Humidity lingers, traffic worsens, but cricket wins the race: A diary of an Indian on tour

In the first match of the ongoing Bangladesh ODI series, India skipper Harmanpreet Kaur endured crippling pressure without taking a backward step, but watching her side's torturous run chase proved too much for her. The theme of low-scoring matches from the recent T20I series spilled over to the ODI opener in Mirpur in Bangladesh's first-ever triumph over India in the 50-over format.

The tension is palpable after a low-scoring first innings that has seen rain and lightning halt play, reducing the match to 44 overs. Will Kaur and Co. be able to navigate the heat, humidity, and onslaught of the Bangladeshi women as we did of the infamous traffic over 12 hours ago? The atmosphere at the Sher-E-Bangla national stadium takes us back to the moment we stepped off the Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport plane into the capital city ahead of the match.

The humidity hit us the minute we got off the plane. To someone like me, who grew up in its closest foreign city, Kolkata, it brings nostalgia, but that buzz wears off in five minutes, when I am already sweating at 11 pm. By the time our Uber shows up, not only are we grateful for air conditioning, but as cricket aficionados, are also hugely appreciative of players who have to endure the heat while putting on a show for our entertainment. After having won the 20-over series, the Indian women's cricket team want to clinch the ODIs too but their future hangs in balance just like ours, as we try to find a way out of the heat and traffic.

Once inside the car, I began to witness the mayhem that is Dhaka's traffic, grateful that I was not in a rush to get anywhere. A kaleidoscope of ‘tut-tuts', rickshaws, cars, buses and lorries, all competing to get to their destinations following traffic rules that always put them on the verge of the world's largest pile-up but they manage to avoid it at the last second in time. If you spend some time (even a few minutes) in the swirling and chaotic capital, you begin to look anew at the definition of the word ‘traffic'.

The traffic is a state of chaos so pervasive and permanent that it has become the city's organising principle. It is the weather of the city, a storm that never lets up. Our driver, Abdul Dada (‘dada' is used fondly for ‘brother' in Bengali), who looks no older than 40, tells us that the rest of the world doesn't understand traffic, that the worst traffic jam in Mumbai or Bengaluru is equivalent to a good day for Dhaka's drivers.

"Cricket?" he asks with a mix of curiosity and amusement that is indicative of the general perception of the sport in the country, as he keeps honking loudly and continuously to barrel through the nighttime road.

It was unbearably warm and I was jet-lagged. I dozed off. When I snapped awake, about roughly thirty minutes later, the congestion had thickened and the scenery had turned frantic. We were in the heart of the city now, penned in by surging pedestrians and hundreds of vehicles competing for space. There were passenger cars and puttering three-wheeled auto-­rickshaws. There were buses so vacuum-packed with passengers that many were forced onto the exterior, clinging to open doorways and crouching on rooftop luggage racks. And, of course, who can forget the iconic Dhaka passenger vehicles, bicycle rickshaws.

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Eventually, our cab reaches a roundabout, and we turn left onto another thoroughfare. There, the cab driver executes an U-turn and a tricky sequence of maneouvers to win a place in a feeder lane that permits entrance to the driveway of our hotel. The lane was empty, our final hundred yards of terrain to travel, and our first stretch of open road. The distance from the airport to the hotel was 10 and a half miles. The trip had taken two and a half hours. We wheel into the hotel's driveway and the cabby spun around to offer his verdict. "Traffic kaafi chilo, Didi! (Some traffic there, sister)," he said.

The weather here is equivalent to an India-Pakistan cricket match, which has a haphazard, unpredictable rhythm, with steep troughs and crests and often long periods of inactivity which has kept its administrators, players and fans on edge. One moment it is balmy and a gentle breeze is blowing and the next, there appears to be a howling gale and the street is glistening from a persistent rain. But then, just as quickly as the rain arrives, it dissipates and all is well with the city again. Since this was at the tail end of the dry summer season, the weather was prone to sudden downpours. I sleep that night feeling optimistic.

Waiting in the hotel lobby the next day for a quick cab ride to the stadium, I fall into conversation with a group of fellow cricket enthusiasts from Cape Town, also headed to the game. We reminisce about our last live cricket match and how women's cricket is on the rise and for the better.

As I walk towards the entrance to the stadium, I spot a smattering of blue shirts in a sea of green. As the players emerge from the pavilion, crowds line up next to the fence, calling out their names and taking pictures. While hero-worship of cricketers in India is not uncommon, the extent of it here highlights the scarcity of women's cricket in the country, and also makes you realise how hard it must be to be a ‘Woman in Green'.

