More players from chawls can make it as pros but reasons such as getting satisfied with tennis ball prize money and not seeing sports as a career don't allow it, says tennis ball cricketer Parag Ambekar.
Parel is the kind of neighborhood that film types often describe as “gritty”. Few localities in Mumbai are as historically tough and blue-collar. One of the original seven islands of the city, Parel was a throbbing mill area during the Mumbai textile boom, which started in the 19th century and continued till the factories started winding down around the 1990s.
Over the last 25 years, malls, luxury hotels, restaurants and residential towers have come up in Parel. But the look and atmosphere of old Parel is still alive. Many of the buildings are decades-old constructions with Marathi signboards and hefty stone staircases. Many of the residents are middle or lower-middle class.
Nearly every Indian city is a beguiling mix of contrasts. In Parel, the coexistence of new and old India is particularly striking. This is a neighborhood, after all, where Arun Gawli’s Dagdi Chawl, the St Regis Hotel and the Gucci store are practically within the same radius.
A big part of the culture of Parel, and of the city’s working-class neighborhoods, is chawl cricket.
On a Sunday at Lal Maidan in Parel, a compact ground hemmed in between buildings, the fielding is well spread out. A mix of young and middle-aged players are stationed at long-on, long-off, square, short cover. And gazing out from near the mid-off boundary is Shivaji Maharaj.
An imposing bust of the Maratha king is placed on the organisers’ desk. A rubber-ball cricket tournament organised by Vidyarthi Krida Kendra (VKK) is in progress.
A player in a white brimmed hat provides commentary on a mic.
“Aani chaar dhava, sundar phatka, Parag Sir yaancha kadun!” (And it’s four runs, a beautiful shot by Parag Sir!).
It is a different sort of a Mumbai cricket tournament, we learn, because it is for kho-kho players only. This is their way of staying in touch with each other, and of keeping fit, during the monsoons.
Meanwhile, sitting right beside the Shivaji bust, ironically, is a man known on the circuit as Tipu Sir. Surendra Kumar Vishwakarma, Secretary, Mumbai Kho-Kho Sanghatna, and a VKK functionary, acted as Tipu Sultan in a play once and the name stuck.
Vishwakarma explains the rationale behind the tournament.
“A player can twist their foot playing kho-kho in the rain,” he says. “This way players get some exercise, and they get to meet up with each other.”
Despite the competition being for kho-kho players, it is representative of the tradition of cricket among Mumbai’s working class. The players are mostly from chawls or Pagdi system homes. There is a sense of community, and the level of cricket is decent because many of the kho-kho players have grown up playing cricket anyway.
Take, for example, Parag Ambekar, addressed as ‘Parag Sir’ by the commentator, and described as ‘The Wall of Vidyarthi’ in social media posts. Tall and burly, Ambekar has received Maharashtra’s highest sports honour, the Shiv Chhatrapati Award, for kho-kho. But he has always been passionate about cricket.
“Parelkar ka aatma hai cricket (Cricket is the soul of Parel residents),” says Ambekar, whose day job is as a member of the security at the BMC (Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation). “I have been playing cricket and kho-kho at this ground since 1989.”
Asked if the community comes closer because of cricket and sport, Ambekar says, “Bahut jyaada (very much). You get to know people, get some name, and confidence that you can hold your own in the world.”
Nilesh Salunkhe, a national level kho-kho player, makes another point about tournaments such as the one at Lal Maidan.
“Juniors get to spend time with senior players and learn from them,” he says.
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On the other flank of Central Mumbai, at the century-old BDD (Bombay Development Directorate) Chawls in Worli, action has not yet heated up. The boys from Buildings 45 and 46 have their kits and are playing among themselves on the grey tiled asphalt. But what the assembled testosterone wants to sink its maws into is a proper match. Many others from the colony are out on a picnic, and therefore there is a scarcity of opposition.
The boys keep one eye on the street. Sometimes random players cruising for cricketing action drop in at BDD and arrange a match at the neighbouring Jamboree Maidan, where former Mumbai player Ramnath Parkar, a BDD resident, honed his skills.
Sure enough, a young man comes along on a bike. “Match ghenaar? (Up for a game?)” he asks.
It’s a no-brainer.
“Ok, I’ll get the team,” the boy says and rides off.
