Savouring the surroundings: Carlton Baugh enjoys a different kind of ride © Getty Images

At Hawa Mahal, that most famous of Jaipur landmarks, in the heart of the district known as the Pink City, a procession straight out of a mini zoo held up traffic. There were two elephants, decked out in finery at the head, a clutch of camels behind them, and then horses, giving way to people on foot. They were celebrating – quite obviously and noisily, oblivious to the fact that they had brought traffic to a grinding halt – and part of the celebrations was some genius setting off firecrackers. One particularly loud boom, and the elephants had taken it enough, they began to backtrack, and the camels, fearing for their lives, followed suit, sending the whole procession into pandemonium. If he had scripted a scene to capture with his camera, Imran Khan, the West Indian media manager, could not have come up with something better.

Ever since he has been in India, his first time to the country, Imran has been taking pictures and posting them on his blog, named Blue Billion, after the cola advertising campaign that has caught the fancy of the nation, and has people yelling “Ooh aah India, aa-ya India” at matches around the country. He’s not the first foreigner to do that, and he won’t be the last, and already some of his pictures have ruffled feathers, with some Indians writing in to his blog complaining that he was only taking pictures of poverty and filth. Imran’s been around a bit, though, and it takes more than a few comments of this kind to deter him.

“If I came to India a hundred times and never saw the Taj Mahal it wouldn’t bother me,” he said. “I like to look at people – as they go about their everyday lives. That’s what really interests me.” What interests Imran is the exact opposite of every stereotype people might carry about West Indians. If you’re looking for a party animal intent on a few stiff Pina Coladas and long nights at glitzy nightclubs, you’ll find the opposite. Imran does not drink, doesn’t particularly enjoy going out partying, or even out to meals. “Give me a television and the Internet, and I’d be happy to stay in,” he says.

But if you think he’s one of those guys who tours and learns little about the culture of the places he’s visiting think again. It’s just that he prefers to be out with his camera, snapping away, far from the socialising. And Jaipur would have been the perfect city for him and his lens, given the richness and variety of the visuals on offer. But unfortunately, his team is staying at the Gold Palace hotel – a good 28 kilometres away from the heart of Jaipur. Why anyone would book them into a place closer to China than the Sawai Man Singh Stadium, is anyone’s guess.

Trips to India are often painted as a homecoming of sorts for people of Indian origin, and Imran, who is from Guyana, traces his mother’s forefathers back to India. Imran is very much West Indian, but this has not stopped him from marking the visit to India as a very important one personally. “This trip has changed me,” he says. “I live in a three bedroom house back in Guyana, use one as a bedroom, another as an office and the third just to store stuff. And I often complain about not having enough space. If I ever do that again I hope someone shoots me.”

The next stop on the agenda is Pakistan, a country many people find a nightmare to stay at for any length of time because they can’t get a drink of alcohol, and because things aren’t quite the same as what they are back home in the West. Why, Ian Botham quite famously, and insultingly, called it a place he would send his mother-in-law to. “I can’t wait to get to Pakistan,” says Imran. “I’d like to come back to India for a month, when I’m not working, just me and my camera, that would be great, but I am looking forward to Pakistan.”

The Indian board does not believe in media managers, and when they do appoint someone on an ad-hoc basis to do the job, he usually ends up doing more damage than good. Imran has come to India, and learned from the country. It’s a pity the richest cricket board in the world could not learn from him at the same time.

	No India, no crowd - Empty stands for non-India matches have proved that India's just crazy about Indian cricket © AFP

There's been a lot of myth-busting during the course of the Champions Trophy. Three stand out.

1. Asia is not cricket's power centre, it's just a power centre for driving
cricket.

For the first time since the 1975 World Cup, no Asian team made it to the semi-final of a major event. Curiously they played a part in each others demise. Sri Lanka walloped West Indies, topped the qualifier leg and entered Group B. That left West Indies in Group A and having got India's number in five out of their past seven meetings, they duly pushed them to the brink of elimination.

In Group B, Pakistan beat Sri Lanka and left them in a tight situation. They hurt themselves as well - as coach Bob Woolmer himself realised later - by getting complacent and sleeping through the rest of the tournament. Had they lost to Sri Lanka, Pakistan might have been far more determined and who knows, both teams might have gone through.

2. India is not cricket crazy, it's just crazy about Indian cricket.

Sanjay Manjrekar said it on air and everyone else has gradually realised
the same. A big tournament like the Champions Trophy allows spectators a
rare chance to see Shane Bond bowling to Ricky Ponting and other such
battles. But hardly anyone's interested unless Indian stars are out in the
middle. A few neutrals have turned up and enjoyed cheering all day - of
course, they'd probably wish the underdog to win but might as well let out
screams anyway - but the response has largely been muted.

