Kunhiraman's face was grim. It was the first big challenge after he took charge. As he rose to speak, the audience waited with baited breath.
"Countrymen. You already know from television and newspapers about the misfortune that has come our way. Our national cricket team, the one on which we pinned hopes to win the World Cup after 25 years, is now out of the tournament after a listless performance. Let me assure you I am as much shocked and dismayed, angry and upset by the poor show as you are. Now it's time to take some hard decisions, no matter how unpopular they might seem."
Kunhiraman, who doubled up as chief 0f the Board of Control for Cricket in Junglistan, stopped. His face was still grim. The hard taskmaster was at play. He brooked no incompetence. There were murmurs of approval, and concern, from the audience.
"He is right. It is time for some hard decisions," said someone.
Kunhiraman raised his voice again, "But before we begin on our task, it would only be fair to give Kangaroo, the coach, a chance to submit his version. It could prove vital for our future plans."
The Kangaroo took the stage. He took out a laptop, which he so loved, from his bag. "Friends," he began, "The defeat at the World Cup is just one failure, one of the many we will have to take in our stride, in the path to realising our vision, the one which I gave you two years ago on taking up this prestigious and high-paying job of coaching your national cricket team. We will have to weather many storms in this voyage. As for this World Cup defeat, it doesn't surprise me any bit. I have always said winning one-day matches are about doing small things well. Like fielding well, saving singles and doubles. Like running well, converting singles to doubles, and doubles to triples. Let me make it clear it was a collective failure, not an individual one. We lost because batsmen didn't score runs, bowlers didn't take wickets, fielders didn't save runs and not because I coached badly. The years I spent here, I have contributed all I had at my disposal to the cause of cricket here. I am sure my stint here will be of help to future generations of cricketers and especially politicians, who would have learnt how to manipulate the media and manage public opinion."
Having had his say, the Kangaroo took his seat. The captain of the cricket team, Chinchu, the monkey, looked hurt. His partnership with the Kangaroo seemed to have ended, his innings as captain looked set to be cut short.
For a while no one spoke. Then the Manager raised his hand. He had to file his customary report. "Do I have to read it out? I can assure you there is nothing new. It will save my time and yours. Anyway the Captain doesn't listen to people like us, who have no cricket experience." The Manager had touched a raw nerve. In his last report, he had written about a senior player, Veeru, another monkey, who considered practice sessions a chore meant for lesser animals. Chinchu had publicly humiliated the Manager then, and now he had had his revenge.
"First we have to decide if we need a foreign coach at all. Even if we do, should we let this Kangaroo continue or get another in his place," Kunhiraman announced wearily. He had no time to lose, he had another meeting scheduled in the evening with the visiting chief minister of Kilimanjaro. "Those who want him to stay please raise your hands."
Kuku, one of the selectors, raised his hand. His was the only vote in favour. Everybody wanted a kangaroo to coach the team but not this one. Let us get a new one, was the popular refrain.
"Can we have a younger face please," asked Kuyilamma, "What about Stu Wah, the one who captained the kangaroos when they won the Cup? Though I would prefer the younger Wah. He is really cute. He will make a good model too. Now that I think of it, he could coach our players in modelling too."
Kuyilamma, the cuckoo, was a popular figure in Junglistan. She was a commentator on JTV, and had made cricket a fashionable game.
"That's a good idea," said the players in chorus.
"Yeah, and we need to bring in a public relations firm. These companies are so unfair, they have started taking off our ads," said Sheru Singh, whose golden mane had won him a multi-million dollar ad deal with a multinational shampoo company. The MNC had scrapped the contract, now he would have to be happy with the local sabun company.
"But why Kangaroos? Why not homegrown talent?" Tomy, a snail who happened to be a former cricketer, had been eyeing the coach's post for long. But last time he had lost out to the Kangaroo, and even now he blames Gill Bates for that. That smart Ass, reports had appeared in Daily News saying Bates was indeed an Ass, had made Powerpoint, which Tomy was yet to master, and as catastrophes go, the Kangaroo had already mastered.
