
Bhagyasree’s “Qaid Mein Hain Bulbul.” Sunil Gavaskar curled up like an armadillo defending against Wayne Daniel. Imran Khan sending Michael Veletta’s stumps walking. Vinod Kambli crying in Kolkata. Zico missing that kick. A man in front of a blackboard and a long wooden stick explaining election results on DD. News of Indira Gandhi’s assassination stopping the commentary of an India-Pakistan match. Cheering for VP Singh as the Congress gets drubbed. Mandal and feeling betrayed by the same man we had once cheered for. Hawa Hawa. Oye Oye. The taste of Re 1 chumchum. All of these feel just as fresh and as vivid as if they happened yesterday. But if you ask me about things that happened in the last few years—all the movies, matches, events become a jumbled mess of color and noise and I have to pause, hem and haw, trying to unravel the tangled web of what passes for my short-term memory.
One of the many things that fascinate me about the IPL, in addition to Arun Lal’s rapier wit, Ravi Shastri’s landing strip on head and the copious amounts of misti doi lathered everywhere, is the process of the entire process of the player auctions. Unlike the international game where you are either blessed or cursed by the talent that is born within your shores, here franchises can buy talent and build up their teams, with things being made fair by the fact that they can all spend the same amount of money and can only play four non-Indian players. Choosing the squad then becomes a fascinating optimization problem, one where player value (their performance potential at their buying price) and squad balance become critical determinants in the success of the franchise.
Bindra, Sushmita Sen’s true ideal for “woman of substance”.