Desultorily on the game of cricket
The game of cricket occupies my mind now and then. At such times I sit and wonder what the relevance is of 100 runs by a bastman. 100 is
an arbitrary number in every sense when applied to cricket, whereas the
achievement of a bowler who gets 5 wickets in one innings is not, for the reason that there
are only 10 possible wickets that can be ever taken in an innings. You can theoretically make many hundreds, given the right conditions.
Another thing that sets me thinking.Not all cricket grounds are the same dimensions. The pitches
are all the same dimensions, but boundaries are sometimes short, sometimes not.
On the same ground, boundaries vary. Amazing. Yet the game goes on, with no one in any team complaining.
The same thing goes for the type of pitch that is prepared for a game.
With these external variables (and I bet there are many
more, more than any rational mind could conjure up), and the variables of the batting order, the rotation of bowlers, and
field positions of the rest of the team, it is not surprising that cricket bamboozles the astutest analyst.
To many people, the idea of a drawn game (played over 5 days with breaks for drinks, lunch, and tea...really, tea) holding spectator
interest can’t make sense. Yet, that possiblility of no decisive outcome is probably the finest aspect of this
game, paradoxically a game of intense competition—not against someone else,
but against one’s own self, in some ways almost like another confounding game, namely golf. I
imagine that in the nascent days of cricket, guys in wet England went out on the rare sunny
day to play a game in two teams, mainly to see who could bowl more men out in
the time prescribed.
I am saying that cricket is a bowler’s game that has been
appropriated by the batsmen. That’s why the century by a batsman doesn’t make
sense as an achievement, but 5 wickets taken by a bowler makes sense.
That’s all I have to say about that, as Forrest Gump
would have it.
What a Yarn
How to tell this story without giving away the end?
Well, if in my retirement years I have grown fond of sewing
by hand, there was a time when I enjoyed knitting. At Brown, as a graduate
student, I got interested in crochet as well, and I used to go to the downtown
area to buy wool. Someone showed me how to do the granny square, and I took off
on my Afghan trip.
Anyway, here’s the story.
My friends at Brown, Meera and Neeru, both in the sciences
(Physics and Electronic Engineering, to be precise) were also pretty good with
a ball of yarn and a couple of needles. Once
I remember, the two of them came to see me in a sort of a panic and told me how
they had just embarked on a knitting project—a present for a friend—but found
themselves suddenly strapped for time thanks to difficult experiment that had to be
completed. They wanted me to help with
the knitting.
It was a pretty lilac and blue scarf they were knitting. They
left the yarn and the needles with me. Within a week they returned, and seemed
a bit disappointed at my slow progress, although they were very nice about it.
While we chatted and enjoyed a bit of weekend cooking, they each took turns
with the wool. This time, though, when we parted, Meera pleaded with me to try
and speed things up a bit, because the friend’s birthday was fast approaching.
So it went on for a month, and I knitted and knitted,
finding to my dismay that they wanted a full six feet long scarf. When that was
done, they wanted tassels put in. Other than do a row or two, they really
seemed to assume that I would knit a scarf for their friend—I didn’t resent it
but I certainly found it odd. Anyway, it was finally done, and they took the
completed scarf with many sincere words of appreciation.
Have you got the story yet?
No? Well, if you are a prankster, you would have guessed
where the story is going.
Okay, keep working at it.
In the meanwhile, my birthday came around, and we had a
great party, complete with Neeru’s
vegetable kheer, Mera’s green moong gashi and a fragrant vegetable
rice, wine and the company of our
puzzle-loving, story-telling friends, most of whom were also graduate students,
all males, all Indians, all in the sciences. Neeru and Meera gave me my present
in a large cardboard carton, which I opened. There was a lot of packaging
material. It took me a while to unpack my
present, and sure enough, there it was at the very bottom. It was a beautiful,
six-foot long scarf with tassels, in lilac and blue, that I had lovingly hand-knitted
for myself.
With Duncan at Jebel Shams
(all photos by Duncan Webb)
Among the most memorable birthday gifts, I have to put right
on top the trek along the cliffs of Jebel Shams that Duncan gave me.
Mohan and I are not really outdoor types. But we have
enjoyed a few fantastic outings with encouraging friends to explore a forest trail
or a waterfall. While in Muscat, we
frequently took the easy way out and went to see stunning sights of deserts,
valleys, oases, and the seabed using efficient motorized vehicles.
Somehow, Duncan’s description of the Jebel inspired me to
try and do the thing on foot. I didn’t have much confidence in my skills but he
was very encouraging. That year, when my birthday came around, I asked Mohan if
we could spend the day trekking.
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| birthday treat 2005 |
We left the night before and stopped at Nizwa. We must have
gone to our favorite souk there. The next morning, we left early after a
ridiculous breakfast of soft white bread and jam. Fortunately I did have nuts
and dried fruit for the excursion.
The drive in Duncan’s modest four-wheel vehicle was bumpy to
say the least, and when we arrived at the village from where we were to embark
on the trek to see the valley from the heights of the cliffs, people surrounded
us for goodies. Drinking water in plastic bottles is a cherished item there.
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| trekking |
We arrived at the ruins of a village after walking for some
hour or more (I think—it was a while ago, and my memory for details fades).
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| abandoned village at the bottom of our trek in shams |
We
hung about there, and I thought how wonderful it might be to spend overnight at
that spot. We had a pleasant picnic and chatted. Duncan is a well-informed
individual, and a very engaging companion, in addition to being a loving friend
of mine. We left on our return trek with some reluctance, because the breathtaking
depth of the valley held you in thrall.
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| morning --shams |
The way back went fine for a while until suddenly my vision
began to blur. That’s about when the ledges grew narrower as well. I had no
idea what was going on, although I had felt similar difficulties with my vision
now and then after a jog along the beach. This time the problem persisted
longer than I had ever known, besides being a real hindrance in the terrain
where seeing what was in front was absolutely essential.
I sat down, saying I was tired, ate a few apricots, and hoped
for the eyes to clear up. The two men were most solicitous. They hung about
patiently for me to catch my breath—although what was troubling me was serious.
I had to get up because soon the sun would begin to go down. I decided to hold
on to Duncan’s hand and let him lead me, and Mohan to keep his hand on my back
for a while. I really had problems seeing.
Thankfully, at some point, things cleared up. I forgot all
about it when we returned to our jeep for another exciting off-the-road trip,
now back to Muscat through more viewpoint stops.
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| shams view from a stop during our trek |
That was the first serious symptom of my diabetes, it turned
out. A good 2 years later (in 2007), when I mentioned that once in a while my
vision gets blurred, my ophthalmologist quickly pointed me in the direction of
the general physician, who confirmed that I was diabetic. Type 2.
That’s another story.
On our way back to Muscat, we went to Misbah village to see
the falaj irrigation system. I loved our many visits to Misbah, where you could
have your fill of fresh dates in season. Omani dates are special, and when they
are freshly ripened, the custardy texture of the pulp spreads its exquisite sweetness
on your tongue, tenderly touching each taste bud.
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| falaj at misbah |
My birthday in 2013 has been another one to cherish.
That, too, is another story.
