From Street Cricket to Street Chance...

The wicket is as high as the batsman’s waist. Many a time, it is just imaginary, with three small stones to indicate its position. At the other end, coming off a long run up, rounding a corner is the rival team’s express bowler, Mohan. There are two men standing behind the stumps and whoever catches the ball when it passes the bat or goes around the batsman, becomes the ‘automatic wicket-keeper’.

Welcome to the world of ‘Gully Cricket’ or ‘Street Cricket’ in India.

Generally played on narrow winding roads, street cricket often demands that ultra-aggressive batsmen curb their natural instincts. Shops all around and glass windows of houses often deter the batsman from going for extravagant shots, for they will earn the eternal hatred of the neighbours and will most certainly put the conduct of the match in jeopardy. Hence big sixes see batsmen making their ‘short walk’ back to the pavilion, in this case the compound wall of a neighbouring house.

As a street cricketer in India, everyone aspires to be either the fastest bowler or the batsman who can hit the farthest. Any umpire would be appalled by the bowling standards. Most of them chuck and a bowler’s concern is about getting the batsman out, not about bent elbows.

There is an unwritten rule in street cricket that you bowl within acceptable speed limits. Mohan swears that he can touch 90mph and as he bowls, shouts of ‘fast-appeal’ reverberate through the air. He is never likely to make a trip to the match referee’s chamber for suspect bowling action. Mohan is no doubt ferocious to face, as there is no protective gear for the batsmen.

Hitting hard and scrambling for the non- existent single is the batsman’s mantra. Often strapped for resources, the batsman drops his bat as he starts running, baseball style!

The ball is often a tennis ball wrapped in tape so as to increase its weight and enabling it to act more like a Kookaburra or SG cricket ball with extra bounce and more speed. Sometimes even ‘cork balls’ are used to counter the rough terrain. A hit on the head is an insult to one’s manhood.

The cricket sees some of the fiercest rivalries being enacted with teams drawn from different localities battling for pride. Mohan says gambling is rife and anger often spills over leading to brawls.

Street cricket in India sees the game itself change according to the players’ whims and fancies. If there are no stumps, then bricks or sticks take their place. If the number of players is odd, then a ‘double-side batsman’ or a ‘joker’ comes into the picture. He gets to bat for both the sides. His loyalty shifts based on how each team treats him.

When the strong guys in the team think that a weak link cannot bowl half a dozen deliveries, then something called a ‘baby-over’ comes into play. The weak link gets to bowl three deliveries, after which some big guy takes over. If the players are one too many, ‘one-pitch one hand’ (if a batsman is caught off one bounce with one hand) and ‘wall catch’ (when the ball is caught directly off the wall) are deemed as valid dismissals.

When his side is batting, Mohan becomes the ‘de-facto’ umpire. He admits that he suffers from selective amnesia whenever it comes to keeping count of the number of balls bowled or runs scored, often distorting them to favour his team.

Oddly, in the land of spinners, street cricket treats spinners with disdain. Everybody wants to bowl fast. When your ‘pitch’ offers so much assistance why not make the ball move off it at express pace?

Cricket in India is a national obsession. If India wins, people are happy. If they don’t, then players’ effigies are burnt and their homes attacked. But, for the majority of India’s poor who have no access to television, cricket played on pot-holed roads with stones and rubble, much more dangerous than uncovered wickets, provides solace. For them, international cricket is far less relevant than gully cricket. With players like Mohan becoming the heroes, cricketing legends like Rahul Dravid and Sachin Tendulkar are often pushed to the back benches.

Contrast this with England, a country where cricketing history seeps through the walls of most dressing rooms, a country where cricket is just for the purists, T20 notwithstanding.

Now, at the home of cricket, StreetChance, a form of street cricket, is being introduced to forge a sense of oneness among the people of African and Caribbean descent after the memories of the London riots have started fading.

StreetChance went first to Priory Court. It drew its first set of players from a pool of teenagers who were heavy smokers and were involved in gang wars. One such boy was Sophocleous. At the end of one match, he was astonished that he had not smoked a single cigarette for two hours. He kept returning to StreetChance to cut down to one cigarette a day.

Cricket in England, at least traditionally, never belonged to the streets. Football has always been the sport of the street in England. Since it requires children to be reasonably adept and fit, even to play in a casual way, a number of children are left out.

Richard Joyce, StreetChance's national operations manager says, “StreetChance aims to reach into those neighbourhoods and fill the empty spaces in young teenagers' lives. Its cricket is not that of perfection, technique, orthodoxy; it is cricket for access and enjoyment.”

