Day 3.

28 Dec 07.

Refer this for details of the match.

My boss is a MCC member. He applied in the ballot for a table at lunch and was allotted the third day. We accordingly donned jacket and tie on a day where the temperature was due to hit 37′c and rocked up around 1230 at the members’ entrance to meet with his assortment of mates.

This was my first visit to the Members’ Dining Room after the refurbishment. As concrete, glass and steel structures go, it certainly is up there among the best.

There is also something to be said about being able to watch cricket in airconditioned comfort while sawing away on the sole vegetarian item on the menu, ricotta and spinach in a kozhukkattai shell, served on a bed of clarified butter (ghee to you and me) infused with finely chopped chives.

As you’d expect, this dish had an exotic French name, but I was not able to liberate the menu in the interests of this blog.

One is supposed to leave at the door one’s plebeian impulses before entering the hushed surrounds. Clearly no one told me, for, when Zaheer bowled Symonds I erupted with a cheer that would have been at one with the tricolour wavers in the erstwhile Bay 13.

If the MCC was a dictatorship, I expect I would have been taken away and quietly shot for this gaffe.

As Zaheer was reflecting on what might have been (it was a no-ball) and Jumbo closed his eyes and rested a palm on a fevered brow, I was copping it from my table mates-all Aussies to a man.

Let us draw a curtain, gentle reader, over this unfortunate episode.

Post coffee, we went out and sat in comfortably padded seats. This was more like it. We were part of the crowd, were bathed by the same warm air, were uncomfortable under our collar and ties, and got booed each time the Mexican wave went around. Perfect!

All that was required to complete the experience was waistcoated waiters in white gloves bearing flutes of champagne. However the MCG’s strict liquor laws prevented alcohol beyond the confines of the Dining and Long Room.

However all I needed was my coffee at 5, and surprisingly, they had run out!

Peter Roebuck

27 December 2007. 

Day 2 of the Boxing Day Test.

Oz. 343 all out. 

India 196 all out.

Srinivasan of the Indian Voice arranges a dinner around each Boxing Day match with noted writer, commentator and raconteur Peter Roebuck.

This time it was at the Chennai Banana Leaf, a change from the venue of previous years, Bala da Dhaba.

The time was for 7.30 pm. A lot of us rocked up early and began a philosophical post mortem of Day 2.

Dravid shouldn’t have opened. Flem said this played like an Indian pitch;So why 196 all out? Sachin was all class. Lacchu and Dada were not bad either. Kumble has been such a lion of a captain and bowler. Why didn’t he get the gig earlier?

You know.

Peter and Srini turned up on the dot at 7:30 pm. I was lucky enough to have Peter at my table. After a hello and a firm handshake, we got talking.

My view is that he talks cricket all day and was going to talk about it shortly anyway.

We therefore discuss in no particular order,

a) his literary influences

He doesn’t commit to it, but when I suggest Wodehouse and Waugh (Evelyn not Steve), he admits to have read them.

b)  Cricket writing.

Peter has heard say that Mukul Kesavan’s Men in White is good, but is interested in my opinion nevertheless. I, having read the book, am less than complimentary about the credentials of someone who has not played more than gully cricket.

c) The rapidly changing socio-political landscape of India.

Narendra Modi, the purportedly inclusive, non xenophobic urban Indian, the ultra-modern Bombayite versus the untouched aspect of small town Indian youth. The growing self confidence of the ‘global Indian’.

d) Awards for excellence in Cricket Writing.

That was me indulging in a spot of sail-filling, pumping up tyres-whatever you will. All sincere to be sure. He was charmingly self deprecatory about it all.

All too soon, it is time for the buffet (Dosa, Uthappams, idlis, naan, sambar, veg koottu, pulao, paneer curry, carrot halwa, kheer, appaLam, raita, green salad-for those who take an interest in such minutiae) followed by Peter taking the floor.

Peter talks along the expected lines

At least three games preparation needed to try out your openers in Oz, blame BCCI for this lack of preparation, under confident Dravid, unrelenting Aussies, classy Sachin, Kumble, pro Buchanan, good raps for Troy Cooley and Peter Kirsten, try opening with Yuvi in the 2nd innings with Dravid back to #3. Not a selector in sight, however Sharad Pawar and twenty of his chamchas are landing-why? Maybe fourteen of those are tax specialists suggests a wag.

