Sundal, pepsi cola and cricket nirvana: memories of cricket at Chepauk
Inconspicuous: that’s not a term you would associate with large cricket stadiums or any sports arena in the world.
Yet if you were to drive down along Wallajah Road in Chennai on a non-match day, there is a good chance that you will miss M.A.Chidambaram to your right. The Marina beach will pull focus.
But on a match day …
The narrow Bells Road that takes one to the more affordable stands of this epic stadium will buzz with a festive sound. I know this buzz well. Even writing about it, brings back butterflies to my stomach. I am sure many, many fans will relate to what I am talking.
First memories
I caught the MAC buzz when I was 10–12 years old. This was the mid-1980s. My uncle lived in a mansion house* in Triplicane. It was a joint family in a neighborhood that was half Hindu as it was Muslim. This is not a political post, so I won’t dwell too much on that. But it is almost too important to not mention.
One of my maternal uncles, Balagangadaran, worked at TAFE (Tractors and Farm Equipment Limited). Like most young men living in Triplicane, he found some way or the other to volunteer during ‘Test Match’ days. He was a ‘stand volunteer’ tasked with helping the ground authorities with seating arrangements.
Being his nephew, I was a beneficiary to the perks — I would accompany him brandishing the volunteer badge whenever I went past the entry checks. I will find a seat in one of two stands — C and D — and allow the game to envelop me.
The first few matches — I don’t remember the games. But I was overawed by the sheer scale of the experience. I was overawed by the feeling of being one among thousands. It was a bit much to absorb. Also, this was the first time in my life an entire day could be set aside for leisure. I was doing absolutely nothing but feeling good. Isn’t that the wonder of watching sport?
I remember going to a few sessions of the famous tied Test between India and Australia. But that was one confusing day or even week. At that point, like any youngster, I had too many questions.
Why would you celebrate if no one won? I remember feeling disappointed. They went through all of that for five days, and yet both sides lost. And I was confused by the word ‘tie’. When they said the match was tied, I kept wondering how something that’s meant to constrict could spark celebrations. These cricket fans must be crazy to celebrate a tie.
To me then, Chepauk then represented the more simpler joys of life — sipping on those long pepsi cola tubes and watching the game, the sundal from beach vendors who would come to the stadium on match days and generally running into more kids who found interesting excuses to bunk school.
First real impression
I was in an impressionable age alright. And it did not take long for Chepauk and cricket to create a record. And it came in the form of an opposition player — Imran Khan.
It was February of 1987. The test series was billed Imran Khan’s Pakistan vs Kapil Dev’s India. I remember going for the first two days of that test. Imran Khan was the player who caught my attention. His towering presence and swagger was hard to miss. This was all the more impressive because I was still getting adjusted to watching a game with thousands of others and from a fair distance in the stadium. I kept asking myself would a tall, fair guy collectively generate fear every time he ran in. Imran Khan had a very impressive run up for his bowling.
This game got etched in my memory alright. I went to that match on the first two days and ended up watching the entirety of Pakistan’s first innings batting.
And it was painful viewing. Imran Khan could bat well too. He smashed five humungous sixers in his century.
In hindsight though the scorecard looks a lot less painful today. But I sat through Imran Khan’s century but missed Krish Srikkanth’s.
I wanted more from MAC and Chepauk. I had commited myself to the stadium and watching cricket there. I had waited. Now I wanted to be there when the Indian team did well. I wanted to see India Imran Khan the opposition.
Over the years, MAC delivered on that longing. Not always. But it did deliver good on many occasions.
Developing some pride about Chepauk
Ask loyal Chepauk fans and they will tell you different things they pride about the venue and its fans.
- a culture that cheers even the opposition if they do well
- a certain ‘informed’ geekdom that pervades, where you will find fans you don’t want to challenge to a quiz
- the nice evening conditions that sets it towards the end of the day’s play because of the beach nearby
- the easy access to Marina that is just a stroll away and can prolong a game day to an all out experience.
Chepauk was the total entertainment package.
