Too much of anything is bad. Holds good for the 24x7 media trial of a Bollywood personality’s demise.
IPL thus comes as a breather. Initially I wondered if this could at all be called a match, what with the boys playing to a vacant stadium with no spectators to cheer or jeer them. On the contrary IPL picked momentum rather a little too fast. We have witnessed two tied matches between DC vs KXIP, and RCB vs MI, where super overs decided the winner. Again, setting massive targets - first by KXIP (216) against RR and the latter chasing it with aplomb; then, last night by DC (228) and KKR almost getting near.
Thankfully we didn’t miss the sparkling century by KL Rahul, the hurricane shots by Sanju Samson and Devdutt Padikkal – all namma Bengaluru boys. A step further, I felt extra glad that Kerala, known more for football, has produced some good cricketers in Sanju and Devdutt Padikkal. Still further, Devdutt is from Ponnani,– near Palakkad, another reason to be happy about apna admi, nammade aal.
Shreyas Iyer, the youngest captain of IPL, whom I had almost written off, showed me last night what he is capable, with his 88-not-out.
There were some outstanding pieces of fielding as well - reducing sixes to fours, or taking innovative catches hitherto unseen. On the flip side, those who resurfaced from retirement and whom we expected to be back with a bang are yet to oblige us.
Altogether, it was worth the 22-rupee investment on the sports channel that I reopened for the occasion.
These seldom fail to take you down the memory lane. Back in village, the parents of most boys were gumastas, teachers, or priests. Hence buying bat, stumps or ball for their sons was out of question. The only exception was the Penang-returned family with their only son. Unfortunately cricket was not his cup of tea. Cycling was. He would buy a new one every two years – Atlas, Hercules, BSA, Raleigh...
But where there is a will, there is a way. Ramu, our senior by eight years, would help us chisel out a functional bat from the coconut-leaf stem.
Krishnankutty, the Man Friday for villagers, who plucked mangoes from every backyard annually, would drop from the top four pieces of near-straight looking branches for us to make stumps out of them.
For tennis ball, we would persuade our parents to part with a small sum. With all the pooled changes in hand we would head to Model Sports, opposite Palakkad Head Post Office, to make our major ‘purchase’.
Occasionally, when Krishnankutty passed through our playground after a day’s work, he would ask us, “So who is winning?” Both teams would shout back simultaneously,
“We” with utmost self-confidence. He would laugh it off feeling happy: ‘after all, my efforts to help the boys have not gone waste. They are enjoying the game.”
All said and done, this kit is okay for ‘domestic’ cricket, definitely not for an official match with our neighbouring village boys. So with our limited municipal school English, we would draft a letter to them:
“We wish to play a cricket match with you, in your ground, with your bat, and with your ball. Ball go, no ball.” The latter sentence meaning that if the ball is hit hard and falls untraceably into the middle of the paddy field, our team will not replace it.
Yes, recapitulating the good old days is always a pleasurable proposition – if only you pick the right ones, and not the one like this:
There was this guy whom I didn’t like the best; he made me take a run where there was none. Consequently I got out, at 49. I wanted to repay his gesture. This time I was the Umpire. I gave him Out. “Why” asked the batting team. “Bowled,” I answered. “In that case the wickets should fall backwards, not lean forward unless the wicket-keeper stumped from behind,” they pointed out, rightly. I had no defence. “Umpire’s decision is final,” I pronounced, and the match ended in a fight. Today when I visit village and if my friends happen to be around, they would make fun of me.
