It’s that time of the year again. Time for carefully cut-out timetables, reseved TV slots, stay-at-home weekends, and lonely nights. It’s also the time – the only time – when I silently but joyfully thank the Electricity Board for its unscheduled power cuts.
Yes, it’s IPL time. For the uninitiated, this is an annual cricketing event that sees several teams of bat-ball wielding men, vying for attention by hitting an unusually high number of fours and sixes (followed by cries of “Super Shot!” and the like from the spectators), to finally win an allegedly coveted trophy. For the still uninitiated, it’s called T20 cricket.
My husband is a huge cricket fan and he told me that he liked test matches better than one day internationals because the test of cricketing skill lay in test cricket. All was well – after all, men will be men and I understand that he must watch and/or play some sport to qualify as a ‘man’s man’. Predictable is good, I thought back then, presuming that I’ll enjoy the occasional argument over the remote control.
Enter T20. This is fun, I thought after watching the first match. Only 20 overs – blink about 20 times and it’s over. No more arguing over the remote – he can watch this joke they insist on calling cricket, I had sniggered to myself. However, the Cricket God (no, this isn’t a bedroom name for the husband; I actually mean the God of Cricket – who, I have reason to believe, is male) had other plans for me. As it turned out, because the matches were so short, the husband had to watch ALL the teams play. And there was a World Cup for mini-cricket as well! And then there were presentation ceremonies and highlights! I got reprimanded for watching the Harry Potter movies way too many times, but he has to watch the live matches and the highlights – twice, if possible!
Just before IPL season starts, my husband announces that from one particular date to another particular date, he is going to control the remote. No watching anything else on Sunday at 7:30 – the Bangalore Royal Challengers are playing the Delhi Daredevils. And oh, I can’t watch anything else on Monday at 8 either because Chennai who-gives-a-shoe are playing Mumbai I-couldn’t-care-any-less. So I quietly sit by him, watching these matches, while he is rollicking on the sofa (and later the floor too) with ecstasy at the “tennis shots” (sic from hubby) the batsmen are pulling off. (My question is, if this is supposedly cricket, shouldn’t you be condemning the un-cricket-like “tennis shots?” It’s a rhetorical question, by the way.)
Coming back to point, this isn’t about the adulteration of cricket. God (Cricket God included) knows I don’t care about such things. My concern is for the absence of marriage that occurs in these cricket-crazy times. Don’t get me wrong – by no means am I implying here that my husband would pick cricket over a dire emergency concerning me. I know he won’t – he’ll be by my side – of that I am sure. However, when I remind him of some six-month old household chore that remains to be done, I either become invisible (that is, he pretends like the wall just spoke to him and does not respond) or he responds with, “If it has not been done for six months, why bother about it now?” (Uh, because it is still not done?) Or, “How come you remember this only when I am watching a match?” (Because that’s the time I am not catering to your needs and actually have time to reflect?)
Answers to other domestic questions also receive such treatment. An excerpt follows.
Me: When are you coming to bed?
Husband: You go.
Me: Yeah, I am, but when will you come?
Husband: In a while.
Me: When? You know you have an early day tomorrow.
Husband: Hmmm.
Me (exasperated): So when are you coming?
Husband (also exasperated): In a while! (Pause) Superrrrrrr shottt!!!
You get the picture. Whoever said, “The wedding is the easy part. It’s the marriage that’s difficult,” couldn’t have been more accurate. I’m sure there are many other women out there who love their man but for these darned IPL days. I have a suggestion. Can we please include another vow in our weddings that accommodates these cricket times? Right after we say, I promise to care for you in times of sickness and health, let’s also say, I promise to express my love for you even when it’s IPL time. I do. But I’ll still thank the Electricity Board for taking the power off during a match – after all, when the Cricket God and Electricity God [female, by the way] are at war, who am I to interfere?
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—About our writer:
Shefali Sunderan Harsha is a freelance writer, with an M.A. in Communications and a B.A. in English and Psychology. Having worked with corporations such as Tata Interactive Systems and Logica, she is a trained ID with six years experience in e-learning, web content writing, editing, proofreading and corporate communications. Shefali is now looking for projects that indulge her creative spirit. Having lived and worked in three continents, she now calls Mumbai home.
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