UNDER THE LIGHTS OF EDEN GARDENS

Kolkata
25th May 2008, Sunday

The clock struck 6 when the car arrived. While getting ready to go, it occurred to me to wear my white college T-shirt as per the promise I had made to my friends in a social networking site. This was supposed to make them spot me in the crowd . We made a quick scan of things to be taken and avoided and then hopped into the car. There were five of us which included me, my family and a couple of my father's students. Everything was set and we were ready to go.
By the way, I forgot to mention that we were going to the Eden Gardens Cricket Stadium to witness a match of the ongoing Indian Premier League between the hosting Kolkata franchise and the visiting Mohali franchise. I was going to watch a match live in a stadium after nineteen years. Coincidently, it so happens that this is also the number of years that I have been on this earth. If we eliminate the possibility of me being an alien then we are left with only one answer. This would be my first live match in a stadium and boy, was I looking forward to it!
We were finally on our way. Very soon we had reached the main roads of Kolkata and were now amidst its hustle and bustle. Traffic lights seemed to be a prominent feature here and could be found in every corner. Such was our luck that we hit almost every single red light on our way. Mathematically, we were in phase with those lights.Well, the city of joy doesn't seem quite joyous if one is looking to reach a destination on time. As we moved along my mind was clouded by thoughts (not that it was new to me), thoughts backed up by corresponding emotions, the emotions of a young and passionate follower of cricket who was about to witness something big. I don't think my emotions were very well portrayed on my face which was justified by my mother's statement which said- "Why Apu, You do notquite seem very excited about your first match despite being such a passionate cricket lover?"
Passionate indeed, or rather an understatement. I considered myself as one of the greatest fans of cricket. I don't quite remember when I first watched cricket but I had started enjoying it during the onset of the new millennium when I was eleven. Of course I watched cricket but along with that I had these unique knacks of observing the stadium and carefully following the commentary. The latter helped me quite a lot in improving my actual game on the field. I had a group of friends with whom I played almost daily. But unfortunately the circumstances did not allow us to play with a leather ball. This left me with a major flaw as far as my cricketing skills were concerned. But despite all the odds I still managed to make it to my school cricket team. But what I thought to be a major leap forward turned out to be an insignificant one-off chance as I was soon caught in the stressful trap of academics of high school. Well, that was probably the painful end of my dream as I had to take several other factors into considerations, the first one being that age was no longer on my side. Sounds funny but that's how it is in India. Seventeen-eighteen was just too late to start. I also had to consider the number of "passionate cricket lovers" in this cricket crazy nation. I definitely was not alone (Let the number be n). When you compare this figure with eleven,which is the number of players who are in the team, then thinking of the remaining n-11 could give unpleasant thoughts. Oh well! it was asad situation but by no means could it dampen my spirit towards the gentleman's game. Besides following each and every match in any formof the game, I also had my own manifestations of cricket the mostprominent one being the one played indoors with a T-T ball. I had also continued to nurture my commentary skills which was of course my lasthope of being close to cricket. But I still believe that I had it inme to make it to the big stage.
My ride towards being a spectator of the big stage meanwhile, had come close to its goal. We had reached Park Street and were now getting a glimpse of the floodlit Eden Gardens with its lights illuminating the whole sky above Kolkata. One final red light and then the intensity of brightness kept increasing as we neared the stadium.Gate number four was where we had to report Due to a shortage of experience regarding a real stadium, I was clueless regarding our gate. But our Bengali driver knew exactly whereto drop us and he did so. Now this should have been the part I had dreaded the most, had there been a long queue. Its surprising absence
got us inside in a flash. We showed our tickets, went through the routine security check, and completed a couple of pr-event emergency formalities. Now only a second round of ticket-checking was what lay between me and the ground. The excitement had now scaled heights which left my heart pounding and my stomach churning. But I was enjoying it and somewhere inside wanted it to last a bit longer. I guess that is why I took my eyes off nearby gate ahead of us which had just given me a glimpse of the green with a floodlight in the background. Perhaps I also did not want to ruin my mental picture of the stadium and subsequent events. Drawing mental pictures is quite a common human tendency and which more often than not, turns out to be absolutely different. Despite this our anxiety forces us to create one before any new event.
