A Gentleman's Game! (?)

“PHAAAATTT…” the sound rang across the alley…it was the faded yellow ball hitting against the wood; a silence fell over everyone around. The one who had just delivered the ball was eyeing the flight of the ball over everyone’s head, the others went still, none spoke. It was like they were dreading the next moment. Within seconds came the ominous sound of the ball smacking the glass “CraaaaaaCKK”…
“Bhaaaaag!!!” some one yelled, it was the signal everyone was waiting for, before they ran for their lives!
And there I was…Seconds before, mighty pleased with myself for having successfully hit the ball at the first go but now left abandoned in that alley, lugging on to the heavy bat, with a Kapil Dev sticker on it.

I was 7 years old then (& not that tall), it had taken me ages to convince all the Bhaiyaas around to give me one chance to bat. I had been fielding for months and I had started hating it eventually. One shot they had promised. But, I had ruined it now. I stood there stranded, tears rolling down my cheeks! Dejected and dreading the possibilities of not being permitted to play cricket ever again!

It all began with the thud of the ball hitting hard against the bat; that I fell in love with. It was “Sound of Music” to my ears. It took days before my curiosity got the better of me; it was judgment day of sorts before I mustered courage to speak for my rights. So there I was standing square on my two lil’ feet trying desperately to pass on the idea to the chap everyone called “DADA”, that I wanted to play with them! I was dismissed of course. I was told to go play with my dolls, which was sad really, for all of them (the dolls) were already beheaded and castaway, to show my loyalty to the game! But I did not lose faith. I did not budge, with some good amount of pestering and wheedling, I pretty soon found myself privy to the fascinating sport!

Looking back from the first time I held the handle of the bat tightly in my bare palms, to the time when I was introduced to the game, when all the men; young and old, from the neighborhood used to gather around one television and hover around it for hours together. I used to peer over them to catch a glimpse of what was going on. The men in white, running and lunging around, the commentary in a foreign language, all that never made any sense to me, till the day I actually saw the game live in action in my alleyway. I was awed!

It wasn’t long before that I joined the huddle of men in front of the TV during the matches. It was the end of an era, where cricket dominated over cartoons
Over the years of my obsession, from Imran Khan, Wasim Akram, Steve Waugh, Sachin Tendulkar, Sourav Ganguly to MSD. I have rooted for all the wrong teams, gotten sniggered at for being on the losing side, taken the brunt of supporting the Pakistani team instead of showing some patriotic fervor! I have had field days laughing at the losing side, I have stuck to the chair like glue, in fear of getting someone out, by moving an inch, I have prayed to all the gods I could think of before a match. I have witnessed stupendous victories amongst hundreds and thousands of frenzied fans, I have hooted, screamed, sledged, placed bets, gave opinion on cricketers, as if I were a Team Selector on the Cricket Board, argued over advantages of Ganguly as a captain…guess I have come miles from where I began!

It has been 17 years or so since I have been following the game. I have graduated from fighting for my right to bat first, to being a full-fledged “gully cricketer”. From the TV set in my living room back in Calcutta to the TV set at the local coffee shop in Pune… Cricket has always given me plenty to talk, crib about and bond over. I have formed acquaintances, long lasting friendships, made enemies. It ceased being, yet another sport for me.
One thing remains unchanged though, whenever I bring up the topic of cricket first; in a conversation or rant about some intricacy (beyond sixes and fours) or mention my love of playing the game, “Men” in general look taken aback and baffled and the women think I’m generally demented. More so, “The Look” is worth a hundred bucks, when I differentiate a Yorker from a Googly!
No I’m not a kurta clad, bespectacled feminist fighting for rights of women in cricket or campaigning for abolishment of the much used title “Gentleman’s Game” as being a sexist designation. It’s just that I cannot help but notice the number of men who take it for granted that the woman is in all probability watching a cricket match for some unintelligible reason, like the cuteness factor of a certain Afridi or Dravid!
It’s hilarious actually, when you do find such people who watch a match for such obscure reasons, but I would only like to point out that there are a good many men as there are women in that category!
Alas! I’m 23 today and I still am required to prove my allegiance to the game!
It is indeed a cruel world!
...& as the wise men of the world say, “Form is temporary… Class is permanent”… I say, “Acknowledgment is temporary… Skepticism is permanent”…!!!

