Glorious Uncertainty


As a child I harboured dreams about playing for India, I soon realized that playing for the building team was much easier and less pressured. All arguments about the perks of the job apart, I think it’s a tough life. Sad that it took a foreign coach’s death to nail that one home, for now at least.

As a youngster when one hits the International cricket scene, the curtains in your bedroom are drawn wide open and a thousand cameras start following you like the Truman Show. Your privacy exists only when other cricketers or issues become more important, else its a day night game. Everything that you don’t do is also news, people would pay to have your shadow pass them by. You sign on big endorsements like Nike the smaller ones will keep queueing up... You’ll cut many ribbons and even lanes, no one will stop you. Every morning the papers will have you reading things that happened to you while you were sleeping, or while you were looking the other way. At award functions, you’ll sit next to people who you paid to watch Matinee on Friday afternoons, shiny legs, Armani suit et al. You’ll find it difficult to contain your ego when the kids from Shivaji Park shout your name out on TV, prodded by a rookie Journo. Then you will be on national news, being asked by Rajdeep or Arnab about how you managed to york Ricky Ponting (wish u knew!) or pull that last ball off Glenn Mc Grath for six (wish u knew!).

All until you score that duck or give those runs away that kept coming your way a few matches back. Or maybe until the team loses to Bangladesh and you happen to be named in that line up. A free coat of black paint might deck your walls, and someone who resembles you thanks to the placard dangling against its neck gets burnt on the roads. The same reporter will thrust the same mike in the face of the same kids asking for bad mouthing and the kids will oblige. Rajdeep and Co will be on TV again, with pie chart, bar chart, expert and rookie, slicing your life into un-gatherable pieces, while viewers sms their verbal volleys. Some ‘supporters’ might even demonstrate how to throw well by hurling some missiles in the direction of your most ardent supporters sitting in the drawing room of your house. Your parents might not what to say, your wife will keep giving your sympathetic glances. The local politicians will ask for your head, his cronies might at least attempt the headlights, of your car. National dailies will pun without pardon and the first lines of your cricketing obituary will be written.

Cricketer Insurance anyone?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Begs the Question

Beggars are as much a part of Mumbai as the Gateway of India. Over the last 10 years of actively roaming around the city, the no of cars have increased and so have the no of beggars. What has also changed is the kind of beggars in the city. The first kind of beggar that I encountered was the simple woebegone face kinds who would sit by the roadside and keep uttering monosyllables the year round. There was no strategy of any kind in place, and the adage beggars can’t be choosers used to get played out. Most of them seemed fatalistic. As the economy evolved and liberalized, so did beggars. For one, I think even the beggar economy opened up. There were a lot many more beggars because there was a lot many more economic activity (and hence money to be handed out) and a lot many more people. The quality of begging also changed. Some beggars, in order to differentiate their pitch, started to exhibit their skills. So you had harmonium totting kids and adults causing disharmony in trains. Strat
Read more

Plane Truths II

Image
Continuing my series of what happens to me in relation to airplanes, I have a gem to share. The wrestle of the arm rest can be quite irritating especially when both adversaries want it equally badly. The war of course is lost right at the beginning if one of the adversaries has an arm that's armrest size! My Chennai to Mumbai flight was spent in half a seat, with me folded up around an imaginary vertical axis, actually measuring kilometers to Mumbai and counting down time. I thought I was lucky to get a window seat, my luck ended the moment the middle seat next to me and half of my seat got occupied by a gargantuan who was impersonating a human being. Arm rest was the first casualty, I gave it up in the first 5 secs; my midriff also was being molested constantly by the elbow of the beast. Am not slightly built either but I know how to mark my territory out and contain my body within. Land grabbing was being rendered a new meaning by my sizable neigbour and I felt a bit like Papua N
Read more

Footpath- quite pedestrian

Image
I grew up in a Govt. colony in Mumbai. This meant that I had the luxury of a lot of things that were absent in the city outside campus. One of these was the footpath. Right since I was a toddler, I was instructed to keep to the footpath, lest I get in the path of a ‘speeding’ Fiat (that’s an oxymoron). That might sound funny, but the inherent message was clear, steer clear of the motorist. In a city where cars outnumber themselves everyday, it’s become a challenge to find a footpath. Most of you might have noticed this but its worth reiterating. 1. Footpaths do exist. Just that above them also exist a layer called hawkers. This layer is more permanent than pedestrian aspirations and difficult to remove. 2. Footpaths do exist. Just that above them frequently is a mosaic of human excreta, with some dog poo thrown in between. Nearby slums can’t do their bit on the highway can they and there’s nowhere else to go. 3. Footpaths do exist. Just that often the BMC or MTNL or MMRDA or such body
Read more