Swimming in a Dustbowl

I went to the cricket and I have thoughts

It is time. The Indian and Australian men’s cricket teams are striding out of their dressing rooms in crisp white clothes. The third morning of their Test match starts in a few minutes. Indore is baking hot. Google tells me 27 degrees now, 31 by noon.

India is going through a historic heatwave, recently clocking its hottest February since 1901. That said, overhead conditions didn’t stop fans from thronging the Holkar Stadium over the last two days. I have to turn down the broadcast volume at times because the vuvuzelas are too loud. This match will last another two hours at best, but the sound from the stadium won’t tell you that.

A bunch of young boys belt out the famous ol’ “Indiaaaa, Indiaaa” chant when the camera pans to them; some others wave their hand-painted posters. People have turned up for one session of cricket. They always do, here in India. They bunk work and college just to catch a glimpse of the grand roadshow.

A couple of weeks back, I bunked my Friday meetings to watch the Test match in Delhi. I caught all of the weekend action sitting about fifty yards behind the top of Pat Cummins’ run-up. Maybe even lesser.

Kohli at The Kotla.

Wait a second; the commentators are screaming into the mic. Ravichandran Ashwin has picked up a wicket. Australia, chasing just 75, are one-down by the second ball. This is an absolute minefield of a pitch, and that five-and-a-half-ounce ball seems to carry an extra few grams of venom every time it leaves a bowler’s hand.

Sorry for the digression; I have returned to this after a forty-minute break. I couldn’t look away. Ashwin and Ravindra Jadeja had Australia by their throats. That target of 75 briefly felt like 250 with their vicious, unerring bowling, the Indian fielders encircling batters like tigers sizing up prey, and a large crowd baying for that blood. But now, the two Aussie batters have regained some composure. They’re inching close. We can get back to our lives.

What were we speaking about? Oh yes, Delhi. I had been excited about this match for a long time. I find live sport intoxicating, and the pandemic forced me into a three-year detox. This match at Kotla was my first of any sport since November 2019. En route from Chennai, I packed three jerseys, some caps, a pair of sunglasses. Gideon Haigh’s incredible book On Warne was my read for the flight. Pink Floyd in my ears. I whispered, “let’s do this” as the IndiGo air hostess pointed me to my seat. In my mind, I was setting up scenarios about how this match would play out. Australia were batting first, so they’d probably be bowled out by the end of the day. India could bat long, hopefully well into Day 3, tear into Australia by twilight, and finish the match off by the afternoon of Day 4. Avid cricket fans who have followed recent trends of Indian batting, you’re allowed to laugh at me. It’s okay.

Either ways, I landed in Delhi with a bounce in my step. Went home, hung out with the folks, and slept by 10 pm. Before hitting the sack, I organised the tickets into neat envelopes and set aside fruits I’d have for breakfast the next day. My grandmother hadn’t seen me behave with such nocturnal discipline since school. The six of us making the pilgrimage set out our plans: we stay about 20 kilometres, or a 45-minute metro ride, away from the stadium. We should be on the metro latest by 8 am to have a prayer of landing good seats. We were in the metro by 7:45.

Central Delhi and its smoggy air welcomed us as we alighted from the Delhi Gate metro station. In the lane adjoining the stadium, police officers, dressed in fatigues and heavy jackets, yelled into megaphones that any sharp objects, keys, coins, pencils, food, bottles, etc would be confiscated. Coins too? Okay. Between us, we had about sixty rupees in coins that we were reluctant to throw away. So we bought some chips from a nearby store and handed the packets to the policemen in good spirit. They threw the packets into the sewer running under the main gate.

We reached the entrance to our stand when the first jolt of Ferozeshah Kotla, or most Indian stadiums, hit us. From the first flight of stairs, we could tell every chemical in the odour released from the washroom nearby. Alright then, smell the roses and urinals on the way, they said. As we reached our seats, the second punch to the gut. Seats in that section were either broken or covered in dried pigeon refuse. Many had both. All of them came with a complimentary coating of dust. We found some good seats in the front row to get the best view of the pitch, but the police told us that those were reserved for patrolling guards. Of course.

KL Rahul hoisted Nathan Lyon for a wonderful six to the opposite end of the ground and was soon trapped LBW. Pujara got a standing ovation for his hundredth Test and departed without scoring. The crowd erupted with a roar that is probably still echoing inside the stadium. Virat Kohli was next. I caught all of that sound and some of his walk to the crease, because Kotla stands are designed in a way where cricket is ancillary. In front of us, blocking the view, was a ten-inch wide concrete beam. Because why not?