After the toss, there is a huge cheer when we find out India will be bowling first. The DJ springs into action at once, reminding me of the NBA and MLB games that have been, more often than not, narrated to me by my cousins in the US. The crowd seems to be having a great time, dancing to a mix of old and new favourites, including ‘off-key' bhangra, the latest Bollywood dance numbers, and the good old ‘Chak de India', which seems to have become a de facto anthem at Indian sporting events.

After a slow start, it is not too long into the match when the crowd is stunned into silence by Sneh Rana who gets India its first breakthrough dismissing opener Sharmin Akhter in the eighth over. The atmosphere back in the press box (for us, Indians), however, turns celebratory as debutant Amanjot Kaur scalps her maiden ODI wicket with a fuller delivery to opener Murshida Khatun an over later.

By the time we had reduced Bangladesh to 14 for two in the eighth over, my expectation was at fever pitch. When it became 63 for three at the end of the 21st over, it was too good to imagine, but my middle-aged companions have a lifetime's experience in keeping flickering hope alive.

Then there is an untimely bizarre stoppage of play, for lightning of all things. The people in the uncovered stands are ordered to go find shady spots to stand in. After an hour, play resumes, but, on resumption, the painfully slow rate of scoring continued with the Women in Green cutting a very sorry figure.

Though veteran top-order batter Fargana Hoque batted confidently in the company of skipper Nigar Sultana, she became Amanjot's second victim off the penultimate ball of the 21st over. Playing the cut on the back-foot, Hoque got an outside edge to wicketkeeper Yastika Bhatia. Sultana too perished soon trapped plumb in front of the wicket by Amanjot, bringing more cheers for the pacer and the India camp. Wickets kept falling at regular intervals as the Bangladesh innings wound up with one over still left as the last batter, Shorna Akter, was absent hurt.

In a match reduced to 44-overs-a-side after a rain interruption lasting nearly an hour, Bangladesh could not come to grips with the heavy and overcast conditions, while India, aided by Amanjot's magical spell and superb restrictive spells from Rana and Deepti Sharma, managed to get a vice-like grip on the opponents from the start, restricting the hosts to 152 in a rain-marred afternoon.

The groundstaff seen dragging the covers after rain stops play at the Sher-e-Bangla Stadium in Mirpur (Pic: AFP)

The sun was out between innings, and the stage was set and for once, no one could accuse the Indian fan in me of delirious hope. That little bubble of perfect hope that we had reason to believe would balloon till it was big enough to roof the stadium, the virgin hope of true believers, dear reader, lived for less than an over and 13 runs, to be precise. The crisp fours through midwicket in back-to-back overs off Smriti Mandhana's willow were too good to last, as she was caught behind in the 26th over, thanks to a full-stretch diving take by Sultana.

Hope died, I was about to say, but that would be a lie. We, desi fans, never stop hoping. I shifted gears and pinned my faith in the skipper. So, hope there was, but it was a tarnished hope, smudged by that early wicket and limned with foreboding of worse to come and it came.

While Harmanpreet was dismissed quickly for 5, fans would know that India lost the match in the middle overs when Jemimah Rodrigues (10 off 26 balls), Deepti (20 off 40 balls), and Amanjot (15 off 40 balls) batted nearly 18 overs but could score only 45 runs. Deepti and Rana, who came in later occupy the crease but they didn't stick around for long. I can't watch the match continuously any more. So, I keep my eyes open till the bowler's delivery stride, then keep them closed till I'm sure no one is out.

The batting by the Women in Blue was dismal to say the least in the preceding WT20I series where they were restricted to 95 in the second game but somehow managed to win it but this one now looks difficult. Deepti's 40-ball-20 was the top score as Indian batters continued their embarrassing batting show against the 'Tigresses', who have made life miserable for the visitors with their spin attack. By the time the match is done and dusted, it's a full-fledged party in the stands. The scoreboard reads, ‘Bangladesh beat India by 40 runs via DLS method!'

I exchange numbers with some newly minted friends and leave with my heart full. The last few hours have filled a cricket ball-shaped hole in me. While I wish the conditions were kinder to India, I realise I was just being overly critical. As I lapse into fitful bouts of sleep on my red-eye flight back to Mumbai, I find myself humming ‘Chak de India'.