They were all there.Īpart from the Mumbai skyline looming in the background, all the characteristics of my childhood matches were on display. Denuded stumps - no bails, of course stones and chappals marking the creases Cosco tennis balls of varying wear bats with twine coming off their handles.
It was like dusting off an old photo album, reliving memories. It was hard to know where one match ended and the other began but the essence of the games soon came into view. It was a bit unnerving to wander into this unstructured yet strictly codified world, though it was a scene straight out of my youth, when I had played on corporation grounds and colony fields, rooftops and raggedy streets. It was a hot afternoon in October and I had ventured with a journalist friend to the famous ground in Dadar. There are at least 30 different cricket matches on, each containing its own constellation of players, across the dusty maidan called Shivaji Park in the heart of Mumbai. But as you allow your eyes to adjust, focus and refocus, like when looking at stars on a clear, moonless summer night, you start telling them apart.
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