Tag: Cricket

The Sounds of Cricket

India has always been host to the resounding sound of cricket. The game and the insect. Television crews lose no time in covering the game non-stop, while the sound of crickets in the hills don’t seem to warrant coverage. Though, there is just as much excitement there if you ask me. 

We had gotten away from the immediate hustle and bustle of the city, and were thus allowed the luxury of listening to the sounds of nature. We shushed each other with rather more vigor and noise than was necessary and finally, the room quieted down. The sun was setting outside. Combined with the excellent company, the warm conversations reminiscing some of our pleasant times together, the beautiful light filtering into the room,  and the thrumming of crickets all around us, it all made for a surreal calm setting. I could imagine what people meant when they said ‘ports from the storm’ in that setting.

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I had no idea how many crickets would be required to produce a racket like that, and filed the question away for another time. That is the sort of the thing that the son would find amusing to find out. In the meanwhile, my friend was telling me about she noticed that at 7 o’clock sharp, the sound of crickets just died down. This was curious. So it wasn’t at sun-down. It was a few minutes past sun-down. 

The act of producing the sound is called stridulation, it meant that the thrum buffeting us in the hills was the sound of vibrant life finding a way to thrive in its environs. Much as the hum of entertaintment in the form of games, music and televised stories in our cities is a sign of thriving life of humans. 

The sounds of a species do have a story to tell – though I envisioned this line of thought quickly devolving to burps and farts, and wisely held my tongue. Just as my friend said, the clock ticked from 6:59 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. and the sounds instantly died down. An eerie quiet filling the void in its space. 

Later that night, after we had played a game of cards and quietened down for the night, a few minutes after lights were out, the sounds of our whispered conversations, the giggles of the children, and the admonishments of the older folks all died out. Just as sudden and just as deafeningly as the crickets earlier that evening.  

I smiled, and clearly exhausted drifted off to sleep myself, the lack of sound a cocoon for which I was grateful. 

Love Thy Spouse

I must preface this post with the following details:

Now, let’s get on with the events of the 19th anniversary celebrations, shall we?

T’was the anniversary hike. The hills were alive with the sound of Cricket.

We had reached the bottom of the hills after a marvelous time amidst the clouds and the green mountainsides. I remember telling the husband after a particularly long moo-ing breath that decades ago, we might have run up this hill just so we could.  The husband let out some deep breaths up and down his left and right nostrils and shook his head. The best part of that hike was the climbing was all done in one shot: The ugly huffing and puffing that the young couple of decades ago would have smirked at, was done with, and we were enjoying the lolling downhill. The sky was exceeding itself with all its beautiful paint strokes of the sunset, and the husband found speech again. As if making up for the quiet on the way up, he chattered on.

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I settled into the comfortable rhythm of hmm, uh..huh, and hee-hee while he rattled on about the injuries, the setbacks, the brilliant sequence of events that contributed to the legendary win for India. I couldn’t resist a smile at this boyish enthusiasm.

Boys and cricket!

“And the behind-the-scenes videos by Ashwin – mind boggling!” He gushed. I nodded painfully. I don’t know whether you have the experience of seeing your loved one sneak into bed at 2 a.m. and then surreptitiously watch a cricket interview on his phone after the match. It is not recommended. How many mornings since that blasted win have I rolled over in bed first thing in the morning to see my loved one cackling at something that happened in the match? Apparently, one of the fellows, Ashwin, runs a swell YouTube channel as a side job, giving the inside scoop, while his wife tweets the inside-beside scoop of the inside scoop-er’s side of things.

Cricket

All I can say is that I am grateful he has a bunch of friends with whom he can share his ball-by-bat analysis.

Now, apparently, life has been going on in full swing for these fellows playing cricket. Amidst other things, the Captain of the Indian cricket team went on paternity leave just before the series match in Australia, so the vice captain stepped in. I’ll spare you reams of analysis, 50 you-tube videos and a few hours on Twitter with a gist: Captain has Personality, vice-captain has Different Personality. 

“There is only one man who changed for the better because of marriage, and that is Kohli.” said the love of my life.

We were on flat land again, but really! The man was heading towards a precipice, and completely unaware of it.

“Uh-huh!”  Had the man been less involved in cricket, he might’ve caught the drop in temperature of this uh-huh from the uh-huh of 3 minutes ago, but as it turns out, secondary sportsmen are very passionate. He rattled on about how Kohli had been a sort of aggressive this-and-that and how he was now a so much nicer this-and-that.

I uh-huh-ed again. This uh-huh needed a jacket, but the man went on.

I stopped him, and slowly, lovingly held his hand as I walked him out of the precipice. “Hm…honey, what did you say about the institution of marriage changing only one man so far for the better, and that is Kohli?”

The man gasped and blinked like a fish that temporarily came up to see the moon, and realized the sun is shining brightly overhead.

“I don’t know about you darling, but I think I have changed a lot for the better after my marriage to you. “ I said, and flitted my eyelashes like I’d seen heroines do in movies 40 years ago.

He threw his head back and laughed. A weak, watery laugh, and he charged back from the cliff. “Oh of course, I didn’t mean you of course. You have been awesome. I mean Kohli became likable after his marriage to Anoushka. You know how it is?”

I said I did not.

He explained on. I was rather enjoying this exchange by now. I stood by, ever the helpful, loving wife, watching him extricate his foot that he had unwittingly lodged into his mouth. It took some time, but he did it, and we headed back holding hands and laughing. 

