Cricket, Religion, and Nationalism: Mantras meet fan chants

Suddenly, as if the Dalai Lama himself has ventured onto the street, they spring to their feet. A group of four Australian cricketers, who had come out from their hotel Moksha in Naddi, a four-kilometre drive uphill have suddenly grabbed their attention. Most of them can’t figure out the names–unsurprisingly as the foursome were Aaron Finch (perhaps the lone recognizable face), Ashton Agar, John Hastings and Mitchell Marsh–but with the policemen escorting them, they surmised they were cricketers. Camera phones were whipped out and any passing thought of selfie-ops or autographing requests, though, melted with the punishing gaze of the policemen around them. A few daring ones, though, invited them to the shops, shrieking: “You get good woollen shawls and Buddha idols here.” The Aussies, in casuals, were on refusal mode, albeit politely. Soon, a small crowd, mostly the locals, the Kashmiri vendors and the Indian tourists gathered around a semi-plush café on Temple road where the Aussies had settled in.

A couple of middle-aged monks, coming up the Dalai Lama temple, stood clueless by the crowd, wondering what the fuss was all about. “Australian cricketers here for the World T20,” one among the crowd explained impatiently. They resumed their ascent, disinterestedly, pausing in between to exchange pleasantries with their ilk, selling Tibetan paintings and jewellery in shamiana-thatched stall on one side of the road. Even those vendors seemed detached from the buzz around.

In general, cricket and cricketers don’t strike an emotional chord with them, though their spiritual leader attends almost every big match in Dharamsala. “It takes a lot of time and we don’t have that much time to spend. The matches sometimes go on for four-five days. We have to come here (to the market) and make a living. Of course, whenever we watch it, we support India,” says Kalsang Dawa, who sells CDs and Tibetan musical instruments.
Interestingly, though they support India, the country that gave them refuge after the Chinese invasion, they don’t follow the sport that unites the country, despite into their 57th year of refuge. “We generally don’t follow much sports, and even if do, it’s mostly football,” he says.

Their football-fixation reflects on their attire. You can find dime-a-dozen jerseys and jackets of European clubs.

“Football jerseys sell here like hot cakes. We stock Indian jerseys only when there is a cricket match here. Otherwise, nobody buys those,” chimes in Tenzin Dargyal.

He, however, agrees that they have all indirectly benefitted from Dharamsala emerging as a cricket destination.

“Previously we had to rely entirely on the tourist season, and not too many people were aware of our city. They preferred Shimla and Manali. But with the stadium coming up, more tourists are visiting Dharamsala, and with that our business too has improved. Previously not too many people used to visit here in March. But look at the crowd now,” says Tenzin, who was gutted when he came to know that India-Pakistan match was shifted out of the city.

“Now, what would I do with all those India jerseys?” he points out to a pile of unopened blue jerseys lying in a corner.

Dargyal is expecting more players in the streets. “Whenever there is a match, players come and visit him (Dalai Lama). They consider it auspicious. A couple of years ago, I remember a few West Indians roaming in these streets after visiting His Holiness,” he says.

Even the quaint temple witnesses an onrush of visitors during matches. “When you see a lot of non-Tibetan faces entering the temple, you understand that there is a cricket match going to happen. When big players come, there will be lot of policemen around. I remember seeing Yuvraj Singh once,” says Pempa, a security personnel in the temple.

This is perhaps the only time cricket filters into the quiet ambience of the temple, where you find monks chanting away slokas or meditating in different corners of the sanctum. “We are here in search of peace, having given up all that’s worldly,” philosophises Tashi Zyapo.

Little does he know the Chinese wrath Dalai Lama instigated when he went to the stadium for an IPL match in 2010. The Chinese accused him then of “faking” interest in cricket to impress India. “The religious leader was trying to prove to be a worthy son of India by participating in the country’s favourite past time… Cricket is one of the most popular sports in India and Dalai Lama of course has to have fun with his ‘dad’ since he wants to be the son of India,” an article in China’s government-run People’s Daily reported.

The religious leader himself is only a “functional” follower of the game, interested “only up to the matter that who is winning and who is losing.” And so not unsurprisingly his followers haven’t imbibed it. They have graver, day-to-day of survival issues to ponder over. On Sunday, tens of thousands of exiled Tibetans will vote in the final round of voting in the election to elect a political leader. This is the second direct election of Tibetan leadership, after Dalai Lama devolved his political power to elected leadership in 2011. There is a lot on their minds, now, but you can’t give up the feeling that somewhere up in the hills, there might be a restless youngster enamoured by the charm of the gentleman’s game. And maybe, he will eventually be the twain that emotionally connects them and the game.