Cricketing admen

Every year, the advertising fraternity in Delhi religiously turns out for the cricket tournament conducted by the Media Transasia Group.

The preparation starts some two months before the event. The Captain (usually a senior person in the agency who usurps the position by virtue of having represented his school in the seventies) tries to get eleven people to attend the practice sessions, termed, rather ambitiously, The Nets. The only people who turn up are a few canteen boys and the utterly hopeless semi-paralytics who have no chance of being selected in the team. ‘The professionals’ are recklessly confident that they’ll be in their elements during the actual matches.

As the event gets closer, the excitement picks up inside the agency office. There are pre-match conferences and animated talks in the corridors. Strategy meetings are held and tactics worked out on laptops, John Buchanan style.

After all that frenzied build-up, the hardest part for the players is turning up for the matches. They are typically fixed for 8am on Saturdays – a time when the average advertising person, after his Friday night excesses, is in deep slumber.

Indeed, matches have suffered because the tearaway fast bowler from Production was recuperating after checking an artwork or the copywriter, who is also the opening bat, in a fit of rash optimism, decided to celebrate the night before with sixteen tequila shots.

The only thing professional about the whole spectacle is the uniform. Expertly designed in the agency (at the cost of missing many work deadlines), it makes the team look very accomplished and the players trot out as if they have multi-million-dollar sponsorships from Nike. The audience usually consists of one or two girlfriends and the odd stray cow.

There are essentially two types of batsmen. The first is the kind that has played some sort of cricket a few decades back. They are under the impression that they are still in their prime and try to play shots copybook style. This sort also tends to have fancy equipment and a very professional air about them. They inspect the pitch closely, prod the crease expertly and spend an eternity analyzing field placements before taking guard.

These batsmen play from memory forgetting that in the intervening years their reflexes have slowed down and they have added beer bellies to their physiques. They are usually out in the first three balls they face. To their credit, their walks back to the pavilion is every bit as professional. They always have a technical excuse handy for their dismissals: the reverse-swinging ball or the one that kept brutishly low after hitting a crack on the pitch or, sometimes, even the early morning dew.

The second type learned their cricket by watching it on TV and listening to the commentary of Sir Geoffrey Boycott. These batsmen have come to the conclusion that the whole thing is as simple as faking a travel voucher and can’t wait to get going. This is a particularly fascinating lot to observe as cricket on TV and cricket on the field are two entirely different things. There’s nothing more heartrending than seeing a Creative Director trying to imitate a VVS flick through mid-wicket and instead getting the bat entangled between his legs as his stumps go cartwheeling.

The bowlers too come in various shapes and sizes. Or rather, mostly in one particular shape, viz., round, like the ball.

The idea when bowling is to aim for the stumps. This seemingly easy task is not achieved by most advertising cricketers simply because it isn’t easy to roll your arm over and aim across twenty-two yards if the only thing you did all year was sit in conference rooms eating chips, smoking Classic Milds and drinking pots of coffee.

Needless to say most overs are at least 11 balls long and if it wasn’t for the umpires sympathetically putting an end to many a bowler’s misery, the ordeals could well extend over the weekend.

Fielding is an art the advertising cricketer has never bothered perfecting. Catches, especially skiers, are promptly dropped. The technique of keeping one’s eyes on the ball and watching it all the way into the hands is too complex for our adman who has a remarkably short attention span.

Not too many boundaries are stopped either. The knowledge that any contact with the red object or the ground below could result in severe bruises ensures that all bravado is avoided. Some do make a despairing dive or two, but this is only to show-off and is always done after the ball has safely crossed the boundary line. And yet mis-fields and dropped catches are stared at in utter disbelief as if the fielder wasn’t the chain-smoking Account Director entering a cricket field for the first time in nine years, but Jonty Rhodes in his prime.

If you are at work on Monday and overhear the discussions, you could well be under the impression that a cracker of a cricket match had taken place during the weekend. You’ll hear it being analyzed in every nook and cranny – the batsmen waxing eloquent about their cover drives, the bowlers holding forth on their off-cutters and the fielders bragging about their spectacular catches. It’s only when you watch the players totter off to clients meetings, some with pronounced limps, and others, clutching their backs in agony, that you begin to suspect that all was not quite cricket.