3. This is not the great batting age, it's the age of great batting pitches.

Spice up the pitches and you realise how hyped modern-day batsmen actually
are. Now one can only imagine what would happen if someone rules that
batsmen can't make use of guards and helmets. And, in the ideal case
situation, one can reduce bat weight and re-introduce uncovered wickets.
It was bizarre hearing Andrew Flintoff's comment about the low-scoring
nature of this tournament. "People come to watch fours and sixes, hope one
gets to see bigger scores in the future matches." Sigh. Injure a man and
deprive him of bowling, and he switches sides so easily.

	'Everything is blown out of proportion' - Dravid © AFP

There are two ways to look at Greg Chappell’s public dressing down of the team, on the even of the West Indies clash at Ahmedabad. Either, as Rahul Dravid suggested yesterday, the media were unnecessarily “evesdropping into a private conversation” or that Chappell actually wanted the world to know what he was saying.

Dravid didn’t hide his disappointment when asked about the media “blowing up” what Chappell had told the team, telling them about how they “slouch” and “joke” and “loiter” and blah. “It’s a very unfortunate incident when a private conversation between a coach and players were heard and used out of context,” he said. “People obviously haven’t understood what he was saying or what he was trying to say. I’ve played with 7-8 coaches and I haven’t heard anything different. It’s the times that we live in where everything is blown out of proportion. If people want to evesdrop on someone’s private conversation, so be it. That’s not what I would have done.”

But, irrespective of the times you live in, don’t you expect to be overheard when you’re just a few metres from the media? Or maybe the media needed to bring out their earmuffs and silently slink away, starting their own private conversations.

	Narhari Amin, the president of the GCA, was at the gate to welcome the throngs that flocked to the India-West Indies match © AFP

The Punjabis are famous for their hospitality, and if you’re covering cricket you’d certainly know what I’m talking about. The officials and staff at the Punjab Cricket Association in Mohali are among the most courteous, efficient and helpful. It was something you got nowhere else in India. Until now. It might not please Mr. Bindra and some of his colleagues, but the Gujarat Cricket Association (GCA) is now, officially, the venue that makes you feel most comfortable, covering cricket, in the country.

Covering cricket at the Sardar Patel Gujarat Stadium in Motera, Ahmedabad, used to be a nightmare. When I first came here, for the New Zealand Test match in 1999, the reception was far from warm, the press box a shambles, and the whole area a dustbowl. But now, it’s a completely different story. If you have a minute, listen to a couple of stories.

After a long, long day at the ground, watching practices, attending press conferences, writing stories, a friend and I were standing outside the stadium, in the dark, in the hope of hailing a cab to get us back to the city, about 15 kilometres away. As the cars sped by, and hope began to wane, one came out of the stadium and pulled up along us. A man we’d never seen before insisted we come with him, and drove us to the doorstep of the Gujarat Sports Club, where we had been booked rooms by the cricket association. As we stepped out of the car he introduced himself as Umesh Belsare. Turns out he helps out at the GCA, and also, that he played first-class cricket for eight years.

A couple of days later, a photographer from Mumbai who was covering the tournament, took badly ill, suffering from high temperatures and a severe throat infection. It was the Gujarati new year, and getting hold of a doctor would be difficult. One phone call to the GCA, and they sent their medical man – the one in charge of looking after the players if an eventuality arose – to the club where we were staying. He swiftly diagnosed the problem, prescribed medication and rushed back, for house calls on New Year’s day was hardly a thing to do. The good doctor - Pratap Desai - wonder of wonders, had played first-class cricket for Gujarat.

But the strangest sight of all was on the day of the India match. With literally thousands choking the gates trying to enter on a day so hot it you were bathed in sweat if you spent a minute outside an airconditioned room, was a man in a safari suit, standing near the gate, welcoming people as they entered. The first thought was to feel bad for him as he’d obviously been given a bum job by the GCA. A closer look, and it was Narhari Amin, the president of the GCA himself, who was doing the job!

Amin, a former deputy chief minister of the state of Gujarat, and a man known for his love of shreekand and massages, could have been sitting in the president’s box, the best seat in the house, and watching the cricket. But the former student leader and politician obviously knew a thing or two about the importance of being among the masses. Believe me, it was not a gesture that went unnoticed. At the GCA, some extremely hard working and sincere people – like Hitesh Patel, the joint secretary, have a genuine interest in people, and that makes all the difference

	Ajit Agarkar - the matchwinner with a difference - as predicted by the astrologer © AFP

Whether India is cricket crazy, or Indian-cricket crazy, or Indian-cricketer crazy has become a gentle rumbling debate over the last few days as stands have been gapingly empty for most matches in the Champions Trophy, while India matches have drawn large and boisterous crowds. But if you'd like a sample of a certain kind of craziness, you need look no further than one story that appeared in a newspaper in Ahmedabad on the eve of India's match against West Indies.

After a detailed tale about how the betting for each match has crossed Rs. 250 crore - and it is well known that there's plenty of illegal gambling in Gujarat, on everything from politics to sport - the report claims that bookies have pegged, surprise surprise, Australia as favourites to win the
Champions Trophy. But, as if to counter the many unnamed punters who have kindly provided these inputs, the newspaper runs a story alongside saying what a "leading astrologer based in city" had to say.

