Cricket in the air…

In my original role as a full-fledged tom boy, my first experience with ‘Crickets’ were these paper clip-sized black insects that hopped around (somewhat similar to grasshoppers, but in my mind, not as big, not as powerful and certainly not as gross). I spent many a constructive day honing my stalking, hunting and capturing skills with a focus and intensity that would’ve had my farthest African ancestors smiling down with approval. Those cricket days opened up one of the simple childhood joys in life… you caught them, they entertained you, and you sent them hopping along their way when you were done. Casualties were negligible.

My second experience with ‘Crickets’ was when my parents excitedly trundled my sister and me into the car with the limited information that we were going to meet some famous people called ‘Crickets’ at some friend’s big bash. My curiosity was piqued only when we stopped at a drugstore to pick up an autograph book.

“Why on earth would we need an entire autograph book for a rock band,” I wondered aloud. And since when did my folks become fans of The Crickets? As far I knew at the time, they only listened to records of The Bee Gees and The Carpenters.

“It’s a sport,” my dad clarified, “we’re gonna meet the Indian team players…!”

“Oh!” (parental enthusiasm is sooo infectious when you’re eight). Then, of course, since I was now a big fan of our Indian Cricket (no ‘s’) Team it was important for me to know how we were faring… “Are they any good?” (I was a pretty naïve kid back then…)

Cut to rich family friend’s house. Turns out my parents decided to have kids so they could get us to do these oh-so-oddly-demeaning chores for them… like pulling weeds or hey, getting autographs. In the US, you never talk to strangers and you’re always very careful who you mingle with. But if you’re parents think it’s ok, you may push your way roughly through a crowd of boys twice your size and age, wave your autograph book under the nose of the chunky guy with the big moustache and get his autograph all without saying a word. (Except of course “Thank You” since we were very polite)

If you’re me, getting the entire teams’ autographs becomes an exciting quest and may result in having the cricketer in front of you raising a “what have I done wrong?” eyebrow and saying with as much aplomb as he can manage “I’ve already signed this”. This happened a few times before I decided I had ‘gotten’ everyone. (Hey! When you’re a kid growing up in the US, all Indian men with moustaches look alike.)

Deciding the pool was a much more fascinating subject of study I went to the edge and stared at the bluey depths a little mesmerised… when two large hands held my shoulders and turned me around. Another mustachio. He got down to my height (which believe me, an eight-year-old kid will always appreciate) and said quite calmly, “Hey baby, watch out... you could fall in.” (Grrr… let me add here that eight-year-olds are NOT babies and don’t like being addressed as such.) And then he kissed me.

Years (and years) later I wonder… what is it about the first kiss (albeit on the cheek) that ensures a girl will never, ever, forget it?

And what is it about Kapil Dev that ensures he always makes a lasting impression?

Crickets anyone?