I am a self centered, sports oriented, uncultured, shameless moron. That is the opinion of my better half and she doesn’t hesitate a bit to announce it on the days which I, according to her, “waste” by watching a Test match or on the weekend evenings which are invariably occupied with Primetime Premier league or Super Sundays. Not that this continuous degradation of my radiant personality bothers me, but at least it forced me to do an introspection, and if possible to give myself a justification for all those adjectives!
I was in a private school run by a brahmin family until my 3rd standard. After the classes my father used to pick me on his way back from office and that meant spending at least 2 hours even after the school timings, waiting for my father to come. As the school owner’s house was in the same compound, I would end up spending most of the time inside their house in the evenings. The owner of the school was a well known person locally, who arranged and organised lot of cultural events and more importantly he was a cricket fanatic. He even had a matting wicket at home for his 2 sons. And there I got my first glimpse of Television and the only program I found them always watching was cricket, which made me believe that TV is for watching cricket. Probably I still believe it and that may be the reason that my wife accuses me of watching only sports channels in TV. When I was not watching TV, I would go to a shed in their compound, where they keep all those cricket gears. Old cricket balls with broken seam, brand new and splinted bats, the matting wicket, pads and batting gloves. The thing which I clearly remember from those visits to that shed is the peculiar smell of batting gloves. Those who have worn batting gloves at least once will understand that, it has got that sweaty and worn out smell which all cricketers consider good and enticing and everyone else is scared to experience that even once! In TV, every time I see a batsman leaving his gloves on the ground for drying at the end of a session, I feel that smell which i experienced 20 years back. No wonder that I love dogs!
Then we bought the most prestigious electronic equipment of those times. We were the proud owners of a BPL colour TV and along with that came the matches telecast by Doordarshan. More than the Malayalam movies on every Sunday, I waited for the Sportstime they showed on Saturday evenings. The most beautiful sounds of those times must be the 4’o clock bell in the school and the thudding sound of ball meeting the willow. The Doordarshan hindi commentary was the stuff of legends which, sometimes, can be experienced even now. “Superb shot to the boundary..uhh.. but straight to the fielder at point” was the norm while what really happened would have been the batsman playing a leg glance to midwicket!
Kapil Dev, Doordarshan, tape recorders and bajaj scooters made way for Sachin Tendulkar, cable TV, Walkmans and Maruti 800 by mid 90s, as the living standards of middle class surged through along with the boom experienced in Indian economy. Mark Mascharanes made a living out of showing Sachin’s face on channels and making him say “Boost is the secret of my energy” in his girlish voice. Dhoni and Co can thank him for all the luxury they have now. The beginning of change happened then. Probably our cricket administers were the best economists that we ever had, as they realised and showed us that our huge population is not a thing to worry about and it can be utilised to generate exorbitant and unbelievable amount of revenue from sports, which nowadays exceed the total income of some of the African countries. But the price we paid for this is the innocence of our beautiful game. Day-Night Test matches, pink balls, Twenty-20 and Scoop shots are the things that we discuss now and those old times appear like Utopia.
Not that I was unduly worried about all these then. Even I sped through my transition from a boy to man. The change of sound in my vocal cords was forgotten in the shouts of Howzzzat, Catch it and cheering for India. As every child growing up then, I too wanted to be Sachin Tendulkar and play for India, but by the time I finished my 10th, I probably realised that I will never go beyond school or college team, considering my background and limited talent. The only two shots I could play well was the forward defence and drives, with the help of my strong bottom hand grip. I used to keep my index finger of the bottom hand behind the blade of the bat to get power and elegance in my drives, and even I was convinced about the effectiveness of my drives whenever the ball is overpitched. But the problem with this method is that, every other shot in the book is almost impossible with that grip, especially the cross batted ones, cuts and pulls. I survived a couple of matches with this tactic and my wicketkeeping, but that was the end of it. Rather than trying to become a player, I settled for the less glamorous, but equally stressful and tiring position of Indian supporter.
To support Indian cricket team in 90s, you had to be more self motivated that Bill Gates, as our team oscillated between horrendous defeats and improbable victories. The day after an Indian defeat, you may find all your friends cursing the team and vowing never to see Indian Team’s matches. Most of them couldn't tell between a square cut and on-drive, but still that was the gang you have to live with to watch the matches. But that was fun too. The usual disappointments, agony after losing a close match, the pure joy of watching India winning, the celebrations and of course the pride of being one who can understand the logic of two men running like mad between two sets of upright sticks!
