National hook-up

As a young boy growing up in Bombay 8212; a stone8217;s throw from the Cricket Club of India 8212; I was completely fida on the game. During the winter months, we would religiously watch all the Ranji trophy games at the Cricket Club of India. From the member8217;s children stand tucked away at the corner of East Stand. The fellow travellers included Rajdeep Sardesai, who was the resident expert.

Whenever Bombay was playing we would be there. The great Padamakar Shivalkar would do his thing bowling off spin and was miserly and Ramanath Parkar would do his thing in the covers fielding brilliantly and Ashok Mankad would do his thing scoring another double hundred as Bombay pulverised another hapless opponent. We enjoyed it all enormously. The match generally started on Fridays and we used to all go to school on Fridays but Saturdays and Sundays, we watched religiously. The shadows would lengthen after the tea interval and we would move up to avoid the sun. Those days meant the world to me.

Watching a test match which takes five whole days though the commentators try to put a spin on things for large portions of the time during which nothing much happens is a trying experience. The game desultorily goes on. The first hour in the morning when the ball is new and wicket green there might be action but then the game settles down. Things happen once every half an hour8212;actually at regular intervals so as not to excite you too much8212;the time it would generally take to complete any other game. May be a wicket falls or may be there is a flurry of boundaries.

One wakes up and then one soon dozes off again. I suppose that is its charm. It8217;s a hypnotic game. In a nation of insomniacs it puts everyone to sleep. It gives you a feeling of peace and tranquillity and of time standing still when nothing happens at all. Gimme me a break.