Before the India-West Indies match began, this astrologer boldly predicted, "The position of stars now suits India. Scorpio, Jupiter and Saturn from tomorrow will transform the Indian team into a winning combination." Greg Chappell, Rahul Dravid, and now Dilip Vengsarkar have
been searching rather feverishly for this elusive winning combination, and they'd be quite happy if celestial forces can lend a hand.

But this astrologer, the poor man never got named in all of this, also said, "All matches from Thursday onwards will be high-scoring because of the Ketu-Buddha combination." And we thought it took a Sachin Tendulkar-Virender Sehwag combination to make the high scores happen.

"India will score between 278 and 291 if it bats first," he said, and might be losing a few clients now as India managed only 223. "The star performers will be Yuvraj Singh, Mohammad Kaif and Virender Sehwag," he said, having obviously studied the form guide carefully and then burned it
in a ceremonial pooja. As if that was not good enough, as a parting shot he said, "Ajit Agarkar will be the matchwinner against West Indies," while that prediction looked like it might come true for the briefest of moments, a short wide ball that was slapped away for four, the winning runs, means that few will suggest that Agarkar, with 2-52 was the matchwinner. And what's more, if the bowler isn't unhappy enough regretting that ball that came out of the hand wrong and took him from being potential hero to villain in the fickle minds of Indian cricket fans, Agarkar's ended with a fractured hand for his effort.

Predicting match results is a dangerous thing at the best of times. But after this splendid performance from this "leading astrologer based in the city," it might be a good idea for the gent to either flee the city, or swiftly change professions.

	Sanath Jayasuriya: putting family first © AFP

“Diwali aur naya saal Mubarak” (Happy Diwali and a Happy New Year) is the one phrase you heard more than anything else in Ahmedabad when the cricket came around to the city the second time around in the Champions Trophy. It began with the taxi driver at the airport, continued to the staff at the hotel, reached fever pitch with Gujarat Cricket Association officials at the ground, and finally tipping point when an English cricket fan, who has traveled half the way round the world, pointed it out. “Even Tony Blair’s said it in his message, mate,” he said, putting his Union Jack away and cursing this state for being under prohibition. Alright then, saal mubarak to you too. He couldn’t be serious … Blair?

A quick check of the British prime minister’s press office reveals that he did indeed put out a message to his subjects on the day. “It is a time when the family is centre stage. An opportunity, more valuable than ever with the frantic pace of modern life, to reflect on what we have achieved - and on our hopes and ambitions for the future,” says the note. It’s a good thing he didn’t revisit that other Diwali theme – the victory of good over evil, as England had just been thumped by Australia and, for all practical purposes, been knocked out of the tournament.

But as the firecrackers went off at each ground – and apparently costing a tidy packet to the Board of Control for Cricket in India – the Diwali spirit was certainly doing the rounds. But, more than being an occasion for children to set off fireworks and adults to put on their best clothes and play cards all night, it is a time of the year when you put cynicism aside and celebrate the victory of all things good over the darker forces. It’s a time to renew faith, a festival, if you’ll bear with me, of rebirth.

And this year, the cricket has followed the schedule just perfectly. Only days ago Corey Colleymore, the West Indian fast bowler, known as much for his injury trouble and luckless bowling, as for his canny cutters, rushed across the world, making that arduous journey from India to the West Indies, to be with his wife Dionne for the birth of their first child. The West Indian management were perfectly understanding, and sent him on his way with their blessings. “We’ll miss Corey, he’s a senior player in our side but the first born in anybody’s life is a very important time,” said Bennett King, the coach.“We wish him and his wife all the best and hope that this special time in their lives runs smoothly.” Collymore missed West Indies’ sensational win over Australia in Mumbai, but he’s back with the squad in Ahmedabad, no doubt refreshed and ready to rejoin battle.

Moving on from Barbados to Matara, that sleepy town in southern Sri Lanka, the story is no different. Sanath Jayasuriya is often a man in a hurry, and when he carted Shane Bond, the quickest bowler in this tournament, for a big six over cover as Sri Lanka raced to victory over New Zealand, perhaps his mind was wandering back home. Soon enough he followed suit, heading off to be with his wife for the birth of their child. Like the West Indians, the Sri Lankan management was only too understanding. “Sanath became a father just before our last game. He flew back and spent some quality time with his new-born,” said Mahela Jayawardene, the captain. “In situations like these, the family always comes first.” And then, he was cheeky enough to make a wish for Sri Lankan cricket: “We have a boy who might play for Sri Lanka one day.”

Whether Sanath Jr plays for Sri Lanka or not is one thing. That Collymore missed a win against Australia is nothing. The two got to be with their loved ones when it mattered the most. But these are luxuries afforded to players these days, a far cry from the times when team managements would not even allow wives and girlfriends on tour, deeming them a distraction. The Indian players got time off as well, and rather than twiddling their thumbs wondering when the next game would come – a good eleven days after their win over England – they were back home with family. For those of us who are not international cricketers, though, it has been many years since Diwali was a quiet day at home, for it’s inevitably a time of the year when India play a home series. So when you get a phone call in the morning and hear a familiar voice saying “Diwali aur naya saal mubarak,” you thank your lucky stars and take it, before packing your laptop and notebook and heading to a cricket ground to write about a game.

