13 June, 2021

Shantakumaran Sreesanth

Lalit Modi ran away to London, Cement Srini will have to run and hide at the South Pole.

Illustration by Sorit
Shantakumaran Sreesanth

I better polish my dance steps because I will need them at the place where I may be sent. Thank God, I always liked Presley (‘Jailhouse Rock’ was one of my favourites). I think I’ll be working a lot more on this number in the days to come.

What a mess! The shame, the humiliation. The media once glorified me as the ‘enfant terrible’ of Indian cricket, now I have become ‘rowdy Rathore’. But I am brave enough to bear all this. What was more embarrassing were the comments of Delhi police commissioner Neeraj Kumar. I know Dilliwala English is bad but imagine a top cop repeating over and over again, “In the first over Sreesanth was alright. But he did not have his towel on when he came on for the second over.’ Can you read between the lines? Hah, man, this was a cricket field, not a strip joint. What will my numerous girlfriends think of me? I am not a Ranbir Kapoor to drop the towel at inopportune moments.

And why was everyone repeating the word ‘towel’? Cricketers take with them hankies and not...

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