For want of a television?
As an Indian I do have my share of complaints. Of everything that has been happening on the cricket field in the last 24 hours. We have known cricket is known to be a gentleman’s game and the way we hit just 11 boundaries and no over boundaries shows how genteel we had been to the Kokkaburra game. And cricket romanticism has handed Michael Holding one of the finest repertoire for his comment against minnows before the start of the world cup.
But, this is not about all that. It is about some emotions and sentiments felt at a distant Mumbai suburb very far away from the Queens Park. March 17th started with notes of great optimism for me. I woke up with a cherubic thought of purchasing a new TV set. And I had planned them all. Everything would be installed and would be in place (along with snacking goodies and paraphernalia) before the clock struck 7 in the evening and the celebrations would go on till the wee hours of the morning. But my princely fascinations and the fact that my budgets do not necessarily go hand in hand with my choices brought me quickly back to the ground (the smallest LCD TV set costs around Rs. 25,000… I mean how do they think I will eat for the rest of the month?).
And when by 6 in the evening I felt that things have not been going my way, I settled for the safe havens of the internet. But, the turn of the match and fervor of the Bangladeshi bowlers had doused my enthusiasm within the first hour. But then again, India seemed to chisel out a resurrection with a slambanging Yuvraj and an uncharacteristically restrained and painstakingly patient Ganguly. So, I wanted to give them another chance and headed out into the neighborhood.
Soon I hit upon a small consumer electronics shop. And there was a motley collection of people watching the match intently on the television screen on display. To understand the conversations and the analysis that went about in the group, you would need to realize the demographics of Mumbai pretty well. The metropolis has a huge share of immigrants from Padmapar. And it has not remained unnoticed by the state government especially after the row of “duplex” apartments that are on exhibition in front of the dockyard at Mumbai. Commuters and posh office goers have long complained these habitat formats but the numbers have only multiplied for the last few years.
The diversity of the emotions could well be understood in the group as emotions flowed mixed with pride, dignity and restraint. Had this been anywhere you could well have seen joyous scenes, but with fear from the local administration and the fact that this was a foreign land, the land who is really the opposition on the cricketing field required a cautious approach. But you could really sense the pride and the sense of immense satisfactions as dot balls after dot balls went on. India had been stifled and rough handed to a corner.
In spite of this we stand on the 102nd anniversary of the division of the undivided Bengal. And despite the vagaries of religion, linguistic associations do create a soulful attachment. And so even though TV preludes had shown scenes of “Dada, we love you but not today!” from zealous Ganguly fans, the “mairya felum, kaitya felum” commenters in front of the TV with their trepid speechlessness could manage, “Sourav er century chai, are Bangladesh er jeet.” (Sourav should get a well deserved century, and Bangladesh a victory).
And although their eyes were firmly glued to the TV sets, the earpieces smugly camouflaged were multiplying the pleasures within. “Pakistan ke Ireland kahil koira disse, 73 for 6.” (Ireland have taken Pakistan to the cleaners, 73 for 6) and you could feel the palpable mocktail of pride, satisfaction, vengeance and immense pleasure.
Amidst the funeral of Indian cricket, you could not just but spare a thought for the lure of lucre that had brought many of them, with a threat to existence and to simple longings in life, but marooned deep within a distant land, which also happened to be a minefield of a mercurial opposition, emotions still ran deep. Attachments by language, by nationality, by religion and an immense desire to set those things right which have been wronged in the pages of history starting right from 1905 (the severance of undivided Bengal) to 1971 (need not explain why) to 2007 (the ceremonious Chappell-Ganguly spat).
A television set not purchased offset by an experience worthily gained.
But, this is not about all that. It is about some emotions and sentiments felt at a distant Mumbai suburb very far away from the Queens Park. March 17th started with notes of great optimism for me. I woke up with a cherubic thought of purchasing a new TV set. And I had planned them all. Everything would be installed and would be in place (along with snacking goodies and paraphernalia) before the clock struck 7 in the evening and the celebrations would go on till the wee hours of the morning. But my princely fascinations and the fact that my budgets do not necessarily go hand in hand with my choices brought me quickly back to the ground (the smallest LCD TV set costs around Rs. 25,000… I mean how do they think I will eat for the rest of the month?).
And when by 6 in the evening I felt that things have not been going my way, I settled for the safe havens of the internet. But, the turn of the match and fervor of the Bangladeshi bowlers had doused my enthusiasm within the first hour. But then again, India seemed to chisel out a resurrection with a slambanging Yuvraj and an uncharacteristically restrained and painstakingly patient Ganguly. So, I wanted to give them another chance and headed out into the neighborhood.
Soon I hit upon a small consumer electronics shop. And there was a motley collection of people watching the match intently on the television screen on display. To understand the conversations and the analysis that went about in the group, you would need to realize the demographics of Mumbai pretty well. The metropolis has a huge share of immigrants from Padmapar. And it has not remained unnoticed by the state government especially after the row of “duplex” apartments that are on exhibition in front of the dockyard at Mumbai. Commuters and posh office goers have long complained these habitat formats but the numbers have only multiplied for the last few years.
The diversity of the emotions could well be understood in the group as emotions flowed mixed with pride, dignity and restraint. Had this been anywhere you could well have seen joyous scenes, but with fear from the local administration and the fact that this was a foreign land, the land who is really the opposition on the cricketing field required a cautious approach. But you could really sense the pride and the sense of immense satisfactions as dot balls after dot balls went on. India had been stifled and rough handed to a corner.
In spite of this we stand on the 102nd anniversary of the division of the undivided Bengal. And despite the vagaries of religion, linguistic associations do create a soulful attachment. And so even though TV preludes had shown scenes of “Dada, we love you but not today!” from zealous Ganguly fans, the “mairya felum, kaitya felum” commenters in front of the TV with their trepid speechlessness could manage, “Sourav er century chai, are Bangladesh er jeet.” (Sourav should get a well deserved century, and Bangladesh a victory).
And although their eyes were firmly glued to the TV sets, the earpieces smugly camouflaged were multiplying the pleasures within. “Pakistan ke Ireland kahil koira disse, 73 for 6.” (Ireland have taken Pakistan to the cleaners, 73 for 6) and you could feel the palpable mocktail of pride, satisfaction, vengeance and immense pleasure.
Amidst the funeral of Indian cricket, you could not just but spare a thought for the lure of lucre that had brought many of them, with a threat to existence and to simple longings in life, but marooned deep within a distant land, which also happened to be a minefield of a mercurial opposition, emotions still ran deep. Attachments by language, by nationality, by religion and an immense desire to set those things right which have been wronged in the pages of history starting right from 1905 (the severance of undivided Bengal) to 1971 (need not explain why) to 2007 (the ceremonious Chappell-Ganguly spat).
A television set not purchased offset by an experience worthily gained.
posted by contramental at 3/18/2007 09:33:00 PM
2 Comments:
hey nice one....... i never realized before today when u wrote this piece...... and the 'maira felum, kaita felum' was good :)
hey nice one..... did not know abt this blog of urs before today......... 'maira felum, kaitya felum' was really nice......
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