We decided to split up for the day, Val to make a serious attempt to get on with some shopping + presents to be bought, especially for our mothers, while I went to the cricket. England are in Jaipur to play the opening match of their Indian tour – they arrived in India on the day Mrs Gandhi was assassinated, which wasn’t very good timing, + after being holed up in Delhi for a few days, they popped off down to Sri Lanka to play a couple of games there. This was the final day of the match, + looked pretty well set for a draw, but I thought that them + me being in the same place, I should take note + go along to have a look. Besides, the alternative was to shop with Val.
Getting there was a bit of a job, for my rickshaw driver obviously didn’t understand me, + took me to a hospital. Luckily, someone else came to my aid to interpret, + the driver took me the short distance further, for which I gave him 50 paisa. I can’t say he was overjoyed, but there was little he could do about it.
I bought my ticket from a man just outside the ground, + was told by a couple of schoolboys, even before I got inside the ground, that Gower, the England captain, still in last night with 80 odd runs, was now out. And I was only a few mins late. The scene inside was uninspiring – a huge, almost empty arena, providing less atmosphere than the dullest of village cricket matches. Running round the boundary was a cinders track, then 10 yds or so of grass, then a high wire fence, + finally us, the few spectators, peering at the antics of the men on the field as at moon men, with no emotional involvement whatever. I chose a spot on the stone benches by myself – no problem there, except that I didn’t stay alone very long. I was joined by a small group of young men, one of whom, speaking very limited English, nevertheless broke in with the usual litany. “What is your name?” “What is your country?”, then a new one, “What is your hobbies?” which left me rather flummoxed. I lost a lot of face shortly afterwards, however, when a couple of English players came wandering around the boundary, their SLRs in their hands. My companions were immediately clamouring at the fence, autograph books in their hands. “Come here!” they yelled. They weren’t being deliberately rude, it was just a mark of their limited vocabulary, but unsurprisingly, they were ignored. Then they appealed to me – the cricketers were, they pointed out, my countrymen – but there was little chance I would have any more success than they had had, + I had in any case no intention of risking my dignity by even trying.
My erstwhile disciples wandered away, + I had a long time alone in the sunshine, to watch the cricket desultorily, to munch my sandwiches, + to let my mind wander. The cricket itself was dull – if England had declared early, there might have been some chance of some excitement, but Gower decided to give his batsmen plenty of practice, + the declaration didn’t come until a draw was the only possible result. I was joined once again by a group of local fans for the final session after tea. Their English was better, + what they had to say more interesting. It was odd tho’ that they considered me to be a regular attender at cricket matches, when it occurred to me that the last match I had seen had probably been England v India, nearly 20 years ago. When the dreary game reached its dreary conclusion, I was asked whether I was going to stay for the Man of the Match award. I declined.
I rode part of the way back on a passing camel cart – the driver had smiled + waved me aboard as he passed me striding along the road, so on I leapt, until he turned off in the wrong direction – I attracted a few curious looks tho’. And then I walked the rest. I enjoy walking on my own, not having to worry, for once, about someone else. Val + I met up again at the Evergreen – she was in a bad mood, for altho’ she’d been able to get some of her shopping done, a shopkeeper had managed to give her a quick grope while she was trying on some clothes. I was most annoyed by the fact she hadn’t hit him, but then India has made me most aggressive.
No photographs to accompany this, since presumably I did not take the camera. As usual, with the hindsight of forty years, some mild regrets. I definitely ought to have at least tried to get the attention of the England cricketers; what did I have to lose? Apart, as I pointed out the time, some small modicum of dignity, and I am far less concerned about such things now. Interesting that I had not seen a cricket match for twenty years, and it’s twice as much as that since then, and I haven’t been to another one (though I have played in one or two, and been thoroughly bored, cold, humiliated, injured etc. Not my game.
