the globe will shrink into one white ball. The race of life will follow a twenty foot long pitch. Enthusiasm will flow into a stadium to merge with the human sea. The cricket god will come out and embark on his journey to bless and calm the sea, with the charismatic gestures of his bat. Spells may be broken, but some may work. Life, will then be known by another name: Cricket
The IPL is nearing. India, is on its way to be transformed into a ritual of magic and passion, of cricket. There is nothing that can repel the magic; that can dispel the forces of this sportive madness.
As there is one and only one Sachin, and one and only one India, the Indian love for cricket also is unique. But, if 'love' means caring for each other, then it is not; love that Indians feel for cricket. It is something beyond love. If love is obsession, then the Indians have nothing of that sort with cricket. If love is a basic necessity, like those written in the social science text books—food, shelter, clothing—then, of course, it has to be admitted that Indians love cricket, for it is one of their basic needs of any one born in this country, verged by sea on three sides, and the Himalayas, as the crown.
Let the sweat spill. Let the profane passion be unbridled. The time has shown itself on the gate of the fortress. Let us be prepared to cheer our warriors, for the battle is on its way. Let us remind ourselves that every Indian has one blood, like every game is played on a single pitch at a time. Be prepared.
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