Cricket Muhurtham

You are out one evening in that nightmare that is Bangalore traffic, dreading the stress of the journey.  But, surprisingly, you are moving along nicely as if some supernatural power has cut a swathe through the eternal mess and eased your path.  You are confused and wonder what is wrong, correct?? Nothing is wrong - either you are a bit cricket-unaware or forgot that there is a slugfest of a T20 cricket match involving the Indian team, being played somewhere in Asia.  This 'cricket muhurtham' is invariably between 6.30 pm and 10.30 pm, when most of India does a general abdication and congregates around the TV at home or elsewhere, as a family, as a chummy group, as a community, as a neighbourhood. The more adventurous and affluent strain themselves extra, in the name of enjoying the stadium-ambience.  They choose to suffer through the milling crowds to occupy some obscure corner seat, from where you can just about barely tell if it is India or the opponents batting or fielding, nothing more specific.  The beauty is they dont care because they have that genie called the mobile, which can provide context and substance when necessary!  These fanatics like risking lives and limbs, paying huge sums for the ticket and weathering all kinds of headwinds in transportation/car-parking, serpentine queues, endless security checks and enduring a two-hour post-match exit routine.  These are the craziest of the crazies and will do anything, well almost, to get one ticket for the match, especially if it is a momentous occasion like the final of a marquee tournament.  You get the picture, right? This is the muhurtham, akin to the conventional wedding muhurtham, that we are talking about.

The pre-match preparations for the day last only 2-3 hours for the players themselves, but start quite early for the households and take much longer.  Pretty much like the early morning hurly-burly of the wedding day. The elderly grandparents are out of the block first, as in the case of a family wedding - God forbid if their interests are not covered well in the run-up to the match; others will not be able to see the match in peace if the elders are not satisfied.  They are given the pride of place in front of the TV, just as in the case of a wedding.  They get busy around forenoon, organizing their things for the spectacle.  Yes, specs ok, check; water bottle ok, check; dinner will be served at their seats, check; some murukku, cheedai for munching, check; medicine box handy, check and so on.  They sternly warn the youngsters not to mess around with the TV/TataPlay connections `like they did the previous week during the climax of our favourite TV show'. The younger generation gets busy taking care of their swigging requirements, snacks, pizza, etc.  Ladies vow not to enter the kitchen after evening coffee and let others fend for themselves for dinner.  Grandkids living overseas would have already been cautioned not to call during the muhurtam hours and cause unwanted disturbance. This, by the same people who would pillory them for not having the time/inclination to call once in two days otherwise.  The grand old man will check a few times during the day to see the weather is alright in the match location and if TV broadcast is working okay.  

At about 6.29 pm, the eldest of all will curse the match authorities for not doing the toss early enough and announcing the playing eleven.  Expert opinions will be flowing out at the rate of five/minute, with barely any clarity as to who is saying what, exactly as in a wedding context.  Strong dictats will  vociferously be issued by various members of the audience as to what India should do if they win the toss; who should be dropped; which over Bumrah and Hardik should bowl; who should open the batting and why Varun should be in the team.  Some experts would even venture critical opinion of what the opposition should do to contest well, but eventually lose the match.  You see, the essence of all these can be compressed into the two-sentence verdict, framed succinctly by our physical eduation teacher in college - 'Every ball they bowl, we should hit for 4 or 6. Every ball we bowl, we should get a wicket'.  That is how we can ensure victory, indeed. Exaggerated, but very simple but effective counsel.

Toss is done.  If India loses the toss and is put into bat, SKY will nonchalantly say,`we would have batted anyway; this will be a good wicket to bat in the first half'. So, the opposing captain did not see that because he was wearing dark glasses during the toss'? Who is going to clarify that?  If India wins the toss and fields first, the experts will say `there will be dew later on, so bowling first makes sense'.  Even if there is no prospect of dew, expert opinion will go `India fancies chasing here, so they bowl first'.  The beauty of all this is, there are only a handful of possibilities, but a thousand interpretations would gush forth to justify or criticise each option.  That is because each half-warm body in India becomes a seasoned, forceful expert commentator, with cricket.  One is not sure if the same is true of other games like badminton or tennis. May be not, because the noise level is never the same.

Now the game begins and so do the shenanigans in front of each TV.  One sour-face complains that Rinku should have played, without revealing who should have been dropped; he probably suggests a rule change to permit 12 people to bat.  When Ishan Kishan swings and misses Gautam Gambir is blamed.  When Arshdeep Singh gives some width and is splashed for a six, Gautam Gambir is criticised.  As if, GG is asking them to do those things!  When Abhishek plays one of his trade-mark, lofted shots for a six over cover, adulation flows generously.  And when he gets out playing the same shot in the next over but fails to clear the ropes, he is denounced as a novice, who does not learn.  Varun is pasted for 16 runs in five balls and `has lost his ability to deceive the batsman'.  Wait, he sneaks one in and cleans up the timber off the last ball ! Euphoria all over, he has made full amends and has become mystery spinner all over again.  SKY is blamed for tossing the ball to Axar when he could have called on Dube to bowl or vice versa.  This piece of accusation will be levelled only after the end of the over, not at the beginning, after runs leak!  SKY knows he will be blamed anyway, whoever he bowls, so he probably does not care. During a tense phase, the grandfather insists nobody moves for whatever purpose just so the lucky run continues.  And when the next wicket falls, the old man does not try to figure out why the batsman got out, but first he looks for that scapegoat who went to the bathroom, defying the earlier instructions. So on!!  When the match ends and India does win, hurrah, the collective sigh of relief is similar to the release of tension a bride's parents feels after completion of the wedding.  If India loses, psssst, post-mortem continues vigorously and every performance dissected, until nothing more is left.  Tension dissipates into intense disappointment as if a wedding has been disrupted and the groom has absconded without a trace!!  The grandfather typically has identified seventeen instances where a better player from the sixties (he can specify names) would have performed a miracle and saved the match, but has no audience to talk to.  This cycle repeats for every match!

What happens, if on the same day, there is a wedding and a cricket game, that is, a clash of gigantic proportions.  My dear wife points out that this is nothing new and a discreet arrangements have been made during many weddings for people to watch the match away from the wedding scene.  There is always this lurking concern that the match will be obviously a bigger box-office hit than the wedding function itself, but is always brushed aside in the interests of open-minded behaviour.  My wife wryly remarks that she is sure the biggest shout and applause will be for India winning rather than two people successfully settling into matrimony!!

Touche!!