Breakfast at Corinthian
It’s Sunday morning and outside St
Mark’s Church of England primary
school a preacher in brown tweed,
with cordless headphones and mike, is
extolling those willing to listen about
Jesus’ power. “Compassion, mercy,
empathy, kindness, brotherly love...” he
goes on breathlessly. But sadly for him
the St Mark’s is right at the entrance of
The Oval’s Alec Steward gate and today
the only gods are the eleven on the field
inside, with these virtues he is gushing
about what’s least on their minds. The crowds could be the
scene outside Wankhade or Chinnaswamy—the snatches of
conversations in Hindi, Punjabi, Gujarati, Tamil, Kannada,
Bengali—except for the black London hackneys, white
policemen in blue uniform and the grey sky.
As we wait to take the lift up to the fourth floor to the
Corinthian Roof Terrace, there is a chant of ‘Sachin, Sachin’
and sure enough there he is a few paces ahead, neat and
compact in a dark suit, his security right behind him. He
turns and gives a little wave sending those in the reception
area to ecstasy. Corinthian, after passing from the usher
to the concierge to the lobby manager and finally to the
stadium in-charge through walkie-talkie, turns out was
the name of the first club to play cricket at The Oval some
150 years ago before Surrey County made it its home.
This stadium is, as often repeated, the oldest in the world
where cricket has been played without a break. As we come
on to the terrace about an hour before the start of the
game, the grand view of the stadium with both India and
Australia warming up on two sides is breathtaking. Equally
inviting is the smell of frying bacon, crackling sausages
and bubbling omelettes wafting over the sumptuous
breakfast spread. What, is that...vada pav? It is indeed,
specially made for the India game, it’s more of a vada in a
burger bun, but pretty close to the original complete with
tamarind, coconut and garlic chutney. The menu says
for lunch, apart from the heaps of cold cuts and
cheeses (here’s a sampling from the menu:
beetroot cured salmon, dill marinated
Atlantic prawns, mussels and peppered
mackerel served with Marie Rose
dressing and saffron aioli, rare
roasted sirloin of beef, terrines
and pates, hand-raised meat pies,
Clara goat cheese, Winterdale
Kentish cheese, Oxford blue
cheese...), there is kadai chicken,
rogan josh and chhole-alu.Blue’s A Heady Brew
“The bar opens at 11, sir” says the lady
behind the counter as many start to
hover in the area—India’s run rate is lessthan four, the ball is yet to cross the
ropes, the Aussie pacers are bowling in
fierce rhythm, the nerves are jangling.
Just as the first ale is poured, Shikhar
Dhawan cuts one to the boundary,
the dholak in the stands downstairs
reaches a crescendo of bhangra beats,
and the crowd erupts in a blue wave. In
between overs, it is Yo Yo Honey Singh
and Guru Randhawa on the ground
PA system. If Australia too has a pop
song culture, it is not audible today.
Suddenly, runs are flowing as freely as
the lager from the tap, goblets and flutes are brimming as
much as our openers’ confidence and the fruit juice counter
is looking as askance as the Oz fielders. Dhawan’s century
is greeted with champagne, and as the heady pair of Dhoni
and Hardik Pandya is all set to take the total well beyond
300, the difference between stout and ale starts to blur.Charming Spies For Oz
Two English lads—Ian, bulky, balding and boisterous in an
oversized hoodie, and his friend Rob, thin, redhead, reti-
cent in a well-cut blue suit—with large mugs of Pimms next
to them are having their own game. They look like spies
in the enemy camp surrounded by the blue fatigues of the
Bharat army. In the Australian innings, as Aaron Finch and
Steve Smith take charge, Ian suddenly gets up and screams
‘Sixer, sixer’. Rob pulls him down, asks him to hush, looks
panic-stricken all around. When Finch actually hits a six,
Ian is up again, cheering ‘Go, Australia, go’. Rob gets up and
calms him down, bowing to those near him for his friend’s
behaviour, smiling sheepishly. It’s an act they put up, the
only Aussie supporters in this congregation of the devout,
and the Indian fans around them join in the camaraderie.
When Finch is run out, a bunch of them break into a jig
next to them. As the game slips away from Australia, Ian
and Rob quickly switch sides.Commonwealth Camaraderie
After the game, as the milling crowds wait
for taxis and buses, we spot a family of six
‘real’ Aussie fans dressed in their team’s
colour, walking somberly with their
heads down, looking for transport.
All the black cabs have their taxi
lights off as it seems they don’t
want to pick up a fare in this melee.
One with lights on turns the curve
and a group of Indian fans jump
at it to flag it down. The Australian
family is right behind them, there is
a little huddle among the Indians, the
decision is quickly made, and they offer
the cab to them. There’s a round of hand-
shakes and the Australians are on their way.THE OVAL diary
SATISH
PADMANABHAN
( Executive editor, Outlook)SAAHIL66 OUTLOOK 1 July 2019