Ignorance is bliss

Another loss, another moment of despair, from the highs of 2011, to the lows of 2012, Indian cricket can really take us on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. But for few it really isn’t so bad. They get on the rollercoaster when the team is doing so good, even my 90year old granny knows it and the moment the ho-ha around the game dies down, they are off. One of the examples is my wife. For her ignorance is bliss. When she consoles me about the loss, “You aren’t playing there? Why the sad face?” I wish she could understand what Rahul Dravid said at the Bradman oration. Every victory in cricket, fought hard by 15 men on/off field, is a victory for all who had, have and will have the never ending love-hate affair with the game. My wife will not understand that while she sees only loss in Sydney and the second loss of the series, I am thinking far ahead about the loss that might come our way in Perth, considered to be the fastest wicket in the world. The feeling comes from the knowledge of the game, though we wish for nothing short of a miracle.

Her ignorance about the game is what will give peace to a fan. But we all really can’t change our self. A game which has been the blood-stream of the entire nation, when people came out to street to celebrate our world cup heros (2007 and 2011) as if the next day, Bangalore won’t have traffic jams (actually it was Sunday after 2011 victory, so the traffic jam would be worst, a day after) or whether the corruption will reduce a bit. Every single thing will be the same only the joy of being called world champions is like sweet nectar. Still any loss hurts the same way, be it 1996 WC semi-final or 2003 WC final. We need to take the sweet and the sour together. That is how the world famous Thai curry is made and that is how the love of our game is.

I feel sometimes I could so easily shrug off the loss, like my wife does and move on. But how can I do it for the game which has left so many imprints on my life. Twice I broke my teeth, one got a swollen eye, bloody nose from fast bowler bouncer, innumerous times hit in the groin and finally a broken finger (still crooked in shape) which finally told me that the love can’t always transforms into talent. The imprint of the first cover drive of the fast bowler at school, imagining Rahul and not Sachin standing next to me saying, “Keep doing that for a million times and then little more and you will get there.” Or when I took my first dismissal as the school keeper, imagining Boucher patting on my shoulder and saying, “Nice catch, but you got lucky the ball stuck in the glow. Don’t get up fast, stay low so the movement is much better. Watch the ball till it thuds into your glows”. These are dreams while I soiled my clothes for my school team or when I played for my company’s team (for whatever brief time it was). The feeling of your team mates hugging you tightly because you have pulled of a miraculous catch inches of the ground, the feeling of the last ball thriller where you run out the batsman when he need one run to tie the game, these are memories flowing in our blood stream. My mother used to say, “As a healthy kid, you rarely had fever. But when a close match is going on or Sachin is nearing another hundred, you seems to have 100, 102 fever”.

With age we get attached to so many new things & we let go of something (like driving a bike), but if there has been any constant in life, that got to be Cricket. From as early memories of Hero Cup semi-final & final in 1991, to the World Cup in 2011 it has been two decade of heartbreaks, tears of joy and loads of “jaadu-ki-jhapi” with friends. I was alive when India took the first world cup in 1983, but of course at that time I was more bothered about pooping, sleeping and getting fed. West Indies came just after the victory and white-washed India in a five match series (or was it 3, not sure). History was bound to repeat itself. This time the location was reversed and of course a different team. India won the world cup in India, but got a white-wash in England. There are so many such incidents which remain in our subconscious and to ignore them just isn’t possible. We are somehow have been injected with the bug of “cricket”. There isn’t a remedy to it, even if it existed, none of us would take. It is the talking point in coffee corner, screaming scores across our cubicles or tapping a total stranger at the transit lounge to check the match score on his laptop (did that at Qatar airport while returning from Europe when I missed the first 2011 WC India-Bangaladesh match)

In times to come, our heros, our role models will retire. Dravid, senior to Tendulkar will be remembered as one sticky jam, who has dug deeper and got India out of the hole so many times. Laxman, the nemesis of Australia, will be remembered along with Azaruddin for his flicks against the turn, especially against legendary spinner Warne. I can’t say anything about Tendulkar, our own Demi-God. Like in my religion, we only pray to GOD and not discuss about his way of life. He and only he know what it is like to charge down the track to McGrath and hit him out of the ground. Only he knows that even a sand-storm in Sarjah can’t prevent him from hitting six against the wind. May be in time to come the game ‘cricket’ can be renamed and called ‘SACHIN’ or may be the ‘cover region’ will be called ‘sachin region’ in future. And when he goes on to score his 100^th hundred (we waiting), once again I will be screaming on top of my voice sachinnnn…sachinnnn, knowing that ignorance isn’t bliss, it is feeling of the game (now delivered in HD) which completes us all.

- Written on the 4^th morning of 2^nd Test between India vs Australia 2011-12 series.