I have been an inveterate cricket aficionado since the mid-fifties. The irony is that I have almost never played cricket. When I am quizzed about my 'records' in the game, I can only inform that : "While batting, my maximum score has been 6 and I never faced more than two balls. It can be easily deduced that either I have hit a six on the first ball or have been out. I have certainly been out on the second ball if not the first. "
Should I tell about my bowling, fielding, umpiring, score keeping etc. Even I am myself sick of listening to myself on these misadventures.
My love for cricket was kindled by two unconnected events. One was that I failed to win a scholarship in the 4th standard; I later learnt that my failure was not entirely due to academic deficiency. No regrets.
अब न दोहरा फसान्हा-ए-अलम ----------
My love for Cricket was perhaps a reaction to my new found disenchantment with academics.
The second reason was a comment that ' Cricket was not a game for the un-classy, un-wealthy, unsophisticated, uncultured proletariat". The comment has stuck with me. Who made the comment or whether the comment maker himself met the minimum criteria set by himself is not relevant . This should have goaded me into becoming a Vinoo Mankad or Lala Amarnath etc. but that was not to be. Instead I became an avid cricket fan whose love was restricted to listening to the live commentary. Those were days of Vizzy, the Maharajkumar of VijayNagram and Vijay Merchant et al. The commentary used to be only in English. The 'LIVE' commentary generally gave detailed account of the commentators' own flings / flirtations with cricket in obscure English County cricket or something else which I never understood and therefore I do not remember.
The net result was that I had to struggle hard to find out what the score was at any given time- sometimes it was difficult to know as to which team was batting and which one was fielding etc. etc. You needed tons and tons of patience to retrieve any information about the current status of the game. I was certainly not alone in cursing the likes of Vizzy and Vijay Merchant.
Now fast forward to modern times. The cricket matches are being telecast live on the Television. For some time, it was a joy watching the matches live and it was better to be sitting opposite the TV than being in the stadium. The commentators, generally knowledgeable past cricketers would apprise the viewers of the nuances of the game. But the live telecast these days is a pain. You get to watch less cricket and more of those silly ads. The program editor or who ever bloke is in-charge of poking in with the advertisement, is a sadist who makes sure that we do not get any joy in watching cricket. He declares 'Over' before the umpire does it. He 'begins' the next over after ball has travelled half way down the pitch. For him the 'over' generally consists of 4 1/2 to 5 balls. I have been contemplating referring this to 'Weights & Measures Department'. You are not allowed to savour the joy of historical moments like Tendulkar reaching 15000 runs or India defeating Pakistan in T20 World Cup. These moments are mercilessly jerked out of your view and you are left banging the table or sofa etc. etc.
While helplessly watching this 'Ads telecast interspersed with Cricket', I repeatedly get reminded of this joke:
" There was this pathological sadist, call him ' Mr. X', who derived untold pleasure out of the embarrassment he caused to the people. He would severe the limbs of animals like cats and dogs and throw the limbs into peoples' houses. He would do it cleverly without leaving a trace. Though, it was public knowledge that Mr. X was the culprit, he could not be punished for want of proof. The only thing the aggrieved helpless people could and would do was to curse him. This continued for a very long time and became part of the routine. Finally, a day came when Mr. X knew that his innings were about to end. He was suddenly filled with remorse and felt the desire to atone. He summoned his son 'Mr. Y' and implored him thus " Son, All my life I have incurred the wrath of the public who cursed me no end. After I am gone, please do some such thing as makes people say something good about me". The son reassured his father and urged him to 'Rest in Peace- with no burden on his soul'. Mr X breathed his last. And the people began preparing to breathe easy. After a gap of exactly one day, they were aghast to find limbs of dead humans being thrown in their houses. They immediately knew that it was the handiwork of Mr. Y the son of Mr. X. They were again helpless. And they found themselves saying
" इस से तो इसका बाप अच्छा था"
Thousand apologies to Vizzy and company.
Should I tell about my bowling, fielding, umpiring, score keeping etc. Even I am myself sick of listening to myself on these misadventures.
My love for cricket was kindled by two unconnected events. One was that I failed to win a scholarship in the 4th standard; I later learnt that my failure was not entirely due to academic deficiency. No regrets.
अब न दोहरा फसान्हा-ए-अलम ----------
My love for Cricket was perhaps a reaction to my new found disenchantment with academics.
The second reason was a comment that ' Cricket was not a game for the un-classy, un-wealthy, unsophisticated, uncultured proletariat". The comment has stuck with me. Who made the comment or whether the comment maker himself met the minimum criteria set by himself is not relevant . This should have goaded me into becoming a Vinoo Mankad or Lala Amarnath etc. but that was not to be. Instead I became an avid cricket fan whose love was restricted to listening to the live commentary. Those were days of Vizzy, the Maharajkumar of VijayNagram and Vijay Merchant et al. The commentary used to be only in English. The 'LIVE' commentary generally gave detailed account of the commentators' own flings / flirtations with cricket in obscure English County cricket or something else which I never understood and therefore I do not remember.
The net result was that I had to struggle hard to find out what the score was at any given time- sometimes it was difficult to know as to which team was batting and which one was fielding etc. etc. You needed tons and tons of patience to retrieve any information about the current status of the game. I was certainly not alone in cursing the likes of Vizzy and Vijay Merchant.
Now fast forward to modern times. The cricket matches are being telecast live on the Television. For some time, it was a joy watching the matches live and it was better to be sitting opposite the TV than being in the stadium. The commentators, generally knowledgeable past cricketers would apprise the viewers of the nuances of the game. But the live telecast these days is a pain. You get to watch less cricket and more of those silly ads. The program editor or who ever bloke is in-charge of poking in with the advertisement, is a sadist who makes sure that we do not get any joy in watching cricket. He declares 'Over' before the umpire does it. He 'begins' the next over after ball has travelled half way down the pitch. For him the 'over' generally consists of 4 1/2 to 5 balls. I have been contemplating referring this to 'Weights & Measures Department'. You are not allowed to savour the joy of historical moments like Tendulkar reaching 15000 runs or India defeating Pakistan in T20 World Cup. These moments are mercilessly jerked out of your view and you are left banging the table or sofa etc. etc.
While helplessly watching this 'Ads telecast interspersed with Cricket', I repeatedly get reminded of this joke:
" There was this pathological sadist, call him ' Mr. X', who derived untold pleasure out of the embarrassment he caused to the people. He would severe the limbs of animals like cats and dogs and throw the limbs into peoples' houses. He would do it cleverly without leaving a trace. Though, it was public knowledge that Mr. X was the culprit, he could not be punished for want of proof. The only thing the aggrieved helpless people could and would do was to curse him. This continued for a very long time and became part of the routine. Finally, a day came when Mr. X knew that his innings were about to end. He was suddenly filled with remorse and felt the desire to atone. He summoned his son 'Mr. Y' and implored him thus " Son, All my life I have incurred the wrath of the public who cursed me no end. After I am gone, please do some such thing as makes people say something good about me". The son reassured his father and urged him to 'Rest in Peace- with no burden on his soul'. Mr X breathed his last. And the people began preparing to breathe easy. After a gap of exactly one day, they were aghast to find limbs of dead humans being thrown in their houses. They immediately knew that it was the handiwork of Mr. Y the son of Mr. X. They were again helpless. And they found themselves saying
" इस से तो इसका बाप अच्छा था"
Thousand apologies to Vizzy and company.