But on the topic of bragging, there is one that invariably takes the cake. Two of India’s premier batsmen who have batted their best at this venue — Sunil Gavaskar and Sachin Tendulkar.
Care for some back to the wall counter-attacking cricket? Oh yes, Chepauk has delivered on that again and again and again. You never know how to stack the odds here. Chepauk is a place where belief delivers. And these two Gods more than anyone else have delivered here. On multiple occasions.
Sunil Gavaskar’s incredible 29th hundred came at Chepauk. I did not see that game, but I remember reading about it in the sport pages of The Hindu back then. It was also Gavaskar’s 99th Test match and he came into Chepauk for the last test in that series against West Indies, with a lot of expectations to deliver with a century that would equal the then all-time summit of Don Bradman’s tally. And that was a game for the ages.
Having missed out on Gavaskar’s defining moment in Chepauk, I was not going to miss out on the next little master’s Chepauk moment.
And it came in 1998. I had passed out of college by then, and even had a job that paid a modest salary. Enough money in my pockets to afford the ever affordable stands C or D. My cricket watching had also evolved, and I started liking the nuances of the game.
The first Test against Australia in March 1998 was billed for the Sachin vs Warne battle royal. I remember getting in early not to miss a ball of this contest. A bunch of us school mates got the 5-day passes and decided to go for sessions that were most likely to feature the Sachin vs Warne battle.
The first innings, this battle hardly lasted a few deliveries. Warne had set Sachin up beautifully and he was out having scored just four runs. It was also an odd dismissal for Sachin. He attacked Warne almost too early in his innings and got out. And already there was chatter on how the world’s greatest spinner had already sorted out the world’s greatest batsman in the very first innings of the series.
I remember feeling angry. Sachin and Chepauk had let me down. How can Sachin play such a rash shot? Why did he counter-attack? Could he not have played the first spell, and attacked later?
Sports fans think. Even if they have no real skills to play the game at a competitive level, the love for a game makes you think in a way that belies that lack of skill. If you can stop, step back and watch yourself, I bet it would be funny. But not at that spur of the moment. Not when all that adrenaline is kicking in.
But I kept faith in Chepauk. Also, I had invested in a five-day pass. I went back for the second innings, but with a lot less expectations. And that’s when Chepauk delivered. It was a different story altogether.
Sachin attacked again. Only this time, it worked fabulously.
His counter-attacking 155 in the second innings set the tone for one of the greatest rivalries between the two master craftsman.
Sachin won, btw. Not just that battle, but almost every other battle against Warne.
No one really loses
As I grew older, I started appreciating what Chepauk delivered even more. I appreciated the nuances but it threw one massive surprise that I was not ready for.
In 1999, Pakistan toured India again for a Test series. Having watched the Imran Khan century, this time I would not miss it. This was long-pending redemption. I wanted Chepauk to deliver on the promise. We had to Imran Khan Pakistan.
The last day of that Test, the very last session of that test, the dying moments of that test …
Sachin’s 136 for a losing cause … India lost to Pakistan …
I can almost vividly remember parts of being there. Despite that loss, this was to me, the single most extraordinary thing I have ever watched and had been a part of.
For a good part of India’s second innings, no one in the ground — and I take some liberty in saying that none of the 40,000 odd people — believed that India could win that Test. Only Sachin did.
Towards the dying moments of that Test, the entire MAC crowd joined in. It felt as if 40,000 joined in that day, became one with Sachin, and willed him to pull off the impossible. Alas, one human body could not take all the prayers.
In the end, when India lost, I did not feel those prayers were in vain. It had still delivered an extraordinary game. And the game was bigger than all of us — the players, the fans, everyone.
That experience also transformed me — from a kid who thought that a tie was a loss to a person who accepted that a loss was also sometimes a win.
I remember walking to LIC bus stop from Chepauk that day. It would have been easier to walk to the Marina bus stop, but I walked that day to process what I had witnessed. That innings endeared me to Sachin for many years to come. I have not missed a moment of Sachin batting at Chepauk after that.
I also know that if you stay invested long enough, there will be enough joy, some sorrow and most of all good stories to tell.
