After much persuasion by Chaitra, I procured the pricey pavilion IPL tickets in black. This was our first time visit to see a live match in a stadium. Normally, I prefer seeing matches in the cool confines of my home with a refilling glass of scotch. This time, I had to go for my daughter. My wife came along with us leaving my son behind as the din would be too overwhelming for him.
The experience was like a festival of sights and sounds. It seemed that the entire city was trailing towards the stadium. The flood lights lit up the evening sky. We bought blue fluoroscent wigs and tees to support our home team. Vuvuzelas resounded in their glory. The entire crowd was in a state of intoxication. Film stars and Industrialists were seated in and around us to add to the excitement.
We were floating on fluffy clouds of unabashed man made entertainment. An ethereal luminous state.
The dirt laden lanes surrounding the stadium painted a different grim picture.A swarm of homeless had made the city roads their only abode with kids in tow.
As soon as the match got over and we were walking out, a group of feisty kids started to pester us to let go of the 'malinga wigs' and the vuvuzelas.They would sell them to the vendors who would recycle them back to the unsuspecting spectators.
The dishevelled kids knew little about 'malinga'. He was in a way,their sole wage provider during matches held in the stadium.
It was such a stark let downing contrast.
My eyes failed to adapt from such bright lights to the sad deplorable darkness.The eyes let down a stream of held back tears.
A normal expected reaction.
The blue fluoroscent wig covering the bare naked core of the city was torn apart. It revealed the apathetic tragic pate, fate of the cruel city.
The pretence was broken apart with a noise even more shattering than all the merry sounds of the packed bursting stadium.
I walked on with a heavy heart.
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