The match was about to begin. A critical one for all the billion plus players and some eleven odd spectators. Though spectators were confined to the bounds of playground, players were strayed all over the world. They had been preparing for this eagerly awaited game for long. And these were people of all kind, creed, ethnicity and origin. Fully devoted to the game. This devotion only to be exceeded by their interests in the game's speculated outcome or its controversial past.
They were all getting ready for the game. In one silent coerner of his house, one of these billion plus palyers had consoles of telephone lines ranked up. Evidently he needed to keep in touch with others for minute by minute account. Then there was this one who called himself President of The Board. He was busy talking to the journalists. Very confidently analysing each and everybody's weaknesses and strengths. How one was good at catching the ball and other at staying indefinitley at the crease. Notwithstanding his clueless background and absolute ignorance, he thought he was the best thing to have ever happened to the game. All the past presidents also thought the same. Till they were sent packing by a dissenting panel of voters.
Then there was this lady. She used to work in daily soaps before realising her true calling one fine day. Sorry! my bad here. It was not she who realised her true calling. It was a TV Channel which realised it and then made her also realise the same. The channel had been awarded the contract of live coverage of the game. Thy needed to add some element of glamour.
The hunt began. Finally zeroing in on this lady. She did qualify to be an expert of the game.Did she? Why not! She could spell some the palyers' names. And found some of them handsome too. Her dressing sense was also amazing. Deep neck lines, gelled and perfectly streaked hair, a fevicol smile on the face and an innate ability of trying to adjust her falling shoulder drapes infinitely. Then there was this learned panel which will sit with her and talk during the break. They were these smartest people of the game on this earth. Atleast, they thought so. Otherwise totally parochial and self contained. They would talk about the game and she would continuously smile at them, taking turns. So as not to offend anyone. And when she is not smiling, she would get back to adjusting her drapes.
Then there were other players on the ground. Sitting in stands. Full house. Each one to his or her own. There was this family with some twenty odd members. Hopelessly buying all the available food and bottled water. As if they were here for family eatout. Then an old man. Reading his serious novel in a seriously enclosed airconditioned stand. There were some film stars also. They had a day off. And they were trying their hard to grab attention of the camera and press. Parrying any eager intruder who could not add to their publicity campaign. Not to forget gangs of college students and some well dressed chicks. Fighting all the way to pin up their handheld posters and contoured countenances in the face of camera. It was a huge ocean.
Last but not the least. Amidst this ocean of players, we saw those poor eleven spectators standing on the ground. Today, like every other day, they would be mute spectators. Everyone playing with their existence. Demanding a quality of game which had to be unreal. Expected to do things that crown shouted. They had to stand upto everyone's expectations. They had to meet all the demands. Of the president, of the panel of experts, of the anchor lady, of the family and of the old man. Even those who were not in stands. Like the one sitting with his telephone consoles. Glued to the TV Screen. And they were not allowed to complain. They have to seek permission for that beforehand. Even paroxysm is punishable. If it is not notified in advance.
Now the game begins. These spectators will take the field and try to entertain all these players. Players have paid for this circus. These poor souls will try their hard and give it all they have. But they are only human. And if they loose things could turn bad. Their effigies burnt, their houses vandalised, their life threatened. But that is how game is played here. Someone rightly said , " Game is just for the players, not for the spectators". And for the sake of these billion plus players, the game must go on.
They were all getting ready for the game. In one silent coerner of his house, one of these billion plus palyers had consoles of telephone lines ranked up. Evidently he needed to keep in touch with others for minute by minute account. Then there was this one who called himself President of The Board. He was busy talking to the journalists. Very confidently analysing each and everybody's weaknesses and strengths. How one was good at catching the ball and other at staying indefinitley at the crease. Notwithstanding his clueless background and absolute ignorance, he thought he was the best thing to have ever happened to the game. All the past presidents also thought the same. Till they were sent packing by a dissenting panel of voters.
Then there was this lady. She used to work in daily soaps before realising her true calling one fine day. Sorry! my bad here. It was not she who realised her true calling. It was a TV Channel which realised it and then made her also realise the same. The channel had been awarded the contract of live coverage of the game. Thy needed to add some element of glamour.
The hunt began. Finally zeroing in on this lady. She did qualify to be an expert of the game.Did she? Why not! She could spell some the palyers' names. And found some of them handsome too. Her dressing sense was also amazing. Deep neck lines, gelled and perfectly streaked hair, a fevicol smile on the face and an innate ability of trying to adjust her falling shoulder drapes infinitely. Then there was this learned panel which will sit with her and talk during the break. They were these smartest people of the game on this earth. Atleast, they thought so. Otherwise totally parochial and self contained. They would talk about the game and she would continuously smile at them, taking turns. So as not to offend anyone. And when she is not smiling, she would get back to adjusting her drapes.
Then there were other players on the ground. Sitting in stands. Full house. Each one to his or her own. There was this family with some twenty odd members. Hopelessly buying all the available food and bottled water. As if they were here for family eatout. Then an old man. Reading his serious novel in a seriously enclosed airconditioned stand. There were some film stars also. They had a day off. And they were trying their hard to grab attention of the camera and press. Parrying any eager intruder who could not add to their publicity campaign. Not to forget gangs of college students and some well dressed chicks. Fighting all the way to pin up their handheld posters and contoured countenances in the face of camera. It was a huge ocean.
Last but not the least. Amidst this ocean of players, we saw those poor eleven spectators standing on the ground. Today, like every other day, they would be mute spectators. Everyone playing with their existence. Demanding a quality of game which had to be unreal. Expected to do things that crown shouted. They had to stand upto everyone's expectations. They had to meet all the demands. Of the president, of the panel of experts, of the anchor lady, of the family and of the old man. Even those who were not in stands. Like the one sitting with his telephone consoles. Glued to the TV Screen. And they were not allowed to complain. They have to seek permission for that beforehand. Even paroxysm is punishable. If it is not notified in advance.
Now the game begins. These spectators will take the field and try to entertain all these players. Players have paid for this circus. These poor souls will try their hard and give it all they have. But they are only human. And if they loose things could turn bad. Their effigies burnt, their houses vandalised, their life threatened. But that is how game is played here. Someone rightly said , " Game is just for the players, not for the spectators". And for the sake of these billion plus players, the game must go on.
2 comments:
Kya Re Pushkar! Am not underground... seriously working :D
nice blog....
Keep up the good work.
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