Ok, I admit I am writing this post only because I thought of this title. (Not like it is some piece of literary genius, but I like it all the same – you know, Super Kings and yellow and everything.) This year’s IPL has not generated the same kind of enthusiasm in me, as last year’s did. And that is for obvious reasons. The tournament is not happening here, in India. (Reason is valid enough. Still… ) Bah, who cares about where it is happening in the rest of India – its not happening in Chennai.
Sigh. These days, I only dream of standing in Pavilion Terrace, wearing yellow, and screaming my throat hoarse, my one body pumping as much adrenaline as the entire crowd at that effing stadium in South Africa. But alas, it is not to be. What is to be is the (relatively) dispassionate crowd in South Africa, most of their loyalties akin to the loyalties that people at home show to all those English football clubs. (Clarification to all such football fans: I am not undermining your fandom in any way. It is just that, well, you have to admit that your fandom is not exactly patriotism, or city loyalty. It is sort of detached, no? )
Anyway, my going to South Africa is an option – of course, at the cost of being thrown out of the house at the mere suggestion of the idea. But no, I wouldn’t go even if I could, because I want it right here, at Chepauk, with the rest of Chennai joining me in the fervour. (To which, I can almost imagine Amma saying “Pah! You are SUCH a thair sadam. You just want to rot in K K Nagar itself.”) And that half-wit Gaurav Kapur actually declares with such incredulity: “The stands are full. There are 17,000 people in this stadium, waiting to watch the action!” Yeah, right. Does that hold a candle to Chepauk’s 50,000+ ? Which reminds me: Extra Innings is so unimaginably terrible this year. Bile in my throat every time. But Set Max IPL promos have been wonderful. And what a makeover the teams themselves have gone through! New jerseys and everything! But darling CSK remains the same – just firang cheerleaders and all. That may not have been the case, had the tournament happened in India.
My peypa (Appa’s older brother) is in South Africa, catching all the action live, because he has the distinction of being N Srinivasan’s close friend, and the President of the Salem District Association. That helps me considerably, even if not enough to take me to South Africa – Peypa is the man responsible for my getting Pavilion Terrace tickets for every match at Chepauk. (I reject the Test match tickets, because tests really test my patience, and I care two hoots about cricketing technique. I take the one-day tickets, and grab the T20 ones, because it is easily my favourite format- all action and wham wham wham! Not one moment of slack!) I really truly miss screaming and swearing loudly and dancing badly, offending the sensibilities of all the well preserved elites seated in Pavilion Terrace.
Sigh again. How I wish. How different things would have been. Not just vacation plans would have changed; life plans would have been altered. I wouldn’t have fallen asleep midway through the opening match between Mumbai Indians and CSK. Sheets and I wouldn’t have had to stick the schedule chart in the living room bang next to the TV and stare at it longingly. We wouldn’t have to tolerate Amma’s darrty looks every time we jump up and scream, or pray fervently. She actually thinks we overreact. Can you believe that?!
