Ey Ladki, Tera Naam Kya Hai?
Time to go mainstream.
The second half of April 18, 2008 is tattooed on my memory like a scene from a favourite movie. Calcutta, in its typical afternoon demeanour, was sweltering and lazy. Summer had intruded before its time once again. You lost calories every time you got up to get some water. A natural refuge, in this situation, is the afternoon nap, a tradition as old as the city itself. A bowl of daal-rice for lunch had me craving for a soft bed too, but I couldn't afford such a luxury. On a wooden table in the study room lay a fat pile of books waiting to beat my lethargy out of sight. The West Bengal Joint Entrance Examination (WBJEE) loomed large, less than 48 hours away.
By sheer merit, I had as much chance of cracking the two good colleges - Jadavpur University and IIEST Shibpur - as a mouse has at outrunning a cat over 500 metres. Yet, one must live in hope, especially around those who have drip fed you the engineering spiel for a decade. So, like a kid who didn't want to have his football confiscated, I sat down.
Just as I was dipping into some organic chemistry, the relative I was staying with called out. “They are saying something about your exam on Sunday. Come!” The urgency in her timbre made me jog over to her room, where I saw a beaming news anchor saying something to the effect of, “The question papers for Sunday's WBJEE exam have been leaked. The exam will be postponed until further notice.”
Calcutta’s residential areas are usually blanketed by a thick layer of tranquility during the post-lunch hours. Well, let's just say that Lake Terrace was not tranquil for those ten seconds that afternoon. Whenever I think back to this day, I wonder how many naps I broke with my shrill yelp. If it were possible, I would've hugged the anchor.
You see, April 18, 2008 was also the day the Indian Premier League was taking its first steps. Until a few moments ago, I had resigned myself to missing the grand unveiling, and only hearing about the first taste of cricket marrying Bollywood. But luck, it turns out, was on my side. The evening thrown wide open, I got down to making calls, en masse, to friends and cousins.
The clock seemed to operate with a rubato rhythm for the rest of the afternoon. At times, it felt like 8 pm was a few days away; other times, an hour would fly before I'd notice. But 8pm, as it does, came before a full day had to pass.
The Kolkata Knight Riders, decked in black and gold, were playing the Royal Challengers Bangalore, themselves wearing red and gold. These bright jerseys, common for all eight franchises, were a declaration of the kind of cricket they had been designed for. As the players were walking out to a bass-heavy, remixed Bollywood dance number, the camera panned to the owner's boxes. Shah Rukh Khan on one side; Vijay Mallaya on the other. WG Grace and Don Bradman must have been turning in their graves.
The first over yielded three runs, none off the bat. Brendon McCullum's score, at that point, read 0 off 5 balls, soon to be 0 off 6. Sourav Ganguly was stood at the other end, probably still unsure of what tempo works best at the batter-friendly Chinnaswamy track.
Although T20 cricket was not a novelty anymore, most were yet to figure its cadence out. Naturally so, in fact. Despite a recent World Cup and several other tournaments, the players were still from a generation that had grown up with the substantially mellower rhythms of Test and ODI cricket. Someone like Shahid Afridi, who thought a number less than four was not worthy of respect, was an exception rather than the norm.
Then, on the eighth ball of the innings, McCullum whacked Zaheer Khan for a four. The next ball suffered the same fate. The ball after soared over the boundary for a six, followed by another four. Liftoff.
In that moment, it was impossible to foresee the tectonic shift that was about to reshape the world of cricket. Over an unforgettable innings of 158 not out, Brendon McCullum demonstrated the transformative potential of IPL and T20 cricket. It was fast, explosive, and dramatic - a blockbuster movie in the clothes of a sport.
Fast forward sixteen years, and it is difficult to imagine a cricketer who doesn't aspire to be part of the IPL jamboree. Rumour has it that the BCCI and ICC are planning to carve out an two-month window every year for just this one tournament. The IPL, it seems, has not just changed the game; it has become the game.
Why am I bringing this up now? Because as you read this, the second season of the Women's Premier League (WPL) is under way. The WBBL, Kia Super League, and the Hundred have already established women's short-form cricket as a vibrant entity. So it doesn't quite need the kind of metamorphosis as men's cricket did in 2008, but it needs energy.
Consider this. On Friday, while Meg Lanning was at the crease for Delhi Capitals, a male commentator - an ex-international and a regular voice during men's matches - attributed her slow start to rustiness. A cursory search would have revealed that Lanning had been in action just nine days prior, before flying to India to join her franchise team. What's more - you are welcome to try this exercise on your nearest cricket fan - I have no doubt that many would overlook her while listing the best cricket captains of the 21st century. Lanning is an all-time great, transcending genres, eras, and formats. Under her leadership, Australia has won FIVE World Cups and a Commonwealth Games gold. Five World Cups. Let that number wash over you.
