The Randiv episode

Cricket, particularly in the sub-continent, is so dreary these days that is has fallen on controversies to generate some excitement. The game got its injection of controversy this week, when Sri Lankan offie, Suraj Randiv, deliberately overstepped the line in a one-day international to seal India’s comfortable victory, while denying Sehwag, then batting on 99, a century. This understandably stirred up passions in the cricketing world. Most have denounced Randiv’s action as unsporting and against the spirit of the game. The act seems pretty indefensible, and one feels sorry for the likeable Sangakkara, who had to come up with something weak like “Sri Lanka does not have sole proprietorship over such incidents.” The last I read in the newspapers, Randiv and Dilshan (apparently his partner-in-crime) had been handed down some penalties by the ICC referee.

On the scale of unsportsmanlike behaviour, Randiv’s act is hardly the worst that has been seen in cricket. As far as cheating goes, it is certainly not worse than a batsman knowing he has nicked the ball, but hanging on to the crease if the umpire has not given him out. Randiv did not intend for his act to alter the course of the match – if anything, it hastened an already inevitable result. Hardly any team in cricket can claim the moral high ground, because at some point or the other, they have all been guilty of bending the rules.

The remarkable aspect of the Randiv episode is the thinking behind the act. In general, unsportsmanlike behaviour such as cheating, delaying tactics, sledging, etc is aimed at winning matches, or at least at avoiding defeat. To indulge in unsporting behaviour to win or save a match is bad enough, but understandable. To indulge in unsporting behaviour to actually accelerate one’s own defeat is bizarre. For an attacking bowler, each delivery is a potential wicket taker. Randiv apparently does not have this confidence in his own ability. So having abandoned all hope of getting Sehwag out, he chose to become the architect of his own team’s moment of defeat! In that moment, Randiv’s surrender to Sehwag’s superiority was absolute. He effectively said, “Look, I know I don’t have a one in a million chance of getting you out, so I won’t even try. But I will give myself the small pleasure of denying you yet another century.”

If I were Randiv’s coach/captain/mentor, I would be pretty worried about this mentality. It is an old cricketing cliché that “the game isn’t won or lost until the last ball is bowled”. Randiv and his masters clearly think that’s a load of crap.

Birthday bashes

We celebrated Kanishk’s ninth birthday last Saturday, inviting his classmates to a tenpin bowling party. This was his fourth birthday in Australia. The first one was a quiet family affair, as we had arrived in Australia only ten days before, and didn’t know anyone in the country apart from close family. The second one was at home and all his classmates were invited. I have a vague recollection of Mum organizing some games for the kids, and little boys in blue uniform bouncing off our walls through the evening. The third party was a series of events - one a Wii party at home with select classmates, another a dinner with close family, followed by yet another dinner with friends and their families. This time around, we had run out of ideas, and simply decided to outsource the party to a bowling alley.

I don’t recall having birthday parties as a child – wonder how I let my parents get away so easily. As I approached teenage, I usually got a set of new clothes and some cash to “treat” my close friends with. On one birthday I remember receiving five rupees for each of my friends, and struggling to arrive at the best combination of treats within that budget. I think I settled on a bhel puri followed by a 500 ml bottle of Thums Up. Halfway through their Thums Up most of my friends looked like they had had enough to last them a lifetime, but they manfully stuck to finishing the bottle’s contents.

The one ritual we did follow on the birthdays (both my brother’s and mine) was to go out for a family dinner. Early June in Calcutta is monsoon time, but no matter how much it rained we would pile into our Ambassador and head out to a restaurant in the Park Street/Chowringhee area.

Many of my friends had proper birthday parties, though, with food and lots of fun & games. “Passing the parcel” was a standard fixture at these parties. I wonder if that is played anymore. I remember parties following a standard structure – hand over presents, play games (passing parcel/tailing donkey), cut cake, eat, play more games (blind man’s buff/quiz), get return gift, say goodbye. I think some parties still follow this process flow, but product differentiation has made its way into social occasions. So theme parties (Dora/pool/bowling/Harry Potter) are much more common nowadays.

I am not quite sure how to approach one’s own birthdays in middle age. Turning eighteen is a sign of maturity and entry into the adult world. Turning seventy is a milestone in a pretty long life. What emotion is turning thirty eight supposed to trigger, other than an acceptance of more grey hair (or less of any type) and one more inch to the waistline? When a college girl wishes you with a “Happy Birthday, Uncle”, you know you’re well and truly over the hill.