THE MATCH

It was a day-nighter, the first we had played in Bangalore. I wasn't sure how good the lights were going to be, but we had to deal with it, whichever way it was. I was at the nets from the morning, swinging my arms, testing my grip on the ball, working on releasing it just so. I had developed this inswinger over the last few months, which worked really well.  Whenever I was blowing with the wind, I could reverse the ball in and confuse the batsmen totally. I worked on it a bit that morning, then went home to rest a bit before the match began at 2 pm.

It was very muggy that day and it looked like we were in for one of our typical Bangalore thunder showers. The sky was overcast and all of us were worried that the skies would open up and deny us a result. These were the days before the Duckworth-Lewis system was introduced into cricket, and a rain meant a washed-out match. Since this was part of the Pepsi Cup series of ODIs, we would have to replay the match with Pakistan the next day, if it got rained out. Not a very happy prospect for all of us.

Pakistan, as a team, were a very interesting opponent, particularly because there was such nationalistic mania around playing them. A very talented bunch indeed and I enjoyed bowling to their batsmen. Whenever my ball beat Ashraf's bat, for example, I experienced a high that has to be felt to be understood. I even thrived on the pressure that an India-Pakistan match brings, because the high of the victory is so sweet, though the low was enough to send me hunting for my pills.

On match days, I didn't use, how much ever I wanted to. That was one discipline I stuck to, aware that if anyone really got to know how dependent I am on my pills, I would not only be kicked out of the team, but be so disgraced that I wouldn't be able to show my face to anyone. It is not as if I was not aware of what I was doing, to myself and to the sport. But..

Unwittingly, the face swam before me, that of Achala. No, this time, it wasn't Achala. It was that media woman, Anju, that Dillip identified for me. Anjana Narendra of National TV he said. I told him she looked like a classmate from school and Dillip had promptly told me her name and her channel. I wonder if I can find her in the crowd? I smiled. What a foolish idea, really.

The match started, and Cream lost the toss. We were put into bat by the Pakistani captain, Aseem Nawaz.  ''Seemu'' to his teammates, I am told. Not that we, the Indian team, called him that, but the others -- Kiwis, Windies -- did call him by his nick. Our guys didn't play very well, but Ganesh managed to hit a 45 and we managed 246 for 9 in 50 overs. I hit around 6 runs and got out to to their spinner Akram Raja.

Well, it was hot and humid, at least we didn't have to bat under the lights, I thought, though bowling and fielding would be tougher. We didn't know how good the lights would be and whether we would be able to field the ball or sight the wickets properly to bowl. Well, we would find out. We had an average total, defendable, and a run-rate of nearly five. In those days, it was good enough.

The second innings started and I couldn't do much in my opening spell. The humidity was really getting to me, my run-up was not as good as it should be. I wasn't light on my feet and though the ball was swinging, it was not enough to beat Ashraf. The game went on and on and Ashraf had already managed to hit a century. He was in great form and Pakistan was on 181 for no loss, at the end of 20 overs.

Less than a 100 runs to score, I thought to myself at one point, and shook my head. The crowds were screaming and roaring, everyone unhappy. All of us were afraid to field at the boundaries, though we had been told that no one was allowed into the stadium with anything that they could throw at us. I remembered the Eden Gardens crowd and hoped that this lot, my home crowd, wouldn't shame us by rushing into the field.  

Bhupen, our spin bowler, Boopy to the team, was bowling to Ashraf. I still remember it like it happened before my eyes, so crystal clear. He spun it in and crack went the ball, straight to the cover boundary. What a shot. I shook my head, no way any of us could have reached that ball in time to stop it and anyway I was too far off.

Then I stopped in shock. From my position at extracover, I had a clear view of Ashraf. And the fellow lifted his bat and showed our amiable Boopy the entire route that the ball had taken from his bat to the cover boundary. As if to say, see how I've hit your ball. Mocking Boopy! I felt the blood rush to my head as I went towards him. How dare he!

I don't know what I would have done, but Cream quickly came there and with a touch of his hand, calmed all of us who had crowded in, down. The crowd was roaring in anger and the cops were pushing a section of people back, physically. I was furious, but we didn't say anything, any of us. The  neutral umpire, a Kiwi, gave all of us a warning glace and sent us back to our positions. This was the first time we had seen a neutral umpire and all of us were trying to be on our best behaviour.

I saw it later in replays and I still don't know how I did it. Most of what happens on the cricket field is by instinct and reflexes, though we train and train for it. Boopy sent in a slower ball and Ashraf cracked at it again. It flew towards me, just about a foot off the ground. I dived to my right -- my wrong hand -- as I saw it coming and yes! I felt it, I felt the ball in my hand, plop right into the curve of my palm and my fingers closed around it securely.

Yay! I jumped into the air as everyone came running towards me, Cream, Viky, Ganesh, Suri, Anu, Boopy.. Yes! We had done it. Ashraf was out and nobody cheered him, as he walked all the way to the pavilion. Nobody even clapped, though he had hit a century. I think even the guy at the opposite end, Qamarul Aleem, did not clap or send him on.

