The structure has changed and so have the patrons. Chennai’s love for cricket, willingness to play, watch and learn, have also worn different colours and moved on with time. Looking at the present state of the historical institutions, their past and new ones, Rahul Ravikumar finds out that the roots have only gone deeper...
Weight, your average physics book will say, is the measure of the heaviness of an object. But weight, your average millennial in Chennai will say after adding an “u” to the word, is something that’s “rad, cool or slick”.
Cricket in the city since April 8, 2018 — the day that marked the official return of the Chennai Super Kings — is bound to be summed up by its local followers by that one word or its various lexical brothers: massu, gethu, scenu.
They’re making their presence felt. Tens of thousands keep turning up, even for their practice sessions. Every night MS Dhoni walks out to the middle of the floodlit MA Chidambaram Stadium with ten other men wearing lurid-yellow jerseys in tow, Thala and cricket are weightu for the 30,000-odd spectators at the stadium and the other five-odd million glued to their televisions.
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The weightu of Chennai’s cricketing doesn’t just fade into oblivion when the gates of Chepauk close past midnight. Six hours later, it reappears a few kilometers away; the onset of another vicious, humid summer be damned.
Somasundaram Corporation Ground in T Nagar is bathed in swathes of yellow. Matches literally crisscross each other at any given point of time. Every five minutes, a third-man from one ostensibly ends up taking a one-pitch catch at the slips of another. Chennai’s own Azad Maidan is teeming with starry-eyed children who want to be the next Super Kings No 7.
Yes, the ground is a hangout spot for pretty much every teenager in the surrounding areas; especially for those bunking schools or colleges to watch or play cricket. Many may just chalk this down to the popularity the venue gained after the release of Chennai 600028 — a movie that perhaps has more cult status in this city than Lagaan itself — 12 years ago.
In January, the residents of the area banded together to keep some allegedly unscrupulous construction employees from encroaching the ground. On the surface, that just looks like good samaritans trying to prevent the venue from being swallowed up by an ever-expanding concrete jungle. But, many a child with hopes has swished his bat away to glory at this ground. And those hopes and swishes have over the years transformed into domestic or India outings. TA Sekhar to Krishnamachari Bharatan, to quite a few from Tamil Nadu’s current team, have rolled their arm over or thwacked one for a six at this ground.
“This ground and area are seeped in history,” explains former South Zone spinner V Ramnarayan, also a writer who has chronicled in his books the cricketing landscape of Chennai.
“It used to be a lot bigger during my time, and we played with proper leather balls instead of the tennis ones. Mylapore, Triplicane, and Mambalam have always been areas that have produced cricketers over the years,” reminisces the 71-year-old.
“League matches between Mylapore Recreation Club and Triplicane Cricket Club were dubbed as the local version of the War of Roses (the moniker for Yorkshire-Lancashire clashes). And it isn’t just about Somasundaram. Even the RA Puram Corporation ground is another embodiment of our gully-cricket culture. It breathes in Chennai.”
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Chepauk has had its share of trysts with history. It’s the third oldest stadium in India. It’s seen the first Ranji Trophy match, the nation’s first win in five-day cricket, the second tie in the Test history, and a smattering of other personal firsts. But for all the militant zealotry and Yellove that Chennai is associated with, the Super Kings’ Anbu Den has also lived up to its current Tamil sobriquet in the past, the team notwithstanding.
Everybody knows about that time just before the turn of the last millennium, when Pakistan came to India for a bilateral Test series after 12 years. Everybody knows that pitches were dug up, and that certain political factions were leaving no stone unturned to cancel the matches. And, everybody also knows how Chennai’s audience reacted when that first match was lost in an agonising manner, with a valiant Sachin Tendulkar ton thrown in as metaphorical salt on wounds.
“They definitely lived up to their ‘knowledgeable crowd’ label on that day,” recollects Ramnarayan, who was at MA Chidambaram Stadium, reporting that match. The veteran journalist has an anecdote from January 31, 1999, one that has a few details not many might know. “I remember there was a group of radicals present at the venue the day when the match finished. They had flags, and they were really sticking out from the other people present at the venue. They seemed to have someone who was literally controlling the way they were behaving.
