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Showing posts from March, 2011

“Don’t you watch Cricket?” “No, not really. I mean, I’m not that interes–“

For many years now, at whichever part of the country I might be, there is a question that has been posed to me at numerous occasions. The question seemed even more persistent at some of those special days, when the entire country focussed their passion for a game onto an oval ground, with a grassless patch in the centre of the field. I would chance a few glances at the TV that was sure to be carrying the game, but I tried to be as unobtrusive about it as possible. Eventually, someone would always turn to me and ask, “Don’t you watch Cricket?” to which I would gently shrug my shoulders, mumble something about not being interested, and go back to whatever it was that I was doing at that point of time.

India is a country where not following Cricket is considered a sin (something that I have been reminded of, on numerous occasions), and every time I was asked the question and I looked away from the TV set, I was judged. India is a nation that is passionate about this game in a way that they are not for any other game. India is a country where Cricketers are made demigods. India is a country where a cricket match can stop beating hearts, stop strangers walking on roads and crowd around a single TV set in a dilapidated shop. India is a country where even this phenomenon itself was spotted by the Media and immediately cashed in on, with the launch of the latest advertisement for Airtel featuring Shah Rukh Khan posing the perennial question that plagues all Indian minds during a match day – “Score kya hua hai?”

India is passionate about Cricket. Yet, in that overwhelming passion they feel for the game, they forget a few critical aspects. Passion flows both ways – while it makes you love the game and the players with enthusiasm, at the same time it makes you hate the same players with equal vehemence. In that passion that every Indian gets lost, they forget the fine subtleties of the game itself. They get blinded by the adoration for the Indian team, to the extent that they are ready to diss all opposition at every opportunity they get. In that passion to see an Indian victory, they forget the display of skill, the obvious evidence of hard work that goes into a well struck shot over the fence, or into the swift unexpected turn of the ball that gets a wicket, irrespective of which team delivers it. Indians, choked up by that passion, are unable to appreciate that display of skill if it is directed against them.

The recent victory of India over Australia was proof enough for this. Mere minutes after the Indian victory, Facebook was flooded with taunts, retorts and obviously photoshopped images, all of them derogatory in nature, directed against the Australian side. More than anything, it proved that Indian fans are arrogant winners as well as sour losers. But, even if you spare half a minute in an effort to understand it, you’ll find that these derogatory statements and images make sense. They take no effort to understand them, you don’t have to have any knowledge of the game in order to get the joke, and the Indian ego is, of course, entirely satisfied as well.

This is probably the only platform where I would go as far as voicing my opinion regarding the ongoing world cup. As an Indian fan myself, nothing would please me more than seeing an Indian victory in the world cup. However, from the objective point of view, to think that an Indian victory in the world cup would feed the already bloated ego of every Indian fan, the question changes – do the Indian fans really deserve an Indian victory? Judging from the flood of messages, images and polls rampant on Facebook, fans are not charged up by the fact that their team won as much as they are about the fact that their opposition lost. There is a subtle difference between the two, and it’s one of those things that if you understand, only then do you deserve to know it.

Much of the messages and images after the recent Quarter Final victory did not applaud the Indian victory, but were targeted at the loss of the Australian side. Even more specifically, there were a number of images and status updates that were directed at Ricky Ponting, the same man who had, mere hours earlier, played a brilliant knock of 104, and was probably the best batsman in the entire match – any attempt to disagree there or to demean his effort is an insult to the very game of cricket. And yet, mere hours later, all over India, viewers and fans forgot all about his knock. They ridiculed him, they joked about him, and even booed him during the presentation ceremony. They forgot just what an emotional moment it was for him. The typical Indian fan got lost yet again in that passion for winning the cup rather than passion for the game. Is this sportsmanship? Is this how much the real Cricket fan in this country understands the game? Is this how petty we are, that we are unable to acknowledge and appreciate skill, dedication and hard work, irrespective of which side shows it? Is this how the game has become for us now, that only a few numbers at the end of a hard day’s game become of prime importance, rather than the amazing showmanship brought out on to the field by both sides?

To be honest, I don’t want to answer those questions – and in all honesty, neither do the fans of the game. However, in my heart, I know the answer and it chills me. It makes me lose faith in the fans alongside whom I used to watch matches as well once, and cherish the game at its best. It makes me want to hide the fact that inside, I am just as interested in this game as everyone else claims to be. More than anything else, it makes me shy away from the TV set and pretend to get lost in work once more, whenever anyone asks me the question, “Don’t you watch cricket?”

Remember Us

During my short stay in Mumbai, I had the good fortune of staying with four friends who knew each other from their college days – they shared a common history. This was a wonderful experience for me, because in those days, when I witnessed their memories, and shared them as though they were my own, it jogged my own memories, back to my college days, the wonderful 2 years of my life. It was on one such night that I had written this poem, which lay hidden for all this while. It took a visit to the very place that had inspired it – my college – to make me remember that poem, and to remember that life, once more.

This goes out to the green, wild fields
To the red brick path that we travelled
Everyday
To the morning grumbles and the evening sighs of relief
Remember us
To the daily struggle to wake up on time
The daily fights for bathroom dominance
And to the ugly, blue bucket that only reminded us of the chills it contained
Remember us
To the nights we swore we’d sleep early
And the nights we stayed up, singing or talking or studying
To the snores that drifted across the hallways every night
Remember us
As we remember, the reports we wrote
The points we so desperately tried to prove
The passion with which we fought and justified
Remember us
As that passion is now but a distant memory
Remember us, as we remember you
As our stomachs rumbled with supressed hunger
As we tried to swallow the bland food
Only to return, later at night, hungry as before
To devour the delicacies of the Tuck Shop
To all the parathas we ate
To all the omelettes we devoured
To all the fried eggs we consumed
And to all those content smiles that came free
Remember us
To the late night bike rides
Across unknown roads
Over uncharted and broken streets
To the bikes that screamed in protest
Or shouted in delight
As they rode on
Rumbling through the night
Remember us
To the twin buildings that sheltered us
To the stairs that became comfortable chairs
To the corridors and classrooms
Where we learnt, studied, discussed, argued
And in those precious, silent moments, we waited
Remember us
To the crowded canteens, and the cackling library
And the many hopes and dreams and fantasies
That were born and died within their boundaries
Remember us
To the friendships we made
To the bonds we cherished
To the memories we created
Remember us
For however far we may go
However old we may grow
We will remember to remember you.