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Sleeping with the enemy

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The IPL is the biggest private party that anyone’s ever had in India. While we can debate who the host is, who’s serving drinks, who’s invited and gate crashing, the party is here to stay. It is a metaphor for the raunchiness that pervades a society’s mind that is coming to grips with its identity caught in the time warp between hallowed ideala and a materialistic identity. It’s about the collective subjecting itself to a sin, knowing in its conscience that this is wrong The layering makes the case very interesting. The nomenclature of the teams has an aggressive tone to it; battle cries adorn all their team songs. Every team has a either a glamorous owner or a ravishing ambassador, the late night parties being the story of legendary exploits of players off the field. There are skimpily clad cheerleaders, being treated as feminine objects, meant to prance about in a gladiatorial setting. Every inch of space, on the ground, in the mind has been sold, franchised commercialized labeled. R