SCHOOL CRICKET

I did my schooling in an elite school. Unmatchable faculty, impeccable classroom ambiance, massive ground — it was perched right at the top of the ‘Fairly Excellent’ charts, back in the day. Recess though, was a great equalizer amongst schools. For we went about utilizing it much the same way as the lesser privileged kids studying in the municipality school closer to home.

The chosen game was cricket, played on concrete slabs with tennis balls. On good days, the wickets comprised of small bricks. Whenever recession hit, pebbles had to suffice. The bat would visibly be a hand-me-down from someone’s elder brother. The ball, being the only perishable item, would come from one of the wealthier kids who’d bring the fact to public notice with annoying frequency. The toss was a bullshit ritual comprising of some upper limb activity of the ‘tosser’ behind his back, culminating in his team getting to bat. (Read the next sentence in Pratibha Patil’s voice). “Let the games begin”.

In our heads, we hit Ganguly off drives, Yuvraj pulls and Tendulkar punches. In reality, though, the only shot worthy of highlights was the Zaheer Khan slog — take a deep breath, close your eyes, do whatever you can to the meteor hurled at you with the wood in your hand. Similarly, in our heads, we bowled Malinga yorkers, Prasad leg cutters, Warne googlies, and McGrath slower ones. But the ones hurled the most were Debashish Mohanty deliveries — run in fast, close your eyes, get rid of whatever is in your hand in the direction of the batsman. The elbow not bending added to your credibility, but was never mandatory.

A wicket was always a test of passion. Optimism was a common trait in the most active parties on either side of the 26 yards (we added a few to conserve adrenaline). The bowler genuinely believed that his delivery outside off-stump had clipped the imaginary bails on its way to the keeper. The batsman felt it rational to claim that the ball passed between wickets without disturbing them. The umpire, in the din, found it difficult to comprehend what his captain wanted out of him at that juncture. Listen in to the ensuing conversation.
“Abe out hai nikal”
“Tu ball daal sirf”
“Abe out hai nikalna banjo”
“Kya bola tu? ” (three times, dramatic increase in volume)
What follows next is a barrage of unmentionables that have been omitted due to difficulty in comprehension. It should suffice to say that a lot of persons absent on the field, arthritic and cricket-incompatible, were duly addressed. The background score, if allowed, would have been.
“ABCD kar li bahut
Thandi aahein bhar li bahut
Acchi baatein kar li bahut
Ab karunga tere saath
Gandi baat…”

So here’s to school cricket. Cheers. The end. Ab nikal.

“Abe out hai,chal nikal !!! ”