I am glad to say that in our marriage: 

He watches cricket while browsing, I make fun of him for it. 

He watches dozens of useless movies, I roll my eyes at him for it. 

I read while doing yoga and he makes fun of me for it. 

I go out on dozens of walks and come back mooning about nature, he rolls his eyes at me for it. 

So, all is well.

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Fantasy : A Necessary Ingredient to Living?

The list of things that keep us up at night has become more bizarre as the days go on.  I chronicle what was the state of affairs about a week ago because I just let time slip by me.The son had a spot of a cold. He spent a few nights sniffling and having trouble taking in those deep, fulfilling breaths so essential to sleeping fitfully through the night. The humidifiers have been called to action and Herr Mozart has been making his nightly appearances to induce sleep in the child and mother to poor avail. After the third night of this grand party, I was looking for ways to get the husband to gallantly step forward and take on night duty and made a few pitiful noises. But it was sadly lost in all the noises around the home, and elicited no response whatsoever.

I looked around to see the husband sticking to his laptop like a frog to its lily-pad. You see, over the past few weeks, I have been noticing the sincere man bent double over his laptop with a serious, worried expression on his face. Me being the supportive w. and all that, I decided to give him the time to think and delve or whatever it was he was doing. I obviously assumed it was something to do with his work. You know? The noble task of putting food on the table kind of work. Slowly, however, I noticed that this mysterious work had a way of popping up during after-dinner dishwasher time or the before dinner all-hands-on-deck time or getting-the-daughter-to-school in the mornings time. Very shifty the whole thing was.

“I have an early meeting tomorrow morning – a fitful night’s rest is necessary I think.” said the husband before I could beat him to it, making a point of stretching his arms in that tired manner that induces sympathy. If I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep myself, what of it?  I bade him a good night’s sleep and sent him to the guest bedroom and sought the assurance of the humidifier and Eucalyptus oil. It was about 3 a.m. when the son woke up sniffling again and cried for the 6th time that night.  Thinking that a hot cup of milk will probably do the trick, I set out amid the mists of sleep enveloping the night air that was thick with sleep to the kitchen downstairs. It was when I was creaking up the stairs again that I saw a faint light emanating from the guest bedroom. I went in to see what happened. I mean, the important-meeting-goer needed his sleep right?

There he was, squinting into his girdle-shaped phone with that same mysterious expression. It was too much for me. I asked him what the matter was. There was a sheepish expression on his face and I caught on  like a blood hound and said, “Confess now, my friend! What is going on?”

The story came tumbling out. Apparently, the husband had been playing in the Fantasy Leagues of Indian Cricket and since the matches take place in Indian Standard Time, he has been getting up at all sorts of hours and checking his players, switching out his teams and what-not. He evaded the glare on my face and said, “You should be proud of me. I have come up to the second position from the 8th position solely by  strategic planning and thinking.”

I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to summon pride at 3 in the morning at a man who is proud of his victories at the Fantasy League matches. But I bravely reminded myself about Dr. Seuss’ words :  Fantasy is a necessary ingredient to living.  I smiled at the husband and told him as much.

 Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living Dr Seuss quote

I then, did some strategic thinking myself and gave him the warm milk to take to the crying toddler. My fantasy was to get into the snug bed in the guest bedroom to catch a few hours sleep.

Childhood Heroes and Cricket

Once upon a time, about a decade ago, or more precisely a few days after our wedding, the newly wed husband of mine was chatting up my younger brother. I lolled around in the background listening to the boys taking in the sights and talking about Cricket.

“Do you remember Kapil Dev’s batting in the 1983 World Cup?” asked the husband breathless with excitement. Clearly, it was one of those turning points in his life because that was the time he remembers the transformation in his image. The time he became the go-to-guy in the extended family. Suddenly, all his young uncles and their friends could bank on the lanky, shy eight year old boy to tell them all about Cricket. He had every player’s statistics at his fingertips. He had an audience for his gospel on batting techniques and strategic fours and sixes. Through all the frenzy, one special hero emerged: Kapil Dev. Kapil Dev was the hero for an entire generation. How many times have boys fought over who can be the Kapil Dev in their roadside matches?

Life moves on, however. Memories recede to farther and farther corners of the brain and sometimes fade. Only we realize that some memories don’t fade. They simply lie there waiting to be awakened again. One such was the Kapil Dev memory. It so happened that the husband got to meet his childhood hero recently.

When he came home after meeting the Cricket legend, I asked him how the experience was and he said,
“You know? As a boy I dreamed of meeting Kapil Dev and never once did I stop to think what I would say to him if I did.” The strange thing is, the intervening years seem to have done nothing in that department. He continued, “I had all week knowing I was going to meet him and I still didn’t think about what I was going to say to him.”

A glassy look came over his eyes and he went on mute. There I was waiting to listen to the rest of whatever else happened at the tip of my chair, but there was nothing. The eager wife waiting for the hero-blessed-husband to chat was left wanting. There was silence. Well he was sipping his coffee, so the slurping noise filled the gaps but not much else. I prodded him gently by poking his ribs and yelling “HEY! ”

He “Uhhned?” and said, “It must be really hard being a celebrity. Imagine, I went there and told him it was nice to meet him, but my heart was thumping that it was nicer still to take a picture with him. That’s all most people were interested in. A picture to be posted on Facebook.”

But the husband brought up a good point. What do you say to the celebrities? They certainly inspire us to dare to dream, but what do the celebrities get out of the exchange?

The husband got this…..

Kapil Dev
Kapil Dev