Premier League Tamacha

1

Tweet

It's the latest craze in Junglistan. The Cricket Premier League -- a Twenty20 tournament that gives a Fifty50 chance to all teams. Anybody could win on a given day, a bit of luck can make up for lack of skill. The success of the CPL, more importantly the socialist nature of the capitalist game, had prompted the Junglistan Hockey Federation chief Kill Bill to explore the possibilities of a Twenty20 World Cup in hockey. He could see no other way of Junglistan winning a world cup berth.

The Kuttappa Stadium, Junglistan's biggest, now famous as the Royal Challenge stadium, was packed to the last chair for the Yuvaraj XI versus Sachu XI match. Thousands had turned up, the rich and the poor, the carnivore and the herbivore. The millionaires had their seats on the Antiquity end, others on the Bagpiper end.

Yuvaraj won the toss and elected to bat. The toss of the coin and the call by Yuvaraj were greeted by a sweet song by Kuyilamma and a loud chirp by Thathamma. The cuckoo and parrot had flown in to cheer the spectators, and more importantly the players, who, if not inspired by the millions of rupees on offer, would at least play to please the beauties. Mayilappa, the peacock, also joined in, spreading his wings, showing off a myriad of colours -- in shades of blue, green, red -- swaying to the tunes of his colleagues. This was to be their routine for the rest of the evening. They had been told to sing and dance every time the ball crossed the boundary, and every time the umpire raised his finger, the index finger not the middle one, they were specifically told.

"Keep your mouth shut, Sree, if you don't want your bones broken," shouted Baji, the stand in captain in the absence of Sachu, as Yuvaraj's batsmen walked to the middle, "I am watching you."

"Fat chance," mumbled Sree, a good bowler, one of the better dancers and the best sledge in Yuvaraj's team. He was biding his time, waiting for the second half of the game, when he would be on the field. Soon his wish was fulfilled.

Over 1. Sree was called in to open the bowling. He walked up to the batsman, Jayamejaya, imported all the way from Ceylon, stared at him for a few moments, and twisted his facial muscles the way only he can do. After all making a monkey face comes naturally to a monkey. "Mate, at your age, you should be fishing. Here you are fishing for trouble."

Over 3. The first ball was sent to the boundary, but that didn't bother Sree, he was used to all that stuff. He again walked up to the batsman, "Don't forget to tell that ****er I stared at you."

Over 5. Baji was the batsman and Sree relished the opportunity. He walked up to Baji, and stared at him with an open mouth, "So, which bone are you going to break?"

Over 7. Sree was already feeling better. This time he looked Baji straight in his eyes and said, "Teri maa ki."

That was the last straw for Baji. A fist landed on Sree's face. No bones were broken, though that was Baji's intention, and he rued that.

******************************************

A kangaroo court heard the case. The judge asked for footage from all angles. How he wished there was enough evidence to prove there was no punch. But all his efforts were in vain. No matter how he tried to qualify the friendly jab, no other word fit the description better than 'punch'. He tried 'pat', but for that the hand should not be closed tightly, said the dictionary. Could he say 'caress'? But a caress had to be gentle in nature, not as forceful as it actually turned out to be. If only Sree said those were tears of happiness, rightly shed for winning the match.

"I am like his elder brother," argued Harbhajan, "It's a cultural thing. Here elders are supposed to beat youngsters. Haven't you heard 'Spare the rod, spoil the child'? I am doing what his parents forgot to do."

"That is not an adequate reason. Please understand, the evidence is against you. We have to make an example out of you," the judge said, "What was the provocation?"

"He was abusing throughout the match. He was calling names. It is not in our culture to abuse."

"What did he say?"

"Teri maa ki, that's what he said. How could any son stand such a language about his mother? Maine maa ka doodh piya hai."

The judge agreed. He summoned Sree.

"You actions have put the game in disrepute. You abused Baji. You said teri maa ki. It's a disgrace," the judge said.

"No sir. How can I? Baji's like my elder brother. His mother is like my mother. How can I abuse her?"

"But Baji claims you said 'teri maa ki'. Who do I believe?"

"No sir, not at all. Not on my dead body," Sree's cheeks bulged, jaws opened, all his teeth came into view. He was looking every bit the monkey he was, "Sir, I said 'ha teri to, monkey."