	Got your number: What appeared to be a stab at team bonding ultimately turned out to be 'wardrobe malfunction'? © Getty Images

It was great news for New Zealand just before the game against Sri Lanka began. 27 and 56 were fit. Then, after winning the toss and choosing to bat, 7 said 70 and 50 would have to sit out. Confused already? New Zealand, known around the world as the Black Caps, for their distinctive black gear, simply had numbers printed on the back of their shirts, not names, as is the common practice for teams around the world.

The International Cricket Council, though, said that there was nothing in their rules or norms that stipulated that teams needed to have the names of players on kit. “The teams are required to give us the squad numbers of each player,” an ICC spokesperson told Cricinfo. “There’s nothing that states that players have to wear their names on their shirts.”

But for anyone who has played sport at any level, it’s a pleasure to wear a shirt bearing your names. I won’t easily forget the thrill of being handed my No. 7 shirt, with Vasu on the back, when I made my school’s football team as a kid. Scores of matches later, and now years since kicking a ball, the jersey is still around, tucked away safely in a loft. So it was a bit surprising to see New Zealand out in the middle with just numbers, and no names on their shirts.

Could it be that the team wanted to leave individualism behind, and just focus on being a unit, and wearing the black shirts that identified them as the New Zealand cricket team? Could it be that the board and its players were locked in some merchandising squabble, a la Indian cricket, and the players were launching some sort of protest in this manner? Or could there be some deep cricketing superstition at work here? As the wickets tumbled, and the procession of players to and from the pavilion continued, the mind wandered, inventing reasons for this odd sartorial move.

Sadly, though, as is so often the case in cricket, the truth came in the way of a good story. “We had a wardrobe malfunction,” Lindsay Crocker, the manager of the New Zealand team, said. “On some of the shirts the names fell off, and so we decided to take them all off, rather than have some shirts with names and others without.” How ironic that the lettering of the names should not stick to shirts on a day when the pitch was given a coating of polyvinyl acetate, an industrial adhesive, to hold it together. Perhaps the New Zealand team can have a word with Andy Atkinson, the ICC pitch expert whose brainwave it was to take glue to the wicket, and borrow some for their shirts.

	Inzy, is that you? © Getty Images

Inzy is here. Not the real one but the look alike. Mukesh Sukhwani, who’s often spotted in Indian grounds, has arrived in Jaipur.

He is deeply disturbed by the events that have occurred around the Pakistani camp over the last couple of days and has pledged his full support to the team.

He’s even willing to pad up if needed.

Around two hours before the start of the Pakistan – Sri Lanka clash, around 100 local Shiv Sanaiks, the Hindu fundamentalist organisation, staged a protest outside the Sawai Man Singh Stadium. The group was supposed to have represented the local district association of Shiv Sena. Those involved in the protests held banners that read ‘No place for terrorists’ and ‘Go back to Pakistan’. However, the police sprung into action immediately and hushed up the protesters without too much ado.

Not long ago, Suketu Mehta wrote a riveting book on Mumbai and its underbelly and ever since, television channels reporting events in the metropolis are referring to it by the name Mehta gave it – Maximum City. It should surprise no-one if Mehta’s sequel – if he ever gets down to writing one – is called Minimum City. For in the same breath, it is both Maximum and Minimum, and the incongruity of it all came home at the Brabourne Stadium, when South Africa took on New Zealand.

While the stands were nowhere near full – no-one is even expecting that to happen but for high-profile India matches – there was a decent smattering of fans in the stands. The East Stand, the cheapest of the lot, where you had to sit on benches, in the full glare of the skin-peeling October sun, where gatekeepers wouldn’t let you out for a cigarette all day, the real faithful put in a stellar effort to watch cricket. In the stands to the left and right of the press box, where you paid up to Rs 5000 to occupy a plastic chair, and were mercifully in the shade, there was a good turn out.

At the far end of the ground, the Pavilion End, are the best seats in the house. Right behind the bowler’s arm, three magnificent floors of the clubhouse, give you pretty much the finest cricket viewing in the city. Naturally, there was plenty of clamour for that building before the game – with the press putting in an application to house the media facilities there. That would have meant the possibility of an airconditioned box, and comfortable conditions to work in. But the members of the Cricket Club in India would have none of it. They were up in arms to ensure that their rights were protected – am I the only one getting sick of that phrase? – and they got their wish. Even the ICC – which has boxes for its officials and for corporate hospitality – were kept out of the main pavilion – and housed instead at the top of the West Stand. The press were shunted to the Churchgate End.

And what happened when the match came around? The members of this great club were cooling their heels at home, or hard at work, or getting a manicure, or whatever else it is they do when there’s an international match at their ground. All three floors – where members and their spouses got in for free – were frustratingly empty, even as the public, who had shelled out good money, toughed it out in the other stands.

