And the show (down) begins!

Its back! And it promises to be larger, louder and meaner than its previous two outings. On the flip side, it also guarantees (embarrassing) situations where grown men behave like a bunch of tribal Aborigines hollering and dancing at their annual jungle grassraiser event. You would not be wrong in saying that one could, in all probability, witness a rise in divorce cases (or atleast separations) during this dratted season. Because wars erupt at home. Over something as humble as the modest remote, God bless its existence for lazy-loafs like us. The charged up, tongue-hanging-out, jumping-on-the-sofa, dumb-as-a-pin bloke, along with his entourage of boisterous, unruly and equally brain-dead buddies, refuses to zap channels from Set Max while the thoroughly repressed and depressed woman insists on her daily antidose of tear-jerking, over-the-top family, ageless (literally) family dramas. Tensions are bound to rise and tempers are liable to be lost. Soon, before he could realize what's just hit him, the poor guy could find himself biting the bullet and signing a hefty alimony cheque.

Ohkay. Maybe I've over-dramatized the entire sequence of events that may occur during the IPL season. But wouldn't you agree you'd find the sexes battling it out, throwing abuses (and dishes, perhaps) at each other, mainly because they cannot STAND the other's preferred choice of idiot-box-entertainment? I don't know why the women-folk are complaining though. I mean, you just have to switch on the TV whenever you want and watch one of them regressive, numbing daily soaps; never mind if you've entirely missed last week's episodes. I guarantee you will STILL understand every single scene. You may even be in the applaudable position of predicting what's gonna happen next. No replays needed, no sleepless nights mulling over who cheated on whose domestic donkey, who married whose toothless grandmother, who slapped whom (with 3, it is ALWAYS 3, back to back slow-mo repeats and fake 'chaata' ka sound) and who returned back from the (ir)reversibly dead lot, for the three hundred and forty seventh time in the show's short history.

That said, one cannot deny or for that matter, ignore the tremendousness that IPL brings alongwith its flashy, glittery arrival every year (although this year's opening was a damp, flop affair). The eclectic crowds, the shenanigans, the star team owners, cheerleaders (aren't they, by far, THE biggest draw?), the ridiculous pay packets, the jumbo prize money and the 2-month-elaborate-shindig conducted by all possible media worth-their-salt, going gaga over the teams... it really is, at times, larger than life. Everything else comes to a screeching halt for these 2 months. Producers shy away from releasing their movies, travel plans are delayed, the workplace/college canteen is a riotous place full of heated discussions and school-children beg to stay at home on match-days. Even non-fans of the game have switched loyalties. Mention the word cricket in India and you're bound to get flashed by a toothy grin that starts from one ear and ends at the other, like a drunkard does on spotting a bottle of his favorite rum. We are a mad, mad nation of cricketophiles.

Speaking of madness, I was witness to one such insane IPL match in its inaugural season. At the magnificent D.Y. Patil Stadium in Navi Mumbai. Started by cheering for the home team - Mumbai Indians and ended up rooting for the winning team - Deccan Chargers. Who the heck cares anyway?? Spectators were only interested in dancing and yelling every time some batsman (never mind which team's) hit the boundaries or a bowler took a wicket, hooting at the cheerleaders and making paper planes and throwing them from one stand to another. Match gaya bhaad mein. People were there to enjoy themselves and scream as though the Texas Chainsaw-wielding baddie himself is chasing them, baying for their collective blood. No wonder the firangs consider us a weird lot.

Here are some of the pics I took of Mumbai Indians vs. Deccan Charges match at the gorgeous D.Y. Patil Stadium, a place best experienced at night when it is in its full floodlit glory. Stunning!

I'm gonna visit again this year, this time - the Brabourne stadium. Which teams, you ask? As if it matters! ;)