For the past two weeks of my vacation, I have been glued to the small idiot box. I was struggling hard to finish my quota of entertainment derived from that antique BPL TV set. Programmes galore, or should I say devotional serials, because whatever channel I receive is either an Aastha or some peculiar feed called Jagraan. There you can see some mythical man or saint, sitting, meditating and jabbering away intermittently in Hindi. All thanks to my local cable operator who seems to relish on these sickening programmes. With due respect to its ardent followers and no offence meant, it appears quite fake and artificial. I find it hard to believe that how can an age-old saint supposedly having supernatural powers in today’s globalised world cure people’s diseases in a split second. Had that been the case, we wouldn’t have been witnessing the rampant death of poor people everyday in the dirty fields of some distant village or even in a closely located slum in the middle of the city. Well, I think this would seem quite irrelevant to its viewers.
Now the reason I was sitting on my couch with a chilled glass of carbonated water may sound quite strange to you- the telecast of Cricket matches scheduled next week. They were haunting and bugging me to the core, giving me sleepless nights. These cricket matches have caused a whole lot of havoc and destruction in my life. Disturbing my peace of mind, the cricket frenzy family of mine always drives me crazy whenever a match takes place. My dad will hop from one room to another like a messenger giving regular updates. With every passing second, he will present the first hand scores, the fall of wickets (in case India’s matches, the Indians find the pitch too sticky to ground their feet firmly), runs required to topple down the opposition (in case of Australia who go berserk, smashing down the wire!). On the other hand my elder brother, a commentator in the making, would scream like hell, tear his hair apart and bang his fist on the old wooden table (with shaky legs and corroding paint) whenever the batsman plays a pathetic shot or a bowler pitches the ball in the wrong place. He’ll shout at the top of the voice, “ Why is that nincompoop bowling on the leg side” or “ Why isn’t that idiot moving his feet?” Oh! You get to hear a new word everyday, helping to expand your vocabulary in the process.
Not that I dislike cricket like most of my female counterparts who start fretting and fuming at the name of the game. Neither do I withdraw from the conversation whenever someone mentions Adam Gilchrist’s awesome average nor do I spend half of my time gossiping and chatting solely about the girlie things bestowed by the Almighty on this planet. I am definitely not a part of the, ‘I HATE CRICKET BRIGADE’ and follow the game like any other cricket enthusiast. The proof for my interest lies in the fact that I cover sports as part of the campus newspaper, of which I am a part. For that matter it is not just Cricket that attracts me, I like to watch any kind of sports activity. But what sets me apart from my cricket fanatic family is that I do not go overboard with my interest. I do not go shrieking around the house or howling like a mad wolf. My interest remains restricted to watching the game, to analyze it critically and enjoy as it goes. Cricket is a passion for my brother but it is purely a source of entertainment for me. I do admire him for his in-depth knowledge about the game and his expert opinions are worth listening to. No wonder he can be seen on TV reporting and taking interviews of various sports people.
There is actually no way out left for me. I have been stranded in the middle of nowhere. The Delhi summer has made it impossible to barge out of the house in the day when the sun it at its peak, peeping and looking out of the clouds, keeping a close watch on my activities. So I will have to stay at home and tolerate the ever-growing and ever-increasing shouts, screams, shrieks, banging and a lot of rocking.
Hey what’s that faint sound coming out of the window? Oh it is probably the CRICKET!!! God damn it!!!
Now the reason I was sitting on my couch with a chilled glass of carbonated water may sound quite strange to you- the telecast of Cricket matches scheduled next week. They were haunting and bugging me to the core, giving me sleepless nights. These cricket matches have caused a whole lot of havoc and destruction in my life. Disturbing my peace of mind, the cricket frenzy family of mine always drives me crazy whenever a match takes place. My dad will hop from one room to another like a messenger giving regular updates. With every passing second, he will present the first hand scores, the fall of wickets (in case India’s matches, the Indians find the pitch too sticky to ground their feet firmly), runs required to topple down the opposition (in case of Australia who go berserk, smashing down the wire!). On the other hand my elder brother, a commentator in the making, would scream like hell, tear his hair apart and bang his fist on the old wooden table (with shaky legs and corroding paint) whenever the batsman plays a pathetic shot or a bowler pitches the ball in the wrong place. He’ll shout at the top of the voice, “ Why is that nincompoop bowling on the leg side” or “ Why isn’t that idiot moving his feet?” Oh! You get to hear a new word everyday, helping to expand your vocabulary in the process.
Not that I dislike cricket like most of my female counterparts who start fretting and fuming at the name of the game. Neither do I withdraw from the conversation whenever someone mentions Adam Gilchrist’s awesome average nor do I spend half of my time gossiping and chatting solely about the girlie things bestowed by the Almighty on this planet. I am definitely not a part of the, ‘I HATE CRICKET BRIGADE’ and follow the game like any other cricket enthusiast. The proof for my interest lies in the fact that I cover sports as part of the campus newspaper, of which I am a part. For that matter it is not just Cricket that attracts me, I like to watch any kind of sports activity. But what sets me apart from my cricket fanatic family is that I do not go overboard with my interest. I do not go shrieking around the house or howling like a mad wolf. My interest remains restricted to watching the game, to analyze it critically and enjoy as it goes. Cricket is a passion for my brother but it is purely a source of entertainment for me. I do admire him for his in-depth knowledge about the game and his expert opinions are worth listening to. No wonder he can be seen on TV reporting and taking interviews of various sports people.
There is actually no way out left for me. I have been stranded in the middle of nowhere. The Delhi summer has made it impossible to barge out of the house in the day when the sun it at its peak, peeping and looking out of the clouds, keeping a close watch on my activities. So I will have to stay at home and tolerate the ever-growing and ever-increasing shouts, screams, shrieks, banging and a lot of rocking.
Hey what’s that faint sound coming out of the window? Oh it is probably the CRICKET!!! God damn it!!!
3 comments:
A really nice piece of attractive content full of extensive detailing including things like the updates from her father to the shaky table.
The topic is a dangerous one since "Cricket" in India is bigger than a religion. A binding force between people of all the castes and creeds it is one subject on which is ready to give an opinion on.
Just like the author, Everone right from the "Chaiwalas" on the roadside to the film stars on the shooting sets are experts on the game.
Good Luck for future
Hope we get to read more like these to get us chilled during the scorching heat of India.
nice stuff.....keep it going!!
keep writing.. all the best.. narayan kaudinya
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