A WOMAN ALONE IN INDIA: IT’S JUST NOT CRICKET
Travelling to India during monsoon season was not on my bucket list. In truth, my bucket list had only one item: watching the Afghan cricket team play their first-ever Test match in Kabul. I’d been a fan (fangirl, even) of the Afghan Tigers ever since watching the 2010 documentary about their rise, Out of the Ashes. Who wouldn’t be in thrall to former coach Taj Malik’s life philosophy? “Everywhere there is fighting, you know. The solution of all the problems is cricket!” In June 2017, Afghanistan was awarded Test status, giving the Tigers the opportunity to play at the highest level — and me the chance to watch them. Kabul, though, was never going to be the venue, for obvious reasons. And so I found myself in Bengaluru, India, at the beginning of monsoon season.
Various parties — my mother, some friends, acquaintances on Facebook — questioned the wisdom of my travelling to India by myself as a single woman. I was more concerned with getting my hands on tickets, which proved elusive. But a friend of a friend (who also happened to be a well-known cricket writer in India) let me know when they went on sale online and on June 14 2018, there I was in a box at M Chinnaswamy Stadium, watching Afghanistan take on India in their historic first Test match.
All the pomp and circumstance of the first morning of a Test match felt more charged than usual. The Afghan players were awarded their crimson caps, Afghan-born Indian Test player Salim Durrani conducted the toss, and the national anthems were played. Then it was time for the actual cricket.
The Test itself was over in two days, with Afghanistan achieving the rare feat of being bowled out twice in a single day. Even the intermittent rain on the first day couldn’t prolong the match to a respectable length.
The self-proclaimed Afghan cricket official sitting next to me was devastated. But still proud – he reminded me that while the Tigers had some way to go in Test cricket, they could take on anyone in the shorter formats of the game.
I had been enjoying chatting to my new friend, and I accepted his invitation to dinner that night. His proposed venue? His hotel room. It just wasn’t cricket, and I hastily made my excuses.
And my other new friend — the cricket writer who had helped me procure tickets? We met up and had a lovely tea at a swish hotel (not in his room). I told him about my experience with my Afghan friend and he was duly sympathetic.
It was only when I returned home that the news broke about a senior Indian cricket writer who had been sexually harassing young women in the industry. With the help of Google, it wasn’t difficult to put two and two together. I’d had a lucky escape, though I’d been clueless at the time. As a friend remarked: “Ally predators are the worst predators.”
But it’s not just cricket that has a #MeToo problem. When the Test match ended early, I had some free days in Bengaluru. I’m a pretty terrible tourist: for me, travel is about finding a new setting for indulging in my usual pursuits – watching cricket, drinking beer, reading books. I’d ticked off the first one, and luckily Bengaluru is known for its micro-breweries and bookshops.
Instead of catching a train to Mysore to see the palace (it’s amazing: the internet says so), I spent a day reading in Cubbon Park. This oasis of greenery provided welcome respite from Bengaluru’s legendary traffic, but I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you that you may have to dodge the odd man randomly (yet brazenly) having a wank.
Would I go back to India as a solo woman traveller? Yes, probably. I prefer not to let men who can’t be decent humans determine my travel destinations. Would I do more planning beforehand and find other women to hang out with on my travels? That too. ● L S.