Gully cricket is a thing of the past: The Tribune India

NJ Ravi Chander

GULLY cricket was an integral part of our well-cherished childhood, and we spent our free time playing the game or living its splendor. In the 1990s, I remember that my sons and their spouses, who numbered about half a dozen, eagerly played cricket in the empty areas of Bengaluru. The stumps can be three lines drawn on the wall, an electric pole, school bags, or even bricks stacked on top of each other. Stones or footwear that were 6 feet apart marked a crease and the last batsman played without an attacker. But of course the person who owned the willow always got into the bat first.

The small tots framed their own strange rules — experimenting with the first ball, single-field, and one-handed catches, letting the striker out if the ball lands on a neighbor’s house, and giving the winning team the first blow in the next match. The fairway was left to be seen because there was no LBW. The judges were from the batting team, and when it was their turn to beat, someone else replaced them. The rules changed according to status and number of players.

But playing cricket in the back halls had its weaknesses. Neighbors raged and urged the children every time the ball broke the tile or broke the window. The buzz of the street awoke the nerves of the elders, and the boys urged them to play with the maid. One of the residents even had a cheek to prevent the electric pole used as a stump by parking their car in front of the impact.

My other half was also full of hands when furious neighbors reached out to her with complaints. Once my wife desperately agreed to replace a broken office window, the office manager replied, “But can you replace broken car windshields?” Such destruction took place wherever the little brazen waved their willows, and the wife had no choice but to smile and endure.

Once a spectacular rise from my son’s bat sailed into the office room and collided with a computer. Before the furious workers rushed to ventilate their spleens, the boys made a disappearance and reappeared after the office closed. There is too much to tell about such events!

Back in the 1960s, when there was no traffic on the streets, we also pampered our own chest. We modified the rules to allow punches only in the letter V, and one expected the batsman to stand and act. The two ‘Dalda’ cans, placed on top of each other, act as a color. As the ball crept in through the “gates” and arranged the furniture, a metal eruption broke out.

When we moved to an aggressive cricket mark where the roadsides were bordered and hit the ball at neighboring houses, it rarely sparked protests. We walked home to pick up the ball, but pedaled carefully if there were ferocious dogs inside. The game stopped whenever a strange vehicle or pedestrian crossed our path. Blame it on the digital age; today, there are rarely any children who enjoy cricket, which is disappointing.