Quite a free wheeling Q&A follows with these nuggets emerging.

‘Greg Chappell is that most dangerous of things, a visionary’.

‘If Shane Warne had played in Ian Chappell’s team of the ’70s, he would have gotten 150 wickets and faded away’.

‘I have been to three farewell press conferences, Langer, McGrath and Warne-two out of three were very complimentary about Buchanan. I won’t say who wasn’t’.

‘Cricket will be a lot poorer for the retirement of Warne. We still haven’t fathomed how much of a loss cricket has sustained’.

‘Everyone likes Harsha Bhogle. Everyone enjoys being on air with him. He has this innocence that’s charming’.

‘In print you had better be able to back up your story. On air though-it is not held as much against you-unless Darren Berry’s listening.’

As ever, one suspects Peter would have loved to hold the floor all night, but for the minor inconvenience of the restaurant needing to close. We reluctantly broke up around 10.30 pm.

Donations to his charity were sought and to everyone’s credit, I think people dug deep.

I look forward to next year. Thanks again Srini.

Boxing Day

Whew! what a day. Here it is, in little vignettes.

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Wearing eye-disturbingly bright saffron, green and white on a wintry overcast morning to the train station had returning,bleary eyed, all night revellers rubbing their eyes-in pain I think.

“Off to the cricket are we?”

“How’d you guess?”

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Our politician inspired chic was a one-of-its kind. All credit to our costumier Suchi. So much so the Herald Sun, ABC sports, Indian Link and South Asian Times snapped us and again.

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The MCG with the re-built Ponsford and Members’ stand looks more of a glass and concrete pile than ever. But the turf’s sparklingly green. What we weekend park bumblers would give to dive on this surface. And Jumbo, Dada and Lacchu choose to topple every single time.

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All the talk of the hostilities Sreesanth would have had to face had he made the trip would really have amounted to nought, given how outnumbered the Aussies were by the Indians in the old Bay 13.

Any time they tried to work up an ‘Aussie, Aussie, Aussie’ they were met by ‘bye, bye, bye’.

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Really, it is time we came up with some original chants.

‘Jeetega bhai Jeetega’ is soooo pre-historic.

Any ideas?

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The Telugu crowd had the catchiest cry, though it does not make much sense to me.

‘Goom talakala gula gula gula

Ooh ah ooh ah’

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It must be the first ever time a streaker streaked (stroke, struck?) with an Indian flag for company. Wasn’t an Indian though as we are just taking our baby steps in liberating ourselves of prudery.

Next time the Indians roll around this guy may well be the first Indian streaker, the A$6000 fine notwithstanding.

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Usually the crowds begin filtering away from around 4.30 pm. Not today. An engrossing last session, especially with three helmets crouched around the bat, ensured that the seats didn’t clatter back up until after the last ball was bowled.

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It will be fun going back to work tomorrow and giving my colleagues some curry!

*******

Prescience

Really, the hacks at The Age ought to be looking to the Indian team management with respect and anoint them as dooradrishti-varas with holy waters from the Yarra.

For there was this mocking tailpiece in the Sports section a few days (16 Dec) before the boys were due to touch down. Looks like the hacks were in the change rooms at the Junction oval for a hit and giggle versus some jocks and saw astroturf being laid down on the perfectly good change room carpet.

In response to some cunningly pointed questioning, the tradesmen ‘fessed up that this was done at the request of the Indians, in case they needed to practice indoors.

Har-har-hyuk-hyuk went the chortles, in fact the word ‘mad’ was also used-we are in the middle of a drought and the Indians are hedging against rain??

It is now Christmas eve as I click away, the state has enjoyed a good drenching, in fact the first rays of sunshine we saw in a few days were a few hours ago.

So, whomsoever the brhaspati in the BCCI who had the foresight to think this up, take a bow, taaliyaan, shabaashi, subhanalla and all other worthy compliments are yours.

Simple really.

Yuvi and the Wall had gone in for lunch. You could say India were in some trouble at 4 down.

The PYT in our office squealed ‘Odd weather we are having..I mean, like it is supposed to be summer and look at the raiiiiiiiiiiiin!’

