24 October, 2020

Confessions Of A Convert

I was smitten...smack into a one-night stand with the gentleman’s game.

Illustration by Sorit
Confessions Of A Convert

Cricket sneaked up on me when I least expected it. For decades, my involvement with the sport consisted of yelling at regular intervals at my cricket-mad spouse: “Could you turn the damn volume down!” I can’t say which irritated me more—that despite my best efforts to understand it, the intricacies of the game somehow continued to elude me. Or that I felt so left out of it all—the suspense, the passion, the partying. Each time I watched a match with him, it was the same routine—he was instantly transported from the couch onto the field, breathing with those men in pads and bats. And I, still sitting stolidly on the couch, wondering if dinner was burning on the stove. I was cricket-deaf. And in this country, that’s probably worse than being the fat boy in class who just doesn’t get it.

But that anxiety to belong had long since passed, I can vouch, because I was still myself till the semi-finals—still watching everyone make fools of themselves with the self-satisfied air of one...



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