Cricket World Cup 2015: No method in madness of India-Pakistan face-off
“This is Sparta”, the brawny, hunky Gerard Butler roars in that splendidly violent, complex film, 300. And as I stare at the blank screen in the pursuit of finding the appropriate words for the February 15 World Cup opening match (great publicity move, ICC!) between Pakistan and India, who better than Spartans to delineate what a battlefield looks like. Now don’t you - my dear reader from my beloved homeland, Pakistan, and its should-be-but-not-friends-with neighbour, India - say that you don’t think of the cricket field as a “battlefield” when the colours of the players’ kits are that special green and blue. The denial ain’t gonna cut here!
While I wish for my team to break the jinx of World Cup matches when it comes to the Indian team, I groan in anticipation of the stuff that would clutter my twitter timeline and TV screen. All hail to the obsessive love for cricket, misplaced jingoism, OTT expertise of the game, and who-will-be-the-conqueror – nah, merely winning a game doesn’t do when it’s the “traditional rivals” – of the 50-over ODI in Adelaide, Australia.
Forgotten is the glory of our national sport, hockey. Unrecognised are the medals won by boxers, swimmers, wrestlers, chess-mavens, sprinters, shooters, gymnasts, squash, badminton stars. Little is the recognition given to the tennis glitterati. Football is a huge passion here, but the sporting opportunities are limited. And then came the commercialisation of cricket as the ODI format became the rage, and the colours eclipsed the white. The instant gratification became the goal, each ball taking on the resonance of a hammer on a wall in the still of the night. The fastest ton, the most economical bowling spell, the quickest running in the field and between the wickets hallmarked the new sensationalised brand of the staid “gentleman’s sport”. And along came the new heroes. And the rest as they say is ODI cricket as we watch it today.
Undeniable is the amalgamation of blatant and simmering hostility in the “bleed” (a tad much, no?) green and blue spectators, and the players on the field. While most of them share a great camaraderie, and even friendship, off-field, once the coin is thrown in the air, hands are shaken, gloves and pads given an extra tug, helmets pulled down, there’s not merely the predictable tension of any competitive sport, but a palpable air – as thick as the width of a Kookaburra Kahuna bat – of do-or-die when the Pakistan cricket team plays against that of India.
Touted as the would-be-most-watched match in the cricket history, in the picturesque, lush green Adelaide ground, canopied by a dazzling February sky, surrounded by an estimated (sold-out) crowd of 45,000, the two teams led by Misbah-ul-Haq and MS Dhoni will meet in their 127th ODI, thus commencing the nail-biting, slogan-chanting, flag-waving, profanity-spewing, glares-exchanges, and prayers to Allah/Bhagwan/God. Whereas the players are conscious of being watched very closely on millions of screens across the globe, the Pak-India supporters in the Adelaide stadium would be unusually vocal and physical (dancing comes naturally to our part of the world when it’s a joyous moment), and the millions watching it in their homes in Pakistan, India, and globally, would be much more expressive in their enunciations of cheer and gloom. The expletives mostly fall under the beep-beep rating. TV pundits sit on makeshift cricket pitches in studios, and try to outdo one another, not simply with their knowledge of cricket, but also with statements that have little or nothing to do with cricket, or any sport.
Yes, the words “rival” and “rivalry” keep cropping up, with selective amnesia on the Indian side of how-can-a-giant-India-be-compared-to-the-miniscule-Pakistan, and on Pakistani side of how-India-bullies-its-smaller-neighbours. Here the equation balances. The two teams are so similar in some respects that if shown to an unknown-to-cricket human being – sacrilege, such beings exist? – a Shehzad could be mistaken for a Kohli, a Riaz for a Zaheer, an Afridi for a Yuvraj. The sameness of language, shared history, commonness of culture, and similar mannerisms make Pakistani and Indian players the brothers lost in the Kumbh ka mela in childhood, and the resemblance is uncanny, even eerie. Even the playing styles have similarities, and so is the flaring-up of tempers after every five overs.
Many a time the domino effect is seen after the loss of the first three crucial batsmen, the entire team falling like pins instead of coming together to fight, say like the Australians or the Sri Lankans. And many a time the big fight is left to one bowler or one batsman, be it Saeed Ajmal, or Sachin Tendulkar (Ah, Tendulkar! Saying that he’s one of my cricket heroes along with Vivian Richards, Clive Llyod, and Imran Khan would be termed treasonous while the “battle” is about to commence?). The fielding skill of Indians may be satisfactory but since it’s nowhere near that of the Sri Lankans, South Africans, or those Aussies (their almost-perfection keeps me in constant awe), Pakistanis take some consolation as being some of the worst catch-droppers known to the history of any game.
While there’s an undisguised glee in Pakistan at headlines like, “Reigning defender (India) is the underdog in 2015”, there’re guffaws in India at Pakistan’s 7th position in the ICC ranking. Pakistan, albeit its higher number of ODI wins (72-50) against India, has been a shoddy performer in all five WC matches it has played against India: in Sydney in 1992, Bangalore 1996, Manchester 1999, Johannesburg 2003, Mohali 2011. This repeated drubbing has been the reason for many loud-pitched arguments between Pak-India cricket experts, spectators and social media enthusiasts. Sighing audibly, I send a prayer to my team in Australia: come on, boys, play very, very, very (thrice the luck needed when it’s against India in a WC match) well, and break the jinx (again a subcontinental superstition we share with our cricket-obsessed neighbour). Rival? Yes?
As the first ball is thrown, the breath becomes bated; the pulse starts to race; adrenaline levels gets to a new high; new forms of prayers are coined; mannats are offered, and the nerves start to fray. Bookies have panic attacks with each unexpected delivery, a stupendous six, fast three-run, shoddy run-out, a clean cover drive across the boundary and the flying of the middle wicket when a ball strikes it at the rate of 155kmph. The pro-peace endorsers see a platform where amenability is exchanged, and the pappi-jhappi brigade uses it as a perfect forum to exchange flowers, false smiles, and forced pleasantries.
The fabled foes face one another on a ground that is so visible and so evenly balanced that it doesn’t have the remotest resemblance to the barbed wired, heavily-patrolled areas with cross-border firing at the LoC. Nevertheless the comparisons and innuendoes fly faster than Shoaib Akhtar’s ball during his 161.3kmph strike days. Mercifully, such voices are becoming indistinct now. Although the excitement is borderline hysterical, the political correctness to keep a game a game overshadows the desire to take the saccharine out of the smiles, the politeness out of the small talk, and the cattiness out of the shoulder-slapping bonhomie. That @#^&*#&$’s ball, that *&^%$#@’s six, that *@^&%$#’s catch… if only the real words were audible across the borders during a Pakistan-India match, the two armies would finally find a more environment-friendly and cost-free way to protect the borders. But hey, that is so not what the Aman-ki-Asha teaches us. Let us all just exhale… and wait for Feb 15. May the best team – ours, duh – win.
There would be a ghostly silence on the roads on February 15 in Pakistan and India. All personal and other engagements postponed, individual and group screenings have been planned, and only cricket is on the menu. If you’re not a cricket-buff (like my son), you better stay put in your room, or else you’d be cricket-ofied before you can mouth… seriously, man? The flag makers would have a hay day, and face-painting (green-white here and saffron-white-green in India) would mask expressions that range from the gloomy to the ecstatic to the maniacal. The unity of love for cricket. The obsession of winning. The battle of the traditional rivals. The euphoria of a magnificent game. The high of watching an evenly-matched game taken to the realm of brilliance with cricket that takes your breath away once in a blue moon (no pun intended).
Let the madness of a Pakistan-India match begin; this one has no method.