously especially at the Ferrari days when I have made so many friends. I have so many great guys in that team and it has been a really tough decision to decide to not work together at this level with all my friends and engineers and everybody..."

I wanted to cry, but I held my nerve. I knew the world was watching.

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While Schumacher was still on the podium after his win at the 2006 Italian Grand Prix, Ferrari issued a press release stating that he would retire from racing at the end of the 2006 season. Schumacher personally confirmed his retirement in a very emotional statement during the post-race press conference.

The press release also stated that Schumacher would continue working for Ferrari in some capacity after his official retirement as a racing driver, and full details of this will be made clear by the end of 2006.

The team also announced that Kimi Räikkönen will replace him at Scuderia Ferrari.

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