Border crossings

India Today, Special Issue, March 2004

There are all sorts of reasons why I’ll be approaching the India-Pakistan series as a deeply committed neutral. I grew up in New York, moved to England where I became a cricket lover, and later travelled (as often and as widely as I could) in India and Pakistan. I have friends in both countries. I know that India-Pakistan peace is an irreplaceable necessity for the cause of democracy on both sides of the border. I know something of the price that has been paid for this conflict, the decades of tragic waste, the cost in human lives, economic resources, cultural assets.

Among the casualties has been cricket. In South Asia I saw cricket stripped of its English accoutrements, experienced it as a vibrant, integral part of a genuinely popular culture. For me, south Asian cricket has been a source of revelation and joy – and sometimes of frustration and sadness.

I’ve seen international cricket sizzle under floodlights in Calcutta and Lahore. I’ve sat with tiny, silent knots of spectators at slow-moving first class domestic matches in Bangalore and Multan. I’ve wandered entranced through the cricket-crammed urban oases of Shivaji Park and Bagh-e-Jinnah. I’ve watched boys in mirror-work caps and shalwar kameez bat and bowl against a stark mountain backdrop in Baluchistan and others in lungis dart barefoot between the wickets amid palm groves in Kerala. Kids chasing battered balls down steep slopes in Kumaon, across blowing sands in Cholistan, in galis and maidans in towns and cities. People crowding around radios in bazaars. VIPs chattering in clubhouse comfort. I’ve witnessed this genial exercise wrapped in national flags, fans baring fangs and snarling in hatred. And I’ve watched till I’m weary as politicians and businessmen leap on the cricket bandwagon and promptly steer it in the wrong direction.

There is indeed a common south Asian cricket culture. Of course, there are differences as well as similarities between Indian and Pakistani cricket, but then there are also differences within both Indian and Pakistani cricket. It’s the patchwork of south Asian cricket that constitutes its shared and singular richness.

So as a deeply committed neutral, what do I want from the coming series? I want to enjoy closely-fought contests replete with bravura individual performances. I want to see the players and spectators enjoying the game for what it is, a trivial entertainment, a respite, not a proxy war, not a contest of nations or cultures but of cricketers. I want to see both India and Pakistan win. I want to see no one humiliated.

I know people will be quick to remind me that in sport there must be winners and losers. Cricket, however, does boast that admirably civilised tradition, the draw. And a drawn series, hard-fought and unpredictable, would be fine by me. Unfortunately, the history of India-Pakistan cricket sags with drawn matches – defensive encounters driven only by the shared terror of losing to the south Asian rival. So win, lose or draw what will count in this series are the meanings attached to it, the manner in which it’s reflected and appreciated across society as a whole.

A few requests, then, to cricket fans, the media and the general public – Indian, Pakistani and foreign:

Let’s swear off the war and battle metaphors. In this context, they carry entirely the wrong connotations. They attach to cricket a grotesquely exaggerated importance and at the same time serve to dull our sense of the abnormality and horror of war itself. Let’s be careful about headlines in which fast-bowlers “shoot down” batsmen. And, please, spare us puns about “lines of control” and ruminations on “the killer instinct” or lack thereof.
Do not make cricket a test of anyone’s patriotism. People are entitled to take no interest in it, to attach no importance to it. People are entitled to admire players on the ‘other’ side and to want them to succeed. No one is required to support a national side in cricket or any other sport (at least that was the case the last time I checked the Indian constitution).
Do not give undue attention to isolated incidents or minor frictions on or off the field. The search for the sensational has become compulsive among editors, and too often journalists are tempted to cross the line from news-gathering into news-making.
Remember this is not the world championship of cricket. It’s not even the Asian championship. Keep victory and defeat in proportion. A friendly series that unfolds without rancour or controversy would be the biggest victory for all concerned.
Remember that the vagaries of form and luck are inescapable in cricket. Great players on either side will fail, lesser may succeed. Again, that’s about cricket, not patriotism. Too often people seek explanations for defeat in allegations of betrayal. In both countries, and not only in cricket, there’s a bad habit of assigning responsibility for setbacks to some kind of enemy within.
Remind yourselves that this contest is, at least in part, a celebration of a common cricket culture. It takes on its political and commercial importance as much because of this common culture as because of the history of conflict. The knowledge, appreciation and enthusiasm for cricket on both sides of the border is the precondition for the eminence of this tie among global sporting rivalries.
And a word in particular to the Indian media. The pressures on Indian players when they play against Pakistan are inordinate. That’s one reason players seem less than enthusiastic about the coming series. Take the pressure off. Failure against Pakistan should be stripped of its stigma.

The media are certainly not the only responsible parties here. For broadcasters, sponsors and advertisers, the easiest way to maximise the return on their investment in cricket is to inflate its value by infusing it with extraneous emotional significance. They’ll be tempted to hype the series as the ultimate confrontation, as a contest of unique import to the nation, as ‘war minus the shooting’, in George Orwell’s words. And that’s where the cricket-loving public have a responsibility – to discipline the private sector super-patriots. To insist on a sense of proportion.

This series will unfold on many levels simultaneously. In the stadiums, of course, but also on television, in newspapers, at schools and workplaces and in the streets. How it unfolds on these various levels will tell us something about the societies in which it unfolds. Since India last toured Pakistan in 1989, the face of the country has changed. Globalisation, consumerism, television. Ayodhya, Pokhran, Gujerat. It will be interesting to see how “shining India” responds to victory or defeat on the playing fields of Lahore, Karachi, Peshawar. In Pakistan, the last fifteen years have witnessed repeated crises and apparently cyclical transitions – out of and back into military rule, out of and back into favour with the USA. It’s clearly Musharraf who has the biggest stake in the cricket proceeding without incident and in the friendliest fashion. Others, on either side of the border, may have different interests.

As a committed neutral, I’ll be following the series as avidly and in my own way as passionately as the most die-hard national partisan. In the end, though, my enjoyment of the game will be eclipsed by what accompanies the cricket. If this series turns into a spectacle of nationalist zeal, if it becomes a weapon in the hands of those who would derail the peace process, those who profit from continuing India-Pakistan antagonism, then that will be a loss for which even the most scintillating cricket cannot compensate.