Play Straight

They say that hard work is the key to success. I would beg to differ here. I have been one of the hardest working cricketers ever throughout my whole life. If there is some award for whole-hearted dedication to cricket somewhere in the world, that award belongs to me. But in spite of all my hard work, I have always been notoriously unsuccessful as a cricketer.

My earliest cricketing memories are those of running after a rubber ball in the street outside our government quarters. Somehow I do not have any memories of hitting a copybook cover-drive or bowling a deadly yorker. My memories are restricted to running hard after the ball to prevent it from rolling into the filthy gutter. The gutter, too, I remember very clearly. It was black, slimy and seemed to stretch down to hell. The viscous mixture in the gutter never ever seemed to flow anywhere. Decades of filth and muck had combined to degenerate the slime into something indescribable. To my young mind, the gutter seemed to embody everything evil.

Into this very gutter, the ball used to roll in sometimes. A quick search would then be made for someone small enough and timid enough to be bullied into scourging through the slime in search of the ball. I very regretfully admit that I was one of those very frequently chosen for this disgusting task. I do not wish to scar my readers for a lifetime by describing my travails amongst the slime of the gutter.

Finally, if at all, the ball would be retrieved from the gutter, blackened beyond recognition and the gentlemen’s game would resume. The above task was my foremost duty as a team-member besides, of course, running after the ball and retrieving it from surrounding gardens and backyards. But such was my enthusiasm for the game that I do not remember missing a single day’s play ever.

I used to be quite a sickly kid. But bad health was really no deterrent to the spirit. Days of sickness would see me pounding away on a rubber ball with a piece of wood like a not-so-talented Don Bradman. The ball would often venture perilously close to various fragile items inside the house. Angry oaths would be uttered and my play would thereafter be confined to a small store-room without any breakables.

I have lost track of the wondrous batting and bowling performances I have delivered inside that old store-room. The reality, once I ventured outside, would however be quite different. I was unanimously declared a dunce with the bat very early on in my career and I never could quite break out of that stereotype. On very rare occasions, I would be called on to bowl if the match was already lost or won. As for fielding, my betters prudently decided that I should be shunted off to the remotest and most inaccessible corner in the field.

But as I grew older and slightly stronger, my skills started to improve almost imperceptibly. With the bat as well as on the field, I was still very much a dunce. But with the ball, I made steady progress. At the age of about 12, I made a move to a new neighbourhood. This would turn out to be a boon for my bowling skills. Awarded with welcome anonymity, I got more chances to turn my arm over and I started doing this with increasing efficacy. Within a year, I was being hailed as the next best thing to Kapil Dev in my neighbourhood (which will without doubt give you a good indication of the quality of cricket in our neighbourhood). It wasn’t long before I became the opening bowler of our neighbourhood team. My concept of bowling was exceedingly simple. I would just run up to the crease and throw the ball as close to the stumps as possible. This was very good bowling technique, because most of the batsmen’s technique comprised entirely of an ugly mow across the line of the ball. As a result, I earned a lot of bowled victims. There were some truly memorable performances with the ball. There was the occasion when we played the opposite neighbourhood team and I picked up 6 wickets for 3 runs in 5 overs. Or the instance when we played still another neighbourhood team and I picked up another 6 wickets in 2 overs to wipe out the opposition for a meagre 8 runs (The other 4 batsmen had comically run themselves out). My bowling performances are still fondly reminisced about in my neighbourhood. My batting, in the meanwhile, had crept up a little bit to the point where I was able to move up from the hated No.11 position. Towards the end of my neighbourhood cricket career, I had started to be regarded as a batsman who could strike a few useful blows.

The turning point in my career, ironically, was triggered by a guy I had considered my rival and arch-enemy. I was playing in a match with my school pals. My arch-enemy was batting with me. We needed some 30-35 runs from 3 overs and the time had come to go for broke. I was facing this very pacy bowler. The first three balls I swung at with all my strength. The only thing I made contact with, however, was thin air. It was at this very point that my arch-rival shouted the two magic words from across the pitch. “PLAAAYYYYYY STTRAAAIGGGHHHTTTTT” he screamed. And so I did. I poked the next ball to square leg for a couple of runs and flicked the other two for boundaries to long-on. I had discovered the secret of batting!!!This was it “Play Straight”. And from that day onwards, I could well claim to be one of the straightest players ever.

Later on, in college, I made my name amongst my cricket-playing friends as a guy who played straight among other things. But that is material for another story.