The religion of cricket and its rituals

With trembling hands, she brought in a glass of water with a few Tulsi leaves and sat in front of the TV. She also brought her prayer books, including the Bhagavath Gita, Sri Lalithasahasranama Stotram, and Sri Vishnusahasranama Stotram.

That was ajji, my grandmother, who was all set for something way beyond any paraayanam: India vs Pakistan, probably in the 1992 Cricket World Cup. My ajji fasted that day, having only Tulsi water as her energy drink; the match mattered more than Ekaadashi for her.

She would launch on a shloka marathon, starting with the toss and continuing till the end of the match. If the opponents were seen to have an upper hand, the shlokas would shift to a different book; instead, if they lost a wicket, she drank Tulsi water and continued chanting the same shloka twice aloud, folding her hands.

Since my childhood, I have understood that if it’s India vs Pakistan, it transcends all daily rituals and religious practices.

My father was no better. So for this year’s ICC cricket world cup (India vs.. Pakistan), I gifted him an Indian team jersey with his name printed on it.

His smile said it all for me. His happiness knew no bounds. It all started with my son, who asked for the VK-18, Virat Kohli’s jersey, for the uninitiated.

My father-in-law joined in too. So I got four jerseys made—I gifted one for myself, for I am a great cricket fan.

On October 14, my father prepared as if it were an exam or may be even more. He woke up earlier than usual.

After 12pm he got restless and kept switching the TV on and off. He had his lunch before the toss and sat before the TV at 1 pm. My son and I joined him. After India won the toss, my father predicted our victory, and yes! We did.

The spirit of winning was so high that I went on to bowl to my students, who were playing cricket on college sports day. The ball went ‘wider’ than any wide, and there was  ‘no ball’ left to describe my overconfident cricket skills. But my students kept cheering me on for every ball that I bowled and made sure I ‘simply’ got a wicket. The ‘young’ in me was actually getting ‘old’ is what I realised the next morning as all my bones and joints were crying out in pain.

“What if it’s India vs Pakistan in the finals?” I asked dad. He said, “There will be no words to describe the madness. Cricket is not just a game; it’s a religion, a devotion, an emotion, and much more for all of us. We all eat, sleep, and repeat cricket. It is greater than all the rituals.” All I could do was agree to his words, as his voice got louder and louder, like he spoke for all the fans who bleed ‘Blue’.