An open book

     1998. 9th standard. Life wasn't all about History, Chemistry and Maths then. Computers were in the stage of evolution, and cellphones were like UFOs. Someone claimed to have seen them, but no one could swear to it that it existed. Our entertainment were restricted to board games, Monopoly and Scrabble ruled the roost then, kids nowadays call these apps on their funky i-phones. But within the walls of our classroom, a game existed. A game that had caught the imagination of the Indian youth. Cricket was still a religion, and Sachin our God.

      The first hour would go on perfectly fine. We would remain fresh and active during the class. The second hour would generally resort to slight murmur of disapproval. In the third hour, it would start. A slight ruffle in the last bench. Rajeev and Unni sat there. I would turn back from the penultimate row and check out. The pitch report had started, it would be the English text book. Good seaming conditions, slightly overcast. The book had a cover. Over the next half an hour, there would a flurry of activity and the rest of the class would be aware of the proceedings. As we made our way for lunch, the discussion would be about the close calls during that match.

      The second session was the best. Six of us would split into two teams - Rajeev, Peter and me, Arun, Arjun and Vivek. Sometimes we'd have another two join as well. But the bigger the team, the higher the risk of being caught by the match referee, namely the class teacher. This game was an appended version of the classical game. The first person would stroll out to bat, turn to the last page of his rough note. The bowler would walk to his mark, cover his hand and write a number in his book. He would have to keep the book shut and lift his hand, else it was a no-ball (free hits weren't discovered during those days). The rest of the team would wait with bated breath as the batsman showed a digit with his fingers. If it was the same number, he was out. Else, the scoring had kicked off and the game would proceed. At the end of every over, there would be a bowling change and the innings would be completed at the fall of all 3 wickets.

      The best part of the game was the style associated with each player. Peter, for example would write really quick and his over rate was generally better. Rajeev on the other hand resembled a modern-version of Praveen Kumar. He would take a good, long look at the batsman before writing the next number. Each one had his strengths, everyone had their Achilles heel. The game would have its share of gentlemen and a few sledges. But, all of it in the spirit of the game. In fact, we had sworn to secrecy if we got caught, the fined player would claim that he was scribbling during the class.

      2011. I spend 10-12 hours at work. And in the midst of it all, I yearn for those days, those games. And browsing through the apps in Intel AppUp Center, though Bejeweled and Angry Birds seem exciting for a while, there's one game that I hold close to my heart. Book Cricket. I do agree that the feeling's not the same. It isn't the same old English text book, there are no close-in fielders watching the action and there's no sledging. Nevertheless the excitement brings a tingle to my spine as I wait for the number to be generated. It's a memorabilia of sorts. One that brings out the little boy within, sitting in that classroom.

     Times have changed. We have computer games that allow us to be a Sachin or Ponting. Cricinfo desktop scorecards are open on our desktop while we are at work. But those days remind me of an era gone by, a ritual that involves an open book.

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