THE last ashra of Ramazan means so much to so many. The religious fervour remains high and so does the shopping mania. But what are the young ones to do? Well they play cricket! Night cricket is the most common theme in Ramazan in Lahore, as elsewhere in the country, of course. Young men, virtually in every galli, mohalla, turn the empty streets into a well-lit mini-stadium and play their hearts out while their fathers and their elder brothers and in the mosque offering namaz-e-taraweeh.
Lahoris, and I mean the real Lahoris, and not the citizens of many town and cities of Central and Southern Punjab, who happen to own a house in Lahore. I realize that this is a digression from the main theme, which is to catch the spirit of night cricket in Ramadan, but I would implore the readers to bear this digression on account of my emotional attachment to the city and what goes here, including night cricket. So, back to the naqli Lahoris. The people who deliberately choose Lahore as their second home hardly demonstrate any emotional attachment with this city other than owing house(s) in Lahore. While they weave, dye, spin, sew, manufacture, grow, peel and make this that or the other in their respective cities, their worthy successors paint the town red in a manner contrary to the very spirit of Lahore, and at the same time, the house building for their brothers’ sister-in-laws’ brother continues unabated. This house building spree of these ‘migrant’ Lahoris has caught up with their fellow citizens living abroad and since they feel that they are as good as the Sheikhs, Chaudhris, Chattas, Tiwanas and so on and so forth of their respective hometowns, these non-resident-Pakistanis take pride in being a non-resident-Lahori. The house building frenzy has virtually turned Lahore into a maze of concrete jungle full of people and housing schemes.
Night cricket has been around for as long as I can remember. I presume that it flourished during the repressive late seventies when my contemporaries had nothing better to do. Ours was a secluded neighbourhood at the periphery of old Lahore, therefore we never found it inconvenient to cordon off few streets and turn it into a playing field. A dozen taped balls and half a dozen floodlights and we were in business. I wonder if the ‘gora loog’ got inspired from us and introduced the day and night version of the cricket, I may be stretching here! Night cricket during Ramadan was really special. Every Ramadan there used to be a Flood Light Cricket tournament in our neighbourhood. It was an activity for people of all ages — young and not so young alike; even the women, were around, free of their otherwise purdah environment (within permissible limits of course) to cheer their home team. There was the coveted trophy, refreshments and naturally a chance to win a fair maiden’s heart. Everyone played to win!
But that was then, and this is now, a lot have change. Iftars, and even Seher is no longer a private and solemn affair; imagine people inviting each other for Seher at the local hotels, where a few years back it was not considered kosher to eat, let alone to have Seher. Cricket is again not what it used to be, and we will leave at it that. On the other hand, I had often wondered whatever happened to the night cricket during Ramadan. One evening having spare time at my disposal, I decided to go out and check out if night cricket was still alive. I went to the usual ‘hunting grounds’ for night cricket lovers. Saddar was my first stop, nothing there, Garhi Shahu the next, all was quiet, so I headed for the old Lahore, the real Lahore, and viola, there it was, just outside Mochi Gate. Mochi Gate, for those who are not familiar with its significance happens to be the place that has made or broken many a political careers.
I parked my car by Circular Road. The place was crowded; a number of different matches were in progress. Two teams of student types were playing the far end of the mini-ground with concrete flooring. A group of what appeared to be youngsters not so fortunate to attend schools was playing in the middle, while the corner where I stood, kids between the ages of five to thirteen were playing their own little match. The ground is not well lit as one would expect, but there is enough light for the batsman to see the white tape-ball hurling towards him. There were a few spectators sitting at various spots in the stands built for that purpose. Hardly anyone noticed my entry. The players were playing their hearts out; it was not about winning as much as about having fun. Everyone was laughing at every ball missed or every shot played. Sledging seemed to be the order of the night. The youngest of the lot was more concerned about a Not-out, given Out and vice versa. Everyone in that corner was yelling to be heard. Watching the young bowlers I could not help but smile as I watched the young bowlers chuck delivery after delivery without ever being called!
Spectators were enjoying more if not less than the players in the middle. A group of young men in one corner with roasted peanuts in their laps were having a good time. Every now and then they, their boisterous laughter, could be heard over the deafening noise being made by the players in the middle. I decided to go and have a chat with them. They were courteous enough to return my greeting but were definitely not amused by the intervention. As soon as they learnt my reason for being there everyone forgot the peanuts and they were all ears! The two youngsters sitting on my right worked at the bookstore in Old Anarkali and were local lads. The boy sitting right next to me on my left was a helper of an auto-mechanic and hailed from Toba Tek Singh. The two gentlemen sitting a step-down from where we sat were also local lads and did ‘nothing’ for a living. They were waiting for their turn to be included in the playing ‘eleven’ I was told in perfect undroon-e-shehr Punjabi, struggling with their ‘r’. The Lahori accent is no longer a distinct feature of Lahore; the Punjabi spoken in the suburban Lahore is actually a blend of Urdu, Seraiki, Pothowari and Hindku, and of course English.
The boy working at the auto shop told me that they always look forward to the arrival of Ramadan: it provides the ‘boys’ with an excuse to get off early. “We meet at this place almost every night in Ramadan and play, sometimes till ‘Seher’ if there is a ‘real’ match on, but routinely we go home around ten or eleven”, added Abdul Ghaffar from Toba Tek Singh. “Why cricket, why not something else?” I asked them.
“You see sir, in Ramadan very few people run the Indian movies in the restaurants and tea stalls, so we have no choice, really, besides this is much cheaper than paying for a movie” said Khalid the older of the lot. The uproar in the middle brought a pause in our conversation; apparently the match was over and the winning team was seen hugging and patting each other and jeering the losing team at the same time. I guessed that was time for Khalid and company to go down and be picked up for the next round by the respective captains. The air was getting heavy and a slight breeze, with a hint of chill, prompted me to pack my gears and head home, but not before thanking the young men for their time and their peanuts, of course.
THE last ashra of Ramazan means so much to so many. The religious fervour remains high and so does the shopping mania. But what are the young ones to do? Well they play cricket! Night cricket is the most common theme in Ramazan in Lahore, as elsewhere in the country, of course. Young men, virtually in every galli, mohalla, turn the empty streets into a well-lit mini-stadium and play their hearts out while their fathers and their elder brothers and in the mosque offering namaz-e-taraweeh.
