A motley group of people sat down before the most important ritual of the year - the IPL auction. In five-star settings, the personages excitedly chattered into their mobile phones, as liveried waiters ambled about with bottles of Evians and Dom Perignons. That they were meeting to discuss some things was itself a wonder because it didn't seem they could be separated from their phones even for a second. Some were phoning business partners, others film producers and modelling agencies, yet others were whispering into the mouthpiece as if they were speaking to furtive bookies. Finally, someone who looked like he was in charge, clapped to get everyone's attention, and got them, by whatever power he wielded, to put their ringing devices on silent mode.
"You know the buying season is here. Let us discuss some modalities before the event so that there are no columns and columns of newspaper space the following day on how we were at loggerheads all the while," was his opening invocation.
"Yea, yea," the others chorused, some in gruff bass, some with botoxed difficulty and others with the wariness of being found out for having secretly connected their phones to numbers outside that room.
"Ok, first let's decide who we will not bid for," said the presumed group leader.
"Not the Pakistanis," immediately chirped up one, to the general consent of the congregation. "Yes, not even Azhar Mahmood," butted in another. "Why? Let the old horse earn a few pennies," said one in dulcet tones. "No!" someone else interjected, "we cannot be hypocritical and buy one former Pakistani and not current Pakistanis."
That was settled then, no Pakistanis.
"No Sri Lankans," suggested one. The others looked at him. He was known to be close to the powers that be in the cricket board. No Mahela Jawardene? No Kumara Sangakkara? No Angelo Matthews? "But why?" ventured another. "Ahem," hedged the suggestor, "you know they didn't want India to be the big brother of cricket." The fact that Sri Lanka had abstained from supporting the new measure to give India, Australia and England the reins of world cricket was, well, news to many of those sitting there because their interest in cricket sprang to life only when the IPL season began. "Is that so? Then, I am with you. No Lankans. No Dilmah tea parties."
"And no Pathan brothers," sang out one West Indian voice. There was shocked silence all around. Each face scrutinised the other to see if it could trace hints of political incorrectness in the eyes staring back. "What did they do last season when we paid them such huge sums?" persisted the anti-Pathan proposer. The people around the table nodded imperceptibly in acknowledging this truth. But just as imperceptibly, they also moved their heads from side to side. The "hmmm" of today's Whatsapp lingo perfectly described their dilemma. "No, we can't do that," braved someone. "Can't do what? Can't buy them or can't not buy them?" asked one perplexed voice. "Cannot not buy them," confirmed the brave voice. "Just not done. We need them. For obvious reasons." The "obvious reason" seemed obvious to everybody since most discussants, except the proposer, nodded. What was more obvious was that a compromise had to be reached. "Okay, let's not not buy them," conceded the proposer. "But," he continued with Taurean obduracy, "they should not not be too happy or too sad with their bids." This was met with yeses and nos and ifs and buts and it took a while before the men and women around the table agreed to disagree, some of them because they did not understand what was being said and implied.
There were other rounds of heated discussion on who were not to be purchased. After about two hours, one sane head looked up and, with a quizzical look, declared, "We have so much money left over because we are not buying anyone. We must spend on someone!"
"Yuvraj Singh," chorused the gathering.
"You know the buying season is here. Let us discuss some modalities before the event so that there are no columns and columns of newspaper space the following day on how we were at loggerheads all the while," was his opening invocation.
"Yea, yea," the others chorused, some in gruff bass, some with botoxed difficulty and others with the wariness of being found out for having secretly connected their phones to numbers outside that room.
"Ok, first let's decide who we will not bid for," said the presumed group leader.
"Not the Pakistanis," immediately chirped up one, to the general consent of the congregation. "Yes, not even Azhar Mahmood," butted in another. "Why? Let the old horse earn a few pennies," said one in dulcet tones. "No!" someone else interjected, "we cannot be hypocritical and buy one former Pakistani and not current Pakistanis."
That was settled then, no Pakistanis.
"No Sri Lankans," suggested one. The others looked at him. He was known to be close to the powers that be in the cricket board. No Mahela Jawardene? No Kumara Sangakkara? No Angelo Matthews? "But why?" ventured another. "Ahem," hedged the suggestor, "you know they didn't want India to be the big brother of cricket." The fact that Sri Lanka had abstained from supporting the new measure to give India, Australia and England the reins of world cricket was, well, news to many of those sitting there because their interest in cricket sprang to life only when the IPL season began. "Is that so? Then, I am with you. No Lankans. No Dilmah tea parties."
"And no Pathan brothers," sang out one West Indian voice. There was shocked silence all around. Each face scrutinised the other to see if it could trace hints of political incorrectness in the eyes staring back. "What did they do last season when we paid them such huge sums?" persisted the anti-Pathan proposer. The people around the table nodded imperceptibly in acknowledging this truth. But just as imperceptibly, they also moved their heads from side to side. The "hmmm" of today's Whatsapp lingo perfectly described their dilemma. "No, we can't do that," braved someone. "Can't do what? Can't buy them or can't not buy them?" asked one perplexed voice. "Cannot not buy them," confirmed the brave voice. "Just not done. We need them. For obvious reasons." The "obvious reason" seemed obvious to everybody since most discussants, except the proposer, nodded. What was more obvious was that a compromise had to be reached. "Okay, let's not not buy them," conceded the proposer. "But," he continued with Taurean obduracy, "they should not not be too happy or too sad with their bids." This was met with yeses and nos and ifs and buts and it took a while before the men and women around the table agreed to disagree, some of them because they did not understand what was being said and implied.
There were other rounds of heated discussion on who were not to be purchased. After about two hours, one sane head looked up and, with a quizzical look, declared, "We have so much money left over because we are not buying anyone. We must spend on someone!"
"Yuvraj Singh," chorused the gathering.
Free Run is a fortnightly look at alternate realities joel.rai@bsmail.in