Beamomania

We were sat in the North-East stand. The sun, conveniently, rose up the sky and set its crosshairs on us. Looking around for water, we couldn’t find any runners carrying bottles. There was a kiosk at the back, where we had to pay 10 bucks for a glass of water, or 50 for soda, drink it there itself, and return to our seats. If you are regularly dehydrated and need to sip on water, well tough luck. Are you here for the match or your gut health?

A couple of us went down during a break in play to scout for food. There was one option: Burger King. It would be a stretch to call what we found as burgers. More in the vicinity of stale buns sandwiching a dry patty of vegetables or meat. But it was food and two of those filled you enough for a few hours, so we shook hands.

As the sun descended, we made more trips to the soda kiosk. Delhi was shuffling between piercing heat and a late-winder chill. The body, confused, demanded more water. In most scenarios, you take the deal of hydrating yourself well, even if it means lots of trips to the restroom; at Indian stadiums, you think hard before deciding. You pit your brain in an endurance battle with your liver. For the next set of 15 minutes, do you want one glass of water or one rep of dirty floors, soiled urinals, and some pure, unfiltered, stench?

The agony ended at 5 pm. We could finally leave. Well, not yet. About twenty thousand people walked in files to the one metro station close to the stadium. The guards there were ill-equipped to handle a stream of this velocity. The first break of crowd happened inside the underground station, which was already too crowded. Some fights broke out, some pushing, some shoving. I may have heard someone speak about a difficulty of breathing. The metro arrived. We could leave now. Only for a few hours; we'd be back tomorrow. Siri, what does masochism mean?

Now, I am aware that a lot of it sounds like a moan. It is meant to. Test cricket isn't always as exciting as Ashwin whizzing a ball past the outer edge of Usman Khawaja's bat and twenty-thousand throats bellowing in anticipation. Most times, it is arduous, boring, and honestly, tough to watch unless you are really into the sport. Going to a stadium means a time commitment of at least nine hours; more, if you are watching One Day cricket, only slightly less for T20. The excitement — fours, sixes, bouncers, wickets, appeals — probably happens once every ten minutes. It is rare to have something happen every over. That makes it a long, long time to be rewarded for your patience.

Fans flock to stadiums despite the design of the game, never because. In the middle of a heatwave, when someone sacrifices the comfort of a cushioned chair and clean air, pays substantial money, the least she deserves is a treatment that befits the investment. Comfortable entry to the stands, clean seats, bare minimum hygiene inside toilets, accessible food and water. No fan will ever complain. Sample this Twitter thread from the same match.

Shilpa Phadké 🇮🇳 @phadke_shilpa

Hey @BCCI @JayShah - in the past 14 months, having been a cricket spectator in 2 of India's biggest cities, along with my young daughter; here's an dxperience we don't wish to encounter ever again: absolutely disgusting toilets in both venues, at Wankhede as well as at Kotla. 1/n

I wish most of these things were wrong only at Kotla. Indian fans, a most passionate, loyal bunch, could've taken comfort at other grounds. Most stadiums fail at every logistical hurdle. The only exception I can remember is the Kanteerava Stadium during the early years of Bengaluru FC. The owners made special efforts towards making the stadium experience joyous for visitors.

Travis Head lofts Ashwin over long-on. Australia are close. Both teams will go into the fourth match with the series still in the balance. By the way, this Test, held in Indore, was supposed to be held in Dharamshala. At the eleventh hour, the BCCI shifted venues citing poor ground conditions. Their press release did not have a word of remorse, never mind an apology to the thousands of fans who would've booked flights and stay at the lovely Himachal Pradesh hill station. I was a few clicks away from being one of those.

Ideally, BCCI should care a lot about its fans. They are, after all, the livelihood of any culture. But that remains a pipe dream in an imbalanced market of infinite demand. If you don't buy a ticket, there is always someone else who will. Indian cricket has the heaviest coffers, and ticketing keeps it packed to the rim. Getting access to a cricket match in India is hard enough to be considered an athletic discipline.

There is a song in the movie Satta Bazaar (1959) which went: “Chaandi ke chand tukdo ke liye, imaan ko becha jaata hai.” For a few pieces of silver, the soul is bartered away in the market. Maybe the lyricist, Gulshan Bawra, was talking about political parties; or maybe he was talking about BCCI in the 21st century. Who knows?

Marnus Labuschagne hits it hard; Australia win the Test. They are a good team and win most times.

BCCI won the Test too. They never lose.