The problem with Indian Cricket

Every once in a while I get infected by that one common disease that has plagued Indian Cricket Fans in the past decade at least. In the past 30 odd years that I’ve followed Indian Cricket I believe I’ve suffered from this disease for at least 20 years. This rather irritating and often depressing cureless disease called ‘Hope’. 

It starts with complete destruction of any wishes to watch any more cricket featuring your team. Most recently which happened on 19th Nov last year. I turned off all social media, blocked the term ‘cricket’ and quit all subreddits that involved ‘cricket’ of any kind on that fateful day. For a brief period of time after that I’d prefer not to watch any cricket at all. My friends, who are just as infected, would get angry if anything related to cricket popped up in any conversation. If any cricket match came up on the tv, I’d switch channels. For a month or so I thought this will help me move on. 

Obviously this disease doesn’t go away just like that. A few months later this cacophony of cricket, money and pointless-fanfare starts streaming for free on some Jio service. This circus called IPL; and invariably, as all cricket addicts who suffer from hope do, I watched those matches in secret. My friends were watching it too, I knew, but never discussed anything about it at all, because when has an addict ever accepted that he’s suffering from an addiction, eh? So we watched, past midnight. A few weeks later some random chap scores something unbelievable in one of those random IPL matches. And like every doom scroller past midnight - I think there’s something interesting finally. This is where the infection slowly returns without you even noticing. You see a new chap, a new style of cricket, and then as you’re staring at the ceiling fan while trying to sleep, you start the one thing that the infection demands from your mind - you imagine. You imagine a team that is driven by such talent. You imagine this talent turning around Indian Cricket. You imagine this cricketing style to save you from embarrassment. You see a Saurav Ganguly, you see an MS Dhoni, you see a hint of Tendulkar, a little bit of Kohli. All the while, the infection has creeped in and has now gripped you with its thorns deep into your psyche. Because right there, past midnight, as you lay awake imagining, you start to Hope. 

Once in its grip, you don’t do anything on your own. Hope does everything. You muster enough courage to bring back the topic of Cricket when speaking with your folks. You don’t realise that they too were desperately waiting for someone to break that ice. And when you bring back memories of Ganguly, Tendulkar, and the VVS Laxman on-drive that’s all Hope needs to spread. Anyone who even overhears the conversation now suffers from Hope. Instagram is reinstalled, you start liking all posts that talk about the new sensation. Meanwhile there are even better pointless-matches in the IPL and you start openly discussing and looking forward to more IPL. And with all renewed hope, you now wait for the next chance at redemption. 

That redemption never arrives though. Chances do, and you watch with all your will and expectations. You play the sport right there in your mind with the entire team as it happens in the stadium. You’re right there on the ground as they make the same mistakes again. You’re yelling at the top of your voice never realising that you’re barely in front of the tv and the only person hearing your advise is the tv remote you’ve been holding tight all the while. You watch with helpless eyes as they fail even more gloriously than they did the last time. A part of you is already crying at the abject surrender while another part of you believes you’re tougher than a sport. In a few minutes you realise you cannot hold on to the remote anymore and, as you let go, a part of you dies right there with the last ball of the match as the surrender is complete. The stupid game, is over. The ageless cricket fan in you has died again. The debt of hope, is finally paid. 

Next morning, you’ve uninstalled all social media. You meet your friends and discuss the political scene in North Korea. You heave a sigh of depressed-yet-hopeful relief. And as you walk back home, an advertisement hoarding catches your eye - Health Insurance sold by Sachin Tendulkar. In a deep-yet-unforgotten corner of your labyrinthian mind there’s a tiny little spark. And with a blink of an eye with you not even realising, it starts - all over again.