Cricket, they say, is no longer a mere sport in India. In a manner of speaking it is a religion - with its own legion of faithfuls, followers and fanatics. From a quite different viewpoint, it is also a business - a money-spinning machine of mammoth proportions. And the truth of this hit me a few days ago under the most astonishing of circumstances. Given that I had spent the previous two months under a mode of rigorous study for the then-forthcoming 1st MBBS University Examinations, my hair had grown fairly beyond the accepted bounds of civilized appearance. And so, on a Sunday evening, I made my way to a nearby hair-dressing saloon, caressing my hair fondly in the final moments of their existence.
The ICC, I believe, employs a highly structured and well-planned calendar for international ODI fixtures and all matches played in the course of the year strictly adhere to this schedule. Unfortunately, and unintentionally on their part I am sure, the third ODI between India and their southern neighbours Sri Lanka happened to fall on the same date as the one I went to get my haircut on ( I refuse to phrase this sentence in any other manner). Furthermore, the match was a 'day-and-night' encounter - and hence a head-on clash with my evening outing. And so, quite understandably, the first sight that met my eyes as I walked into the saloon was a pretentious Arun Lal delivering a pitch report. At this point, I also registered the fact that the saloon was unusually crowded - the reason for which dawned upon me some time later. By the time I was asked to be 'seated' for the haircut, the Sri Lankan innings had already commenced and Jayasuriya was strutting along the pitch like a bloodhound looking for prey. The Indian bowlers, as always, had already come mentally prepared for a vicious onslaught. It would have been prudent had I been prepared for the same as the next 20 minutes presented a horrible experience for me. The barber, like every true Indian, was a die-hard fan of cricket and considered it as his fundamental duty to watch every ball of the match that India happened to play. Hence every ball was marked by a long pause during which the barber's skillful hands came to a standstill and his eyes darted to the television to realize his cricketing duties. The hair-cutting procedure was thus punctuated by a number of such pauses and a rather nasty jerk which was the direct result of the dangerous Jaysuriya getting out. At that particular instant, I don't know whose heart was beating faster - Jayasuriya's as he was making the long walk back to the pavillion - or mine as I survived a possibly fatal cut in my scalp. I swore loudly but that was hardly heard amidst the cheers that rang through the saloon. By the time my scalp had been completely retouched, two more Lankan wickets had fallen and my head showed the signs of a rather clumsy haircut.
I also figured out the reason behind the unexpected rush at the saloon. This was India - and paan ka gallas, tea-stalls and hair-cutting saloons were the virtual reality simulators to get a feel of the cricket stadium while a match was on. Apparently, every single person sitting there was an expert in the game and had an advice and opinion for every player on the field. (The opinions were as senseless as those offered by the panelists on various sports channels). A middle-aged gentleman was incessantly proclaiming the bowling skills of Brett Lee, probably not being aware that Australia was not in action for the day. Another bearded chap was criticizing the Indian field placement, with a random and repeated use of the terms 'fine leg', 'long on' and 'Jonty Rhodes'. Stupid fools! - I thought - whiling away precious time and creating hassles for people-with-a-purpose like me. And, even as I was leaving the saloon, I caught the steady Jayawardene at the crease from the corner of my eye. A single over wouldn't do any harm, would it?
I walked out of the saloon, an hour later, having proudly sacrificed 60 minutes to unprofitable watching of a cricket match. But, even as I walked out, I solemnly resolved to never ever synchronize my haircut with an India-featuring cricket match.
PS: The resolution made in the last line is likely to be unceremoniously dumped as and when the next cricket match comes. My craving for cricket is so much that I am prepared to undergo through the rut again to watch a cricket match in that splendid atmosphere.