I got a taste of hostel life and the freedom which comes along with it when I started my graduation. Before first girlfriend, first kiss and xxx-rated movies corrupted my mind, my world included hostel room, college building and the play ground, not necessarily in the correct order of priority. Bunking classes to stand in the scorching afternoon sun in the hope of catching a ball or hitting a six was fun and running behind the lecturers at the year end to meet the attendance quota to sit for the exams was exhausting. In some semesters the number of back papers I had exceeded the runs I made in an year, but who cares. Playing cricket day time, rushing to the football ground in the evening and then having fun at the indoor badminton court, life progressed without any purpose. But sports has always been a get away and mode of relief when tougher times arrived. I was the happiest man on the day in which I came to know that I failed in all my 3rd semester papers, because VVS Laxman was painting an epic 281 in kolkata and Harbhajan soon sent the Australians in a spin to turn all of us in our hostel to a bunch of lunatic delirious hooligans. Cricket again came to the rescue and improved my spirits after I caught my soon to be ex girlfriend two timing with me. India under Saurav Ganguly produced a magnificent run in 2003 Worldcup then. And in the blink of an eye, I was out of college and the job of a job hunter was thrust upon me.
After working in 2 small companies in Cochin for an year, I came to Bangalore and a different life awaited me there. The smell of a multicultural city was fascinating, but like every jobless person, I was confined to share a room with 3 other job hunters. With no TV in the hostel, watching sports was always a problem. As someone who has been used to at least 5 hours of sports everyday, either watching or playing, it was suffocating, but soon found a way around. The beauty of this city is that it is a shopper’s delight and that means at every corner you can find an electronics showroom which shows live matches to the general public. The toughest part of watching a match standing in the road is that once the crowd swells up, the shop keepers switch off the TV and then it is a frantic run to the next nearby shop to not to miss many overs, and that means in a day I used to end up covering the entire showrooms in one area. The aftereffect of this exhausting but exciting exercise was that at the end of a 5 match Test series I was as tired as the players! But this experience helped me to realise what this game means to the common man on the street. There were people who sacrificed their daily wages to watch the match, there were those who used to take a peep in between selling 5Rs hand kerchiefs and there were those who behaved as if they lost their entire savings, every time India lost. When India was losing the considerable crowd used to lean down to a handful of us but we knew that, come the next morning, we would again be there, however bad the previous loss was. There were cobblers, street vendors, fruit sellers, pick pocketers and every other kind too. It was probably the best multi social, political and economical gathering Bangalore could ever find!
When I met her I was lean, jobless, watched non stop sports and loved her too. Now I weigh a solid 68Kgs, have a house and a job, married to her, watch non stop sports and still love her too. So she should be proud that I still remain same to the core and not many things have changed from the person she started loving. Recently I tried telling her this and those adjectives resonated in my house again. Nowadays I am just resigned to my fate!
I was in a private school run by a brahmin family until my 3rd standard. After the classes my father used to pick me on his way back from office and that meant spending at least 2 hours even after the school timings, waiting for my father to come. As the school owner’s house was in the same compound, I would end up spending most of the time inside their house in the evenings. The owner of the school was a well known person locally, who arranged and organised lot of cultural events and more importantly he was a cricket fanatic. He even had a matting wicket at home for his 2 sons. And there I got my first glimpse of Television and the only program I found them always watching was cricket, which made me believe that TV is for watching cricket. Probably I still believe it and that may be the reason that my wife accuses me of watching only sports channels in TV. When I was not watching TV, I would go to a shed in their compound, where they keep all those cricket gears. Old cricket balls with broken seam, brand new and splinted bats, the matting wicket, pads and batting gloves. The thing which I clearly remember from those visits to that shed is the peculiar smell of batting gloves. Those who have worn batting gloves at least once will understand that, it has got that sweaty and worn out smell which all cricketers consider good and enticing and everyone else is scared to experience that even once! In TV, every time I see a batsman leaving his gloves on the ground for drying at the end of a session, I feel that smell which i experienced 20 years back. No wonder that I love dogs!
Then we bought the most prestigious electronic equipment of those times. We were the proud owners of a BPL colour TV and along with that came the matches telecast by Doordarshan. More than the Malayalam movies on every Sunday, I waited for the Sportstime they showed on Saturday evenings. The most beautiful sounds of those times must be the 4’o clock bell in the school and the thudding sound of ball meeting the willow. The Doordarshan hindi commentary was the stuff of legends which, sometimes, can be experienced even now. “Superb shot to the boundary..uhh.. but straight to the fielder at point” was the norm while what really happened would have been the batsman playing a leg glance to midwicket!