Travels with my bicycle

Most people think that the only way to travel by bicycle is to actually sit on it and cycle. This is not true. It is a preposterous notion circulated by the people who organize the Tour de France. If you ask me, it’s the least desirable way. I have been to many places with my bicycle and I have hardly cycled at all. Of course, once I am back from a trip, I brag about it to all my friends and they are usually so impressed that I get free drinks for at least a week. It’s not that I lie. But note the clever use of the preposition with. I never say I travelled on my bicycle; I always say I travelled with. Bet you missed it. Most people do. (In fact, most people don’t know what a preposition is and think it’s another word for preposterous.) So, if you are thinking of buying a bicycle but have no intention of doing any cycling, don’t let this little detail bother you. To put you at ease, I will share my experiences and tell you the many ways you can see the world with a bicycle. It’s quite easy once you get the hang of it.

In an auto-rickshaw
An ideal way to cover a short distance with a bicycle is by taking it in an auto-rickshaw. Now, when the auto driver hears that you have a bicycle as a co-passenger, he’ll ask for a lot more money. This is ridiculous since it doesn’t make driving any more difficult for him as you are the one sitting at the back holding the bicycle, usually with a pedal wedged between your crotch. Here’s how I handle the situation with the driver: First, I park the bicycle some ten meters away from the auto, making sure the driver doesn’t see me doing so. In fact, I make it a point to disassociate myself entirely from the bicycle. Then, I sneak up to the driver and open negotiations. After we agree on the fare and he starts the machine, I dash back, get the bicycle and shove it inside. This totally unsettles the driver and he’s too stunned to start bargaining all over again. (You may have to endure the odd asperse comment about nasty customers and their uncouth ways from the driver but you’ll hardly notice them as you’ll have your work cut out in the back trying to prevent the pedals from crushing your testicles and the handlebars from strangling you.) The important thing to remember in this strategy is to shove yourself into the rickshaw after the bicycle. I once got so excited by surprising the driver that I forgot to enter the vehicle with the result that my bicycle reached New Delhi railway station without me.

In a cab
If you don’t like auto drivers (and I can’t think of anybody who does except other auto drivers), you could always carry the bicycle in a cab. If you try to surprise the cabwallah by shoving the bicycle in at the last minute, you’ll only dent his cab and get your teeth knocked off by the driver as cabs usually come with doors. You should, therefore, either find a car that has a carrier or a van that is big enough to fit the bicycle. I prefer the van as the carrier involves tying the bicycle to it. While it takes me about 13 seconds to tie a knot, I need at least 18 days to untie it and cabbies are not a patient lot.

In a bus
The bus is a great way to travel long distance with a bicycle, especially if it involves mountainous terrain. The hard part with the bus is the bit where you have to haul the bicycle on to the top of it. Which is why I always make sure that on trips involving buses, I go with a friend who is strongly built and can take care of the hauling up and down part on his own while I stand by and give directions. You should also be aware that the bus conductor might try and fleece you for carrying bicycles on top of his bus. According to the rule book, the bicycle fare is half that of an adult ticket in an ordinary bus. Since you are likely to be travelling in a deluxe bus, remember not to pay half of the deluxe bus fare for the bicycle as it is perched on top and doesn’t get deluxe treatment like the passengers inside. This irrefutable logic, though it takes a while to get across lucidly if you don’t know the local language, wins the argument with most conductors.

In a truck
The truck is not a very good idea and should be resorted to only if you get stuck in a place where there are no autos, cabs or buses. Both the driver and the vehicle are very temperamental. It’s not unusual for the truck to breakdown at a difficult mountain pass or for the driver to breakdown at a place where either women or wine are available. Besides, being cocooned in a cabin with truck drivers (there are at least two in each vehicle) is a very trying experience. They tend to have bad breath and poor personal hygiene. None of the truckers I met have read any good books or watched the latest Hollywood movies, making conversation with them very difficult. These things make trucks one of the less preferred modes of transport though of course it beats cycling any day.

In a train
Taking a bicycle by train is a skill that can only be perfected with experience. These are the steps I follow and I would advice beginners to follow the same procedure.

