It is Not Cricket!
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Dharwad and cricket are inalienably associated. At least that is how I remember of my childhood experiences in Dharwad. An Innocent Abroad Here I am, 5000 miles away in England, thinking of nothing but 'home and cricket' as any Englishman worth his salt would do! Especially as the World Cup is approaching. Like a good ambassador (who lies abroad for the good of the country!) sitting in my armchair I am championing Dharwad cricket The Bells of Karnatak College I grew up literally in the shadow of Karnatak college. From the balcony of my house in Saptapur we could see the gable-end bearing the famous clock (more of it later) of the college as well as hearing every chime of it. As it took us literally 2 minutes after setting off on foot to reach the class, it was almost de rigueur for us brothers to leave home after the first bell. Needless to say we were there to watch every match that was played on the ground whether it was hockey (Campbell cup) or football (Jathar cup) or cricket . The latter, whether a 'country' match between two teams from adjacent "oni", or the white flannel affair between two fiercely competing colleges, that brought with them their vociferous supporters My friends and I would be there even as the college mali was watering the pitch before rolling it on the morning of the match. We would position ourselves behind the official scorer as he spread his scorebook on a table under the neem tree at the west end of the ground. It was great excitement for us as to watch as the fortunes of the teams fluctuated by a good 'hitter' or a seamer with his ball. I still remember the day when a fiery fast bowler by the name of Thombat broke a stump when he clean bowled a batsman. There used to be a colourful character called Tagarpur, who used to pop up in every sport, including cricket. We watched the progress of the game as a dot or a '2' or '4' was entered by the scorer in the box as an over was bowled. We shared the excitement of the fielding side as the scorer joined the dots to fill a single box with one large M or W to indicate a maiden over or a wicket maiden.(We were too innocent to know of wicked maidens then!). The belles Often the crowd would suddenly swell. It was usually at the end of a period when the college clock and the bells marked the hour. On occasions it would be the belles that brought the crowd out as they pretended to watch the game. A few girls did have a great following ! Some 'smitten' boys followed them more than the cricket game. One particular femme fatale comes to my mind. Called "M", she had assets to challenge Madonna. I am not talking of her singing prowess here! Even a few batsmen turned the boys' heads. As for instance when Shroff hit a six which soared so high that it smashed the college clock and the time stood still till it was repaired! At least that was the story we all liked to believe as it sounded so exciting! As the bell fell silent one had to depend on the principal's peon ringing the bell at the end of the hour. An Innocent at ' Home' We were probably 12 or 13 at that time. Very green. We idolised cricketers and cricket. We were lapping up all the statistics that the papers dished out (some of them wrong, thanks to the printer's devil). We all knew how Bradman missed out an average of 100 by a four.We felt so sad that there was no bowler or a fieldsman generous enough to allow him a boundary in his last matchI We knew that only one man (till recently) had taken 19 wickets in a test match. (It was so exciting when later on, after I moved to England, I could watch and listen to him Jim Laker, every season as he commented on the televised cricket matches in England). Now' of course ,even my dear Dumbal wouldn't fumble at recalling Kumble tumbling that record,or equalling it to be more precise. We followed our heroes around. A 'Ranji' in Dharwad! The very first Ranji Trophy match in Dharwad was scheduled in 58 or 59 between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu.Having spent the first decade of my life in Ooty, I had a soft corner for anything Tamil. I was fond of Singh brothers- Kripal Singh (a 100 0n his debut) and Milkha, who played for that State.The team arrived the previous day.We sussed out the team's "hotel". My pals and I cycled to Malmaddi T B (Travellers' Bungalow, for the non-medical minded) where the Madras Team was staying for the duration of the match. In those days the cricketers hadn't reached the cult status enjoyed(?) by the present day idols and were more down to earth. As we hunted our idols down from room to room to get their autographs I noticed that there were even a few college student cricket fans. They were genuine fans whose hearts fluttered by watching the batsman sweeping the leg- breaks than saris sweeping the college corridor! I asked one man sitting on a bed "We have come to get Milkha Singh's autograph." "Yes, give me your book, it is me", he signed Milkha Singh in an illegible manner. We were taken aback. It was so easy. But hang on. He has no beard! Moreover his face looks familiar. But innocent that we were, we went on half in disbelief and half in amazement. We went on in our search Milk of Human Kindness I found a cricket lying on the bed after the gruelling journey from the Madras plains. "Relaxing?", I asked as I proffered my autograph book to the hirsute Sardarji. "It is all right. I,m Milkha Singh", he said and graced my book with his autograph! How I cherished it! Only at the end of the day did I realise that the clean-shaven man who had plagiarised my idol's signature wasn't Milkha Singh at all, but Tagarpur! Somehow hehad infiltrared their den. I felt so embarrassed and cheated. It wasn't cricket, was it ,to cheat the kids?
I am looking forward to see what present day Bradman, Sachin, is going to do this
summer in England in the World Cup Cricket |
| -"Pardes'i". |