Sachin at Sharjah, Kohli at MCG: Why we keep returning to cricket
Side Lower Berth: This coloumn is on observations about India and Indians from the best vantage point.. Abhishek Asthana is a tech & media entrepreneur
Side Lower Berth: This coloumn is on observations about India and Indians from the best vantage point.. Abhishek Asthana is a tech & media entrepreneur. He runs a creative agency called GingerMonkey & is also the Co-founder of Knot Dating, a VC funded matrimony startup. I think it was a Friday. A nippy October evening in the early 90s. A time when people in different parts of our country were manufacturing horrendous events to be adapted by Bollywood 30 years later. Punjab, Kashmir, Bihar, Tamil Nadu etc - it was the Ranji trophy of tragedy. Times were not that great. And that day was another addition to the list.Aquib Javed, the Pakistani pacer, had just run through the Indian batting line-up. India were bundled out for 190, chasing 262 in the Wills Trophy Finals at Sharjah. Yes, It was a Friday.I distinctly remember walking back from Gupta ji’s house with my heart heavier than my school-bag. Gupta ji was the Area-rich-guy, a local maxima, who not just had a TV, but also an inverter-battery setup. Being rich in India was just about insulating yourself from the governmental apparatus. Govt Schools, Hospitals, Electricity etc. The first thing you did with money was to buy yourself immunity from the state. 30 years later it is still true.Gupta ji would switch on his Onida Color TV, hook it up to the battery, and open the doors of his house for all the colony kids & adults to watch Ramayan & India-Pak Cricket matches, uninterrupted.His heart was definitely larger than his living room.
That’s what Rich people did in those days, they let you watch TV. And they basked in the glory of the turnout. That’s how they counted their wealth.“OUT”The room let out a collective sigh. Sachin had just got dismissed on a duck. LBW to Aaquib. After collecting his composure, Gupta ji looked at us & flashed a wry smile. The gold in his tooth gleamed. It was a signal for the crowd to dissipate. There was no use of lingering on, and sucking up precious battery life. The ETA of grid electricity was still 2-3 business days.And we all walked back to our respective un-batteried homes, heartbroken.And then something strange would happen. Life outside refused to cooperate with my grief. The paani puri wala continued serving customers as if nothing had happened. A little girl happily argued for one extra sukha puri. An uncle negotiated over the price of potatoes as though the 3 farm laws had been passed. Auto-walas happily refused customers. Nobody looked devastated. Nobody appeared emotionally destroyed by India's middle order.I would look at all of them and wonder whether they had discovered the secret to a happier existence. Maybe they simply didn't follow cricket. Maybe they had wisely decided that voluntarily attaching their emotions to the performance of eleven strangers was not a sensible life choice.After all, what exactly had I lost?No money.
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