When cricket met gilli danda

A makeshift bat and open field changed the entire game

Paradoxically, whether cricket evolved from gilli danda or the other way round remains an enigma. Let us construe it as an individual’s perception shaped by personal experience.

In the mid-sixties, when I was in my early teens, a cricket match between India and Australia was underway. It was a festive season for children, as our summer holidays coincided with the series. The match was on a knife’s edge – a tooth-and-nail tug of war between the two teams. Cricket enthusiasts were tensely involved in every moment of play. Given an opportunity, they would have replaced a deplorable performer instantly; such was the intensity.

My three neighbourhood friends and I were no exception. We were practically naïve, though aware of the basics of the game. Resolute about practising, we had a tennis ball but no bat. So we fetched a wooden plank suitable for chiselling and shaped it into a bat using whatever kitchen tools were available. Once done, we sleeved the handle with a cycle tube, and the bat was ready.

For practice, we chose the Jayanagar Fourth Block ground in south Bengaluru, where the famed shopping complex was built later. It was a large ground, always filled with children – some playing cricket, some football and others gilli danda. 

On reaching the ground, we found a few acquaintances playing gilli danda. We lured them into joining us to form a team. After all, play is play, and fun is the end result. Using bricks as wickets, we began. By mutual agreement, we set a rule: each player gets six deliveries to bat and bowl, turn by turn. While two were on the pitch batting, one would bowl and another keep wickets; the rest would field. The game began very well, and everyone was happy.

After a few strokes, one batsman connected hard with the ball. The bat could not withstand the impact and broke into pieces. Along with it, the gusto of each one of us shattered to dust. An utter disappointment for all nine. 

“What next?” was the obvious question. We knew grumbling would serve no purpose. Sportingly, after a brief period of contemplation, we decided to play gilli danda until we could procure another bat, having come this far. Fortunately, the friends who joined us later for a game of cricket had a gilli danda set with them.

I had played gilli danda earlier, on the streets opposite my house. That, however, was a restricted form of play -- no hard hitting, constant vigilance for passers-by and so on. Free from such constraints on the open field, I played wholeheartedly and revelled in the thrill. Soon, I became conversant with the game, and we played until evening that day.

Gradually, my fascination with cricket faded and was replaced by gilli danda. It was largely a matter of convenience – no investment and greater fun. Slowly, we professionalised the game and began holding matches between localities. More often than not, we emerged victorious. From cricket to gilli danda, it was an evolution driven by convenience.

Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.