"I find it appalling that in the Socialist Democratic Republic of Junglistan there is no equitable distribution of wealth. Think of it, there is no social security for former players in this supposedly socialist country. And our government allows multinational coaches to loot public money.
Shocking. Disgusting. Disgraceful." Tomy was breathing fire.
Duba Duba, the crocodile, chipped in, "Yes, I agree. Why can't poor ex-cricketers like us be given a chance to make some money? We are past the age for modelling? I can't do commentary either. Anyways what difference does it make? Our players are not going to win the Cup in any case."
Things were going out of hand. Kunhiraman had no time to lose, he had to meet the visiting chief minister of Kilimanjaro in the evening, for which he had to take the afternoon flight. His secretary, Damu, had a few words with him.
"This is no time to fight. We have already spent two hours on this. We also have to decide which players to sack, and which players to keep? This way, the meeting will never end. I think we need experts to handle this question. I am forming a committee of three respected former cricketers, who are presently respected commentators, to look into this entire issue. We will call a working committee meeting next month to deliberate on the report submitted by the experts." There were two things about Kunhiraman. He brooked no incompetence, you already know that, and he brooked no democracy. He didn't want such crucial things to be decided in an open forum like this. He preferred committees which his friends could manipulate. He left that part to friends, because he himself had to take care of far more important things, governing Junglistan only one among them.
Just when Kunhiraman thought he had got over with the meeting came a voice.
"Sir, I have a petition to file. My name is Chinnu, and I am an insect, once popularly known as cricket, and now popularly despised because of Junglistan's dismal show at the World Cup that has made us a butt of jokes. I hereby appeal to you to either change the name of the game or give our species a new name. Else I, and others in my community, would have no choice but to flee this country. "
Last heard, Kunhiraman had formed another committee to look into Chinnu's grouse. One of the options being debated by the committee is renaming cricket, the insect, as chirkut.first published:March 30, 2007, 10:50 ISTlast updated:March 30, 2007, 10:50 IST
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They had come from far and wide, from every nook and corner of the jungle. Tigers, elephants,porcupines, wolves, goats, antelopes, alligators, crocodiles, cobras, vipers, pythons, sparrows, parrots, crows, kites, all of them were there. A tragedy had struck Junglistan, bigger than the floods of 1800, bigger than the famine of 1900. There was no time to be lost, and Chief Minister Tortoise Kunhiraman had convened an emergency meeting.
Kunhiraman's face was grim. It was the first big challenge after he took charge. As he rose to speak, the audience waited with baited breath.
"Countrymen. You already know from television and newspapers about the misfortune that has come our way. Our national cricket team, the one on which we pinned hopes to win the World Cup after 25 years, is now out of the tournament after a listless performance. Let me assure you I am as much shocked and dismayed, angry and upset by the poor show as you are. Now it's time to take some hard decisions, no matter how unpopular they might seem."
Kunhiraman, who doubled up as chief 0f the Board of Control for Cricket in Junglistan, stopped. His face was still grim. The hard taskmaster was at play. He brooked no incompetence. There were murmurs of approval, and concern, from the audience.
"He is right. It is time for some hard decisions," said someone.
Kunhiraman raised his voice again, "But before we begin on our task, it would only be fair to give Kangaroo, the coach, a chance to submit his version. It could prove vital for our future plans."
The Kangaroo took the stage. He took out a laptop, which he so loved, from his bag. "Friends," he began, "The defeat at the World Cup is just one failure, one of the many we will have to take in our stride, in the path to realising our vision, the one which I gave you two years ago on taking up this prestigious and high-paying job of coaching your national cricket team. We will have to weather many storms in this voyage. As for this World Cup defeat, it doesn't surprise me any bit. I have always said winning one-day matches are about doing small things well. Like fielding well, saving singles and doubles. Like running well, converting singles to doubles, and doubles to triples. Let me make it clear it was a collective failure, not an individual one. We lost because batsmen didn't score runs, bowlers didn't take wickets, fielders didn't save runs and not because I coached badly. The years I spent here, I have contributed all I had at my disposal to the cause of cricket here. I am sure my stint here will be of help to future generations of cricketers and especially politicians, who would have learnt how to manipulate the media and manage public opinion."
