Ode to Cricket

I wandered back to my bedroom that evening, still recovering from Harbhajan Singh's blitzkrieg innings against the hapless Deccan Chargers, and reached for my guitar. It leaned against the wall in a familiar corner of the room, and behind it stood two cricket bats. I paused, and looked at the bats like i'd never seen them there before. Admittedly, I hadn't given them their fair share of attention in quite a while. I reached past the guitar and carefully picked out one of the bats, that had a big sticker on it saying "MRF". It was now dusty from years of neglect, but otherwise good as new. I gripped the handle, and instinctively swung it, executing a cover drive that would have made the Little Master proud. Well, Harbhajan Singh at least. And in that moment, it all came back to me in a flood of fond memories.

I suddenly remembered all those years when my life completely revolved around cricket, when not a day went by that we didnt play in the evening. Whether in the building compound, on the open maidan, rain or shine, day or night, it didn't matter. I remembered the ten rupee red rubber balls we bought from the general store, the sticks and stones used as makeshift stumps and the large amounts of time we spent searching for the ball in adjoining compounds, often as a result of someone's extravagance with the bat.

I remembered all the rules we made up as we played, mostly to adapt our game to the confines of a narrow strip of concrete. The one-bounce-one-hand catch, the default 2 runs that anyone got if they hit the ball into the bushes, and the king of all rules, "Six and Out" (since it was always a hung jury regarding whether a grand stroke that sent the ball sailing over the wall should be rewarded or penalized. This bizarre adaptation somehow seemed to appease everyone).

And it wasn't just about playing the game. It was about watching it too. It didn't matter who was playing or what level of cricket it was. (I distinctly recall obsessively watching two entire seasons of county cricket. Not to mention the trashy "Hong Kong Sixes" or the "Kuala Lumpur Super Eights" that in retrospect probably were the sparks that set off this whole T-20 blaze).
And if there wasn't a game on television, we simply created one. All those countless hours of playing '"Cricket '97" and "Shane Warne's Cricket" didn't do much to improve our skills, but definitely fueled our cult following of the sport.

Come to think of it, life still revolves around the next match. Cricket is a funny game.

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