ONCE UPON A TIME………..

Once upon a time Cricket was played for a reason- a warm and beautiful one that spoiled our senses and gave us a motive to watch a healthy sport. And believe it or not, it even had a season. A crazy spell, that had the entire Nation’s ears firmly glued to transistors. ‘What is the score?’ was a redundant refrain, none could refrain from. Coffee breaks in offices often had the entire staff engaged in animated discussions. Any house that owned a Television had friends and neighbours huddled together in bunches, their hungry eyes focused on a wholesome entertainment. Even housewives joined in the flurry of patriotic excitement that often broke out every time the Indians were about to bring home glory. With malicious adulation, every citizen was bent upon dissecting to shreds, an amusement that our colonial masters had burdened us with.

Once upon a time it was ‘white cricket’. Bit by bit, motleys of colours were reinstated into the pallid flannels. The leisurely Test was put to test by the ‘instant’ ODI’s. Floppies were gradually swapped for helmets or what looked more like ‘braces on faces’. Floodlights steered in the ‘ashen’ ball. Ambivalent decisions necessitated the ‘delivery’ of an extra umpire. Technology fashioned cameras at every unspoken angle, keeping in pace with the ball’s speed, its trajectory, its incentive and its purpose. The immobile Umpires soon became ‘mobile’. The players shamelessly shed their clothes, opting for logos instead. The naïve audience morphed themselves into sophisticated Super Selectors. The bookies got busy. The channels grew boundless. Besides the ball, the capital, currency and the cash had all started to take a spin. And a ‘scarlet’ cricket was born!

Once upon a time there were not many programs on the tube. Apart from ‘Chitrahaar’, ‘Hum Log’ and ‘Buniyad’, I even remember watching ‘Krishi Darshan’. In Black and White! Finally, the Delhi Asian Games ushered in the era of the coloured Television. And then there was no looking back. The dam of the small screen had been breached and tele-serials flooded our country.

Come February 9^th 2003 and the Idiot box will be airing another brand new program called ‘Our Wars’. This will last only for a month. Initially this serial was called ‘Star Wars’ as the conception was born after the confrontation between Pepsi and Coke, the two Star companies of a country that do not even know the ‘C’ of Cricket. Then came the haggling of contracts between two Star Boards, the ICC and the BCCI. But since these Stars managed to settle their wars and also since plagiarism is still considered a form of offence, ‘Star Wars’ was cleverly altered.

There is nothing sci- fi or hi- fi about ‘Our Wars’. In fact it is the same old wine in a brand new (very, very expensive) bottle. The intoxicating liquor, stirred by the sponsors and tasted by the mercantile will be bottled by the multinationals. ‘Our Wars’ is all about the different ways and means of combat in various fields. It is the battle between the bat and the ball in the green, green grass of South Africa. It is the conflict between the mothers and their children about the homework and the class-work at school. It is the sparring in the offices between the bosses and the employees about the efficient functioning of the workplace. And it is the scuffle between the husbands and the wives about the remote controlling of the ‘saas bahu’ soap operas.

Once upon a time advertisements on Television brought about an aggravating ‘break’ to the smooth flow of programs. Of late however, they have become very creative, very original and very resourceful. Today I strongly feel that we should have lesser programs and more commercials because Indian advertisements teach us so many useful things in life. For example, Set Max shows us that the path to true enlightenment is by worshiping cricketing Gods like Tendulkar, Dravid, Sehwag and Ganguly. With ‘Saare jahaan se accha, Hindustan hamara’ playing in the background, Pepsi demonstrates that the only way we ‘Hindustanis’ can teach a well- deserved lesson to the likes of Nasser, Jonty, Hooper and Warne is through cunning and deceit (there is no other way our Indian players can break their legs, their arms or their spirit). The younger Nawab of Pataudi ‘lays’ out a simple plan- that a certain crispy, crunchy packet of chips is all it takes to entice the South African spectators into altering their loyalty for their country by cheering for another. But LG surpasses the rest. ‘Nothing else matters’ is the gist of what all the Captains of the world have to say, followed by Ravi Shastri pronouncing in a calm and staid manner that ‘It has got be ‘CRICKEEEEEE FIRST.’ A very valuable lesson on the priorities of life for those on the threshold of youth!

So watch out for the approaching Dooms Month. Whether the World Cup touches our lips or not, there are definitely going to be many a slip on the various fields of our homeland. Whether the World Cup witnesses home territory or not, the ICC will definitely have aided in giving it the extra polish that it needed. And whether the World Cup improves the standard of our players or not, if Navjot Singh Siddhu is the chosen commentator, at least the English vocabulary of the Dutch and the whole of the former British Empire (who will be witnessing the matches come rain or shine), will definitely enhance.

‘Once upon a time we used to play cricket’- This was a banner put up by a cricket lover. Does that mean we do not play cricket any longer? Perhaps not! What we now play is just a game. A game that has the players, the advertisers, the media, the management and the multitudes of masses, all going about on a whirling merry- go- round. Of emotional manipulation and capital exploitation! ‘Once upon a time…’ To many this may sound like the fairy tale beginning of a wonderful story. But to me it sounds more like the sad ending of a beautiful sport.

Nargis Natarajan.