Oh, and while we’re on the subject of incongruity, take a trip down the road from the Brabourne Stadium to the Taj Mahal Palace & Tower hotel. There, Adam Gilchrist – bless his soul, he’s one of those cricketers who lends himself to the promotion of so many good causes – was at a function publicising the “Make Poverty History” campaign of World Vision, a “Christian humanitarian organisation working to create lasting change in the lives of children and families living in poverty and injustice”, according to their literature. Gilchrist apparently sponsors a child from World Vision’s program.

A quick call to the hotel to enquire about their tariffs will get you a sweet voice at their “Sales and Catering” desk. The Crystal Central room, where the “Make Poverty History” campaign meeting is happening, costs Rs 80,000 to rent, and you have to guarantee a minimum of 200 guests costing Rs 1059.95 per person (“Only 850 plus 24.7% tax sir” the person at the Taj chirps cheerfully) for high tea. That’s Rs 2,91,990, minimum, for high tea to “Make Poverty History” In Mumbai, where tens of thousands of homeless children beg for food, and get high sniffing glue tubes scavenged from dumpsters, you can’t help but wonder what costs people will incur, to “Make Poverty History.”

	The post-match fireworks made an early appearance © Getty Images

A little after 7pm in the India v England clash at Jaipur, with Rahul Dravid having just arrived at the crease, fireworks lit up the skies over the Sawai Man Singh Stadium. With Diwali - the festival of lights - around the corner, glittering rockets were launched from around the stadium. The spectacle carried on for close to five minutes - during which time Dravid marked his guard, spanked a four, edged to first slip, and trudged back to the pavilion.

What seems to have happened, according to some, is that the person responsible for the fireworks had forgotten to set the show off during the dinner break. Probably realising that the match wasn't going to last too long, he seems to have ignited the crackers. Now the fact that it was enacted when Irfan Pathan fell and Dravid entered, appears to have been a mere coincidence.

Now whether Dravid's concentration was hampered because of these theatrics, one will never know. Dravid will know he played a poor shot but he might also wish that the celebrations had been kept for a little bit later.

	One of the pedigreed sites of Indian cricket © Getty Images

India's favourite game returns to the Brabourne Stadium, one of the glorious old ladies of Indian cricket, and it is in some style that this is happening. Those fortunate to be watching matches at the Cricket Club of India will find it difficult to return to the Wankhede Stadium, where difficulty and inconvenience prevent good viewing, unless you're in one of those plush corporate boxes.

The Cricket Club of India is a far more attractive venue - it's stands are orderly and welcoming, a far cry from the concrete monstrosities that intimidate at the Wankhede. The outfield is superbly even, and the one complaint could be that the boundary ropes are as short as 65 yards at some points, and this might mean the spinners take a bit of tap. Then again, that's what the spectators love.

The actual club house at the CCI is a testament to the care and affection the president of the club, Raj Singh Dungarpur, has for the game. Every corridor is lined with pictures of the past greats, and each room talks to you in words from the cricket lexicon. The biggest conference hall is named after CK Nayudu, the legendary Indian cricketer. One restaurant calls itself Allrounder, while the other, serving oriental cuisine, calls itself Chinaman. The bar is Wet Wicket, a far cry from the absolute belter out in the middle. If you stroll across to the terraces, there's Polly's Pub, named after Polly Umrigar, that legend, who happily lent his name, and even inaugurated the place.

And the CCI certainly know how to invoke an atmosphere of awe and respect for cricketers gone by. Before the media session on the eve of the Sri Lanka-West Indies clash, a group of people that call themselves The Legends Club, met, to honour the memory of Vijay Merchant, on the occasion of his 95th birth anniversary. On the dais, among others, was Dungarpur himself, who traipsed down memory lane, recalling how Alec Bedser once told him that Merchant was the "best overseas batsman he had bowled against after Sir Donald Bradman." Madhav Mantri, who has closely followed Merchant, spoke about how he was once asked to choose his own nephew, Sunil Gavaskar, and Merchant, when picking an opening batsman. "I always looked at how an opening batsman left the ball, rather than how he played it," said the octogenarian Mantri, choosing Merchant over Gavaskar, who did not forget this, and later wrote about it in a column, ending with the words, "And they say blood is thicker than water."

As the evening wore on, the air was thick with talk of cricket, some erudite, some inebriated, as it typically is at CCI. And Dungarpur had to skip out in the middle of it all, as he headed downstairs to be appointed the honorary counsul general for Trinidad and Tobago. All in an evening at the Brabourne Stadium.

	Ramesh Powar takes a look at the equipment © Siddhartha V

As the Indians went through their paces at the Rajasthan Cricket Academyground, a couple of software engineers, stationed at one corner, went about setting up their equipment. From a distance it looked as if they were examining a drinks trolley but one needed to go closer to realise that this was serious business.

