The streets outside office are chaotic to say the least, with Kolkata’s trademark yellow cabs zipping around in all directions in the junction with murderous intent, while hordes of people deftly manoeuver around them on foot, cigarettes in hand and unfazed in expression. Majestic stone and brick buildings from the colonial era line the street, discoloured with neglect but oozing beauty and charm- ignored by the people making their to and from work, or making a living under their shadows. These hawkers line both sides of the street, selling fruits, magazines or cooking delicious meals on hot embers and stoves.
It was under one of these magnificent buildings- now the corporate headquarters of a large conglomerate that I first discovered the chaiwalla. He sat behind a large aluminium pot filled with bubbling milk, flinging tea powder and sugar skilfully from where he sat. Soon I was a regular, and today was no different. The street was significantly less crowded, both from people and vehicles, but it was business as usual for all the hawkers. The chaiwalla sat with a transistor close to him, listening to the commentary of the semi-final match against Australia while pouring steaming hot tea into kulhads with rapid pace. He looked up at me and handed a cup immediately while he shouted “Ladies First” through a massive grin. “Dada, the score looks too huge for us to chase, you think we’ll win?” I asked in Hindi. The Aussie innings was nearing an end and it was a competitive score to say the least. “Of course!” he replied, “We have Dhoni & Virat, one of them will hit a century and India will win, you wait and watch!” I muttered “Let’s see” and left.
Hours later it was time for a second cup of tea. India had lost 8 wickets, and defeat was imminent. I went downstairs to be met by a very surly chaiwalla. He banged his chai vessel on the stove with a deafening clank, and screamed at a nearby customer to be patient for his turn. He didn’t look up when I asked for my tea, and simply placed the cup with a “thud” on the table near me. Excited shouts wafted from his transistor, and it was evident that India had lost the match. I took my cup and joined my colleague in the corner of the street. We sipped on our chai, watching people in heated discussions and op-eds about what lost us the match. Sadness and disappointment was the mood all around, with expressions of resignation- “we did come pretty far after all, and they tried hard”. Suddenly, a man who was standing near us looked at us and immediately went into a rapid and emotional monologue in Bengali on his disappointment while brandishing his beedi, while my colleague acknowledging with sympathetic noises. Once he was done, he walked away and my colleague and I exchanged amused glances.
This is cricket in India. It is the glue that can bring together our diverse people, spanning multiple languages, cuisines and cultures. But most importantly, it is the joy that lights up the lives of millions who barely earn a living performing mundane chores day in and day out, struggling to make ends meet and with just about enough to survive each day. It is the sole entertainment for those who cannot afford pretty things or vacations. Many have little else to look forward to in their lives but an Indian victory or a big knock from their favourite player.
And this is why the attitude of some of most “intellectual” and educated upsets me deeply. First we were subjected to Ashis Nandy’s bizarre explanation that India shouldn’t win the World Cup because it would reinforce already “too high” Nationalistic feelings. Then the popular Outlook magazine then ran a poll, seemingly seriously, asking people If India Should Win the World Cup? (Duh!) During the match itself, a popular comedienne tweeted that it really doesn’t matter if a homophobic country wins or loses ‘some silly’ game. (What’s the connection?). And then of course there’s Times Now, running a hateful campaign against our Men in Blue after their loss, using the hashtag #ShamedInSydney.
The likes of Times Now, Ashis Nandy and their ilk need a wakeup call from their self-obsessed elitism. This isn’t about you, and never will be. You don’t represent the multitude of Indians for who cricket actually matters-so much. Hell, a huge cricket fan myself, I wouldn’t give me too much importance from a cricket perspective. I am part of a fortunate minority who can recover from a cricketing loss and find other things to look forward to in my life- like a nice dinner, drinks with friends or a fun weekend plan. Someone wishing loss to the Indian side is either highly delusional or incredibly selfish. And another who decides to call hate towards the side, a lot less gracious than the millions who will feel depressed for days while still ending their day with a prayer to their favourite cricketing idol.