After that, the blood started pumping in all of us. I bowled really well, so did Boopy. We got them all out, like a pack of crumbling cards, and I returned to the pavilion with the second best figures of my career...5 for 37.   I got the Man of the Match award, but I think it was more for the catch than for my bowling!

I see her again..

Naturally, after a night like that, I was in no shape to practise the next day. The team knew well enough what 'indigestion' meant, but that is what they told the media. That I had 'indigestion'.  But after waking up late -- for a man who practises from 7 am in the morning, 10 am is terribly late  -- I went to the stadium anyway.

The thought of that woman I dreamt about nagged me.. would she be there at the stadium?

I sauntered in, absently saying hi to Kenchanna, the man guarding the gate. I knew him quite well, had given him some money for his grand-daughter's school fees just the other day. But I was in no mood to talk to him now. I wanted to see if my woman had come.

I could see lots of fans had managed to sneak in to watch the practise. Kenchanna must have been feeling benevolent and his hands must be very full of notes indeed.  My team mates were at the nets still, but I could see Tiwari and Coachie talking to the media. I screwed up my eyes to see more clearly .. now a days my vision wasn't what it used to be .. yes, my short-haired woman was there, wearing a really lovely yellow salwar kameez. I smiled.

By now, some of the fans had seen me and had started crowding around. I signed some autographs, smiled and nodded, and feeling very tired, looked for a seat. I didn't have much choice, only some seats were empty and I sat down at the nearest one, still looking at the media and their mikes and pens in the centre. I could see my friend Dillip Peters, listening intently, but not bothering to write down. Well, he was senior enough to know what to write without scribbling..

At last, the media broke up and everyone started scattering. Was my woman going to go away without my getting another good look at her? I frowned. Should I go there, nearer to the field? Then, I saw her, coming my way. Oho, had she seen me? Would she come and talk to me again? I felt tingly all over, and I didn't even know why.

She came unerringly to my seat. Wow, could she spot me from that far? Me in the shadow, she in the sun? I stood up as she came near and said: ''Hi.''

She gave me a look. Now what had I done to bother her? Then I realised she was again looking at my feet. What, really was this fascination? I looked down myself and saw the handle of a woman's bag -- orange! -- sticking out from under the seat.

''Oh is that your bag? Wait, let me get it for you,'' I said, bent down and fished it out for her. She just stood looking at me, gaping, so I bowed, to show her that it was really a pleasure.

She turned red, but looked around quickly, I don't know why. I just stood and stared at her, for all I was worth. ''Are you going to play the match?'' she said. She looked tense and irritated. Did she also have a bad night like me? Some hopes. ''No sleep?'' I said and smiled. ''I didn't sleep either,'' I said.

She just looked more irritated. What had I said wrong? ''Please tell me, are you going to play the match?'' she said again. I looked at her. How did it matter, really? I probably would, but I didn't see any need to tell her that.

She slung her bag on and turned to go. Then she said: ''I hope you play.'' How sweet of her.. ''Your wish is my command madam,'' I said and bowed again. She turned away, though, and bumped into Dillip.

''Oho Anju,'' he said and looked at me with a grin. He could obviously see how attracted I was. For he said: ''Now I understand why AK got indigestion.'' I grinned, but she was upset, I could see that. Why should she be upset now? I had said I would play, didn't I? For her?
 
 

signed article in Bangalore Star

Bangalore Star, March 28, Friday

 

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_YR2HGFqD1CUZHrm4K69SCxn6KHt4V4sSK90C1aPmJE/edit?usp=sharing

Another Sad Day for Indian Cricket

by Avinash Katagi

It is another sad day for Indian cricket, with stories doing the rounds that Mahendra Singh Dhoni’s name is also part of the cricket betting scandal. It reminds us of the day when the then most successful captain India had ever seen, Md Azharuddin, was named in the match fixing scandal that shook India and the world.

As a cricketer who has gone through a very tough battle with himself and a bigger battle with the BCCI which ended only when I quit the game, I think I should talk about the pressures that would have pushed Dhoni into this situation. He was known as this simple boy from Jharkhand who grew up drinking milk. The wonder of such a simple boy turning into a match-winning finisher and then a shrewd captain who got the nickname Captain Cool, has sustained him all these years.

But Dhoni is also growing old. At the last T20 World Cup, he disarmingly told the world media that he is the oldest man in his team. And that is increasingly true. Other than Yuvraj Singh, who is also obviously not at his best, Dhoni is the oldest and is under huge pressure to cope up with younger, fitter and more attacking cricketers. He has to match up to the best of them, and like all of us, he is facing that burden round his neck, of expectations.

Dhoni’s crime in the case of BCCI N Srinivasan and his son-in-law Gurunath Meyyappan is one more of omission rather than commission in my opinion. Perhaps he knew that wrong things were happening, at least where Meyyappan is concerned, but he probably chose to close his eyes to it rather than upset a winning team. I have been in similar situations and other than my captain and friend Ratan Ghatge, I do not know of any others who could have faced up to the situation and fought.

Dhoni’s biggest problem is his fame and his own image. The two are out to crush him and  it is very difficult for anyone in his position to extricate himself without taint. Look at how Azhar is still struggling to overcome what happened to him -- one of India’s greatest players who couldn’t play his 100th test, due to the findings of a committee on match fixing.