"Apnar teecket ta kothaye?" asked the bengali security official in charge of the gate which meant- where is your ticket? "Theek aache!"or go ahead was his call. It was a bit astonishing that the guys responsible for handling the base of a multi-ethnic place dealt in their local language. Anyway who cared now. My nineteen year drought was finally over. I was now inside the best and the biggest stadium in India. My mental picture in this case turned out to be quite accurate which was not surprising, taking into account my stadium observing habit on television. An exception though was that the biggest stadium seemed rather small. Carrying on, we had a few confusions regarding the location of our seats which were in the lowest tier. A policeman showed us the way. It was while I was climbing the endless stairs to our row, when I started to realise the magnitude of the stadium. At last we were seated. I checked the stadium clock which struck ten past seven. With too many things to look at, I decided to go one at a time.
My eyes first hit the cricketers, who were busy with their nets session. My mother, who was not quite as passionate as I was, or actually lost any bit of it owing to my over-interest, was also starting to get the kick. She asked me to spot a few stars for her.Now this was when I realised that my first perception of the ground being small was absolutely wrong. The players looked quite ordinary and indistinguishable. But now it was a question of my prestige.Having watched so many hours of cricket on television, thereby depriving my mother of her freedom, I could not have afforded to tarnish my own reputation. With a good height and long hair it was not quite difficult to spot my contemporary pace bowler, Ishant Sharma. Iwasted no time in naming him. Soon my mother and I got into a spotting spree. Shoaib Akhtar, Sourav Ganguly, Umar Gul, Irfan Pathan,Yuvraj Singh, AjitAgarkar (whom my mother spotted!) and Romesh Powar were a fewrecognisable faces we managed to spot. Preity Zinta, the owner of theMohali team was the only non-cricketing star we saw as her counterpart, Shahrukh Khan could not quite make it.
With still a few minutes to go for the toss, I gazed around the stadium with amazement. The crowd turn-up was no where near the actual stadium capacity, a rare scene at Eden Gardens. This could be attributed to the fact the home team had already been eliminated from the competition. But this was not going to demoralise the very attractive and talked about cheerleaders, who went about their routine nano-skirt fluttering dance steps each time the music was played. After enjoying a nice glance at them, I looked up to check out the huge towers under the lights of which the Eden gardens bathed. It was like an array of white dots floating in a sea of the black night sky. I took a sigh of relief on the fact that it was clear as I had had an early morning nightmare of the match being washed out, which in principle is considered an ominous sign. I just shrugged off all those negative thoughts and let my mind drift into the glorious past of this the oldest ground in India. The very famous B.C.Roy pavilion, the giant electronic board, the characteristic lush green outfield and of course the great clashes which have taken place here. The first match which came into mind was the India Australia test match of 2001which was arguably the best ever held at this venue. The match was highlighted by the outstanding performances of Harbhajan and Laxman whose efforts took India home. The Hero cup finals in 1992 and the Indo-Pak test in 1999 which was followed by riots were other such historic matches which flashed in my mind.
The two Captains finally arrived for the toss. Sourav Ganguly was leading the Kolkata Knight Riders and Yuvraj Singh, the Kings XI Punjab from Mohali. The latter was definitely the stronger side with bigger names and a better performance in the IPL. I still decided to support the Knight Riders as I did not want to end up being alone in this huge gathering of supporters. As I had guessed it was Arun Lal who assisted them in the middle but gave rather lethargic welcome to the 50,000 odd in the stands. Yuvraj Singh won the toss and elected to bat first. A few more minutes, and the fielding team was out and doing its final touch ups. As the batsmen walked out the crowd came in unison for the first time to give a loud cheer. Umar Gul ran in to bowl the first ball with the Aussie Shaun Marsh facing at the other end. As Gul released the first ball, the next thing I knew was that the point fieldsman had the ball in his custody and the crowd cheered.What happened in between was a mystery. I recalled an acquaintance's words describing this kind of a situation. I tried my best to focus on the ball in the subsequent deliveries but not with much success. After a good start the Kings XI finally lost their first wicket in James Hopes who was trapped plum Leg before the wickets. It took me a replayon the giant screen to clarify myself. Of course my parents are yet to understand what exactly happened. Kumar Sangakkara, who was the next batsman, did not appear to be in a mood to waste any time as he hit two huge sixes which landed straight in the crowd. My mother and I exchanged nervous looks reminding each other of the hypothetical notion discussed between us, of wearing a helmet during the course of the match to avoid the white leather meteorite hitting us. As the innings progressed, Kolkata scalped a few more thereby making way for Yuvraj. Yuvi lived up to his reputation and sent a couple towering out of the ground. The elegant wicketkeeper batsman went on to complete a quick fire fifty. Lankan skipper Jayawardene contributed too. During the course we gradually tried to accept the fact that it was not the easiest task to get the ball as deep into the stand where we were. The knight riders struck late in the innings thereby restricting the visitors to 175 in their allotted twenty overs. It was a decent tota lconsidering the past scores in the IPL.
