I suffer from the Calvin syndrome - the Calvin with the tiger called Hobbes - all my real talents are undervalued. I am really good at doing nothing, but no one, not even my own wife, the love of my life (who married me following my tender entreaties involving among other things psychiatrists, loony bins and permanent postings) allows me to fully explore and exploit my talent of doing nothing. She is not really concerned that this talent of mine is getting wasted, in fact, she is fully up in arms against it. She treats it as if it were some kind of pestilence that should be eradicated. Consequently, my backside and our couch have grown further and further apart in recent times, getting to spend hardly any time together.
Things were not always thus, though.
Once I said that Sri Lanka were playing Zimbabwe. Nothing I said after that could convince her of the supreme importance of the match to the cosmic health of our known universe and alas! I was dragged off the couch.
The pocket of civilization that I inhabit, is one of extreme refinement. I can subscribe to about five different cricket channels, all of which show nothing but cricket or related programmes all day long. They also show repeats of old matches. Old matches can be anything that was played before I was born to something played in the morning today. Repeats, as any sports fan knows are hugely entertaining, more than the actual match on occasion, since the result is already known, you have none of the real time heartburn and threat of imminent crushing disappointment. All you need to do is to enjoy the game, savour the major moments (29th over just watch the cover drive), bask in the glory of victory and salute the game. Most reruns involve our team winning, if you subscribe to the correct channels.
And this is how I spent many a glad evening through my life. After marriage, it changed to watching only matches involving India, and this had a good run too. Till one fateful day. It was one of the happiest days of my life and also the day I can trace the loss of Paradise to.
My team had reached the final of a major tournament in a long long time. The build up to the entire tournament had been special. Me and my wife had watched a lot of these matches together. She could name and recognize players even of the opposing sides. She could name upto five different ways that a batsman could get out. She supported the late night matches all the way till the final. She broke a habit of a lifetime and watched all six hours of the match.
We Won.
Jubilation.
Two Weeks Later.
The euphoria had died down. I was sitting peacefully watching a repeat of the match, internalizing it, savouring it, remembering the key moments, reliving the excitement without thought of impending doom this time when my wife came and sat with me.
"Another match?" she asked.
"Just watch," I said, trying to be a little enigmatic. I was sure she would love to relive the night of glory again. "Sachin is going to hit two fours in the next three balls."
"Didn't we just watch it last week?" She asked, a little unnecessarily, I thought. "You remember every ball!" She said rather accusingly.
"Yes, we did, but it was nine days ago, not last week." I said, settling down peacefully, "Enough time to forget the nuances."
"How can you watch this again? You already know what is going to happen!" She exclaimed.
"Well, yes," I said, "But this time there is no pressure."
"Seriously?!" She said. "Seriously?!" It was maybe a question, maybe an exclamation. I never know. The only other place I have ever heard it on is on American television serials.
We went shopping that evening. And that was the day Paradise was lost.
From that day on, whenever she sees me watching cricket, the first question is "Is there a tournament on?" Followed quickly by "Are we playing?" Rounded up by "Is this match live?"
Sharing knowledge can be a very dangerous thing. You never know when something might come back to be the bane of your existence. Had I been a little economical with the truth and kept my mouth a little shut, one never knows, I still might be watching the second final of the Australian tri-series of 2009.
Things were not always thus, though.
I don't know why precisely it came to be, but early in my marriage, my wife made a rule (unilaterally, I must hasten to add), that when I was watching cricket, she would generally pester and nag me, but with no real intent of making me stop watching. Maybe this rule had its roots in the fact that my father-in-law is an avid watcher, maybe it was formulated because my wife read in a how-to-manage-husbands handbook that this was an essential to make husbands feel 'in control', but the fact remained, if I was sitting in front of the television watching cricket, she would, more or less, let me be.
Cricket is the ideal game for doing nothing. At worst it lasts for three and a half hours and at best for five days. When someone said he thought cricket a form of organized loafing, he never had in mind the millions of people watching it from sundry couches at home. It is a game built so that the 'doing nothing' of men has a structure to it.
Cricket is the ideal game for doing nothing. At worst it lasts for three and a half hours and at best for five days. When someone said he thought cricket a form of organized loafing, he never had in mind the millions of people watching it from sundry couches at home. It is a game built so that the 'doing nothing' of men has a structure to it.
Initially, my wife even took interest in the proceedings when I was watching cricket.