Kapil Dev, Doordarshan, tape recorders and bajaj scooters made way for Sachin Tendulkar, cable TV, Walkmans and Maruti 800 by mid 90s, as the living standards of middle class surged through along with the boom experienced in Indian economy. Mark Mascharanes made a living out of showing Sachin’s face on channels and making him say “Boost is the secret of my energy” in his girlish voice. Dhoni and Co can thank him for all the luxury they have now. The beginning of change happened then. Probably our cricket administers were the best economists that we ever had, as they realised and showed us that our huge population is not a thing to worry about and it can be utilised to generate exorbitant and unbelievable amount of revenue from sports, which nowadays exceed the total income of some of the African countries. But the price we paid for this is the innocence of our beautiful game. Day-Night Test matches, pink balls, Twenty-20 and Scoop shots are the things that we discuss now and those old times appear like Utopia.
Not that I was unduly worried about all these then. Even I sped through my transition from a boy to man. The change of sound in my vocal cords was forgotten in the shouts of Howzzzat, Catch it and cheering for India. As every child growing up then, I too wanted to be Sachin Tendulkar and play for India, but by the time I finished my 10th, I probably realised that I will never go beyond school or college team, considering my background and limited talent. The only two shots I could play well was the forward defence and drives, with the help of my strong bottom hand grip. I used to keep my index finger of the bottom hand behind the blade of the bat to get power and elegance in my drives, and even I was convinced about the effectiveness of my drives whenever the ball is overpitched. But the problem with this method is that, every other shot in the book is almost impossible with that grip, especially the cross batted ones, cuts and pulls. I survived a couple of matches with this tactic and my wicketkeeping, but that was the end of it. Rather than trying to become a player, I settled for the less glamorous, but equally stressful and tiring position of Indian supporter.
To support Indian cricket team in 90s, you had to be more self motivated that Bill Gates, as our team oscillated between horrendous defeats and improbable victories. The day after an Indian defeat, you may find all your friends cursing the team and vowing never to see Indian Team’s matches. Most of them couldn't tell between a square cut and on-drive, but still that was the gang you have to live with to watch the matches. But that was fun too. The usual disappointments, agony after losing a close match, the pure joy of watching India winning, the celebrations and of course the pride of being one who can understand the logic of two men running like mad between two sets of upright sticks!
I got a taste of hostel life and the freedom which comes along with it when I started my graduation. Before first girlfriend, first kiss and xxx-rated movies corrupted my mind, my world included hostel room, college building and the play ground, not necessarily in the correct order of priority. Bunking classes to stand in the scorching afternoon sun in the hope of catching a ball or hitting a six was fun and running behind the lecturers at the year end to meet the attendance quota to sit for the exams was exhausting. In some semesters the number of back papers I had exceeded the runs I made in an year, but who cares. Playing cricket day time, rushing to the football ground in the evening and then having fun at the indoor badminton court, life progressed without any purpose. But sports has always been a get away and mode of relief when tougher times arrived. I was the happiest man on the day in which I came to know that I failed in all my 3rd semester papers, because VVS Laxman was painting an epic 281 in kolkata and Harbhajan soon sent the Australians in a spin to turn all of us in our hostel to a bunch of lunatic delirious hooligans. Cricket again came to the rescue and improved my spirits after I caught my soon to be ex girlfriend two timing with me. India under Saurav Ganguly produced a magnificent run in 2003 Worldcup then. And in the blink of an eye, I was out of college and the job of a job hunter was thrust upon me.
After working in 2 small companies in Cochin for an year, I came to Bangalore and a different life awaited me there. The smell of a multicultural city was fascinating, but like every jobless person, I was confined to share a room with 3 other job hunters. With no TV in the hostel, watching sports was always a problem. As someone who has been used to at least 5 hours of sports everyday, either watching or playing, it was suffocating, but soon found a way around. The beauty of this city is that it is a shopper’s delight and that means at every corner you can find an electronics showroom which shows live matches to the general public. The toughest part of watching a match standing in the road is that once the crowd swells up, the shop keepers switch off the TV and then it is a frantic run to the next nearby shop to not to miss many overs, and that means in a day I used to end up covering the entire showrooms in one area. The aftereffect of this exhausting but exciting exercise was that at the end of a 5 match Test series I was as tired as the players! But this experience helped me to realise what this game means to the common man on the street. There were people who sacrificed their daily wages to watch the match, there were those who used to take a peep in between selling 5Rs hand kerchiefs and there were those who behaved as if they lost their entire savings, every time India lost. When India was losing the considerable crowd used to lean down to a handful of us but we knew that, come the next morning, we would again be there, however bad the previous loss was. There were cobblers, street vendors, fruit sellers, pick pocketers and every other kind too. It was probably the best multi social, political and economical gathering Bangalore could ever find!
When I met her I was lean, jobless, watched non stop sports and loved her too. Now I weigh a solid 68Kgs, have a house and a job, married to her, watch non stop sports and still love her too. So she should be proud that I still remain same to the core and not many things have changed from the person she started loving. Recently I tried telling her this and those adjectives resonated in my house again. Nowadays I am just resigned to my fate!
Witty introspection....!!
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