An evening of cricket

It was 4PM. I had just come back from school, had my dinner and ran off to the nearby hill. It was cricket practice time at the “Jyotinagar Cricket club”. I made sure to wear the right kind of pants and sneakers. I did not want to get teased again about playing “Pajama cricket”.

The hill was one of the highest in the neighborhood and had a flat top. So the neighborhood club from across the hill decided to make it their cricket practice ground. The club was actually a shanty concrete structure with a tin roof. I don’t think anyone actually used that place, maybe to store some cricket or other gear once in a while. You could not even store a carom board there. The club members however were “serious” aspiring cricketers. I came to know them through one of my school mates. His name was Govinda, but everyone called him “Mekuri Sokua” (Cat eyes), because he had grayish blue pupils, kind of a rarity in those parts. Govinda used to play in our class team at Don Bosco School. That itself meant you were a decent player in Guwahati cricket circles.

I cross the small creek which is half local drain and half brook, and start my climb up the hill. There is a Public girl’s school about half way up on that hill. The local people probably bought it because the land was cheap up there. On weekdays during the day you could see the local girls dressed in their neat, starched white mekhelas with sky blue borders, climb to their school, gather round their small front yard during lunch time and come down promptly at 3:00PM when the bell rings.

The real steep climb started after the school, after the fork in the path. If you take a left you go down the hill to the neighborhood community, Jyotinagar. Our cricket field was on the right. One of my dad’s old colleague who used to live in Jyotinagar, named it “Ullah Giri Path” after my dad’s last name.

I was almost at the top and about to reach the cricket field. There was a dyke where the path ended and that put the icing on the climb. Needless to say I was a little out of breath.

I climbed the earthen wall of the dyke and descended the other side to the ground. There were a couple of guys from the local club practicing Karate. I had seen one of them play cricket with us, once in a while. I looked at him, but he did not seem to recognize me. He was busy “sparring” with his buddy. These Karate guys were kind of shy and secretive. I had a good Tae-Kwon-Do expert friend of mine. I used to enjoy watching him and the others practice after school hours. The coach one day came over and asked me why I didn’t join them. I said I am too weak, I think, or something of that sort. Tae-Kwon-Do was too physical for me.

Anyway, I moved along on the field towards the edge of the ground. There was a great view of my valley from here. You could get a bird’s eye view of our whole valley and the surrounding hills from up there. I must say our valley was quite green back then. It was evening time, the hills had cast their shadows on the valley and houses were preparing for the night. You could see plumes of smoke coming from the houses with wood stoves called Chulhas. They used a new chimney for these Chulhas, issued by the government out of concern for women’s health in the rural areas and small towns of India. This was the 1980’s in Assam you see. Don’t think it was a huge success, as was common with Government schemes back then.

The other side of the field ended in a steep drop, thanks to the illegal soil extraction that the local truck walas did.

The guys started coming in one and two at a time. We started practicing high catches. One of the guys hit the ball real high, and we had to catch it. My turn came soon to take the catch. This time he hit it extra high. The ball was almost the size of a ping pong ball and it was directly above me. I tried to move my position, so that I could catch the ball comfortably. When the ball was close, I realized that it was too fast for me and that I was going to hurt myself. Matter of fact I did. My left hand was becoming red at the corner of the palm where the ball hit. I am a bad cricketer I told myself.

The stumps were in place now and that meant it was “play ball” time. I got to bowl the initial overs while the good bowlers did some stretching and got settled in. I took about 20 steps towards the steep edge of the ground. I liked to think of myself as a pace bowler back then (pace bowling was in fashion in those days). I wanted to bowl an out-swinger to begin with, so I put my index and second finger across the seam of the leather “deuce” ball. I ran up to the bowling end stumps, took a short jump, and threw the ball. The length was good but it was a little wide outside the off-stump. And more importantly, the ball didn’t swing at all. It may have cut a little bit after bouncing wider away from the batsman. The batsman just let it go. I walk back to my run-up line. This time I take a couple of steps less. I did not want to loose my stamina quickly. We didn’t play match style over bowling during practice, unless we were playing a match against each other. I threw the second ball, it fell around the same place after the first one. The batsman played a cover drive and sent the ball into the thicket on the offside cover position. The field was kind of strange that way. The pitch was hardened dark red earth, and the outfield had cut shrubs with stems hanging out like tough wild grass. It used to do a great job at stopping the balls, but running on it was a different matter.

I went back to my run-up line. This time I thought I was going to bowl an in-cutter/swinger. I put my first two fingers together across the seam in an angular fashion. The ball fell at a good length on the off-stump and cut in. The batsman was beaten and it hit his upper part of the pad. He was quite far out from his crease, so that wouldn’t have been a leg-before. But I was happy with my performance. I went back and bowled the next three deliveries more or less like the first two.