In the men's game, writers and commentators are often caught calling certain feats as unprecedented, oblivious to their occurrence in the women's game. Take Glenn Maxwell's remarkable double-century in last year's World Cup. Many hailed it as Australia's first in World Cups. Ex-international cricketers in the commentary box agreed loudly. All seemingly unaware that Belinda Clark had scored 229 runs in an ODI World Cup match back in 1997. This could be forgiven as an innocent slip had Clark been a nobody with a handful of games and one wild innings. Her influence is such that Australia's annual award for excellence in women's cricket is named after her. She has a statue outside the Sydney Cricket Ground.
This chasm in recognition is a byproduct of women's cricket still being followed as a niche interest. I'll admit, there are some advantages to this - it keeps away the noxious fans and news anchors, for starters. But for something with such a rich history, it is a travesty that Lanning and Marizanne Kapp have to fight for our attention.
If nurtured with care, the WPL has the potential to be a catalyst for change. Last year, during the eliminator, Mumbai Indians' Izzy Wong took a hat-trick. Watch it for the skill, but keep your ears peeled for the roar. If the turnout from the first season and the opening two days of this season is any indication, it will take a seriously daft person to ever repeat the tired, pathetic excuse that women's cricket won't get eyeballs.
In the first match of this season, Sajana Sajeevan, a debutant who had to leap over countless obstacles to even play cricket, walked in with her team needing five runs off the last ball. She hit a six. Of course, she did. This is a tournament that places Sajana in the same dressing room as Shabnim Ismail and Nat Sciver-Brunt. Shafali Varma gets to walk out, shoulder to shoulder, with Meg bloody Lanning.
And we haven't even begun talking about the money. Money, of this scale, will change lives and inspire a generation of parents to think of cricket as a viable career path for their daughters. It has taken a while for administrators to wake up to the idea of equal opportunity. While the point of perfect equality is still many miles away, the WPL will help lighting up that path.
I have always found books to be great accompaniments for shows and tournaments. As we get into this tournament, I'd like to share with you three of my favourites on women's cricket. These three do an incredible job of highlighting the kind of stories that makes one stop and adjust their glasses.
The Fire Burns Blue by Sidhanta Patnaik and Karunya Keshav: This book is a history and culture lesson. Sidhanta was a beacon during a long phase of obscurity for women’s cricket in India, often being the go-to source of information for other journalists. Together with Karunya Keshav, he embarks on an exploration of the winding path women’s cricket had to traverse in this country, the absurd jaggedness of the long road that eventually led us to the moment when Shah Rukh Khan danced with Harmanpreet Kaur at the opening ceremony of a tournament. It is unfortunate that SidPat - as he was fondly known - passed on before the WPL could kick off, but the credit for the definitive book on women's cricket in India still rests with him and Karunya.
Free Hit by Suprita Das: Harmanpreet Kaur would be the first to admit that she stands on the shoulders of giants, many of whom had to play competitive matches in desolate parks. Free Hit begins with Harmanpreet at the epicentre of a milestone moment. Her knock of 171 against Australia in the 2017 World Cup semi-final shattered all unfounded notions about the ceiling of this team and the game. It sparked conversations everywhere, from plush Bangalore offices to hole-in-the-wall shops in Old Delhi.
Suprita mentions a confectionary store owner going, “Yaar, yeh ek ladki maar rahi hai aise?” (That’s a girl whacking the ball like this?)
After establishing this modern landmark, the book travels back in time to 1971 and introduces us to a young Diana Edulji and Shantha Rangaswamy. In an India where cricketing ambitions, in general, were often met with suspicion and derision, women’s cricket was considered a hobby at best. Suprita masterfully traces the journey from these modest beginnings to the present day, where the team now fills up 30,000-seater stadiums.
Unveiling Jazbaa by Aayush Puthran: Jazbaa, Urdu for spirit, serves as the essence of this book. Twelve years after India Women played their first official series, two sisters, Shaiza and Sharmeen Khan, besotted with cricket, flew back from England to Karachi. Their interest extended beyond watching the men’s game on grainy television screens. Benazir Bhutto had just become Prime Minister, and it liberated Pakistani women to send their dreams soaring. Aayush's book, and the story of women's cricket in Pakistan, starts from here. The book is a poignant illustration of what it takes to be a woman cricketer from a culture clouded by conservatism and patriarchy. Using stalwarts like the Khan sisters and Sana Mir as a window, it also looks long enough into the lives of 21st century athletes like Bismah Maroof and Nida Dar. By the time you flip the last page, these stories will become a tribute to the unyielding spirit of these women, who dared to pursue their passion in the face of resistance.
Wow, I've stopped following cricket since last few years but this write-up has pulled me back into it. Definitely want to read one of the books soon. Thank you!
Saving this. Thank you so much for this Sarthak. Book recommendations almost made me forgot that I have a reading backlog longer than my nose. Thanks a lot for what you do. I did not know either about Australians, Indians or the Pakistanis mentioned here.