‘‘Probably’’, conceded Rahul Dravid when asked whether the five days ahead would be the hottest ever among his Test playing days. In Multan’s lush, well-equipped stadium, that’s par for the course: pre-noon temperature these days may be a balmy 27°, but in the course of a year the mercury routinely lurches towards the 50° Celsius mark.Multan, it has been said, is famous for four things: heat, dust, saints and burial grounds. These are busy times in the city. Cricket has come to town, and roadsides and roundabouts are festooned with welcoming banners. Pilgrims have also come from far and wide, the most devout among them walking barefoot all the way on scorched roads to the shrines.Multan is a mosaic of markets. There’s the pigeon mart, the fresh fish bazaar, and most enticing is the crafts corner, with the region’s camel-skin work, blue-and-white pottery and embroidered cloth. Multan’s famous mangoes, alas, are still months away from ripening. In lieu of that, says locals, try the sohan halwa, it’s beyond compare.What all of us first-time visitors are seeking above all is some Multani mitti. The therapeutic clay acquired its name because of Multan’s proximity to calcium-rich rock formations in DG Khan.YANKEE AT THE WICKETThe presence of American reporters has thinned now, with only one Sports Illustrated correspondent now following the Test series. Good manners, of course, stop one from enquiring about silly points, or about the possibilities of America adopting the imperial game as it contemplates 21st century empire building. There is, however, an apocryphal tale concerning an American journalist and the match referee for this tour, Ranjan Madugalle.Two years ago, Madugalle was on call as referee when India hopped though the Caribbean. It was the fourth Test at Antigua. Anil Kumble’s jaw-breaking heroics were over, and match was fragmenting into a hopelessly boring draw. Gentle snores were more audible than howzzats. Would you blame an American photographer, the stadium grapevine buzzed, for pestering Madugalle to allow his to step over the boundary and walk through stretches of grass unoccupied by listless fielders?ON LALAAs he escorts his boys through a jam-packed schedule, manager Ratnakar Shetty can take comfort from the fact that security constraints have relieved him of playing tour monitor. He may be stretched to give anatomical accounts of Sourav Ganguly’s back trouble, but at least he does not have to consider taping them up with homing devices. He could return to Lala Amarnath’s colourful rendering of his exploits as manager of the first India team to tour Pakistan in 1954-55.The Indian squad was housed at Faletti’s in Lahore, a city that sleeps late. Garry Sobers may have later played some of his best cricket after sleepless nights, but Lala had a rule: lights out at 10 p.m. And so they were. Still, the scorer of India’s first Test century was a little suspicious. As a one-time resident of the Mughal city, he decided to investigate. Two spies were hired, a tongawalla and panwalla. Days later, as adventurous cricketers sneaked out, Lala’s imposing figure loomed over them. ‘‘Well done, my boys!’’ said the ingenious man.