Here it is six-a-side, five overs an innings and four balls an over. It is played in school halls, basketball courts and on indoor athletics tracks. Matches finish in 15 to 20 minutes. Sometimes they even tape the ball as it is done in India and Pakistan. At an event at Brixton recently, several members of the England women's team, including the captain, turned up to join the teenagers play the sport in its most enjoyable form.

In the course of a single afternoon, StreetChance might have helped shrink some deep-rooted differences that might exist in English cricket. While in India it serves as one of many distractions for poor children, in England, it is being tried for enjoyment and the effect that an inclusive sport can have on the community.

Serve-and-Volley, where are you?

Roger Federer served-and-volleyed 100 percent of the time on his first serve and more than 50 percent of the time on his second serve when he upset Pete Sampras at the 2001 Wimbledon Championships. He served-and-volleyed five times during his 6-0, 7-6, 6-7, 6-3 victory over Rafael Nadal in the 2006 Wimbledon final.

The period was just five years, but the change in the man reflected the changing times. Players in these years increasingly started seeing the area around the net as a no-go zone.

In 2001, there was little indication that serve-and-volley was living on borrowed time. Tim Henman, Goran Ivansevic and Pat Rafter — all competent serve-and-volleyers — made it to the semifinals at Wimbledon.

However, on the eve of the 2002 Championships, the mix of the grass was changed from a quick 70% Rye / 30% Creeping red fescue, to a slower 100% Perennial ryegrass to encourage high bounces. The International Tennis Federation also developed a larger tennis ball, called the Type 3, which travelled more slowly through the air.

The effects of these were evident during the course of the tournament. The path down the centre of the court remained relatively untouched even as the baseline lay rugged. All this culminated in the first ever Wimbledon final without a single serve-and-volley point.

Alarm bells started ringing and in 2003, a group headed by the former Grand Slam champions Martina Navratilova, Boris Becker, John McEnroe, Stan Smith and Pat Cash sent an open letter to the ITF asking that the width of racket heads used by the professionals be reduced by 3.5 inches. Their contention was that the new technology discourages serve-and-volleying and has made the sport unbalanced and one-dimensional.

But by then the rot had set in and in 2005, just ten out of the top 100 players frequently served-and-volleyed: Tim Henman, Mario Ancic, Radek Stepanek, Greg Rusedski, Michael Llodra, and Roger Federer (ranked number one) among others. Today Mardy Fish is the only player in the top ten who frequently serves-and-volleys. One has to go as far as number 25 to find the next net-rusher, Radek Stepanek.

So why is serve-and-volley, perhaps the most exciting and athletic of playing styles, on the brink of extinction from modern-day men’s tennis? Imagine boxing without body punching. The sport would be greatly diminished. So would tennis be, if the art of serve-and-volley, as perfected by the legends of the game such as Jack Kramer, John McEnroe, Stefan Edberg and Pete Sampras, loses its sheen.

“It happened because of the surfaces we grow up on,” says Pete Sampras. “Laver and the Aussies of the 50s and 60s grew up playing on grass. Kids today are playing on hard courts and clay. So they naturally start playing from the backcourt.”

Even as Wimbledon authorities dismissed the view that there was a deliberate attempt to slow down the surface, in 2008, a British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) video proved beyond doubt that the surface had actually slowed down. It compared identical 126 miles-per-hour serves by Federer from 2003 and 2008. The 2008 serve went 9 miles-per-hour slower after the bounce.

While most experts agreed that the change of grass at Wimbledon was certainly one of the reasons, there is widespread consensus that today’s players have made training and physical strength into a science. They’re faster, stronger, and more versatile than ever before. They are more reliant on ground strokes and modern rackets ensure that you no longer need to hit the ball on the sweet part of the bat anymore.

Also, top-flight singles players deserting doubles in the last 20 years has paralleled a decline in serving-and-volleying in singles matches. Doubles matches have a higher proportion of net-play and at the highest level it is still a winning tactic. In fact current world number two Rafael Nadal, regularly plays doubles to sharpen his volleying skills.

It was not just state-of-the-art rackets, towering athletes and slow surfaces that signaled the near-end of serve-and-volley tennis. Two trends in playing styles also accelerated the evolution of slam-bam tennis and helped render serve-and-volley almost extinct: the Western forehand and the two-handed backhand, replacing the traditional Continental style and one-handed backhand.

The Continental style is the most suitable style for volleying. It has the important advantage of not requiring a grip change for any stroke and is adaptable to taking the ball on the rise. But it requires a very powerful wrist to generate pace on the forehand and hence there are more chances of errors being committed.

But, ever since Borg arrived on the scene with his Western grip and won five straight Wimbledon titles, his phenomenal success inspired a generation of baseline clones — Ivan Lendl, Mats Wilander, Jim Courier and Andre Agassi to name a few.