1. Take the bicycle to the railway station by auto/cab/bus.
2. Get lost looking for the parcel office and end up, in turns, at the reservation counter, the waiting room and the Station Master’s office.
3. Find the parcel office minutes before the train leaves or after it has left (in which case, take the bicycle to the railway station again on another day and start from 2).
4. Get laughed at by the man in the parcel office who refuses to allow any bicycle into any train unless it comes attached with a tin plate that has the owner’s name and destination on it.
5. Find a piece of cardboard, write name and destination on it, wedge it among the spokes and go again to the man in the parcel office.
6. Get laughed at by the man in the parcel office who refuses to allow any bicycle into any train unless it comes attached with a tin plate that has the owner’s name and destination on it.
7. Go look for a tin plate in the market.
8. Get laughed at by shopkeepers for asking them if they have a tin plate.
9. Buy tin plate for an exorbitant amount from a black-market tin plate salesman next to the parcel office.
10. Go looking for a marker, the sort that can write on a tin plate.
11. Get laughed at by shopkeepers for asking them if they have a marker, the sort that can write on a tin plate.
12. Buy marker, the sort that can write on a tin plate, for an exorbitant amount from a black-market seller of markers, the sorts that can write on tin plates, from next to the parcel office.
13. Write your name and destination on the tin plate using the marker and attach it to the bicycle.
14. Fill a long form stating various intimate details you would be ashamed to discuss outside the confines of a parcel office.
15. Fill the form in duplicate.
16. Fill the form in triplicate. (Here one of the forms might get misplaced; in which case, restart from 14).
17. Submit forms along with fare at the counter and get admonished for not mentioning your maternal grandfather’s middle name on the form.
18. Bribe a porter to take the bicycle to the train’s brake van.
19. Bribe another porter a lot more to take the bicycle to the right train’s brake van.
20. Bribe the brakeman to load the bicycle inside the brake van.
21. Get out at major stations on the way (they usually turn up at 1am, 3am and 5am) and sprint to the brake van to make sure the bicycle isn’t unloaded.
22. Discover each time that it has been unloaded.
23. Bribe the brakeman each time to put it back inside.
24. Get out at the destination and bribe the brakeman to open the brake van.
25. Bribe the brakeman to unload the bicycle.
26. Bribe the brakeman a bit more as he has been so good to you throughout the journey.
27. Bribe the man at the gate to let you go out of the station.
28. Remove the tin plate that is hanging from the bicycle with your name in bold letters so that you don’t walk around like you are being punished for unmentionable crimes.
29. Find an auto/cab/bus and take your bicycle home.
    With a lot of practice, you should be able to cut down the number of steps to 25. And if you happen to know someone who knows the Railways Minister, you could even bring it down to 18.
    
    In a plane
    This is by far the easiest and quickest way to get from Point A to Point B with a bicycle. There are only minor inconveniences. For instance, during the security check, the authorities will insist on scanning your bicycle to see if you are hiding weapons of mass destruction in the hollow of the frame. Or this habit of airline authorities to send your bicycle to Burma while you vividly remember mentioning Kochi. If I ever inherit a large fortune, I plan to do an RTW (cyclist’s parlance for round-the-world trip) with a bicycle by plane. If you ever do such a thing, I advise you to take a lot of pictures posing with the bicycle at various recognizable landmarks and not come back before at least ten years have elapsed so nobody suspects foul play.
    
    On a bicycle
    Even though people like Lance Amstrong have a lot to say about the merits of actually sitting on a bicycle and travelling, I don’t recommend it at all. I always plan my trip with great care to avoid any such eventuality. In case you are forced to this extreme, here’s how you go about it: Mount the saddle and then put your right leg on the right pedal and rotate that pedal. Then, put your left leg on the left pedal and rotate that pedal. Keep alternating between the right and the left pedal till you reach your destination. The other way to do it is to start with the left pedal and then move to the right. Either way, it’s very tedious. It does things to your neck, back, elbows, hamstrings, knees, calves and feet. It also makes a certain sensitive part of your anatomy very sore, something which I don’t want to go into because it brings back painful memories. You also sweat profusely, collect dirt and grime on your body and get so tanned that the skin peels away. Worse, after some nine exhausting hours on a mountain road, you’ll discover that you have covered some 38km, something a bus could have knocked off in an hour and a plane in less than two minutes. You don’t notice all this on television when professional cyclists are zipping past looking very cheerful but I suspect that is because the whole thing is rigged. During the Tour de France, I am sure, when the camera is not focused on them, the cyclists cover the distance by more popular methods like cab/bus/train/plane.