Having had his say, the Kangaroo took his seat. The captain of the cricket team, Chinchu, the monkey, looked hurt. His partnership with the Kangaroo seemed to have ended, his innings as captain looked set to be cut short.
For a while no one spoke. Then the Manager raised his hand. He had to file his customary report. "Do I have to read it out? I can assure you there is nothing new. It will save my time and yours. Anyway the Captain doesn't listen to people like us, who have no cricket experience." The Manager had touched a raw nerve. In his last report, he had written about a senior player, Veeru, another monkey, who considered practice sessions a chore meant for lesser animals. Chinchu had publicly humiliated the Manager then, and now he had had his revenge.
"First we have to decide if we need a foreign coach at all. Even if we do, should we let this Kangaroo continue or get another in his place," Kunhiraman announced wearily. He had no time to lose, he had another meeting scheduled in the evening with the visiting chief minister of Kilimanjaro. "Those who want him to stay please raise your hands."
Kuku, one of the selectors, raised his hand. His was the only vote in favour. Everybody wanted a kangaroo to coach the team but not this one. Let us get a new one, was the popular refrain.
"Can we have a younger face please," asked Kuyilamma, "What about Stu Wah, the one who captained the kangaroos when they won the Cup? Though I would prefer the younger Wah. He is really cute. He will make a good model too. Now that I think of it, he could coach our players in modelling too."
Kuyilamma, the cuckoo, was a popular figure in Junglistan. She was a commentator on JTV, and had made cricket a fashionable game.
"That's a good idea," said the players in chorus.
"Yeah, and we need to bring in a public relations firm. These companies are so unfair, they have started taking off our ads," said Sheru Singh, whose golden mane had won him a multi-million dollar ad deal with a multinational shampoo company. The MNC had scrapped the contract, now he would have to be happy with the local sabun company.
"But why Kangaroos? Why not homegrown talent?" Tomy, a snail who happened to be a former cricketer, had been eyeing the coach's post for long. But last time he had lost out to the Kangaroo, and even now he blames Gill Bates for that. That smart Ass, reports had appeared in Daily News saying Bates was indeed an Ass, had made Powerpoint, which Tomy was yet to master, and as catastrophes go, the Kangaroo had already mastered.
"I find it appalling that in the Socialist Democratic Republic of Junglistan there is no equitable distribution of wealth. Think of it, there is no social security for former players in this supposedly socialist country. And our government allows multinational coaches to loot public money.
Shocking. Disgusting. Disgraceful." Tomy was breathing fire.
Duba Duba, the crocodile, chipped in, "Yes, I agree. Why can't poor ex-cricketers like us be given a chance to make some money? We are past the age for modelling? I can't do commentary either. Anyways what difference does it make? Our players are not going to win the Cup in any case."
Things were going out of hand. Kunhiraman had no time to lose, he had to meet the visiting chief minister of Kilimanjaro in the evening, for which he had to take the afternoon flight. His secretary, Damu, had a few words with him.
"This is no time to fight. We have already spent two hours on this. We also have to decide which players to sack, and which players to keep? This way, the meeting will never end. I think we need experts to handle this question. I am forming a committee of three respected former cricketers, who are presently respected commentators, to look into this entire issue. We will call a working committee meeting next month to deliberate on the report submitted by the experts." There were two things about Kunhiraman. He brooked no incompetence, you already know that, and he brooked no democracy. He didn't want such crucial things to be decided in an open forum like this. He preferred committees which his friends could manipulate. He left that part to friends, because he himself had to take care of far more important things, governing Junglistan only one among them.
Just when Kunhiraman thought he had got over with the meeting came a voice.
"Sir, I have a petition to file. My name is Chinnu, and I am an insect, once popularly known as cricket, and now popularly despised because of Junglistan's dismal show at the World Cup that has made us a butt of jokes. I hereby appeal to you to either change the name of the game or give our species a new name. Else I, and others in my community, would have no choice but to flee this country. "
Last heard, Kunhiraman had formed another committee to look into Chinnu's grouse. One of the options being debated by the committee is renaming cricket, the insect, as chirkut.
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