Cricket and and the Crazy Indian- Debyani Dasan recounts the journey her way

I dont understand cricket and I make no show that I do. All my life my watching cricket has been restricted to watching the last 10 overs in the second half in any important match, and if our boys in blue have played, they have always lost. Friends, family and loved ones have always called me jinxed and thus have never really encouraged me to watch a match if India was playing. And I am patriotic enough not to mind the exclusion.Superstitious too.

So when the spouse came with 2 VIP stand passes for the great Indo- Pak semi final of ICC 2011, I had major reservations in my mind. However the thrill of watching a match of this nature live in the stadium- was more than all my superstitions and patriotism,and i said Yes.

Mohali is around 250kms from home and wiser people left the previous day.Not us - we are the mad people who do everything last minute and we decided to travel  on the day fo the match  itself.

All vehicles have one destination- MOHALI

We left at 5.30 am confident of our skills and acumen on the road. The nip in the year caused after the previous nights heavy rainfall felt good and sent the senses tingling and alert.As we ripped at 160km/170km and hour, I was not able to shoot the sunrise through the stray clouds flitting across, but the mind has imprinted for life the various shades of flame that are present in a sunrise.

We just stopped at karnal to have yummy , piping hot stuffed paranthas The roads which are normally empty that early in the morning were teeming with cars from Delhi.It seemed as if we were not the only mad ones- cars of all brands and makes, beginning with the SUVs from Audi, Mercedes to the humble Maruti 800. Each car merrily ripping on the roads, gearing to reach the stadium and grab the best seats, the bonhomie contagious and the spirits high.

We were in Chandigarh by 9 am. After a quick brunch at my uncles place, we hit off for Mohali stadium- the 6 kms drive took us almost 40 minutes as all roads, it seemed, at that point of time, led to the stadium.

The battle ground

The parking was almost 2 kms from the stadium entrance and the burly sardar police very encouragingly told us bas ji sirrrrrrf panda minat da rasta hain(just another 15 minutes). Our excitement levels were high and we happily started our march towards the battle ground(true soldiers of the nation) with countless others. On both sides of the road, people were selling Indian flags(range varying form 200 rupees to 700 rupees), artists with paint in their hands offering to paint the colours of either nation for designated amounts of money.A simple tri colour on the cheeks cost Rs 20. Wigs,wrist bands, caps horns, in weird shapes and sizes were up for grabs.

We were finally at the gate our ticket asked us to report. I was harbouring an idea that we would be VIP, but there was a kilometer long Que of VIPs before us, all waiting patiently in the scorching sun, all excited and happy.It took us almost an hour and a half to enter the stadium. Living in Delhi, one is used to tight security checks, but the checks installed at the stadium was the mother of them all. We were allowed our mobile phones inside the stadium but we had to make a call on the phone to check whether there was a detonator somewhere, which could be triggered off. There was a strip like band-aid which was rubbed inside the wallets and then put through a machine to check for all contraband items. even the tickets had to be put through a machine to check for the authenticity. No manual checks- after all we would be watching the match with the prime ministers of the two neighboring countries.

Walking into the stadium was an experience in itself- the wave of happy noises - with all the pipes blowing, music in full blast and chirpy compering much before the match started put the audience in the hyped mode.

One didn't mind sitting on the stairs, sharing seats.And these were all people who had clout or money- people who would not otherwise even nod their heads at each other in pleasantries. Cricket in India is truly a great equalizer.

Then came the match- a match that i shall not dwell on , because everyone has seen it. The battle royale.

What I shall dwell on is the happenings on the stands and the tremendous learning experience that this one match was.

The first thing that I learnt is that where a match with our friendly neighbour on the western border is concerned, there is nothing known as a sportsman spirit among the audience. I got dirty looks when i happened to clap when the opponent team did well. 

Soon I also got into the flow of the chanting with the masses,doing the mexican wave, looking instinctively at the large screens for player reviews, decision pending, mentally agreeing with the arm chair cricketers, standing up on the chairs everytime there was a boundary hit and keeping silent when India was messing up.

Umar Gul and Shoib Akhtar

For a person who talks nineteen to a dozen, I was absolutely quiet- i was soaking in the experience and learning about the workings of the minds of the arm chair cricketers. This breed probably has not played a days cricket in their lives, yet spend thousands of rupees to go to a match and question the decision of the players on the field and offer their expert opinions. What they conveniently ignore is that taking a decision on the spur of the moment , can be done only by the player.But i am told that this is a common feature in all games.

It was funny when Shoib Aqtar came running with water for Umar gul- for who we were chanting andar ke baat hain umar hamare saath hain(because of the advantage we had ,thanks to  his faux pas as a bowler and fielder).It then became shoaib is a water boy -ei shoaib upar do chai bhejna zaara.To be fair to the player, he took it with a smile and even gave us the thumbs up signal.

After India finished its innings as batters, people were dismayed at the low score,i learnt that the pitch was not allowing the ball to rise, whatever that meant.

But after the 40th over , in the second half the celebrations began on the stands itself when it became clear that the match was ours. One could see that the entire city outside was  celebrating as we could see the fireworks even before the match was over. And then suddenly Pakistan was all out and we were the winners.

Getting out of the stadium and walking back to the parking was a victory march with people coming out of their houses and congratulating each other. Suddenly I felt that we were perhaps the ones who played- the dances on the road, on car tops- it was the tricolor all across.

Getting out of the stadium and onto the highway took us almost 2 hours and then it was as if all roads were leading back to Delhi.All the dhabas were open and whipping up huge meals to the waves of  cricket enthusiasts that were descending on almost all the dhabas.

One had to eat what one got- no choice and definitely no stuffed paranthas as they take time.So dinner at 2 comprised of dal makhni, alu gobi and palak paneer with piping hot tandoori rotis.

By the time we were home it was 5.20 am the next day and we were blown out of our minds,but what a way!

I had broken the jinx- India can and will win even if i am watching. Jai hind!