From an ignoramus to a 'know-it-all'..

(I wrote this just after the World Cup 1999)

                My Heart Beats For India

      How I changed from a cricket ignoramus to a know-it-all...

For someone who’s never ever held a cricket bat in her hands, who could never have told a googly from a Ganguly, and for whom cricketers were, until recently, a blur of nameless faces or faceless names, you should hear my ‘expert opinions’ now! They’d put even Sunil Gavaskar and Geoffrey Boycott to shame! In fact, those connoisseurs of the game ought to consult me for their columns and commentaries… or maybe I should give it some serious thought and hire myself out as an advisor to the BCCI before the selection of our national cricket team.

Earlier, I knew just the basics of the game and my interest in cricket was limited to joining the guys as they watched nail-biting finishes of Indo-Pak matches, but again, only if that happened to coincide with my free time.

One day, I found myself very brusquely excluded from all the excitement. I asked an ‘intelligent’ question and was brushed off with, “Oh, you won’t get it, you women can’t understand cricket, it’s a man’s game!”

That did it! I mean, I can fix a fuse and read a balance sheet, so why wouldn’t I understand a silly game like cricket, I asked myself, and set about learning it. Since there wasn’t a handbook around with the title, ‘What To Do When You Feel You Ought To Know Everything About Cricket And Actually You Do Know Whom To Ask But They Seem To Have Neither The Time Nor The Inclination To Educate You’, I did the next best thing: I took to watching cricket and cricket-related programmes on ESPN and Star Sports all day long.

Initially, of course, my comments provoked a lot of laughter. “Actually this Kumble is a fast bowler,” I pronounced very seriously one day. My son clutched his tummy and rolled about in uncontrollable mirth, my nephew spluttered on his coffee, and my husband laughed till he coughed. “Don’t utter that statement in public!” he warned me before launching into a fresh spasm of ‘coughter’. I tried to justify my words, repeating what the commentator had said, that “the batsman was beaten for Kumble’s pace and bounce.”

I also mixed up Brian Lara and Jimmy Adams and said, “Bryan Adams is out!” and when Srinath kept bowling "just outside the off-stump", I thought the boy was hopelessly inaccurate and questioned his place in the team.

I made rapid progress. The more cricket I watched, the more jargon I picked up and before long I was talking like I was some kind of authority on the game. I gave up watching movies and TV serials, preferring to see highlights of cricket matches. Cricket provided me with all the entertainment that I needed: heroes, villains, action, emotions, thrills, high drama, tragedy, comedy – it was all here.

My bookshelves now had nothing but Sportstar, Cricket Samrat and CricketTalk. I stopped purchasing more books and hid my existing collection out of sight, under the beds and over the cupboards. And as for the morning papers, I read them backward – sports’ news first and everything else later, and I’m sorry to confess, even Kargil didn’t interest me half as much as the Kargil benefit matches did. Cricket became my religion, but Sachin didn’t grow a long, white beard and don saffron, so he stopped just short of becoming my God.

Ask me today when the next match is scheduled and I’ll also tell you our team’s timetable for the entire coming season. Do you wish to know how the Net Run Rate is calculated? I can give you tuitions in the Duckworth-Lewis system as well. Would you like a list of the ten best websites on cricket? I’ll even provide the latest Ceat cricket ratings, tell you which player is endorsing what product, give you a minute-by-minute progress report on Sachin’s back, plus the names of those cricketers who sport an earring in one ear. I’m bursting with ‘cricinfo’ and feel confident about writing a thesis on the game, including domestic and women’s cricket, in addition to successfully performing a SWOT analysis of the players.

I’m the team’s fan, cheerleader, coach, manager, selector, strategist, analyst, statistician, umpire, square-leg umpire, third umpire, match adjudicator, commentator, doctor, physio, psychiatrist, motivational trainer, tax consultant and  mother all rolled into one, only it’s such a pity that nobody knows it.

Whenever a match is on, I wake up earlier than usual (“Aaj match hai, aaj match hai”), finish all my cooking and other chores at dizzying speed (“Aaj match hai, aaj match hai”), rush the maid and the family through their routine (“Aaj match hai, aaj match hai”), disconnect the phone, put a ‘Do Not Disturb’ placard around my neck, arm myself with the remote control, and sit back to enjoy the game. And if anyone makes the mistake of demanding food and beverages or disturbs me in any way, I howwwl in outrage and lament my shrinking personal space.

When our boys win, I’m there in front of the television set, cheering wildly; when they lose, I’m there, empathizing, clucking in sympathy, making excuses, getting all defensive and blaming it on the pitch.

During that mega event, the World Cup 1999, I went and bought truckloads of World Cup memorabilia – diaries and posters, calendars and coffee mugs, pencil boxes and key-chains all marketed so cleverly by Archie’s. I indulged in some plaintive bleating and sang "All the best" just like the younsters in the LG ad, I even waved miniature flags and chanted “Come on, India, dikha do”, encouraging the team from long distance. Each time Dravid or Ganguly hit a boundary, I was there, sipping Pepsi and begging, “Yeh dil maange more,” and believe it or not, that was me who discreetly wiped a tear when we lost that match to Zimbabwe.

Hey Sri, Jadu, Dada, Chopra, Monty, I hope you’re reading this, kids… when you guys toured Sri Lanka, Singapore, Australia, Toronto, Kenya, Sharjah or Dhaka, did you notice me as I tagged along, loyalty personified, following every ball from my hot seat at home?

I’ve been stumped, watching cricket up close, and as for the match-fixing scandal, well, that, in my opinion, is just an obnoxious interlude; what’s a little money got to do with it, I ask you, maybe Hansie and a few others could resist everything except temptation, like Oscar Wilde might have said, and besides, I can forgive anything as long as it’s unforgivable.

In the meantime, as I make myself a nimbu-paani, I await the launch of the new Coke campaign – will it be Srinath, or will it be Sourav? Whatever they promote, this ardent fan will sip, will eat, will use, will wear. Umm, I wonder what’s the price of that Tissot watch on Azhar’s wrist…