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January 22, 2002
Oh Calcutta!
- Jonathan Dyson
An English graduate I met in Mumbai, on hearing that I was soon heading for Calcutta, told me that the Calcuttans were in many ways similar to Liverpudlians (residents of Liverpool), or scousers as they are more commonly known in England.
He said that there were three clear similarities - they both love to talk and are generally lively and uninhibited characters; they both love their sport, and play it with a fierce passion; and, thirdly, their stadiums (that is, Liverpool's football and Calcutta's cricket) are both home to sporting crowds, always happy to applaud the opposition.
From the experiences I have enjoyed in this invigorating city over the last three days, I could only agree with my companion's suggestion. As I wandered through the streets on Friday, acclimatising to my new surroundings, I found several groups of people keen to talk about their city, about England, and of course the cricket.
Calcuttans, in spite of their often poverty-ridden lives are constantly smiling, and, like scousers, never hold back - in their eagerness to talk, in their opinions, or in their determination to win a game, whatever sport they are playing.
Of course the main reason I had come here was to see the first one-day international at Eden Gardens.
Through a wonderful stroke of good fortune, eight of us were given some spare complimentary tickets by a
member of the England party.
Our efforts to purchase tickets through the normal sources had been predictably futile. With just 4,000 on general sale, it was a virtually impossible task, especially when arriving just a couple of days before the game. Having picked up the tickets, we were elated, for we knew that watching a game at Eden Gardens is surely one of the most unique experiences in world cricket.
I had actually been lucky enough to look round stadium the previous day. While wandering around outside the ground, I had got chatting to a member of the Bengal under-19 side, who saw his coach inside the ground, and asked if we could join him inside. It was a classic piece of Indian hospitality, and I was immensely grateful for an opportunity not only to admire the ground, but also to watch the England players practise.
On the day of the game, we entered the stadium an hour before the start of play, but even then the atmosphere was awe-inspiring. What allows so many people to fit into the ground is that the stands are not particularly steep - they move back gradually so to speak, thereby allowing room for thousands more than in the conventional, upright stands.
As the game progressed, I noticed another similarity that the football crowds of Liverpool share with the Calcuttans - they both clearly know their game well. I could hear constantly hear Indians around me suggesting what could happen if so-and-so had a good knock, what would be an attainable target, how the pitch would play, and so on.
And when Trescothick reached his rapid century, the fact that he waved his bat right round the ground indicated not only his pleasure at reaching such a landmark, but his realisation that he was being thoroughly applauded by everyone in the stadium.
The sight of an English wicket, however, naturally, produced more noise, and when a relieved Ganguly held onto Giles's lofted drive to provide the denoument to what had been a compelling contest, hundreds of newspapers were set on fire, much to our bemusement.
Noticing the confused looks on our faces, an Indian fan behind me explained that they are called mashaals ,
and that it is a tradition to burn them when India win.
The following day, I ventured round the maidans close to the ground, and the famous Esplanade close by. The intensity of the previous day's game was clearly being matched in the so-called friendly games on these maidans.
The vigorous appealing, pacy bowling, and dashing strokeplay all mirrored the Calcuttan's general approach to life - to work hard, to play hard, and to never hold back your natural urge.
On my way back to the hotel, I came across a group of boys desperate for me to join them in a game of gully cricket, and they were over-joyed when I agreed to bowl a few deliveries at them, and at least try and cope with their rather quicker bowlers.
The gully was so narrow that cutting and pulling was a risky option, thereby teaching you to play straight, and to bowl straight. It certainly took a while to get used to, but one straight drive, much to my astonishment, seemed to delight the crowd in the flats and street corners close to where we playing. I almost felt like Trescothick.
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