During the break my stomach expressed its dissatisfaction to the rule of not allowing outside eatables. I also wanted to get one of those placards which had 4 and 6 printed on them to take home as a souvenir.On my way to the gate I noticed a couple of security people sitting on those cards. On asking where they got it from they told me that it was being distributed free but somehow or other I had missed it.Anyway I bought myself some chips and a soft-drink and marched off.One of the stalls on the way sold the Knight Riders T-shirt. One can be sure of some exorbitant prices with these multinational sports merchandisers. Well, I still dared to hope against hope, which was soon shattered as I saw the price tag which read Rs. 1499. I was returning to the stands, heartbroken by the fact that I had no other souvenir except for that ticket. The ticket which we had managed to avail at the last minute despite having ample time, thanks to a couple of mismanagements by an internal source, namely my father. Anyway what mattered now was that I was midway through that match. On my way back,when I saw a bunch of those cards with the policemen, suddenly there was a ray of hope. So I thought of giving it a shot. I started off in Hindi but seeing the other guy reply in Bengali I decided to put all the bits and pieces of Bengali which I had picked up over the years from acquaintances, to a test. He insisted on giving one but I said "dooto"meaning two. He was reluctant but agreed. I thanked him and was about to leave when he asked," Batting ke korbe?"- Who will bat? I very cheerfully replied "Amaar dada batting korte ashbe!"-Dada was about to bat.That was more than enough to get him flattered. He happily replied,"niejao! niejao!"-take it! take it! I felt quite satisfied now.
It was not long before the next innings started. This was one of the advantages with this new T20 format which did not waste too muchof time. The Kolkata openers walked in to a huge roar as one of them was the crowd's very own Sourav Ganguly. The knight riders started off well before losing Pakistani opener Salman Butt for 24. After that the innings was just not able to gain any sort of momentum as they kept losing wickets at regular intervals. They were soon reduced to 90/6and were in dire straits. Sourav Ganguly though had firmly held his ground on the other side and was fast approaching a half-century. But these little known local players were proving to be useless and the match on the whole had started to become highly boring.
I had never thought that I would want to leave the stadium midway through my first match. Well that is how the situation was. I thought for a while of my grandfather's advice of leaving the stadium early to avoid the crowd. However I brought all my off-field cricket experience together and recalled how and why cricket was called a funny game. A possibility of a miracle was now becoming dim. The monotony of the game made me feel bitter and negative thoughts started creeping into my mind. What were these players being paid for? You get all these new methods of bidding for players and team and this is what they offer us. What would I tell my friends? Maybe, agreeing that the match was boring but stressing on the fact that I at least saw one of the best stadiums in the world, would be an apt explanation. But the Eden Gardens ceased to appear as one of the best as I have started to sieve out all its defects. How could they possibly allow smoking at such a major public place? I noticed yet another security lapse in the form of a man taking shots with his digicam which was strictly prohibited. As far as the stadium structure was concerned, the architects seemed to have focused more on depth of stands rather than height which made the audience feel far from the action at the centre. The dingy seating arrangement was a major flaw. The lack of shades around the stadium was yet another example of the designer's callousness. It was not hard to see that the focus was more on packing up the stadium above capacity without leaving behind any interstices. Simultaneous to this thought I recalled an archive picture of a stand in this ground filled up with people for a test match, each of whom had just managed some cloth orthe other to cover their head, to protect themselves from the mercilessly blazing sun - a picture symbolizing the true spirit of India and its people towards cricket. This automatically siphoned out all the hostility from my mind and prompted me to consider myself lucky to have gotten an opportunity to watch the shortest version of the game and that too on a pleasant Sunday evening. This catalysed a flurry of positive thoughts in me.
