Bombay (now Mumbai) endured the nervous nineties with verve. Gang culture, underworld, films and cricket made a film noir out of the Maximum City. But the dons perished, chaos became order and then, there was IPL. The Paltans’ (Mumbai Indians) den (Wankhede stadium) bears an uncanny resemblance to one of those slender lanes once ruled by the quintessential hoodlums. The series of photographs of players — with props and different gestures — portrays them as super-villains about to take down heroes in their own backyard. However, they have been defeated now, by no superhero; but, by the law.
April 30 will mark the last day of match hosting for Mumbai, thanks to an IPL that urged for the matches to be moved out of Maharashtra. The move is supposed to save gallons of water for the drought-hit state.
While many people cheered for the solidarity shown by the city, a sense of grief reverberated in the Wankhede Stadium premises for a few others.
“I am thinking I will go to Rajkot after buying a Tatkal ticket,” says Vishnu Dighe, a regular at the venue who has been selling soft drinks and wafers since 2010. “My nephew sells jerseys outside Churchgate station and I team up with few retailers to make money out of food and beverages,” he adds.
He didn’t want to disclose the losses he would incur. “I don’t want sympathy from people, there will be huge losses. All I can tell you is that the money I would have made in IPL would have sponsored my trips to all the states in the next two seasons,” he says. “But I have relatives living in Vidarbha, I know the situation they are in. If I can sacrifice this money for their well-being, I don’t mind doing so.”
If Dighe, a 40-year-old, worked at the stadium for six years; Karthik Waghmare – a 15-year-old – has been coming to watch IPL for the same number of years.
Harish, his father, is one of the cyclewallahs (who sell tea, coffee, cigarettes throughout the night). He also has a day-time job in one of the Malabar Hill mansions. “My father somehow got tickets every time I told him. He tells me that his boss arranges for it. The place where he works (as a cook) belongs to a rich businessman,” says the kid, who is a fan of Hardik Pandya. “They are like my heroes, they are like Robin Hood,” adds Karthik.
The cricket thugs – being two-time champions – have preferred Jaipur as their next camp.
But it remains to be seen who follows the pack; few people like Harish’s boss may fly but Karthik and Vishnu’s romance with the sport will have to wait for a long time before it is revived.
