Reflections
The
Infectiousness
of It All
Ruzan
Sarwar
My
mother. What a character! Once a television actress here in
Dhaka, she has the personality and flamboyance of Goldie Hawn
on acid. A large part of this raging flamboyance centres around
her passion for cricket. For as long as I can remember, my
mother has loved the sport. However, I only came to notice
her mini-obsession in 1999, when South Africa toured Sri Lanka
in the summer. It was the first cricket match that was televised
live, for my family and I lived in Saudi Arabia then. I remember
her waking up at the crack of dawn to press the record button
on our VCR so that she would not miss a single minute of the
action. As they say, old habits die hard, and this habit is
alive and kicking, so to speak, within my mother's character.
My mother's
behaviour is definitely not out of the ordinary. Every time
I turn around, someone is talking about cricket, be it my
uncles or aunts or friends or a rickshawallah going past me
on the street. I believe a wholehearted zeal of this sort
for cricket is a Sub-continental thing, though my father was
never as passionate about the sport. Nevertheless, it is not
a surprise to see why it is so popular. Cricket transcends
socio-economic barriers, as most sports do. From the richest
businessman to the poorest beggar in the country know and
love a sport that sparks so much passion in the hearts of
Bangladeshis that a national holiday of sorts is declared
every time Bangladesh wins a match (though it has to be said
that winning is a rare occurrence). Cricket is even used as
a tool to induce peace, in the case of Pakistan and India.
You name it, cricket does it.
Nowadays,
in the age of the Internet and high-speed connections, cricket-lovers
all over the world are able to spend hours at a time browsing
the web for the latest information on their favourite player,
without tying up phone lines. I have seen evidence of the
endless browsing first hand. Ma (as I call her) is addicted
to websites that include CricInfo as well as numerous others.
She sits in front of the computer for hours at a time pouring
over the latest cricket gossip. The message boards are a favourite
of hers. There are times when I have to drag her away from
the monitor, while she is kicking and screaming. It is at
times like these I believe myself to be the mother and she
is the stubborn, rebellious teenager. I wonder to myself,
how did the roles get switched so easily? With cricket, that's
how!
But how
can I say that this passion for cricket is bad? When I see
my mother's eyes shining face because her favourite team has
won, or because we have tickets to a game, I realise how much
of a good thing this passion can be. The idealism cricket
brings is especially seen in a country where most of the people
have little to celebrate being deprived of even the most basic
needs. Constantly keeping up high spirits is not always feasible.
Cricket provides somewhat of a relief for these people, even
if that relief is fleeting. The weariness that comes from
daily toil is forgotten for a while. And, at the best of times,
cricket bestows 6-8 hours of wonderful, blissful entertainment.
If you
asked me five years ago whether I watched cricket or not,
I would have vehemently denied it. My complaints were the
usual: too long, too complicated, too boring. But, with an
extended family completely engrossed in the game (an uncle
of mine zealously plays for a sports club), I decided to follow
the old mantra,-- "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."
I will probably never enjoy cricket as much as my mother does,
but I am fond of it. Goldie-Hawn-on-acid's infectiousness
strikes again.
Copyright
(R) thedailystar.net 2004
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