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The geese are flying south

When I was little, my dad told me a story on a lazy afternoon after a family lunch and discussion on serious matters that affect our lives, namely the composition of Indian cricket squad for next Test.

Anyway, the story goes that all the crab exporting countries decided to hold a competition to determine the best of them and associated a nice award with it. The Indian PM (JLN, IG, RG, Atal, you pick) told the concerned minister (again Menon, Ram, Fernandes) to make sure WE win it or you will be lost in a reshuffle.

So the poor minister went and inspected the Indian crab shacks and found poorly made wicker baskets, third grade advertising, the Indian PSU setup. But the unpretentious civil servant accompanying his lord and master exuded confidence. "The prize is in the bag, Sir."

On visiting similar facilities in foreign climes, Minister found efficiency, nicely packaged goods; great advertising and his morale sunk even lower. Anyway, the D-Day arrived and ICC (International Crab Conference) announced the winner to be India.

Relieved and surprised, the minister asked the IASer: "How much did we pay them?"

"No, sir, we won fair and square. The crabs have to be shipped live and major portion of judging goes to quantity delivered divided by that sent."

Explaining further, he added: "Now, crab deliveries from western nations were low as when one of those tries to escape, all of them put their heart into it and help him in it, even though they might be lost themselves. While when an Indian crab reaches for the TOP of the bucket, all the others do their best to pull him down. Tu kaisey bach ke bhag raha hai?"

Excuse my khariboli. An illusory tale? As Gooch and Gatting might confirm, even our prawns are patriotic.

Kapil Dev and Dalmiya, crab shipment 1959J6Chandigarh, crab shipment ID 1946Calcutta. Enuff said.

Jagmohan Dalmiya made it to the highest seat in ICC (the one with cricket, not crabs) and unfurled the tricolor over the hallowed home of cricket. Not one moment might have passed before the Indianness asserted itself as campaign for his downfall was orchestrated. Nowadays, various press organs take special pleasure in stirring the muddy waters by innuendo and gossip stories all citing one or other of Nixon's aides.

When Kapil climbed the Everest of Hadlee's deeds keeping us engrossed and entertained throughout the journey, we lived with each successful lift and died with each slipped peg on the way. He brought back the sporting honour of a world champion crown lost since they converted the grass fields to astro-turf. Let me tell you how long ago that was. Our current world crown holders, the chest-thumping youths who use rackets of the stringed variety were toddlers.

Ah! The collective public memory, as shortlived as the Chetan Sharma delivery that Sharjah evening, on an alleged word made these worthies, villains and scoundrels overnight. It is said that the decline of the Roman republic started with proliferation of "dilators", professional accusers and gossip mongers who brought many a worthy down by allegations. Eventually, they brought the state down along with the Roman civilization.

My friends, the portents are ominous, sacred geese are flying away. The degeneration has started, in a society where insulting Mahatma on celluloid is called art; a nine-year-old girl Alka Gohel fasts to death protesting official apathy; a society where the chattering classes consider jobs as bonded slaves in the new software pits of the new Roman empire as manna. (We are the "new" slaves for the new millennium, work six years and get your Freedman status. But, never think, that it will translate into an ascent to purple like it did for several illyrium(Serbian) slaves. No G(r)eek ever made emperor.)

And we are devoting precious journalistic columns and calumnies to a gladitorial sport. Why, because sports excite the passions; the sentiments of honor, patriotism and vengeance. If they do so in the mere spectators, they are the life blood of the participants, the essence and meaning of their life. If those, the very reason of existence for a sportsman is called into question, won't those bubble over the cauldron. And they ask, why did he cry!

Forgotten are the brilliant knocks, the terrifying deliveries, the celebrations of a Reliance Cup, a Hero Cup, a Willis Cup. What remains are the salty tears on a visage where an encouraging smile habitually rested. They say it is for the good of cricket. It is good that we conduct these trials in public to clean up the sport.

And I am reminded of a charming story about the end of the Bangladesh war. When the Pakistani troops surrendered at Dhaka, many of their officers cried openly at the humiliation. And the Indian officer taking the surrender remarked: "In a soil laden with salt, no crop of peace and prosperity can grow." And there would lie the fallow land of Indian cricket, salted by its champion's tears.

Kapil had proclaimed to the ex-Chief Justice of India that there is no match-fixing according to his knowledge. Maybe he was naïve; and why not? Wasn't that the part of his charm as the cricketer? Did you seriously think a calculating logical person would look at 140 to defend with an injured leg and think we can win? Go to bat at 17/5 and think all is not lost, defend 183 versus Lloyd's invincibles and think thoughts of triumph, 125 to defend versus the best batting order in world and trumpet, "The game can be won!" ?

Then one day, we shatter his world view and make him prime accused in front of a media circus. We murdered his trust and his naivete as sure as we murdered that girl in Rajkot hospital and we question, why does he cry.

In this newly-discovered land of Gandhi (Sonia that is), "Where head is held high (by a string) and mind is without fair",(no typo) the forgotten stanza of innocent until proven guilty lies buried in morasses of stupidity and baser emotions. Isn't it where they said that Kapil was the result of 40 years of prayers of the cricket fans?

Well, let me tell you another story and I have a thousand of them.

A pious priest after a life-time of devotion to God expired to heavens and found his mentor resting with Marilyn Monroe on his lap. "So, you got your just rewards," he exclaimed. "Nope, she is my punishment," corrected the wizened old priest. And so was being born Indian, Kapil Dev's.

I always believed in my Indianness and a philosophy Ishvara yat karoti shobhanam karoti ( "Whatever god does, he does it for good."). The belief in both lies in tatters. In any self-respecting universe, this Almighty should have been given his/her marching orders and a new one installed. It is interesting to note in passing that several of the bloodthirsty emperors in ancient Rome were from what is now Serbia, the current villains on the international scene. India existed 2000 BC and 2000 AD, the letters after the year do not make a difference and will continue to exist. As they say, never fight with the stupid, they bring you down to their level and then beat you with experience.

So only the wicked and stupid will survive, unfortunately Kapil and Dalmiya are neither.

And where will I go, having insulted the Almighty and the nation in the same breath. Probably, (in a Judeo-Christian setting), to a purgatory doomed to see Tavare and Boycott bat endlessly. And if I am wrong, then SRT, SMG, Kapil and his devils, the whole lot, will be the company. Not a bad way to spend an eternity!