And Calcutta with the World Cup on is like no other place on earth. Streetcorners flaunt huge framed posters of Tendulkar, Dravid and Ganguly, which are garlanded ritually. Teenagers wear "I cheer for India" badges. On the morning of any India match, business soars at the Kalighat temple. Two days after India's Zimbabwe disaster, fishmongers are more interested in discussing whether match referee Cammie Smith was right to lift the field restrictions in the 13th over than in selling fish.
The roads empty out in the afternoon, shops and markets actually close down, office work stops. If India wins, jubilant processions take to the streets immediately, complete with Indian flags-and of course banners of the local club which has organised the celebration. Three thousand people landed up with sweets, brass bands, firecrackers, the works, at Saurav Ganguly's house at midnight after the Sri Lanka match to congratulate his family for Ganguly's 183.
But do they know what they are celebrating? The truth is many of these manic enthusiasts are clueless about all but the bare basics of the game. A teacher friend of mine, who is livid about the whole business ("Last year World Cup soccer, this year World Cup cricket, we should bloody ban all these things!"), one day asked some of his Kalighat-tilak-anointed, "I cheer for India"-badged, Sachin-watch-toting class nine students some simple questions. None could answer how an off-drive is different from a cover drive, where third man stands, who Jack Hobbs was. "It's all these soft drink and TV companies!" raged my friend. "It's not a game now, it's just some sort of mindless lifestyle thing!" Who said advertising doesn't work?