And everyone looked at the sheeting rain outside. 

It is not everytime that my timing is Vivek perfect.

‘There’s quite a simple explanation really’

And they all looked at me.

‘God is now an Indian. He has seen the dire straits we are in and has intervened.’

Rain.

We were following the game on the net while pretending to work. We got up and stretched as the boys went into tea around 4pm…..and saw the storm front sweeping in from west by southwest.  

There is something about watching an approaching storm from an elevated space like the 15^th floor. Lightning cracks and fills the bowl of the expanded horizon. A long time later thunder is heard. The front is all ominous darkness in a relatively light sky. In surprising speed, it is upon us. First the grey blue water of Port Philip Bay is hidden by this grey wall. The buildings are enveloped next. In a short while, the first drops splatter on the plate glass, followed by sheeting gusts of rain.  

As everyone drifts up to watch Nature’s show, one of the Aussies says “ I know we are in a drought here, but surely you blokes aren’t young enough not to have ever seen rain!”

Moksha

The day the Curry Munchers kick off with their game against Victoria. Gloomy weather with a forecast top of a muggy 28’c.  Rain later in the day.

Evidently a lot of the Indians in Southgate will gain moksha. Everyone has sighted the boys either individually or as a team.

Given that they will be in Australia off and on until March, it is likely we will have enough darshan of them to make our janma paavana many times over.

 One of my Kannadiga colleagues got close enough to exhort Anil and Venky ‘gedd-kond barbeku!’

Day 2

The boys returned from their nets around quarter past six. The reception they got in the forecourt as they stepped off the bus must be one of the reasons they enjoy touring overseas.

It was a grand total of two.

One was me, passing through en route to Flinders Street Station. Neither of us yelled ‘Sachin..Sachin’ or rushed them to liberate shoulders from sockets.

 Evidently all the kit had been left at the Junction oval, as they stepped off with just their bats. Even these bats were pristine. Not a single mark on them. One imagines they were going to continue knocking them in. If so one wonders what the other patrons would say to the sound of bat mallets on willow in concert after hours.

The Curry munchers are here.

That paragon of tabloid muck-raking, The Herald Sun, wrote that the Indian team landed to a ‘hornet’s nest’. Certainly did not seem that way when I passed the nivaas-sthaan of Anil’s boys, the Langham, en-route to work. But for the doorman in his khaki-beige clobber, not much stirred.

For those among the Indians on my floor who had not clapped eyes on the living gods of India (nadamaadum deivam-s as we have it in Tamizh), not much work was done. They spent a good portion of their billable hours riding the lift down to the concourse and the Southgate food court to see if they could gain darshan and ensure release from the cycle of birth and death.

And they were rewarded.

Irfan Pathan accosted one of them (!) with a ‘Bhai-saab money exchange kidar hai?’. Irfan was duly escorted to the money bin manned(?) by the Indian girl who I always thought was how Soundarya would look like had she lived to hit her late thirties.

Another one of my bhai-log saw Irfan-bhai and Wasim-bhai together.

By now you can be sure all pretense at work was being cast aside. Two of them stood watch at the doors as the bleary eyed boys boarded the bus at 4 pm for some nets-cool dude Yuvi in the last seat of the bus, earphones in place.

Incidentally, they were all amazed at how wasp waisted our ‘boys’ were. Here we were, proud of our 32″ waists, maintained despite idli, dosae, garam samose, aloo-ki-tikki, gur-ki-chikki and there were the boys, none over 26″ measly inches. Maybe they should have brought along ‘porgya’ Powar, if anything to make us feel better.

There were hurried consultations. Would the ‘boys’ be headed for the nets at the Junction Oval? Which tram? Route 3 and 67 along St.Kilda road?

Luckily sane heads prevailed. Someone placed a call to the MCG and found that the ‘boys’ were practising indoors and ’sorry guys, I don’t think this one is open to the public’.

And so the caravan rolls. Odds at the TAB for India winning are quite attractive. An outlay of a buck will fetch you eight if the boys deliver. If I was a betting man, I’d be tempted. I remember the story of the Indian punter at the ‘83 world cup who placed a bet of STG1000 on odds of India winning at 50:1.

He walked away with more than Kapil’s devils did.

There’s a thought.

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