Aiyyo! D-Day November 19 turned into a day of disappointment. But look at the bright side, folks. By losing the World Cup, we have opened the floodgates to a lot of other sports that we are pretty good at, but nobody paid attention. And those who say that India is a ‘one sport country’ had better choose their words with care for they will be eating them soon. Here are the games you should keep an eye out for:
Tightrope walking
Tightrope walking is game of skill that calls for perfect poise and guidance from head coach S. Jaishankar. Early in October, Hamas ran rampage across the Gaza border and in a feat of daring killed babies in their cribs and the elderly in wheelchairs. We were outraged. Then the Israel Defence Forces responded by doing what they do best―reduce to rubble homes, hospitals, schools… pretty much wherever one brick stood over another. We felt outraged again. Were we more outraged or less than before? Also, if we were to call a spade a spade, what would we call Hamas? We don’t really need to answer that because in the big league of tightrope walkers, inaction speaks louder than words. We tut-tut here, cluck in sympathy there, and tell the world we share everyone’s pain. That will do―until the next outrage.
Large format gambling
In India, betting is bigger and better than batting. It is also older. Long before the Brits taught us cricket, we taught them teen patti―also called flush. (No relative of the convenient toilet appliance but it drains a lot of money.) Does anyone really make big bucks on gambling? Well, the organisers do. The first complaint about the renowned Mahadev app betting case put the scam in the Rs15,000 crore bracket.
But read the safety instructions before you plunge into the next betting trap, er app. Risk A is that you will have to share the spoils with some very important people―actors, pharma heads, sometimes even chief ministers. Risk B is that you may get married. Since you have just won big, you will naturally throw a lavishly humungous wedding party in Dubai that literally sheikhs up the Gulf. That’s going to make the authorities jealous at being left out. Enraged authorities are injurious to health. Game over. You will have plenty of time in jail then to reflect on the theory that life is one huge gamble.
Arm-twisting
Played to the tune of the hit song of the 1960s ‘Aao twist karen, jaag utha mausam’, this game determines how strong your wrist is. The rules are simple. You grab your opposite number by the wrist and begin to twist his arm clockwise. Meanwhile, your opponent is not exactly twiddling his thumbs. He is returning the compliment. This is a close combat sport where nobody knows what is actually happening. It picks up pace only when screams of acute discomfort and pain ring out across the gracious lawns of Raj Bhavan―the usual venue for such games. How far do you go? Well, that question is best answered by the players themselves. Ask your nearest governor or chief minister. If you don’t want to mess with the Indian political class, ask former Sri Lanka cricketer Arjuna Ranatunga. He said his country’s cricket body was ‘pressurised’ (read ‘arm-twisted’) by the BCCI (read Jay Shah).
Infighting
We are largely a nonviolent people. Except under provocation, we don’t fight our enemies across the border; we rather fight among ourselves. Infighting is a tougher sport than your common or garden variety of fighting because your delight at embracing a long-lost friend could turn into dismay at finding yourself offhandedly back-stabbed. It happens everywhere―Maharashtra (with the old fox Sharad Pawar guiding the moves), Rajasthan, Bihar, Tamil Nadu…. Our national and state leaders rank among the world’s best infighters. They have such long practice.
The sport of breaking
A new Olympic sport to be unveiled in Paris next year is called ‘Breaking’. We are not sure what exactly the athletes would be breaking. Breaking up? Well, couples in Bollywood are doing it all the time. Breaking down? We have got tunnels and bridges breaking, and our highways are littered with stalled vehicles. Breaking out? Two years after Covid wreaked havoc, we still have news of other viruses breaking out. Breaking in? Our police records are brimming over with reports of ‘Break Ins’. But none of these breaks are as popular as ‘Breaking News’. Our TV channels will beat every international rival in the field because we believe if it’s not breaking, it is not news.
Holding your breath
Holding your breath isn’t a new sport. We’ve all played it when we were children. We stop breathing, we let the seconds tick away, until our lungs bang hard against our ribs. Whoever holds his/her breath longest, wins. When we did it as kids, it was just for fun. Now it is a way of life. You play it to save yourself from asthma, asphyxiation, pneumonia (also known as AAP). You have an advantage if you are living in Delhi and other hotspots in the north, which rank high in the honours list of the world’s most polluted cities. You are a veteran compared with rivals from the south who only need to contend with occasional outbreaks of Nipah and of Hindi being spoken. For those who don’t win ‘gold’, the consolation prize is the chance to appear on Coughee with Karan.
Kisko banna hai crorepati?
Who wants to be a crorepati? That is so yesterday. Who wants to be a crorepatni? Now, that’s Mahua like it. The old method of playing this was to answer a series of questions of increasing difficulty. That’s the dumb way. The smart way is to win big not by answering question but by asking them. That is what Mahua Moitra specialises in, and look at the medals she has bagged. Or more to the point, look at the number of bags she has won. All you need to do is to ask the questions which are mailed by your near and dear ones and pop up on your computer screen. What’s the login ID and password? If you are going to ask such silly questions, you are obviously not savvy enough to dabble in ‘Kaun Bangaya Crorepatni?’ Better stick to old world TV game shows.
Poll vault
Charity begins outside the polling booth. So, unfailingly before every election, our political leaders suddenly realise that in the rush of things, they have forgotten that charity is a virtue praised by all religions. Our prime minister had forgotten it, too. This time in Chhattisgarh, he made amends. Free rations to be extended for another five years. Soon charity becomes competitive and your rivals are trying to offer more in less time―it’s fastest finger first. Where does the money for all this come from? There is a vault that every party has set aside for just this purpose. Who wins this game? We are not really sure. But we know who loses. You and I, the taxpayers.
Running the Murthy marathon
Narayana Murthy is our IT icon. Nation’s pride, the envy of the rest of the galaxy. But sometimes even icons have their day off. Early in November, he offered a piece of advice to India’s youth. True to form, India’s youth told him what he could do with it. All that Murthy had said was that the nation’s young men and women must work 70 hours a week to put our economy on the fast track. That’s apparently what the Germans and the Japanese did post World War II. Mission impossible? No, with Indian jugaad we go one better than the Japanese, etc. We have found a way to win the Murthy marathon―we convert it into a team sport. We work 70 hours a week―all of us put together.
Playing the fool
A popular game we love to play is playing the fool. In November, actor-comic Vir Das won the International Emmy Award in the best comedy category. But Das is a professional while we have gifted amateurs galore. We have a political leader who will not qualify as a stand-up comedian only because he rarely stands in one place. We have everyone’s favourite spiritual leader who has set a benchmark for bravery in his daring use of English and the laws of physics. And, finally, we have that ubiquitous common man who has been fooled all along, and still has the grace to wish everyone a happy new year.
Balancing the books
This is an ancient Indian sport where you balance a tall pile of accounts books while all around you are a group of bankmen, auditors and shareholders intent on toppling everything. It’s a game of skill which tests not just your sense of balance but also your ability to smile in the face of people out to jog your elbow. Legendary book balancers from the past include Ramalinga Raju, Nirav Modi, Mehul Choksi, Vijay Mallya…. All of them were pretty good while they lasted but none of them is as adept, as well connected as the one whom even Hindenburg cannot topple.