The flight was delayed from Goa. I had reached the airport at 5.30 AM. I hadn’t slept through the night. Although the airport is only a short distance from the Guest House, all my journeys have been like this. I am ridden with anxiety about missing the flight, what if the Guest House caretakers oversleep and forget to wake me up with a cup of tea as instructed, what if the car doesn’t turn up to take me to the airport…. I twitch and turn in bed.
In the airport, I saw large kits being loaded on to the luggage scanner. There was excitement in the air. The Indian and Sri Lankan cricket teams were travelling in the same plane; I was told when I checked in. When I got into the flight I didn’t see any cricketer. Amazingly I could see all around me guys with who were connected to the business of cricket. There were Sponsors, media, advertisers, commentators, ex players and many guys in suits and black berries. Is this real? Am I the only “non-cricket” person in the flight? I wondered. Then I could see our modern day superheroes ambling in like gladiators to a Roman Coliseum. I could see a young, excited guy taking snaps of his idols in the plane. I saw a Sri Lankan player with funny coloured hair. The Executive class was full of the super heroes. The junior players were herded into the economy class. The guy sitting next to me was engrossed in a conversation about the advertising rights and other stuff I couldn’t follow. I slowly fell into a peaceful nap.
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The great wars were fought in the summer. The sun burns bright and the paddy fields were barren after harvests. The earth was parched, dull brown in colour. The volleyball court was a patch of land; a paddy field in monsoon, which has been pounded to an even surface by players with constant serving, boosting, smashing and placing. The players wore lungis and some of them sported a towel tied tightly across the forehead- with the intention of going for a dip in the river nearby to wash away the sweat of the game and the dust of the day long toil. The bare chest players were the village working class society, strong guys who lead a brutal life on the fields all day. The upper crust was mostly onlookers with their fair, decadent bodies and life of leisure. They were equally enthused in the ongoing matches. The Muslims were strong, good players. But they would take breaks when the Mosque sounded Azzan for prayers. The matches were played until sunset. The players would call out to each other loudly to smash or boost. The teams were spontaneously formed on the basis of skill sets of each team. Official matches were played with the nearby village when the enthusiasm would run at its highest.
This silly pastime was looked down upon by village elders who sat on their haunches with sunken cheeks, white hair and tired, worn out bodies. “Waste of time”, they cursed as they puffed their bidis one more time and spit on to the bare earth. The matches were never scheduled in monsoon when most of the players would be busy ploughing the rain drenched lush green fields or planting saplings. Some would be busy fencing off the coconut groves and some, with low lying paddy fields would be worried about the eventual arrival of irrigation water. Some were busy studying for the exams almost guiltily when the rest of the family is busy rustling up the means of survival.
The game was in full swing. Points being notched up with great effort, lost in foolish mistakes. There is excitement in the air… No one talked of money: No one talked of valuations. The Panchayat Members, village Pradhan and Block Development Officers ignored the game and its’ proponents in the village. Some players were brilliant. They didn’t foresee a career in sports. In fact they didn’t foresee anything at all- Just a long life of toil and frugal living. A job as a constable in the State Police would be a great stroke of luck. They weren’t sponsored by sports equipment companies, soft drinks, airlines, razors, insurance companies or banks. They were playing for village pride. No one tried to nurture their talent… That was sport in the time of innocence…
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