In the wake of the 26/11 attacks, and I promise this will be my last piece on the subject, security for the world-famous Indian cricket team – a wholly-owned subsidiary of the BCCI – has been upgraded to ‘Z’ category, which is on par with that granted to our world-notorious politicians – wholly-owned subsidiaries of criminal and anti-social elements in society.
When I cornered the head of security arrangements at the Chepauk in Chennai and asked him whether it was fair that the common man on the street continues to feel insecure as ever while sportspersons are being provided all this security using up the taxes paid by the common man, everything he had to say on the matter was off the record and so cannot be reproduced for the purposes of this piece.
All that unsaid, he did have this to say, “For the record, there is one thing the common man can feel deliriously pleased about. In an environment of utter hopelessness he can, at least, continue to draw comfort from knowing that the one thing that provides him some cheer in this miserable life of his will never be exposed to any danger from hostile elements within and outside the country. Me and my team promise you this, not a haircut on the head of any Indian cricket player will be harmed.”
Floored by the man’s confidence, punditry and parting shot, I left the ground feeling quite upbeat about life despite knowing full well that nothing was right about it. (I mean, how else do you think one ends up becoming a writer of satire and spoof.) The man was right, when everything seems lost, there’s nothing like investing your hopes in the Indian cricket team. My happiness was in safe hands. And in my hands was a pass for all five days of the Test match at Chepauk, which I had managed to wangle from the security guy by flaunting my, what else, political connections.
The next day I roused myself from my slumber and jauntily rode my way to the stadium to watch the Test match and forget my troubles. I reached the stadium and found that only a few hundred people, mostly from England and that bastion of ‘serious cricket’, Cricinfo, had turned up to watch the match. The low turnout didn’t disappoint me all that much. It was, after all, only a Test match. Five minutes before the scheduled start of play there was an announcement put out via the public address system. It said, “For security reasons and to ensure nothing happens to our precious idols, the Indian cricket team will not be allowed to enter the ground. Enjoy the match.”
A loud cheer, way in excess of what the few hundreds who had turned up seemed capable of mustering, reverberated around the stadium. This was followed by Mexican waves of great joy and enthusiasm. Mystified by this show of approval, I turned to the gentleman seated next to me and asked him what the untimely celebration was all about. He said, “We’re just really happy to know that no harm will ever come to our beloved cricket players. This way, we’re sure they’ll live to fight another day. So what if we guys can’t hope for the same.”
So this is what the commentators and cricket pundits alike mean when they drone on about the ‘knowledgeable’ Chennai crowd. No wonder the English team agreed to come back and play two Test matches. India can’t wait to experience more such joy at Mohali.