WHACKY QUOTES :
The ICC, I believe, employs a highly structured and well-planned calendar for international ODI fixtures and all matches played in the course of the year strictly adhere to this schedule. Unfortunately, and unintentionally on their part I am sure, the third ODI between India and their southern neighbours Sri Lanka happened to fall on the same date as the one I went to get my haircut on ( I refuse to phrase this sentence in any other manner). Furthermore, the match was a 'day-and-night' encounter - and hence a head-on clash with my evening outing. And so, quite understandably, the first sight that met my eyes as I walked into the saloon was a pretentious Arun Lal delivering a pitch report. At this point, I also registered the fact that the saloon was unusually crowded - the reason for which dawned upon me some time later. By the time I was asked to be 'seated' for the haircut, the Sri Lankan innings had already commenced and Jayasuriya was strutting along the pitch like a bloodhound looking for prey. The Indian bowlers, as always, had already come mentally prepared for a vicious onslaught. It would have been prudent had I been prepared for the same as the next 20 minutes presented a horrible experience for me. The barber, like every true Indian, was a die-hard fan of cricket and considered it as his fundamental duty to watch every ball of the match that India happened to play. Hence every ball was marked by a long pause during which the barber's skillful hands came to a standstill and his eyes darted to the television to realize his cricketing duties. The hair-cutting procedure was thus punctuated by a number of such pauses and a rather nasty jerk which was the direct result of the dangerous Jaysuriya getting out. At that particular instant, I don't know whose heart was beating faster - Jayasuriya's as he was making the long walk back to the pavillion - or mine as I survived a possibly fatal cut in my scalp. I swore loudly but that was hardly heard amidst the cheers that rang through the saloon. By the time my scalp had been completely retouched, two more Lankan wickets had fallen and my head showed the signs of a rather clumsy haircut.
I also figured out the reason behind the unexpected rush at the saloon. This was India - and paan ka gallas, tea-stalls and hair-cutting saloons were the virtual reality simulators to get a feel of the cricket stadium while a match was on. Apparently, every single person sitting there was an expert in the game and had an advice and opinion for every player on the field. (The opinions were as senseless as those offered by the panelists on various sports channels). A middle-aged gentleman was incessantly proclaiming the bowling skills of Brett Lee, probably not being aware that Australia was not in action for the day. Another bearded chap was criticizing the Indian field placement, with a random and repeated use of the terms 'fine leg', 'long on' and 'Jonty Rhodes'. Stupid fools! - I thought - whiling away precious time and creating hassles for people-with-a-purpose like me. And, even as I was leaving the saloon, I caught the steady Jayawardene at the crease from the corner of my eye. A single over wouldn't do any harm, would it?
I walked out of the saloon, an hour later, having proudly sacrificed 60 minutes to unprofitable watching of a cricket match. But, even as I walked out, I solemnly resolved to never ever synchronize my haircut with an India-featuring cricket match.
PS: The resolution made in the last line is likely to be unceremoniously dumped as and when the next cricket match comes. My craving for cricket is so much that I am prepared to undergo through the rut again to watch a cricket match in that splendid atmosphere.
WHACKY QUOTES :
The rules of cricket are simple, and are summarised by the ICC as follows:
You have two sides, one team aiming for the batsman's bails and the others as batsmen trying to hit the ball as far as possible without the other team getting hit! Each man that's in the side that's in goes out, and when he's out he comes in and the next man goes in until he's out. (Make SURE you DON'T go out!) When they are all out, the side that's out comes in and the side that's been in goes out and tries to get those coming in, out. Sometimes you get men still in and not out.
When a man goes out to go in, the men who are out try to get him out, and when he is out he goes in and the next man in goes out and goes in WTF! There are two men called umpires who stay all out all the time and they decide when the men who are in are out. And if something isn't fair it simply isn't cricket. and they sometimes even get hit in the head, which is funny.
When both sides have been in and all the men have been out, and both sides have been out twice after all the men have been in, including those who are not out, that is the end of the game!
2 comment(s):
Wonderful writing style.
Be happy you didn't ask for a shave as well, or might just have had a deep cut in your neck too!
hehe...dat was a hilarious piece of article...so u act as a diplomat criticising and praising d crazy ppl who r ready 2 sacrifice their jobs 4 d sake of cricket at d same tym...which can put clients lyk u at risk!!!!!!but 4tunately or un4tunately u 2 succumb 2 all d fun n frolic,bcuming a part of it.....
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