“Then it happened. Pakistan won despite Sachin almost getting India home. People there were looking at this bunch after we lost, wondering what to do. This man, also perhaps swayed by what an amazing game it turned out to be, gave a thumbs-up. Everyone started applauding. And the Pakistan team took a victory lap. It was a moment worth witnessing.”
Much like with Saeed Anwar two years ago, the spirit of the game had transcended hatred, be it of political or any other hue.
It wasn’t surprising to see many a level-headed Twitterati use a video of this incident to quell a wave of unexpected “anti-nationalist” ire that came India’s way after their 2017 Champions Trophy final defeat. Chepauk and its audience had become a go-to analogy for unfettered appreciation of achievements on the field. They were, and are, the knowledgeable crowd.
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It began as a pitched tent in 1846, and it even had a president — Lord Harris — whose name would eventually be etched on a famous school-cricket shield in Mumbai. Though it may now be lost in the bevy of names in the Tamil Nadu Cricket Association League’s First Division, Madras Cricket Club is still considered the historical beacon that shone the first lights of this sport and many others in the city.
The club team’s success started plateauing out as the years rolled on, but its infrastructure has been associated with distinguished names after it relinquished control of the game in the Presidency in 1932, the year when Madras Cricket Association came into being. C Ramaswami, Balu Alaganan, N Kanniyiram, CD Gopinath, S Venkataraghavan, Bharath Reddy, Robin Singh, and even P Unnikrishnan — known more for his Carnatic and playback-singing skills rather than those with the bat or ball — were some of them.
“They’ll still be remembered as one of the teams — and places — who played a role in shaping how cricket in Chennai has evolved over the years,” observes Ramnarayan. “Now the only thing that reminds them of MCC is that pavilion in Chepauk. But the club will always find a mention in any such article.”
Though it did have its European hangovers, the club was literally the foundation for Chepauk to become what it is today.
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It was privatisation in the ‘90s that started the process of MCC becoming lost in the annals of Chennai’s cricketing history. But former Tamil Nadu batsman S Sharath — one of the unluckiest not to don the India cap — feels a bitter pill had to be swallowed to build a new structure.
From a time when players had to shell out money to play, the league now has six divisions, with eight venues hosting the 12 teams in the top tier. Colleges like Vivekananda and Pachaiyappa’s became the haunts of the not-so-many followers of the sport who wanted to watch a good game in peace on lazy afternoons.
“Companies pumping in money obviously spelled a world of good for cricket in the city. You have so many venues where cricket is played. Not many other states have the same,” says Sharath.
“At the end of the day, players too need to live a life. You need money for that. Providing employment, and opportunities to turn out — along with good facilities — is definitely commendable. That brings quality players from other states here. It’s bound to improve our guys as well. Even if these firms are looking to win, at the end of the day, it’s the players who get the most out of it.”
A fortnight ago, the only thing that Google knew about S Suresh Kumar was that he had a moment in the spotlight for Ruby Trichy Warriors during last year’s Tamil Nadu Premier League. A week later, while playing for MCC, he took Cheteshwar Pujara’s wicket.
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Puritan or otherwise, Chennai’s love for cricket starts very early, and St Bede’s Anglo-Indian Higher Secondary School knows how to catch them young. Having been around for 112 years, the institution has been churning out notable cricketing names over the last two decades: R Ashwin, Dinesh Karthik, Abhinav Mukund, Murali Vijay, Kaushik Gandhi, the Baba brothers, Vijaykumar Yo Mahesh and Washington Sundar.
“What differentiates St Bede’s is the fact that unlike most other schools, where studying takes absolute precedence, they help students juggle that with sport,” explains Aparajith. “That helps attract the best talent. Also, their academy has good infrastructure (15 open nets) and very understanding coaches. It’s no surprise that people change schools — like Ashwin — to St Bede’s to have a shot at professional cricket.”
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In 30-odd days, the month will turn to June. Chepauk won’t be the shining orb of light that all evening commuters of Chennai’s MRTS have been accustomed to seeing over the past month. The jerseys of those starry-eyed children at Somasundaram and RAC will turn from yellow to blue. But their No 7 will still be stepping out on to lusher outfields, 8,000-odd kilometers away. For this city, cricket will continue to be weightu.