When women play, the gods come down as audience to witness their perfect game-shots.
Nevertheless, we humans are mere spectators and when we get a chance to have a visual treat of 11 women on the pitch-board, you get as excited as if you have won the congressional medal for pride.
I had this honour of seeing my best friends practice on the stadium pitch in my city. My ardent wish of holding a bat in my hand and hitting the ball with all my force came true.
They took me with them to the building of central board for cricket association. Both were hale, healthy, playing for the nationals, and aiming for the Internationals. The ground was huge and I saw several young cricketers giving their best shots. Some were warming- up, as they had to take part in the afternoon sessions. Some were hitting the red matches’ ball supported by a long rope. I did not know what it meant but it was enjoyable. Young girls aged 10 and 12 were filled with enthusiasm and sheer energy that they galvanized from their spirits. They played like expert professionals. My friends took me straight to the net-practice area where big state cricketers used to train. The ground was filled with sparse players doing their job and nobody cared about who came or went. It was a dedicative gesture. Both the girls introduced me to their friends and they were equally happy to see me. A senior woman player came filled with curiosity and asked them who I was. I was feeling a bit vindictive, as it was my first chance of meeting those high-ranking cricket-goddesses. That young woman was warm and she asked me questions about my writing profession. She also gave mandatory details about how they practiced and what were their strategies.
It was getting late and their coach signalled them to start their session. It was as if the lady-warriors were getting ready for a battleship. They put on their helmets, gloves, and leg-pads and took their precious bats with them. It was their source of energy. However, the real thing lied inside their minds. It was their perseverance and their goal of reflecting their best.
The match-war began. My friend got on the pitch and started batting while the others did the bowling. How they played! I was amazed at their speed of running and the curve of hands and the style of the ball. Not a single mistake and it was a flawless appearance. I could hear their ragged breaths and the thumping of shoes. For a moment, I felt the women players will replace the best ones and make their country proud. It was true as they were better than the boys were. The bowlers moved their wrists and the ball nearly hit the stumps, but my friend was acting like an alert lioness. She stroked with that perfect hit on every googly, throw, yorker, and many others. The mere sight of the ball thrown by the girls made my hairs stand on end. It did not affect them and they continued their session. The whole situation looked as if the lady-warriors were preparing for bringing medals for their country. They were going to decorate our national flag with their passion. I felt so proud when both of my friends, an expert bowler and the other a flawless bats-woman flawlessly struggled with their game.
Their coach deserved an ovation. I wondered how she must have spent days and years moulding these girls into their best shape. The real work lies in the hands of the preceptor and she was undoubtedly a genius.
Women playing at the field are as good as the Major fighting at a war-ground. They have horses she has the bat and ball. I felt so proud for my two young friends who set a role model for the aspiring young cricketers.
It is indeed a commendable sport. Instead of holding the frying pans in your hand, you get up, hit that ball, and send it to the boundary. I saw that inner power lying inside these feminine bodies. She was making their motherland proud like an unbeaten soldier. I saw no difference in a rifle and their bats.