Dada, the interpreter of dreams, and
A great cricket enthusiast was shocked
To find empty Green Park in one of his dreams
There were no long queues
The colour ‘white’ was missing
A few ‘black’ heads could be seen
It was a day-and-night limited-over match
Dada, in his younger days
Used to be on the ground
By seven in the morning
With lunch box filled with Aloo-parathas
For a match scheduled to start at ten
Tap water was still safe
Beer had not come to the scene
Spectators were the only cheerleaders
Dada had his lot of favourite cricketers, but did not burn their effigies when they did not perform
It is now ‘instant’ cricket
There is no second innings
There is no second chance
Do or die, next man is waiting
No more a gentleman’s game
Not uncommon are ugly events
In the show of assertion
How ‘ungentle’ should one become
Dada wonders
Not the boards, not the chiefs, not the bookies
The lovers of the game can only stop the menace That is damaging the game
In an empty Green Park ground
Perhaps, Dada found the answer
To halt the damage
To a gentleman's game