My positive thoughts apparently managed to creep into Umar Gul'smind, who did not seem to be in any mood to hold himself back. With about 50 runs to get off less than half the number of balls, Umar Gulcut loose and swung one for a maximum. "That's great!", I said, "butwe will require a few more of those!". At your service sir and he hitone over the bowler's head for the same result. The crowd erupted inanticipation. There was a glimmer of hope. Sourav Ganguly now followedon the lines of Gul and hit a couple out of there. The crowd was infrenzy now and the Eden Gardens finally came alive. All of them chanted in unison- "Dada! Dada!"for their local hero. I myself could not resist standing up on the benches and joined in the party. I alsoshed all my inhibitions and finally brought those placards to theiractual use. Umar gul departed soon but not before playing a valuablecameo. A few more lusty blows from the skipper and the match was nowthrillingly poised with 15 runs to get off the last over. A rathernervous Irfan Pathan was handed over the ball with the undeterred Royal Bengal tiger on strike. Irfan succumbed to his nerves, ending up giving a juicy half-volley which Ganguly gleefully hit for a six. The next ball was elegantly driven for four, which was a clear indicativethat the tables were turning. With 7 runs needed off 3 deliveries, oneexpected them to play it safe, but Sourav had other ideas. He took afinal gamble by giving himself some room and going for a glorious loft straight down the ground. He had middled it to perfection thereby collecting half a dozen runs which meant that the scores were nowleveled. The crowd was on their feet now and was sure of a Kolkata victory. I also promoted myself to the top of the backrests of the benches, which was the highest level possible. Sourav Ganguly had doneeverything right so far and wouldn't have liked to mess it up at thisstage. He very maturely knocked the ball with soft hands and rushed
across the wickets for a single. That was the end of it, a historic three wicket complementary win for Ganguly and his men in black and gold. They had lived up to their punch line which said, "Korbo LorboJeetbo", meaning we will perform, we will fight and we will win. UmarGul deservingly won the man of the match with 4 wickets and 24 runs ofthe blade. Their campaign in the inaugural IPL was a failure but they ended on a high. As far as the Kings XI Punjab dressed in grey mergedwith a Preity Zinta reflective feminine pink were concerned, this loss may not have had any impact on their standings as they had already qualified but it was a definite setback to their confidence. For aviewer like me, I could'nt have asked for more on my first outing.Twenty20, Eden Gardens, Thrilling Kolkata victory and to add the icingon the cake a Brilliant knock by the prince of Calcutta-Wow! What a summary! I kept looking back at the magnificent lights of the stadiumas I was bidding a final farewell to the stadium - an image which hadnow been permanently etched on my mind to keep reminding me of this day.
Now in post match era, all I am left behind with of the match are its memories. As I trace back to relive some of the moments, I realise that big occasions like this prove to be huge learning curves in life.A young boy gets hooked to the beautiful game of cricket and becomes a devoted fan. But due to some unfortunate circumstance continues to remain a near yet distant observer of the game he cherishes the most for a long time. He has almost given up hope of ever being able to make it to a stadium. But that is when he is blessed with this golden opportunity which somehow works out this time. The young boy is rewarded for his patience and gets to witness a thrilling T20 contest at Eden Gardens in contrast to a dull test match at Green Park,
Kanpur. My conclusion is that opportunities come by in life and must be grabbed, but missed ones do not necessarily mean the end of the world. If one is truly devoted to his wish or target and maintains his or her faith, then bigger and better opportunities are bound to knock at the door. If I summarise the whole thing then I could only say that whoever had written the script for this, couldn't have done a better job. Now what I have done here is that I have tried to pen down this very script in order to convey this story to you.
I hope you readers enjoyed my effort.