What they were actually trying to test was video-analysis equipment involving high-speed cameras. Designed by Play View, a company specialising in providing video tools in sport, and implemented by Eight Hills, a USA-based company, the machinery is one of the several
infrastructural additions to the Rajasthan Cricket Academy, one that is expected to be one of the best in the country. The equipment allows one to capture footage and stores it in a database that allows for future analysis.

	Indian team physio S Ramakrishnan beside the high-speed camera © Siddhartha V

A Sony high-speed camera attached to the top of a movable structure can record Ramesh Powar's batting in the nets. Routing several such video footage to a software would enable detailed analysis of Powar's batting. The software allows for tagging and filters - one can get a list of all Powar's cover-drives over the last 20 matches - and promises to be a valuable tool for coaches in the days ahead. More importantly, it allows him to see it instantly.

S Ramakrishnan, the video analyst of the Indian side, felt that such technology would be an ideal tool for players to improve themselves. "Such a system is good for the players to get instant feedback. They don't have to wait till they get to the hotel, instead they can analyse what they are doing wrong then and there."

Of course, all associations may not be able to afford the equipment - each camera costs approximately Rs 150,000 (US$3300 approx) - but it's no doubt, especially in the era of the super-coach, that it's going to be the way forward.

	'Indians can sledge too' © Getty Images

As I made my way to the Wankhede Stadium this morning, most of my thoughts centered on how Michael Hussey would bat.

It was the first time I was going to see him, Ponting and Symonds at a live game, albeit just a practice match. However, a few hours later with Shane Watson hogging the bowling I began to feel drowsy in the comforts of the air-conditioned press box.

So I decided to take a stroll and found myself in the middle of around 100 raucous fans (there were only about 500 in all) intent on proving that Indians could sledge too. Their favoured target: Ponting. "Remember 434" they chanted, "Gibbs is back" they roared. Ponting had fallen for 24, a sharp low catch at point. "It wasn't out, fight with the umpire" quipped the jeer leader, no doubt aware of Ponting's run-ins with officialdom. Someone even brought up that touchy matter of Ashes defeat last year and they chorused "Flintoff, Flintoff Flintoff".

Most Australians received a curious mixture of jeers and cheers from the crowd. Brad Hogg kindly showed them how to bowl a chinaman and was applauded like he'd hit a hundred. Minutes later he was subjected to cries of "Hoggy is a doggy". But the moment Adam Gilchrist made an appearance, the crowd adored him. "Gilly, Gilly you are the best. Gilly should be captain, Ponting resign," they cried. And when Gilchrist accepted the adulation with a casual wave of his hand, the 50-strong crowd went into raptures. After all he was Mahendra Singh Dhoni's idol. When Ponting acknowledged their presence with a smile and a wave, their jovial hostility vanished. Simply recognise their antics and they'd be on your side.

The crowd wanted entertainment and when Symonds provided just that by hoisting several into the stands, they began to concentrate on the cricket. Soon there was an invasion of school children, a majority of whom pressed close against the railing, standing on each other's toes while the rest of the stands remained empty, to get the closest glimpse of the Australian team. One kid went up to Graeme Vimpani, Australia's media manager who was sitting among the fans and talking about playing with Shane Warne and Paul Reiffel in Victoria, and asked "Where (sic) Matthew Hoggard?" probably meaning Hogg, an innocent mistake from a nine-year old.

When the Australians took the field the crowd got after Glen McGrath in good humour. "Sachin, Sachin, Sachin," they cheered to which McGrath seemed to mime "Sachin who?" after which he acted out an edge to the wicketkeeper. Come October 29 in Mohali he'll be aiming to do exactly that.

Most Australians received a curious mixture of jeers and cheers from the crowd. Brad Hogg kindly showed them how to bowl a chinaman and was applauded like he'd hit a hundred. Minutes later he was subjected to cries of "Hoggy is a doggy". But the moment Adam Gilchrist made an appearance, the crowd adored him. "Gilly, Gilly you are the best. Gilly should be captain, Ponting resign," they cried. And when Gilchrist accepted the adulation with a casual wave of his hand, the 50-strong crowd went into raptures. After all he was Mahendra Singh Dhoni's idol. When Ponting acknowledged their presence with a smile and a wave, their jovial hostility vanished. Simply recognise their antics and they'd be on your side.

The crowd wanted entertainment and when Symonds provided just that by hoisting several into the stands, they began to concentrate on the cricket. Soon there was an invasion of school children, a majority of whom pressed close against the railing, standing on each other's toes while the rest of the stands remained empty, to get the closest glimpse of the Australian team. One kid went up to Graeme Vimpani, Australia's media manager who was sitting among the fans and talking about playing with Shane Warne and Paul Reiffel in Victoria, and asked "Where (sic) Matthew Hoggard?" probably meaning Hogg, an innocent mistake from a nine-year old.

When the Australians took the field the crowd got after Glen McGrath in good humour. "Sachin, Sachin, Sachin," they cheered to which McGrath seemed to mime "Sachin who?" after which he acted out an edge to the wicketkeeper. Come October 29 in Mohali he'll be aiming to do exactly that.