"Who's playing?" she'd ask.
"India," I'd say.
"Who are we playing against?" she'd ask.
"Australia," I'd say and then we'd both settle down to watch some cricket. Me, for the whole duration of the match, she for installments of five minutes. Unless something drastic is happening like us winning the world cup, she finds it hard to sit and watch for more than a twelfth of an hour. She is extremely interested in winning, moderately interested in the game.
This rule of letting me watch cricket was not a declared rule, mind you. I happened to chance upon it through trial and error. I discovered that whenever I was watching cricket, things would turn to "I'm taking the kids out" rather than "You take them swimming" and shopping expeditions would be deferred to later "When the match is over" etc. etc. It was not all smooth sailing though. In reply to "Who is playing?" The answer always had to be "India" first and then someone later. Stuff like Brazil might have worked initially, till she wised up and realized that only about eight countries play at any genuine level of competition.
For the record, I never actually tried Brazil. Even Netherlands was subject to an audit that I barely came out of thanks mainly due to their having beaten England in the recent past.
This rule of letting me watch cricket was not a declared rule, mind you. I happened to chance upon it through trial and error. I discovered that whenever I was watching cricket, things would turn to "I'm taking the kids out" rather than "You take them swimming" and shopping expeditions would be deferred to later "When the match is over" etc. etc. It was not all smooth sailing though. In reply to "Who is playing?" The answer always had to be "India" first and then someone later. Stuff like Brazil might have worked initially, till she wised up and realized that only about eight countries play at any genuine level of competition.
For the record, I never actually tried Brazil. Even Netherlands was subject to an audit that I barely came out of thanks mainly due to their having beaten England in the recent past.
Once I said that Sri Lanka were playing Zimbabwe. Nothing I said after that could convince her of the supreme importance of the match to the cosmic health of our known universe and alas! I was dragged off the couch.
The pocket of civilization that I inhabit, is one of extreme refinement. I can subscribe to about five different cricket channels, all of which show nothing but cricket or related programmes all day long. They also show repeats of old matches. Old matches can be anything that was played before I was born to something played in the morning today. Repeats, as any sports fan knows are hugely entertaining, more than the actual match on occasion, since the result is already known, you have none of the real time heartburn and threat of imminent crushing disappointment. All you need to do is to enjoy the game, savour the major moments (29th over just watch the cover drive), bask in the glory of victory and salute the game. Most reruns involve our team winning, if you subscribe to the correct channels.
And this is how I spent many a glad evening through my life. After marriage, it changed to watching only matches involving India, and this had a good run too. Till one fateful day. It was one of the happiest days of my life and also the day I can trace the loss of Paradise to.
My team had reached the final of a major tournament in a long long time. The build up to the entire tournament had been special. Me and my wife had watched a lot of these matches together. She could name and recognize players even of the opposing sides. She could name upto five different ways that a batsman could get out. She supported the late night matches all the way till the final. She broke a habit of a lifetime and watched all six hours of the match.
We Won.
Jubilation.
Two Weeks Later.
The euphoria had died down. I was sitting peacefully watching a repeat of the match, internalizing it, savouring it, remembering the key moments, reliving the excitement without thought of impending doom this time when my wife came and sat with me.
"Another match?" she asked.
"Just watch," I said, trying to be a little enigmatic. I was sure she would love to relive the night of glory again. "Sachin is going to hit two fours in the next three balls."
"Didn't we just watch it last week?" She asked, a little unnecessarily, I thought. "You remember every ball!" She said rather accusingly.
"Yes, we did, but it was nine days ago, not last week." I said, settling down peacefully, "Enough time to forget the nuances."
"How can you watch this again? You already know what is going to happen!" She exclaimed.
"Well, yes," I said, "But this time there is no pressure."
"Seriously?!" She said. "Seriously?!" It was maybe a question, maybe an exclamation. I never know. The only other place I have ever heard it on is on American television serials.
We went shopping that evening. And that was the day Paradise was lost.
From that day on, whenever she sees me watching cricket, the first question is "Is there a tournament on?" Followed quickly by "Are we playing?" Rounded up by "Is this match live?"
Sharing knowledge can be a very dangerous thing. You never know when something might come back to be the bane of your existence. Had I been a little economical with the truth and kept my mouth a little shut, one never knows, I still might be watching the second final of the Australian tri-series of 2009.
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