"Paagal mami" (mad-lady) scared the hell out of us. At a time when cell phones were unknown, she maintained an animated conversation from her balcony all by herself. We never knew whom she spoke to-but her lips moved, her face registered reactions and she used her hands as well. She would even pause and wait for the "other person" to respond and would then continue the thread from her end. As kids, it was a baptism by fire to fetch the Cricket ball from her home should one of us hit it into her balcony. Invariably, it would be the batsman who would have to do the unenviable job. Rumours were rife amongst kids that she had contact with goblins and dark creatures of the other world who were always on the look out for young boys to be indoctrinated into their fold! Many a time, the bravest would chicken out and the ball would be forever stuck in paagal mami's house.
On rare occasions, in a sudden act of bravado, one of us would be emboldened to ring the bell and get several trapped balls out of her house in one stroke. On those days, we had an undisputed hero!
Shivram's house was forever locked. His balcony was completely grilled and stood at what would be a sort of "silly mid-on" for the batsman. The best fielder would be positioned at this location simply because the game was over for the day once the ball was hit into his balcony. There was no easy way to get the ball back. Agonizingly, the ball would be well within sight and still be out of our reach. At times, we would insert two bats through the grill and would try to scoop the ball out like a grain of rice between two chop-sticks! There was many a slip between the cup and the lip! The ball would be tantalizingly within reach only to bounce away and go so far back into the balcony that it would leave us totally frustrated!
At times, the ball would be successfully retrieved through this innovative method, but in our exuberance, at the last minute, the bat would slip out of our hands and fall into the depths of the balcony! Invariably, a stack of balls (and occasionally bats) would be seen at the far end of the balcony with no hope of fishing them out since they were hopelessly out of reach. We would have to wait for the next monsoon and hope that the rain water collecting in the balcony would get these balls closer to us! We always hoped that one day Shivram would return and we could take possession of the treasure that was rightfully ours. Sadly, it never happened as far as I can remember.
Shivram would always be in some exotic place (as we learnt from others who kept changing his coordinates) like Samoa or Puerto Rico or some island in the South Pacific!
Mr Swamy was a character. He had a perenial scowl on his face and there was little doubt that he hated us and the game that we played. If the ball was hit into his house, we just had to buy another one. We never knew what Mr Swamy did with the balls. There was a theory that since he had retired, he used to sell these Cricket balls to make some extra money. There was credence to this argument because we had hit so many balls into his flat that it should have been overflowing with Cricket balls and at least some should bounce out of his house and roll away, should he simply open his door! That was never the case. In our own way, we tried to keep things even by traumatizing Mr Swamy. On hot afternoons, I would bounce the ball against a wall which was common to his flat and mine and hit it back ferociously so that the impact would be felt on the other side. It made him mad all right, but it was payback time as far as we were concerned!
The only other obstacle to Cricket was a tree bang in the middle of the compound. Sometimes, the ball would get lodged in one of the upper branches and would refuse to come down. It would need Bheema's might to shake the tree from its roots and get the ball out or a person who could climb it without the elders watching. It was a big relief when the entire tree was cut down one fine September morning simply because the Ganpati festival in the building required serial bulbs to be installed and the tree was perceived to be an impediment!
Of course, the earth was green then and hence one tree could be cut down with no pangs of conscience gnawing us! Cricket was easy after that!
On rare occasions, in a sudden act of bravado, one of us would be emboldened to ring the bell and get several trapped balls out of her house in one stroke. On those days, we had an undisputed hero!
Shivram's house was forever locked. His balcony was completely grilled and stood at what would be a sort of "silly mid-on" for the batsman. The best fielder would be positioned at this location simply because the game was over for the day once the ball was hit into his balcony. There was no easy way to get the ball back. Agonizingly, the ball would be well within sight and still be out of our reach. At times, we would insert two bats through the grill and would try to scoop the ball out like a grain of rice between two chop-sticks! There was many a slip between the cup and the lip! The ball would be tantalizingly within reach only to bounce away and go so far back into the balcony that it would leave us totally frustrated!
At times, the ball would be successfully retrieved through this innovative method, but in our exuberance, at the last minute, the bat would slip out of our hands and fall into the depths of the balcony! Invariably, a stack of balls (and occasionally bats) would be seen at the far end of the balcony with no hope of fishing them out since they were hopelessly out of reach. We would have to wait for the next monsoon and hope that the rain water collecting in the balcony would get these balls closer to us! We always hoped that one day Shivram would return and we could take possession of the treasure that was rightfully ours. Sadly, it never happened as far as I can remember.
Shivram would always be in some exotic place (as we learnt from others who kept changing his coordinates) like Samoa or Puerto Rico or some island in the South Pacific!
Mr Swamy was a character. He had a perenial scowl on his face and there was little doubt that he hated us and the game that we played. If the ball was hit into his house, we just had to buy another one. We never knew what Mr Swamy did with the balls. There was a theory that since he had retired, he used to sell these Cricket balls to make some extra money. There was credence to this argument because we had hit so many balls into his flat that it should have been overflowing with Cricket balls and at least some should bounce out of his house and roll away, should he simply open his door! That was never the case. In our own way, we tried to keep things even by traumatizing Mr Swamy. On hot afternoons, I would bounce the ball against a wall which was common to his flat and mine and hit it back ferociously so that the impact would be felt on the other side. It made him mad all right, but it was payback time as far as we were concerned!
The only other obstacle to Cricket was a tree bang in the middle of the compound. Sometimes, the ball would get lodged in one of the upper branches and would refuse to come down. It would need Bheema's might to shake the tree from its roots and get the ball out or a person who could climb it without the elders watching. It was a big relief when the entire tree was cut down one fine September morning simply because the Ganpati festival in the building required serial bulbs to be installed and the tree was perceived to be an impediment!
Of course, the earth was green then and hence one tree could be cut down with no pangs of conscience gnawing us! Cricket was easy after that!
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