	Indian scorers continue doing their tedious tasks in the hot sun for Rs 600 per match day © AFP

It’s one the most vital aspects of any cricket game and ironically it’s something cricket board officials across the country pay uniformly least attention to. While the lives of players have changed dramatically with decent wages finally being paid for domestic cricket, umpires’ fees and pensions being hiked, officials – though honorary – have prestige and power to show for their efforts, the scorers’ lot shows no sign of improving.

Here at the Sardar Patel Gujarat Stadium, there are seven scorers on duty. Two each at the press box, the official scorers’ desk and the main scoreboard, while one loner gets to man the small scoreboard. When we walked into the ground for the second game at Ahmedabad, the painters were frantically painting the last panel on the Zimbabwe team for the main scoreboard – Tafadzwa Mufambisi.

If you thought handling the comings and goings of Zimbabwe’s cricketers was a tough job for the scorers, consider this. The two men operating the main scoreboard, which is perched on top of the stands adjoining the main pavilion, do not even have place to sit. There isn’t provision for so much as a chair, and they have to stand all day, on the corrugated sheets that roof the stands. In Ahmedabad, with the temperature hovering in the mid 30s centigrade – and it feels a whole lot hotter than that – and dust blowing steadily in your eyes from all sides, there can be few punishments worse than standing on a hot tin roof, working the scoreboard as Zimbabwe’s bowlers get dispatched to all parts.

The men in the press box have it better, to the extent that they have a comfortable place to sit and access to food and water. But, you’ve got to wonder what makes them turn up each time, with their multi-coloured pens, correction ink and mark out the dots and runs all day, when they get paid just 600 rupees per match day in first-class cricket. Of course, unless they log the hours in first-class games, they don’t have a shot at being appointed for an international.

The Board of Control for Cricket in India has only recently announced healthy financial hand-outs for various sections of its stakeholders. First-class cricketers now make over 100,000 rupees per first-class match – and the money they earn is always on the up as it comes out of 10.4 % of the board’s profits. Umpires’ wages have been hiked and when they give up the profession they get a pension, the amount varying depending on the number of matches they’ve stood and whether those games were internationals or domestic. But scorers? Nothing.

It seems that some state associations, off their own bat, are doing what they can. Recently OP Sharma, a friend of many years and a scorer for longer, rang excitedly to ask what model of laptop computer would best suit him, as the Rajasthan Cricket Association had sanctioned funds for him to purchase the aforementioned item to help him discharge his duties. It was only a small thing for the association, which has no shortage of money, but it made the scorer feel his work was being respected, that someone was thinking about what he did. But that’s the exception, and a rare one at that.

Under normal circumstances if someone told you he scored, you’d be happy for him. But when he means he was standing on a roof all day, in the sun, changing boards with paint still fresh on them, you know it’s cricket, and there’s nothing to envy him for.

	Ntini: 'For my people, I am just Makhaya, not a South African fast bowler' © Getty Images

Makhaya Ntini doesn't usually walk, he bounces. He believes he's the fastest in the world, doesn't mind letting the world know. Ask him about the slower ball, and he says his job is to bowl fast; ask him what he's thinking when he gets hit for runs, and he booms, "I try and knock the batsman's head over". During the media conference in Delhi, he barged into the hall with bluster, almost challenging the awaiting pressmen to a duel. There's too much energy in him, and no sign of it drying up.

Shoaib Akhtar doesn't usually walk, he strolls. He too believes he's the fastest and doesn't mind letting the world know. Ask him about people comparing him with Brett Lee and he sniggers, "There's no comparison, mate"; ask him how he copes with so many injuries and he says, "I just wish I could get through one day of cricket without pain". During the same media conference, he casually walked in a good five minutes after the rest of the team and tried his best to stay inconspicuous. Obviously, he ended up hogging all the limelight and was soon whistling his way down the red carpet, taking a dig at his team-mates who were busy with interviews.

	Shoaib Akhtar thinks there's no comparison between him and Brett Lee © Getty Images

Both react differently when put in the spotlight. Ntini, it appears, has been waiting for this all day, eager to get in there and reel off answers. He loves the attention, doesn't hesitate for a moment. He talks about the challenges he had to endure while growing up in a small village - "No television when I grew up, nobody to learn from" - and fondly remembers the moments at home. "For my people, I am just Makhaya, not a South African fast bowler. I am not a hero for them, just one of them. Young boys come up to me and say, "Teach me to bowl fast". It feels amazing, amazing."

Shoaib is cool, at least he seems cool. He's constantly fiddling with his gold necklace, shuffling his sandals, fidgeting with his mobile phone. Some questions seem to bore him, he even yawns. It appears all he wants is to finish with this unnecessary hindrance. He wishes people understood the effort that goes into bowling fast, the pains that he's had to endure. Yet, he has no doubt that, if he were to start all over again, he would do nothing but bowl fast. "It's a thrill, mate," he says in an accent that's cutely comical, "you have to experience it to realise the feeling."