To the Capital...

With a lil’ less than excess baggage on me I flew into the Delhi International Airport a week ago. I had a spark in my eyes and a spring in my step. Two whole weeks on my own in the city I have always dreamt of living… things couldn’t get better! As I heaved my baggage and headed to my temporary aboard, I reflected back in time, to the evenings I spent fighting with my folks over my wish to graduate from this city’s esteemed university. Hmmm..Its been five years since those crazy evenings, every moment of which I prayed and reasoned with my parents, but to no avail! The media was no ally of mine then, the number of reported incidents of molestation and rape were the foundation to my reverted plans of grads.

As the taxi made its way through the thoroughfares of India’s capital I smiled to myself for the nth time that day…quite frankly, work was the last thing on my mind. I was looking forward to gallivanting on the streets and a reunion of sort with my friends.
Though this was not my first trip to Delhi, it was the first where I’d see the city beyond my viewfinder!

In spite of belonging to a city with its own share of rich heritage, the Capital of India has its own charm. The multitude of regimented traffic on the wide roads, the innumerable number of white ambassadors with “Government of India” on their name plates, the frequent motorcade of the next important Mantri, the planned layout of the city in the new parts, the presence of policemen by numbers throughout, at any given time, CNG autos and buses, Phirangs in their Indian avatars by hoards, loudmouth jats, lecherous men, indifferent women…I would only repeat the sights of what men and women before me, have hailed the city for, over and over again!

Rosy as the picture may seem, I got to experience the murky side to the city swiftly. My work took me to Noida( which was made known to me, stands for New Okhla Industrial Development Authority) a 45 mins ride in the overcrowded State buses. Since, my experience with Mumbai local trains, I am pretty much confident about any form of transport. So I didn’t bat an eyelid when I climbed on to one of the buses the first day of my work. What I didn’t expect in the congested interiors was strange men making overt physical advances! An elderly man standing next to me, ordinarily whom I would have referred to as uncle, had a blatant lascivious look on his face and refused to move away in spite of being shoved constantly. I had heard of the perturbed and repressed sexual energy in men, but had never expected such an obvious show in public.

In spite of the overbearing auto-drivers of Pune, this trip to the capital has had me swear unto myself, that I shall never pick a fight over the fare. The absurdity with which the rickshawallahs charge the customers left me baffled. The minimum starting from Rs.20/-, these men had the nerve to ask for Rs.100/- for a distance of 4 kms. No wonder people choose private mode of transport here! I completely understood their plight! The first down payment for a Wagon R is probably lesser than the amount you spend on autos in a whole month!! The surprising part of this was every auto had a working meter which they refused to start.

The fact that I have spent larger part of my adulthood in a city like Pune, has had me accustomed to late nights on the streets, frequently. What left me stumped was that the streets here were deserted by 8 in the evening! A METROPOLITAN CITY five times larger than a city born out of a cantonment was stranded by its very own at such an ungodly hour!
I know two or three incidents do not count for forming a lasting impression nor is it a sufficient argument. But the fact that the Capital of India is nicknamed the “Rape Capital” has had me bewildered for that was in fact, not an exaggerated lie.
Where the Chief Minister of the State is a woman herself, the last thing that the city assures is safety of any kind for the women folk. Unlike my friends back in Calcutta or Pune or even the vast metropolis of Mumbai, my friends in Delhi are terrorized at the concept of walking on the streets any time after 8:30 pm!

I came to the city with hopes..conjured from my vivid imagination. What I came with, was far less than what I experienced. But, what I experienced is far less than what I imagined.

On my way back, as I sit and reflect on my stay, I feel a bad after-taste in my mouth.

The delights of Dilli are at galore, from the lighted India Gate at twilight, evening walks through the winded paths of Connaught Place, shopping at Janpath, haggling at Sarojini Market, the delectable milkshake at Keventer’s, the yummy pasta at Big Chill, the famed Dilli ki sardi, the oasis of intellect in JNU, the snob appeal of DU, the UN-pitted roads, the disciplined traffic that most of my fellow Indians would give their right hand for!
But the enchantment breaks when I reach out to experience the place beyond its touristy attractions.

I sign off with this thought in my mind, perhaps the impressions through my viewfinder were in fact illusions, for I suddenly feel Enlightened!