This, by the way, is a good day to burn calories for the BDD team. Later in the evening there is a Gatari Amavasya ‘tikhat jevan’ (spicy dinner) in the chawl. An invitation for the feast, with the rendering of a chicken on the letterhead, is pinned at the entrance of Building No 46.
Meanwhile, up the stairs, in a corridor lined with washed clothes hanging from the ceiling, small children play their version of cricket.
An initiative called New Golden Krida Mandal oversees the sports and cultural activities of Building 45 and 46. Vijay Kale, the Mandal’s secretary, says, “We celebrate every festival together. On Sundays, after a week spent working, everyone gathers to play cricket. It is a good way of maintaining harmony between everybody who lives here.”
Kale proudly mentions NPL (New Golden Krida Mandal Premier League), an annual IPL style tournament they conduct. On the concrete is a large drawing in yellow and blue of a trophy, and the words, ‘Champions 2022, NPL’.
Says Kale, “Residents in some of the other buildings of the chawl have made construction modifications which have reduced the play area for kids. We have consciously avoided that. We want children to be able to play.”
The common format of Sunday cricket at the chawls is five-overs, best-of-three. The winning team gets Rs 300. But the money is used judiciously.
“We don’t party, we save it so that we can pay the entry fee for bigger tournaments,” says Rishikesh Kadam.
Harshal Dalvi, plump and friendly, is another New Golden regular. He admits to some fighting between players, especially over decisions. Then he mentions the technical benefits of playing chawl cricket.
“The straight shots improve,” Dalvi says.
The mind automatically recalls Sunil Gavaskar’s childhood story, as to how playing in Tardeo’s Bhagirathi Bai building helped him learn to hit straight and along the ground. Bhagirathi Bai was by no means a chawl. But the kids there had to be careful not to break any glass windows. That is how Gavaskar developed the discipline of not hitting uppish shots.
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Few people know Mumbai cricket better than Hemant Kenkre, a former CCI (Cricket Club of India) captain. Kenkre is Gavaskar’s first cousin, and also grew up in Tardeo. Taarak Mehta, the Gujarati humorist and writer, and Bhalchandra Pendharkar, the Marathi singer and actor, were his neighbours. But while Kenkre grew up in genteel middle-class environs, chawls abounded around him. At play time, everyone mingled, irrespective of social strata.
“Ours was the pre-TV generation, and playing was our only passion,” Kenkre says. “Cricket, marbles, kho-kho, lagori (pithu), we played everything, and with whoever joined us. No one cared about socio-economic background. The mothers of some of the boys from the chawls, hutments or vadis would work at our homes as help. But our parents never said, ‘don’t play with their children’.”
Lakhs of people live in chawls in Mumbai. BDD’s Worli cluster alone has 121 buildings that house nearly 12,000 families. It is inevitable that such a base would throw up a few professional cricketers at least.
Vinod Kambli is perhaps the most famous Indian cricketer to have emerged from a chawl. His family lived in tenements in Bhendi Bazaar and Kanjurmarg for several years. Even after he started playing for India, Kambli reportedly continued to live in a chawl for a few days. His one perk was he was allowed to jump the toilet queue.
Praveen Tambe, recently celebrated on screen with the film Kaun Praveen Tambe, also has chawl history. Kenkre says that even Vinoo Mankad, one of India’s greatest allrounders, spent a few days in a Thakurdwar chawl after coming to Mumbai from Gujarat.
Others to come from similar milieus, according to Kenkre, were former Mumbai wicketkeeper Sharad Hazare and Subhash Ambiye, who played for Railways and was a mentor to former India keeper Kiran More.
Umesh Kulkarni, a left-arm bowler who played four Tests for India, lived in the Keshavji Naik chawl in Girgaum, Kenkre says. It is where the city’s first ever community Ganpati was held, and which was reportedly attended by Bal Gangadhar Tilak.
More players from chawls can make it as pros, Parag Ambekar feels, provided they stop being satisfied with tennis ball prize money, and sports education is taken seriously by the government.
“There is a lot of talent, but for a mix of reasons they get stuck at tennis cricket,” Ambekar says. “Parents also don’t look at sports as a career, and don’t encourage their children. The government has to include sports in education so that it becomes a viable career.”
The viability of chawls themselves is in question. Chawl life may have its charm but is not as romantic as is depicted in popular culture. Most residents can’t wait for the planned redevelopment to take place. If that happens, a part of them will miss the distinctive type of cricket that could only be played in a Mumbai chawl.