Meeting the little master

Sunil Gavaskar (in pic) says he is not a diabetic, but a history of the disease in the family has made him exercise caution. The Little Master plays badminton regularly to keep his blood sugar in check, but an incurable sweet tooth neutralises most efforts to that end, notes Kunal Diwan in his diary.

Day One: The droves that approached the M. A. Chidambaram Stadium wary of blanket security and appropriately reinforced policing measures were in for a pleasant surprise. The arrangements, considering the magnitude of the events that preceded the Test match, appeared to be relatively mild: a posse of disinterested cops, a cavalry of the mounted police and the usual distasteful groping in the guise of frisking.

The 3,000-odd commandos who were reportedly deployed for the fixture were thankfully inconspicuous, invisible, and, one assumes, ready to strike if and when required.

This correspondent was certainly not carrying anything even remotely close to an explosive — barring his tempestuous demeanour, of course — but an errant, age-old matchbox that lay forgotten in a corner of the carry-case was discovered, with great pride, by the officer. “No matchboxes or lighters allowed, sir,” he chastised me and ‘seized’ the contraband before allowing me in.

I needn’t have worried. For someone who confesses proficiency in the acquired art of bumming a light, the press box of a sports venue is possibly the ‘sweetest’ spot to trawl.

Day Two: The little man in a smart tweed coat and huge sun-glasses wanted to know if there was sugar in the coffee. The attender manning the vending machine outside the press box was understandably overawed. He mumbled a few incoherent lines even as the dapper query-raiser repeated his question. “Is sugar pre-added to the decoction? ” he asked.

Suitably overwhelmed in such striking presence of greatness, this correspondent was about to embark on an explanation of sorts, before a bear-like man appeared on the scene, and whisked the little one away into the adjoining elevator.

Next time round, it will be ensured that the tongue doesn’t seize in the face of such exalted presence, especially now that it is known that, like oneself, Sunil Gavaskar too is averse to sugar in his coffee. For the record, the ‘bear-like’ impersonation was performed, rather naturally, by Ian Botham.

Day Three: “What’s ‘bandobast’?” chimed a gargantuan overseas journalist from the row in front. The gentleman had voiced his ignorance after squinting for an inordinately long time at a Chennai Police press release. His mates chipped in with their witty inputs. “Bandobast,” said one, “sounds like the name of a Hindi movie”. Others followed suit with their hilarious takes on a word that has fast penetrated into the mainstream lexicon of a country ravaged by mindless acts of violence.

The moment, though, belonged to a smartly-dressed English gentleman sitting at a gorgeously-sleek, envy-arousing notebook. “Bandobast, my lad, is the latest shooting game on X-Box,” he said.

Incorrect. But not by all that much.

A little later, the Rapid Action Force kicked into action after hearing screams from the ladies washroom. A panic-stricken BBC radio correspondent has inadvertently locked herself in the loo. “The door got jammed and I got a little jittery,” she said after a couple of woman constables broke in to get her out. On her way to the site of her entrapment, again, after a few hours, the lanky lass flashed a bright smile and said that she was well prepared for “any emergencies” this time.

“I am carrying two cell-phones with me, just in case…”

Day Four: As promised earlier, the tongue has started to surmount some of its encumbrances. Stepping out for lunch, one encountered, yet again, the little man posing for pictures. Mustering up courage and desperate to gain some common platform with greatness, one asked, with shaking knees, if “Sunny Sir” — he of the fearless, helmet-less era — was actually prone to something as commonplace as diabetes.

“I am not diabetic,” said the original Little Master, “but a history of the disease in the family has made me exercise caution.” Mr. Gavaskar said he plays badminton regularly to keep his blood sugar in check, but an incurable sweet tooth neutralises most efforts to that end.

A little later, one observed the sugar-conscious weight-watcher dunking glucose biscuits in tea with the most satisfied expression in the world. He certainly meant it when he said he had a sweet tooth.

Day Five: Desperate to get to the stadium in time after a night of, ahem, excesses, all one hears on the way to the venue is talk of the Test match. With the last day’s play offering the delectable possibility of a match-winning knock by Sachin Tendulkar — and who knows if there would ever be another one — all Indian eyes are focused on their favourite son. Sachin, with Yuvraj for company, exorcises the ghosts of the 1999 Test against Pakistan. India wins handsomely and this match has turned out to be a fitting process to alleviate the pain of the memories of events that necessitated its shift from Ahmedabad to Chennai in the first place.