An anti-ageing cream called cricket

India Today

8 hours ago

The year is 1997. A child is protesting to not wear his maroon sweater, as mandated by his DAV school. It's the end of March, the sun is out, winter has largely receded, but mornings in North India still have a nip. After the unsuccessful agitation, the sweater-clad child walks to the bus stop. He has been following a Test match happening in a different time zone, which ended post his bedtime. There is no mobile internet to check the result, so his eyes are searching for a newspaper at the bus stop.advertisementThere is one. Kept, folded, on a wooden bench, whose owner has excused himself to smoke a beedi. The child skips past all the politics and local crime news, and lands on the second last page - the sports page. He freezes, as he reads the headline "India 81 all out". This is the famous test at Bridgetown, Barbados, where India failed to chase 120. The kid is numb, as he drags his soul-less body onto the bus.I have been watching cricket for 30 years now. As we age, our emotional investment in this game depreciates. Our heroes age, fade away, some get a farewell match, some don't, newer players come. There are some matches you just check the highlights of. Amazed at yourself by the disinterest, you think this is it. You have moved on.advertisement
But then, on a random weekday, fifth day of a Test match, two wickets down, 100 odd runs to get, a Shardul Thakur sends Harry Brook back to the pavilion, with a delivery straying down the leg side. Two wickets in two deliveries. You scream "OUT" like that child way back in 1996, who screamed when Venkatesh Prasad uprooted Aamir Sohail's stump. Cricket keeps us young. It is the best anti-aging cream.Cricketing heartbreaks are core memories. They stay longer than the wins - a product of Darwinian evolution. We are coded to retain the bad outcomes, the threats, so as to learn and survive longer. We cope differently.I remember those Sharjah debacles against Pakistan on Jummah days. I would walk back home (we didn't have cable TV) broken-hearted. And I would look at people on the street, the paani puri wala, the one girl gleefully having the thrilling paani-puri, an uncle negotiating the best rate of potatoes and the numerous other people calmly going about their business. I would wonder if their lives are better off not following cricket, not having to witness Aquib Javed running through the Indian tail. Why am I ruining my entire day for a non-material loss? The players, the board of cricket, the sponsors don't even care about my existence. Why should I be so emotionally invested? Why should I be sad over something that has zero bearing on my goals and ambitions in life? And then, a few days later. Sachin would hit a six over the head of Michael Kasprowicz, and we were all back with our cheerleader pom poms.advertisementIt's an incredible time warp, and we are all willingly part of it. An emotional roller-coaster we have been riding for decades. Each time we think we are too old for this ride, and we want to get down, it pulls us back in, with miracles like two centuries in the same Test match by Rishabh Pant. And then, on the very next day, presents a fresh heartbreak. India fails to defend 371. Only the second time ever. Each loss plumbs new depths, and each win sets new records.I was in Goa this time on the fifth day, when Stokes and Root were batting with some 50 odd runs to get. I was out for dinner in the immaculate Tanjore tiffin room, polishing off some brown rice with a divine Puli Kuzhambu.advertisementSuddenly, my phone conked off. Panic. I had to rush home. After some anxious moments with the valet, taking his own sweet time, I reached my place, plugged my phone in, waited patiently for it to boot-up, then typed in "Eng vs Ind" on the Google bar, waiting for the score to refresh, hoping to see an increment in the wickets' column.As the buffering circle rotated, it reminded me of that newspaper at the bus stop, 28 years ago. Same child-like anxiety. Same result. Maybe the same intensity of heartbreak. Sigh. Soon, another victory, another moment of magic, will pull us back onto this perennial roller-coaster. Till then, have faith in this anti-ageing cream called cricket.(Abhishek Asthana is the founder of a creative agency – GingerMonkey. He tweets as @GabbbarSingh)- Ends(Views expressed in this opinion piece are those of the author)Tune InMust Watch