No Virat, No Rohit, No Problem...
Joy, Privilege and 'hardship' of a quick Indian Tour
There can be moments during a 12-hour travel day after four hours sleep in India when irritation and self-pity creep embarrassingly close to the surface, and when they do a self-inflicted punch to the face is the best course of action.
There were close to 45,000 people in the Vidarbha Cricket Association Stadium on Thursday night to watch India thrash a hapless England (again) and around half of them were wearing ‘Virat 18’ replica shirts – only to learn shortly before the start of play that their hero had hurt his knee at training the night before and wouldn’t be playing.
The other half of the crowd seemed to be sporting ‘Rohit 45’ shirts and, although the great man played, he looked uncertain and unconvincing with the bat and his miserable recent form continued. Did these twin disappointments affect the crowd? Obviously not.
Some years ago the frustration at a commentary box with significantly restricted views in an empty stadium would have distracted me. In a full stadium, the line of sight to the field of play was even more compromised by the crowd whenever they rose to their feet, which was often. I pictured a younger me simmering, desperate to do a good job on the mic. This me sizzled with appreciation, swept along by the sheer joy of the spectators. And it wasn’t so hard to bluff what I couldn’t actually see. A trained ear can differentiate, by just a few decibels, the difference between a four and six. What a hiding it was.
The fervour of the crowd in the bucket seats and the streets has never surprised me since the first visit in 1994 when (as a very young reporter!) I was completely dumbfounded, even slightly traumatised. A couple of days ago a young supporter prostrated himself in order to touch the feet of Kohli as disembarked the team bus.
It is easy to deride Kohli for allowing such a gesture of veneration to happen, but what would the ‘judgers’ have thought and said had the great cricketer simply stepped over or walked past the humble young lad instead of pausing and then bending down to help him back to his feet and briefly embracing him.
There are hundreds of police and security officers on duty to keep the public away from the Indian players yet the boy somehow evaded them all and risked a severe flogging, at least, to reach Kohli’s feet. Yet people expect him to keep his eyes and carry on walking?
What has continued to surprise me is the level of veneration and childlike fandom amongst the wealthy and even super rich, many of whom will pay many thousands of dollars to stay in the Indian team hotel just to catch a close-up view of the players – even exchange a greeting or, more likely, deliver one. It still baffles to see a five-star hotel erecting crowd control barriers (albeit made of blue and red silk rope) in the lobby on the morning of a match.
It was a 5:00am start today after getting to bed just four hours earlier in Nagpur. The stop-over in Mumbai was three hours before the two-hour flight to Bhubaneswar for the second ODI in Cuttack on Sunday. There was no escaping the SA20, highlights playing on screens throughout the terminal. It was hard not to believe India has adopted the tournament as it’s favourite pet.
A great deal of money would be sought by logistics experts to plan a more dysfunctional and less efficient security and transit system in Indian domestic airports. It frequently reduces travellers into foetal positions on the floor, between scanners, crying for their mothers. Nothing is ever good enough and nothing is ever the same, belts, watches, batteries, plugs, headphones and bottled water all varying between ‘fine’ and ‘punishable by prison’ between stations. Often in the same airport.
Sorry, I almost punched myself in the face. It’s all fine. Honestly, absolutely Fine.
The hotel in Bhubaneswar is hosting a wedding tonight, a magnificent occasion adorned with hundreds of metres of ‘streamers’ all hand-made with the petals and buds of fresh Jasmin flowers. There was even a last-minute mosquito spray in the poolside reception area, the size of which you cannot buy in a supermarket.
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