Tags:
Journalism of Courage
I called my husband from a hotel in London and said to him that I was overlooking a large lawn with a funny spacecraft or a UFO-type thing sitting in the middle of it,and wondered who would inflict that on such a beautiful lawn. He suddenly sprang to life,departing from the usual monosyllables that mark his spousal conversation. He said I was definitely an uneducated idiot who was probably looking at Lords,the hallowed ground where all cricket worshippers one day hope to go for a darshan. And so I was,as I discovered.
In the rest of our lives,I am the one with the religious compulsions and he is the agnostic. But in his cricket life,he is the fervent devotee,and I,the atheist. And so,just as I say a prayer on his behalf when he refuses to enter a temple because the floor is too dirty/ too hot/cold/ crowded/noisy,that day too,I said a prayer on his behalf at cricket aarti time,when they rolled the green in the evening with something resembling a road roller.
Harsha Bhogle is the ultimate male fantasy. The men gather round him at parties,ogling,wanting to touch him to make sure that he is real. Here is Gods chosen one who gets to makes a living with cricket,and8230; this is important8230; actually walked out on a regular job,after a regular education. I,of course,ask his wife dumb questions like Hi Anita, where is Harsha today? Being a woman,she is gentle and diplomatic about handling this,and doesnt say you mean you dont know the World Cup is on in South Africa. She merely suggests that I havent been watching enough television in recent times! That is true,and I have many such gaffes to be embarrassed about,not the least of which was mistaking a famous cricketer for the lobby manager in off-duty clothes at a hotel I frequent. They both looked so similar. It is more embarrassing than the woman who invited her plumber to lunch when she saw him at the supermarket the day after he finished working at her home,because he looked so familiar Its been too long since we last met,why dont you come and have lunch with me? she gushed,much to his delight!
The cultural labels of cricket are several,including the fact that it is perhaps the only glue that binds all social classes and regions of India. When my daughter went to study in the US,she made a lot of friends from Pakistan because they were all cricket watchers in baseball land. But the genius of cricket is how it reinvents itself to become more relevant to the times,and to more people over time. The inclusion of Mandira Bedi got in more women,though initially the men didnt want their game sullied with women commentators in strappy dresses. It has gone on to create a new brand variant squarely in the entertainment space called IPL. So now,at last,there is enough cricket masala for people like me to enjoy,on the sidelines of the game,without bothering with the meat of the actual game. I now no longer need to worry that I dont know a mid-off from a midriff; and I can intelligently participate in cricket conversations since they span so much more than the technicalities of the game.
With apologies to Walter Scott: Breathes there an Indian with soul so dead / Who never to himself hath said/ This is my own,my native game! / Whose heart hath neer within him burned/ As towards cricket his footsteps he hath turned? Yes,there is. And I enjoy empty roads,no queues and the city all to myself on days when there are cricket matches. The bigger,the better.
wearelikethatonlyexpressindia.com