These players, armed with Western forehands, double-handed backhands and graphite rackets would produce shots with such top spin and power that a serve-and-volleyer would barely have half a second to react. It is extremely difficult for a player, when he is on the offence, to switch from Western to Continental grip to volley.

In fact, Pete Sampras would typically produce 1,800 ball revolutions per minute off his forehand. Roger Federer’s shots have been measured at 2,500 and Rafael Nadal’s average is about 3,200.

As the emphasis on high-speed and powerful shots increased, offensive shots hit from all over the court has influenced the volleying technique. Players now hit a ‘Swing volley’ rather than the traditional punch or drive volley. This involves a higher likelihood of errors with players trying to smack the ball with great power across the court.

But both Western Forehand and the two-handed backhand are here to stay. While it is not ideal for a player with a complete game, for most of the players on the circuit, it has proved to be a godsend.

So what is the future of serve-and-volley tennis? As a surprise tactic, it might appear safe, but in an era where baseline slugfests are the norm, for serve-and-volley tennis to make a comeback, it needs a plethora of rule changes and more than a messianic figure.

Brotherly love.....

The revolutionary founder of the Dravidian movement, EV Ramasamy Naicker or Periyar, often said that children make a politician selfish. It’s not a coincidence that Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK) patriarch, M Karunanidhi, a politician with three wives and children has turned the entire state into a family estate.

After the rout in the assembly elections, he expected red and black bordered dhoti clad partymen to come to his rescue and help him in this hour of distress. But all that came in the aftermath of 2G scam were land grab charges and simmering family feuds. His latest challenge is to stop his sons, M K Azhagiri and M K Stalin from going at each other’s throats.

In yet another survey to deem who among the two is more acceptable as the party’s political heir, M K Azhagiri has again been shown as the ‘also ran’. The survey conducted by a magazine Kumudham Reporter, gave M K Stalin 58% and an overwhelming thumbs-up. Azhagiri came a distant second at 12%. Coming as it did in the backdrop of the DMK general council meeting, it managed to put the succession war, which was lying dormant for some time, back on the front pages.

One of the reasons for the tiff is that, between Azhagiri and Stalin, their father prefers the latter. Speculation was rife that Stalin could be elevated to the post of the party’s working president. Organizational changes like restructuring of the party’s district units so that bigger districts have more than one unit, the proposal to fix three terms for district secretaries and office bearers were seen as Stalin’s brainchild.

These measures, seen as attempts by Stalin to further tighten his hold on the party, certainly didn’t amuse Azhagiri. Even, as he raised objections, the council went ahead and passed amendments on some party by-laws. A miffed Azhigiri left the general council meeting, at a time when even random words and actions from the state’s first family are fodder for rumour mills across the state.

The Stalin-Azhagiri turf war is one of folklore and has a rich past. When the brothers first clashed in 1980 over who would control Chennai, Azhagiri was dispatched by his father to Madurai to run the party mouth piece ‘Murasoli’. He had no say in editorial decisions and he gradually lost interest and directed his energies to other profitable ventures. He made friends with every big-time gangster with notorious names; Attack’ Pandi, ‘Pottu’ Suresh and ‘Karate’ Pandian to name a few.

Azhagiri now runs a TV channel, a cable service provider called Royal Video and a wedding hall. Add to that the muscle power and the moneybags to control the region’s land mafia. You have a perfect amalgam of a big brother and a feudal lord.

While Azhagiri rose to phenomenal heights completely outside the democratic space – he contested his first election in 2009, though he had iron grip over the party’s southern wing for two decades – Stalin’s rise is in stark contrast. He is a four-time MLA and even had two stints as the mayor of Chennai. He developed his image as a competent administrator. He expanded his kingdom by making strategic appearances with his father. He was quick to take credit for flyovers constructed and welfare measures implemented.

In the dark phase between 1977 to 1989, when DMK was kept out of power by MGR, the party needed a massive infusion of youth. Stalin mobilised the youth, Karunanidhi was pleased and his destiny was sealed. Ironically Stalin, even at the age of 59, is still the party’s youth wing president. Azhagiri sulked at being passed over for the party’s top post. He started to kick up a storm.

Arguably, one of the reasons for such ruptures is that these leaders have no future outside Tamil Nadu. Their foothold is restricted to the boundaries of the state. Such limited space for display of political ambitions leads to an intensification of the battle for supremacy within the party.

Karunanidhi tried his level best to avoid this situation by sending his elder son to occupy the chair of Union Minster of Chemicals and Fertilizers in 2009. But Azhagiri proved to be fish out of water. Known to speak only in chaste Tamil, he could neither converse with any of the officials in his ministry nor understand the proceedings in the parliament. He gradually thought of himself to be an eternal misfit in the larger political spectrum to which his father had transferred him.

