The Indian Chhakke Pe Chhakka League

Raju Korti

The "chhakka" -- as it is understood in cricketing terms unlike its derogatory connotation -- was never so trivialized as it is today, thanks to the Indian Premier League. More than half a century ago when Gary Sobers clobbered six consecutive sixes -- never mind it was a County match -- and as late as in 2007 when Yuvraj Singh  did an encore, the sixer was the cyanosure of all eyes. Today even a tailender can send the ball packing beyond the ropes with a wild swing of the bat and the crowd erupts in collective orgasm.

In the languid and longer version of the game, sixers came pricey. I recall in my school days there were cavaliers of the likes of Salim Durrani who would cater to the demands of an exuberant audience and hit sixes. But such players and instances were very few and very far between. The batsmen chose to go with the finesse and preferred to let the ball sprint through the ground than travel in the air through helicopter shots. Most aerial shots happen when  bats are used like slingshots.

Watching sixes in the Indian Premier League has turned into a terrible bore but the commentators and the loyalists of the Slam, Bang, Wham version go berserk with bizarre descriptions. Replays of the shot are sexed up with delirious praises of the batsman. A graphic tracing the long, aerial trajectory of the shot is followed by an animated discussion on how many meters the ball flew in the air. With the game moving at breakneck speed, the commentators keep torturing their vocal chords as sixes come thick and fast. The "four" is reduced to being their poor cousin.

Someone among the scorers is probably a man who is employed only to beam on the screen the number of sixes being hit in the tournament. By the time the edition comes to an end the number soars to well over 600 or 700. Causing enough indigestion in you to pop a few pouches of antacids! That is if your patience lasts enough to go into the farewell ceremony that ends with predictable cliches.

The players laugh all the way to their banks. Imagine getting paid Rs one lakh for each such wild slog that takes less than a minute to execute while lesser mortals break their lumbers and sweat it out in liters to eke out a living. A six is a six even if the the ball connects with the bat by fluke. The fringe benefit comes from admirers jumping from their seats with clinched fists while the only sad person in this euphoric scene is the ill-fated bowler who can only wipe his forehead and watch the ball disappear in the stands. 

The pitches are deathbed for the bowlers. What do they do when the game opens with the concept of "power play" and field restrictions? Conceding 8 runs in an over is healthy economy rate in a game  where almost 450 runs have been scored in 40 overs. Every match looks like almost an action replay of the earlier ones. Hats off to those who remember these matches ball-by-ball and shot-by-shot.     

I suggest IPL goes more hi-tech in future with some fielders given space in mid air to stop sixes. Better still, name the Indian Premier League as Indian Sixes League or a funkier Indian Chhakke Pe Chhakka League. The cheerleader girls can do their jig mid-air as the spectators would anyhow be watching the ball flying all the time.

Since the IPL began in 2008, 7303 sixes have been hit excluding the ongoing one. Multiply the number with 100,000 and you know the peanuts Board of Control for Cricket in India spends on this penurious show. 

By the way, look at the picture accompanying this blog. It shows the eccentric Billy Bowden doing his familiar jig while signalling a six. I am sure if he were to officiate in all IPL matches, he would have become a professional Bharat Natyam dancer by now.