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Follow UsAfter trying to chronicle my experiences of what we saw on our way to these different cities, it was time for us to get back to our home turf - Bangalore. The better part of my last two years have been spent in this city. Not to forget, so did most of my childhood summer vacations.
While I was no stranger to the city, calling it “mine” did not really come naturally. It probably had to do with its ability to welcome one and all with no inhibitions and the ease with which non-locals settled in here. That’s right, my reasoning is that Bangalore is too Bangalore for my liking.
For the longest time, I did not understand the hype around Bangalore’s weather. Sure, it was great that the city had perennially pleasant weather, but move on, people!
What’s so much to be made about it?
Arriving here two weeks later and a couple of shades darker (yeah, yeah, I didn’t carry my sunscreen), the realization dawned on me. Never again was I going to take the weather here for granted. Not after what I faced while moving across those other cities.
Anyway, Bangalore’s welcoming self was on display as our ride back from the airport was spent in silence - the windows open, sans the AC, just a welcoming breeze.
I’ll keep what Bangalore has to offer for later because I cannot not talk about my interactions with Mumbai’s cricket culture and its million-plus custodians. Given its proximity to the stadium, we were put up in the southern and more affluent part of Mumbai, Cuffe Parade.
The day following England’s drubbing at the hands of the Proteas, we went to the nearby Oval Maidan to try and see what all the talk was about. Having always been a bigger fan of playing the sport than watching it, I could see myself getting sucked into the gazillion matches being played over there.
Never have I seen a club cricket tournament, tennis ball tournament, and recreational friendlies being played right next to each other, with fielders of one game entering the field of play of another being a common occurrence.
On asking someone about the prospect of being hit by a leather ball while fielding, they were rather nonchalant about it.
“Yeah, we’re used to it. I’ve been hit by these enough to not be too bothered about it,” is how a 55-year-old gentleman put it, who’d been coming to the Oval Maidan every Sunday for the last 30 years.
Leather, tennis, plastic, rubber - you name it, and rest assured that there was a match going on with it.
How much Mumbaikars love their cricket could be seen in the packed crowd we saw in attendance for the England - South Africa encounter.
After spending some time chatting and rolling our arms over with fellow amateur cricketers, we decided to get some respite from the heat at Oval Cafe, a quaint little place right opposite the Maidan.
The place was as Mumbaiesque as one could get with its aesthetics.
Pictures of former cricketers hanging on walls reeking of their age, minimal lighting, packets of pav and peanuts lying in a heap in one corner, and two smiling staff members to wait tables on.
Funnily enough, our order of chilled beer was served with a side of World Cup trivia.
“Did you know that India hasn’t defeated New Zealand in World Cup fixtures since 2003?”
Not one for romanticizing cultures, but like Mohammed Rafi once sang, “Yeh Hai Mumbai Meri Jaan”.