It was time to bowl the second over now. I walked back and started my run-up. I began to feel a little out of breath. I threw the ball wide outside the off-stump. It did not bounce much, and went past the wicket keeper. I got annoyed with myself. I decided to switch to spin. I was going to do a leg spin. I went to the right of the stumps, almost near the end of the pitch, and run diagonally to the stumps. The ball was a little short of length, but it spun to the right of the batsman, and he let it go. He had his front left, padded leg in front, so he knew how to play leg-spin. I came back and threw my second ball. This time it fell outside the leg-stump, but short of length and spun towards the middle stump. The batsman turned to face me, and pulled the ball to the long-on side. Nice shot, but bad ball. The rest of the over went uneventfully, with couple of balls falling outside the off-stump and spinning away from the batsman.

My over ended and one of the other guys, Ajoy, came up to bowl. I went quietly to the cover boundary near the thicket. Cover boundary was an uneventful place to field, since no one in our group would hit a six over there. Partly because they knew they would loose that ball and partly because it was a tough shot.

Ajoy was a special bowler. Technically, he is a right-handed off-spinner, but he also bowled medium pace, and bounced and cut the ball really well. It was amazing to see him bounce that ball on that hard surface. It was the spin on the ball I suppose. And his balls had pace too. He was one of our “star” bowlers.

Next up was Govinda. He used to bowl in our class team, so he was average, better than me of-course, or else I would have been in the class team as a bowler, not as a second last batsman cum cover fielder. Govinda had quite a textbook style to his bowling. His run-up was not as long as my initial over ones, but his stride was smooth and his follow-thru was good too. And he could cut and even swing the ball, occasionally.

Suddenly there was a commotion in the field. There was a new guy coming down the earthen wall of the dyke. It was Atul, the leader of the team. He used to go to school and run a small store in his front yard in Jyotinagar. His store was real close to where “Ullah Giri Path” met the main road of Jyotinagar. “Let’s have a match”, said Atul. We split into two seven-member teams. Because we were a few short of the standard count of eleven, the batting team used to contribute in some of the roles, like being the umpire and fielding in the outfield positions etc. Of course, if a catch came your way, it was OK to drop that catch. So that worked real well with me, and I ended up often fielding for the opponent team. You could return the ball to the wicket keeper, but only after making sure that your batsmen were safe while running between the wickets.

Anyway, back to the match. Atul was enjoying himself, hitting the ball here and there. Once, he even hit the ball over the cover boundary, which was a strict no-no under club rules. The Sun was starting to set now, and there was no way we could get Atul out. By now he was yelling “Moi rati pua loi khelim” (I will play till morning). The sun was a big red ball to his right. When my turn came to bowl, he hit two nice shots towards long-on boundary, one of them even thru the thicket stubs. It was quite an amazing batting performance, I must say. Finally, Govinda managed to get his wicket, bowled of course. The rest of the guys are getting out more quickly. The sun had set now. My team won, at the end of forty overs (20 each innings).

It was time to go back home now. We started our descent from the field. Couple of guys, Atul one of them, started sharing a cigarette. I take a left at the fork and the guys take a right. “Kali log paam” (see you tomorrow), I said to Govinda. I ran down the last stretch to the creek and the flatbed stream area. I thought to myself “I have to go home and study, else I will be in trouble soon”. I reached home and took a shower. Ah! The cold water felt good on my back and my legs. My arms had started getting some exercise, and doing better than usual. My cousin, Rana bhai was visiting us today. He was a bachelor and used to live in his mom’s house in Khanapara. He came to chat with us, and sang with my dad and had dinner of course. He had a Yamaha 4-stroke engine motorbike, so he could ride back home in the night. He was a good singer and used to sing in his university functions often. My father took out the old harmonium, from under the front-room bed after a long time and started to play. He got into one of his singing moods, and started humming. He invited Rana bhai to join in. My dad is singing an old Hemanta Mukherjee song, “Ai monihar”. My dad had a way of saying things. He would wave his hand to Rana bhai, in a gesture to come along and say “Baba!”, and that was all. Rana bhai understood. He would join in as well. I never even dared join in with them. I used to enjoy listening to them. My dad’s family had a singing tradition. It had to do with something associated with Moslem Sufis. My dad used to sing with everybody in the family. Rana Bhai’s younger sister, his cousin sister, his father, everyone had a good music sense and background. It had also I think something to do with living close to a river in the lower banks of the mighty Brahmaputra, my dad’s family’s origins. My dad’s favorite song was a Sufi one about God, and that he is the creator of everything around us. It went something like this, 

“Are Oh Allah, cadar-dani. Tumi shokolo korite paro, paharoko pani”

(Oh Lord, you are the Kadardaan, the caretaker. You can do anything, change a mountain to water)

He would mostly sing that song without the harmonium, though, as lullaby to put us to sleep. Especially me cause I was the kid in the house.

That was the end of my evening of cricket. I was too tired to hit the books (that was often the case on cricket practice day). “Good night! Now it’s time to go home.” I thought of the Dire Straits song as I fell asleep. I often remember my cousin, Bobby bhai. He played that song pretty well. Anyway, I will tell about him another time.