Two men, one profession, two completely different outlooks. They're so different, yet when they begin their run-up with the speed gun somewhere in the vicinity, there's hardly any difference.

There’s something about cricketers. I have to admit, that one of the biggest apprehensions, as years of cricket journalism rolled by, was that I’d meet my heroes and they’d turn out to be awful human beings and my image of them would be shattered forever. It’s happened once or twice, when someone you thought was a legend of a man turned out to be merely someone who handled a bat well, and not much besides.

But still, I’m old fashioned that way. Just that fact that someone has played cricket at a high level, forget international – but a good spell at club cricket in a competitive league, or first-class – and you have me. I’d be glad to have a chat, preferably over a few drinks, at an old club, and listen to stories about games that took place when I was still in short-pants.

So imagine my surprise, when at the end of a long queue for accreditation – the efficient ICC desk at the Library at the Sardar Patel Gujarat Stadium was handling every pass issued, from media, to ball boys, to sponsors, to catering staff – was an unassuming man of average build, a letter in hand, quietly waiting his turn. “Myself Mukund,” was all he said, and to some of us journalists from outside Ahmedabad, this meant little.

The gentleman in charge of accreditations asked Mukund to wait till he was finished with the media, and off he went. There were plenty of niggles for the ICC to handle – improperly filled forms, forms that never reached, people who had wanted to collect their passes from one city but changed their minds later – and unlike the BCCI and its state associations, a majority of which act as though they’re doing you a favour by granting you accreditation to cover a game, every request was handled patiently and efficiently.

When Mukund’s turn to collect his pass came round, a senior journalist who spotted him, walked up to have a chat, telling the ICC man, “Mukund just retired from first-class cricket a year ago, after playing for two decades.” And sure enough, us ill-informed greenhorns had to fire up Cricinfo to check on Mukund Harishkumar Parmar. And bloody hell, he’d began in first-class cricket in 1986-87, and gone on till 2005-06. Because Gujarat have seldom had strong teams, they barely ever made it past the zonal phase – as the Ranji Trophy was structured till recently – and he got to play very few matches a year. That explains only 83 first-class games in almost two decades of cricket.

The runs, more than 6000 of them, came regularly enough at a cracking average of 49.80. Thrice in his career he hit a century in each innings against the best opposition he came up against – Mumbai. His best was a massive 283 against Maharashtra, and his final hundred was another big effort, 247 versus Assam in 2002. With all those runs, it’s pretty obvious this guy could bat. “A giant at the domestic level, but perhaps didn’t have it in him to take it to the next level,” said a journalist who’d seen a bit of Parmar. And of all the types of cricketers, this is one that I particularly like to meet – those who have solid years of achievement behind them and yet somehow never got to the big league, the glitz, glamour and megabucks. On the one hand there’s Parmar and on the other Parthiv Patel – Gujarat's latest star to play for India – and he did so without having played a Ranji Trophy match.

Pass quietly collected, Parmar was on his way. And no-one would have known anything more about all those runs, had it not been for one journalist who pointed him out. The unassuming cricketer, now that’s my favourite kind.

	Marlon Samuels and Brian Lara at the Sabarmati Ashram © AFP

"Humbled, it was a humbling experience," muttered Imran Khan, the media manager for the West Indies team as he walked in to the Sardar Patel Gujarat Stadium in Ahmedabad where the West Indies kick off their Champions Trophy against Zimbabwe. Just minutes later his Zimbabwean counterpart showed up, muttering the same words, only adding, "I like this sort of thing. I'm going to keep this," he said, pointing to a garland he had been given at the Sabarmati Ashram for Mahatma Gandhi in Ahmedabad.

Before they arrived for the usual motions – net and fielding practice – the two teams visited the ashram, situated on the banks of the Sabarmati river. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi stayed at this very ashram for close to two decades, and left on a note that no-one can forget – the 240-miles salt March that he and 79 of his supporters embarked on. When he was looking for a suitable site for the ashram, and came upon the place it was located, Gandhi is reported to have said, "This is the right place for our activities to carry on the search for truth and develop fearlessness - for on one side are the iron bolts of the foreigners, and on the other, thunderbolts of Mother Nature."

The main attraction at the ashram today is "Hridaya Kunj", the hut in which Gandhi lived. In it you can still find some of the items he used every day – a writing desk, a khadi kurta, yarn spun by him, and even some of his letters. The players had a look around, and as you can imagine, the young children who were present when Brian Lara entered were rather un-Gandhian in their exuberance, and quickly the place was enveloped by excited chatter as the players mingled with the children.

Moving on, the players looked at Vinobha Kutir, the hut where Vinobha Bhave stayed, which is also referred to as Mira Kutir, the residence of Madeline Slater who learned about the Gandhian way from Romaine Rolland's book, and stayed in the ashram from 1925-1933. Madeline was christened Meera by Gandhi because of her great devotion.

The players may or may not have picked up on all of this, but in these days of tight security and jam-packed tours where the closest the players get to a foreign reality is on their PlayStations in their plush hotel rooms, the visit to the ashram was certainly a welcome excursion.