The rout of the party in the 2011 assembly elections made sure that the succession war within the DMK was not allowed full expression. Stalin and Azhagiri were busy making trips to various central jails to meet their supporters who were accused of land grab and were put behind bars. But, when rumours started floating around that Stalin and Kanimozhi would be given greater party roles, Azhagiri felt isolated and left alone.

If at all the party breaks into two warring factions, the one that has amassed more power, influence and clout prior to the split, is certain is win. Political base or vote banks will be just one among many factors.

The key area of conflict will be the Tamil film industry which is a huge source of financial strength. Till now whoever has controlled the film industry has invariably controlled Tamil Nadu politics. This is not expected to change in the near future.

“If he could remain CM in his next life, Karunanidhi would choose that over everything else,” joked political commentator Cho Ramasamy. “But since he is an atheist, he has no choice but to pick a successor.”

Boulevard of broken dreams

                                    

April 5, 2009, was just another day for me. But Mahatma Gandhi Road, now popularly called MG Road and South Parade in pre-independence times, was set to lose one of its last remnants of history.

The Indian Coffee House, which stood as a mute spectator since 1959 to many significant changes in MG Road’s landscape, was catering to its customers for one last time in an ambience as serene as ever. For old-timers like my father it was a sad end to a glorious chapter.

Bangalore has always been a city that attracted migrants, its weather the single biggest factor. First, it was the turn of Tamilians who settled in Halasuru, an area off MG Road. Then came the British. The cosmopolitan aura reflects in the areas in and around MG Road. These were part of the cantonment area of Bangalore (other being the ‘city’), which stretched to twelve and a half square miles, established by the British Military Garrison.

Lord Cornwallis is said to have led his army through present day MG Road in the 1780s when he attacked Tipu Sultan’s fort in Kalasipalyam. The British managed to defeat Tipu in 1799. But they were driven out of Srirangapatnam by mosquitoes and they took refuge in Bangalore’s Cantonment. Trinity Church, located at the start of MG Road, was constructed for the garrisoned soldiers.

In complete contrast to the other side of Bangalore (Malleshwaram, Chamarajpet and Basavanagudi), which was conservative to the core and swore by idli vada and by-two coffee, the landscape in the cantonment area was dotted by bars, pubs, discotheques and movie theatres that screened ‘English movies’ and restaurants that served fancy food.

For someone like me, who has lived his entire life in Bangalore, one for whom ‘home’ is speaking in Kannada and munching authentic South-Indian food, MG Road was completely out of bounds. It was an alien territory, as much as London or Paris.

Girls draped in western wear, smoking cigars and having a drink or two were commonplace. New Year’s Eve and Christmas parties at the ‘Hard Rock Café’ found audience among the ‘Generation Next.’ It was, by far, the most ‘happening’ place for new-age Bangaloreans.

Despite this, it is MG Road which settlers, old and new, orthodox and liberal have always associated and identified Bangalore with. Its beautiful green canopy, boulevard with arched bougainvillea that ran the length of the road, theatres like Plaza and Galaxy and the Indian Coffee House were the main attractions.

                                      

Bangalore is the only city where exotic varieties of flowers and trees bloom for almost nine months a year. Shades of this are still evident in Cubbon Park, which lies at one end of MG Road with flora and fauna sprawling over 100 acres.

A walk along the boulevard, filter coffee at Indian Coffee House, smelling sandalwood sculptures at Cauvery Emporium and a late night movie at plaza; the MG Road of today offers none of these.

With the exception of one or two, most of the older buildings have been razed. In their place stand multi-storey buildings, corporate offices and malls with glitzy glass exteriors. The Barton Center and the Utility building, perhaps the last showcases of colonial times, no longer have those small little restaurants on the terrace.

Gone are the morning walkers, evening joggers and shopkeepers on the pavements. A giant flyover-like structure right at the centre of the road on which Bangalore’s ‘Namma Metro’ runs has reduced the erstwhile boulevard to rubble.

                                 

However, the Indian Coffee House was reinstated last year, albeit at a different location. On Church Street, parallel to MG Road. The aroma of the filter coffee, the taste of the masala dosa and the red-turbaned waiters, are all still the same.

But the spirit just doesn’t seem to be there any more; it gives way to a wave of nostalgia that sweeps over people. In May this year, a high-value commercial space, close to Barton Centre and a few hundred yards away from the earlier location of the Indian Coffee House, was leased to Café Coffee Day. “A lot can happen over a cup of coffee.” A lot can happen, indeed.