Dan’s International XI 60-4 (5 overs) (Gayle 34*)
lost to Gopal’s Indian All-stars 64 for 3 (4.5 overs) by 7 wickets. (Laxman 29*) Gopal’s Indian all-stars win the three match series 2-1.
An agonising defeat from the penultimate ball – I hope it doesn’t set the tone for the whole trip. The game was in the balance right up to the end and despite me getting rid of both Sachin Tendulkar and Yuvraj Singh for a duck, VVS Laxman saw Gopal’s team home with a ball to spare. Not a bad performance from my lot, who’d only just arrived in India on the overnight flight into Delhi, but ooh, the chai would have tasted that much sweeter after victory.
I’m on a train somewhere between Delhi Cantonment station and Jaipur. I love Indian trains, and this detour is as much about wanting to spend time on a train as it is about wanting to see the sights. So far the 19270 Mfp Pbr Express is making steady progress, (just half an hour late so far), and in chai terms, so am I (three at the last count). The sweet combo of cardamom, tonnes of sugar, tea and what tastes like evaporated milk is a heady mix…especially when you are sleep deprived. They should flog it in nightclubs.
Despite Gopal’s pleading, I can’t face another game of “’owzat” cricket. He’s now bothering his very serious looking Dad for a game, but with little success. The old fella, complete with extravagant comb over, is reading a hindi paper and tutting, and won’t be disturbed.
I’m in 3 a/c class, which is pretty posh really: you get room to think, room to play “’owzat” with 10-year olds, and you get rich Indian families who want to show-off their English speaking abilities to you, and furnish you with snacks. In the face off such generosity, the least I could do was lose to their son at ‘Owzat.
The problem with 3 a/c is that it’s a bit removed from the the outside world: The windows are double-glazed; curtains are usually drawn; the frighteningly powerful a\c removes both the heat and the smells of this crazy country. But, you get a comfy bed and clean sheets, and after struggling for much shut-eye on last night’s flight, I’m pleased to be where I am.
I’m not going to go on too much about Indian trains. If you want to know more, switch on to BBC4 at any time and you’ve got a good chance of seeing a documentary about them. However, they are a fabulous way to see India and even though domestic flights here are affordable and can knock days off your travel time, this is the only way to travel.
I’ve never been to Jaipur before, and I’ve allowed myself just over 19 hours there for this visit. Of those, at least eight (I hope) will be spent sleeping, and another hour will spent fighting off rickshaw-wullahs and touts as I try to leave the station. This leaves me not a lot of time to look around one of India’s most beautiful cities before I hop back on the train to Delhi tomorrow afternoon. The more I think about it, this detour was insane.
I curious to see Delhi again. I’ve been a couple of times before, but never for long, but my first impressions from this morning were that it’s changed dramatically. Admittedly, going from the airport to Cantonment station is probably the equivalent of going from Gatwick to Croydon and saying you’ve seen London. But, it seemed - and I hesitate to say this - but more organized, finished…My cousin was here recently and said she couldn’t believe what had happened to the city.
I’ve booked a hotel right on the edge of Old Delhi. My previous visit to Old Delhi was one of the most eye-opening, jaw dropping but memorable experiences of my life…I cannot imagine that it’s changed too much. The streets were like I imagine London before the great fire would have been, so dark, so narrow, yet so alive and so friendly. But that’s for tomorrow.
Saying goodbye to the family last night was horrible. Luckily the kids were fairly oblivious to the emotional outpouring that was going on around them (one is too young to notice, the other was too engrossed in Batman to wonder why daddy had a rucksack on and was blubbing), so didn’t get involved.
I got a seat on the Piccadilly line and tucked into my book for the trip, Chinaman. A fictional story about a drunken journalist’s quest to trace a mystery Sri Lankan spinner. I loved it. I’d ploughed through 68 pages by the time the train rumbled into terminal four…I need to ration myself because it’s my only reading matter for the trip and I want it to last.
The other significant incident: I managed to blag an upgrade on my flight for the first time in my life, after a good 15 years of trying. My wife cringes with embarrassment as I go though whichever elaborate routine I decide to try (injury, friend of the pilot, daddy owns the airline…), the one time she’s not with me, it works. I hope this stands me in good stead for the coming weeks, I’m starting to fear that if I’m going to get to see any world cup action, I’ll need to do some serious blagging first.
Enough blogging about blagging…I missing some beautiful countryside. Jaipur, here I come.
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Just arrived at the hotel, turned on the TV to see England chasing 294 to beat the Netherlands. 294? They must have been seeing it like an Edam.
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