INDIA ON THREE-WHEELS
(A Tempo Ride)

I finally reached Allahabad after a long journey. I was only left with the final stage of my trip, from the station to my destination, MNNIT Allahabad. I set out of the station in search of a means of transport. I did not have much of a clue about the Allahabad transport culture and the bus I thought should have been the best option. But there wasn’t a single one in the vicinity. Private taxis were of course out of question taking into account their impacts on an average man’s pocket. I was in a bit of a fix.
It was just then when my eyes caught something unusual but hopeful. A few metres down the road there was a vehicle approaching me. There was something about it. It was a rickety, queer-shaped, 3- wheeled vehicle painted in yellow and green shades, with most of it’s exteriors either rusted or dented. Furthermore it was overflowing with people. After enquiring I learnt that it was called a TEMPO and that it was a public transportation mode.
As the tempo neared on, my mind revolved around on whether or not to take the risk. Even before I could make my decision, a man popped out of that tempo chanting “Teliarganj-Teliarganj……”.He grabbed on to my bag and virtually dragged me inside assuming that I was going to that very place. I asked him for MNNIT and the looks on his face said the rest. He rubbished me as though I were joking with him. I gave another shot in the form of ‘Motilal Nehru’ hoping I would get his blessings as well and my man here would understand me. But it wasn’t my day. I simplified my thinking and went for ‘Engineering College’. Bingo!!!!!!!!. That was the keyword. Well, his assumption also turned out right as Teliarganj was the name of the area.
I started getting with a feeling of respite which wasn’t to be for long. It was jam packed as it seemed to me. Dejected and furious, I was about to step out when my man spoke out once again-“Jagah hai toh, Aaram se baithiye”(there’s enough space, sit comfortably).He made two of the passengers shift apart inspite of their reluctancy.That did create some space but it was only enough for my radius. But wasn’t it my diameter which was to be considered. Anyway I recalled the advertisement with the tagline-“India me bhai adjust bahut karna padta hai” and tried to fit in.
We finally set off. Everyone seemed to be staring at me as though they were planning a conspiracy against me. I ignored and looked out. As the tempo caught some momentum one could feel the cool air hitting hard through the numerous open spaces present. I had just started getting used to the terrible rattling noise when there was a sudden blast of an unpleasant, unbearable and unwanted music. It was some cheap lower grade song sung by singers whose voices at that moment resembled Chip-n-Dale. It was giving me a headache. I took it as yet another adjustment.
I counted at least 14-15 of us instead of 8-9 as it should have been. There were 4 in the front. The driver must be a real expert. We were 8 in the rear along with my man-the conductor on the door step and a couple of bags on the floor.
We also had a couple of guys hanging behind on the bumper. Boy! That takes some courage. The standard rule followed in seating was the ahead and behind alternation where one sits completely while the next one partially. The fact was that one was completely surrounded by people. People from different religions, castes, races and classes put together face to face and side by side.
It was starting to get dark now. The tempo rattled along the as most of the people were somewhere deep in their own world. All of a sudden the lady across raised her hand and started banging the roof. Everyone seemed unperturbed. The music stopped and we came to a halt. She had reached her destination. The driver turned on a bright yellow light which got me into my senses. There was a slight delay due to an argument over the fare. I thought it was probably a bit expensive or something.
I was told that I had finally reached my venue. I jumped out and asked the fare. I was prepared with a Rs 100 note when I heard something shocking. “Bhaiya aath rupaye ho gaye”. A mere eight rupees and that’s all.
As I walked along I couldn’t help thinking of the latest experience of my life. I spared a thought about the tempo drivers and conductors. They must be spending most of their days and presumably nights as well out on the streets. Be it the freezing cold, scorching heat or rain they have to be out there for the sake of their families and for their own sake. They are the lifelines of several major cities. They provide uninterrupted services despite all the odds and for all this the only cost a handful making them a real boon for the poorer mass. Above all they never seem to be gloomy or unhappy making them a representation of the true spirit of India.

(This story is purely a work of fiction. Though most of the story is based on my few years’ experience of commuting in tempo. I am pretty sure that most of you tempo commuters will find several resemblances with this account of a man on his first tempo ride)