Gully cricket a thing of the past

GULLY cricket was an integral part of our well-cherished childhood, and we whiled away our free time playing the game or reliving its glory. In the 1990s, I recall my sons and their mates, numbering around half a dozen, playing cricket on the empty spaces in Bengaluru with fervour. Stumps could be three lines drawn on a wall, an electric pole, school bags, or even bricks piled one over the other. Stones or footwear, set 6 feet apart, marked the crease, and the last batsman played without a non-striker. But, of course, the person who owned the willow always got to bat first.

Advertisement

The tiny tots framed their own weird rules — a trial first ball, one-pitch-one-hand-catches, giving a striker out if a ball lands in the neighbour’s house, and giving the winning team first strike in the next match. Some space was left for the wicket to be seen, as there was no concept of LBW. Umpires were from the batting team, and when their turn came to bat, someone else would replace them. The rules changed depending on the space and number of players available.

But playing cricket in the back alleys had its demerits. Neighbours flew into a rage and admonished the kids every time the ball broke a tile or smashed a window. The buzz on the street got on the elders’ nerves, and the lads urged them to play in the maidan. One of the residents even had the cheek to obstruct the electric pole, used as a stump, by parking his car bang in front.

My other half also had her hands full as furious neighbours reached out to her with complaints. Once when my wife, out of desperation, agreed to replace a broken office window, the office manager shot back, ‘But can you replace the smashed windshields of the cars?’ Such was the havoc wreaked wherever the little brats swung their willow, and the wife had no alternative but to grin and bear it.

Once a mighty heave from the bat of my son sailed into an office room and crashed into a computer. Before the enraged employees rushed out to vent their spleen, the boys did the vanishing act and reappeared after the office closed for the day. Such incidents are too many to recount!

Back in the 1960s, when streets were devoid of traffic, we indulged in our brand of gully cricket too. We tweaked the rules to permit strokes only in the ‘V’, and one expected the batsman to stand and deliver. Two ‘Dalda’ tins placed one over the other served as a wicket. When the ball sneaked in through ‘the gates’ and rearranged the furniture, a clink of metal would erupt.

When we switched over to the aggressive brand of cricket with the road’s edges as boundaries and clubbed the ball into the neighbouring houses, it seldom evoked protests. We barged into homes to retrieve the ball but trod with caution if there were ferocious canines inside. The game would halt whenever the odd vehicle or pedestrian crossed our paths. Blame it on the digital age; one seldom finds children indulging in gully cricket these days, which is a tad disappointing.