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Waleed Hussain

4 March 2025 at 2:34:30 pm

Opener turned into six -hitting contest

Mumbai: The IPL 2026 opening match between Royal Challengers Bengaluru and Sunrisers Hyderabad at the M. Chinnaswamy Stadium wasn’t a cricket contest. It was a full-scale six-hitting festival, complete with bowlers serving as reluctant ball boys and the leather sphere treating the boundary ropes like an optional suggestion rather than a hard limit. SRH, batting first after being inserted, scraped together 201 for 9 in their full 20 overs. Stand-in skipper Ishan Kishan led the charge with a...

Opener turned into six -hitting contest

Mumbai: The IPL 2026 opening match between Royal Challengers Bengaluru and Sunrisers Hyderabad at the M. Chinnaswamy Stadium wasn’t a cricket contest. It was a full-scale six-hitting festival, complete with bowlers serving as reluctant ball boys and the leather sphere treating the boundary ropes like an optional suggestion rather than a hard limit. SRH, batting first after being inserted, scraped together 201 for 9 in their full 20 overs. Stand-in skipper Ishan Kishan led the charge with a fiery 80 off just 38 balls, peppering the stands with 5 sixes and eight fours. It was the kind of knock that screams “I’m the captain now, watch me launch.” Youngster Aniket Verma (or Ankit, depending on the scorecard scribbles) chipped in with a brisk 43 that included another 4 sixes in a desperate late surge. Heinrich Klaasen added his usual muscle, but the early wobble to 49/3 thanks to Jacob Duffy’s fiery 3/22 in the powerplay kept things from spiraling into total absurdity. SRH’s total sixes: a “modest” 12. How refreshingly conservative. One almost expected them to apologize to the bowlers for not clearing the stadium entirely. Then came RCB’s reply. Chasing 202, the defending champions made it look like a Sunday net session gone gloriously rogue. They polished off the target in a mere 15.4 overs, losing just 4 wickets and winning by 6 wickets with 26 balls to spare. Devdutt Padikkal went ballistic with 61 off 26 balls — a strike rate that would embarrass a missile. He smashed 4 sixes and seven fours, treating SRH spinners like they owed him money. The middle overs turned into a personal highlight reel as he dispatched deliveries into the second and third tiers with contemptuous ease. Elder Statesman Virat Kohli, ever the composed elder statesman at 69 not out off 38, casually added 5 sixes of his own. King Kohli didn’t just bat; he conducted a masterclass in timed aggression, finishing the game with a flourish of boundaries that had the Chinnaswamy crowd in absolute delirium. Rajat Patidar and a quick cameo from Tim David ensured there were no unnecessary heart attacks for the home faithful. RCB’s six tally: a cheeky 13. Combined across both innings? A staggering 25 sixes in one high-octane evening. That’s not T20 cricket anymore. That’s aerial warfare with a red leather projectile. The ball spent more time orbiting the stadium than rolling on the turf. Ground staff probably clocked more kilometers chasing it into the stands than the batsmen ran between wickets. Spectators got an unexpected workout fielding souvenirs, while bowlers stared skyward like astronomers discovering new constellations every over. “Where did that one go?” became the unofficial match commentary.
Collective Hug The bowlers deserve a collective group hug — or perhaps therapy. Jacob Duffy’s impressive debut haul was the lone bright spot for the attack, but even he must have questioned his career choices every time a length ball disappeared into the night. Short balls? Met with the same disdain. Full tosses? Please, they were practically gift-wrapped invitations to the parking lot. Harshal Patel and the SRH death bowlers leaked runs like a sieve in the final stages, watching six after six sail over their heads while fielders sprinted futilely, arms outstretched in vain hope. The spinners fared even worse. One over from a hapless SRH tweaker disappeared for multiple maximums, turning what should have been a containing spell into a public humiliation. Krunal Pandya and Harsh Dubey were taken to the cleaners with such regularity that you half-expected the umpires to intervene on humanitarian grounds. Why bowl when the batsmen treat your best deliveries like practice balls for a batting cage? It’s almost insulting how nonchalantly these sixes were dispatched. No drama, no buildup — just clean, brutal connection followed by polite applause from the crowd and another sprint for the ball boys. Traditionalists mourning the death of “proper” cricket could only clutch their Test whites tighter and mutter about the good old days when a six was an event, not the default setting. At Chinnaswamy, the pitch played like a trampoline on steroids, and the boundaries shrank with every lusty swing. Group Therapy By the 15th over of the chase, the match had lost all pretense of competition. It became a group therapy session in power-hitting, where everyone took turns launching the ball into orbit. The six-count on the giant screen must have broken some internal software trying to keep up. If this is the tone for IPL 2026, buckle up, folks. Expect every subsequent game to threaten world records for most maximums, highest strike rates, and most exhausted retrieval staff. The real MVP? Not Kohli’s classy anchor, not Padikkal’s blitz, not even Duffy’s early breakthroughs. It was the six itself — that glorious, crowd-pleasing projectile that turned a cricket match into prime-time entertainment. Bowlers might as well start their run-ups from the sightscreen next time; at least give the ball a fighting chance. Bravo to both teams for kicking off the season with such unapologetic carnage. You’ve reminded us why we love this format: raw power, minimal fuss, and maximum entertainment. Just don’t be surprised when future matches come with a mandatory “six insurance” clause for nearby residents. The ropes are trembling, the stands are full, and the bowlers are already booking appointments with sports psychologists. Long live the six. May the aerial assault continue unabated.

Lingua Pragmatica

Updated: Mar 20, 2025

As Southern leaders like M.K. Stalin rage against Hindi, Andhra Pradesh’s Chief Minister Chandrababu Naidu offers a model of pragmatism over parochialism.

Chandrababu Naidu
Andhra Pradesh

Amid the cacophony of opposition in southern states to Hindi, Andhra Pradesh CM N. Chandrababu Naidu has taken a markedly pragmatic stance by remarking recently in the state Assembly that there was no harm in learning other languages. Hindi, Naidu noted, was useful for communication across India, particularly in political and commercial hubs like Delhi. His remarks, though avoiding explicit mention of the NEP, were widely seen as an endorsement of multilingualism and a rebuke to the linguistic chauvinism that has gripped parts of the South.


Few issues in India stir political passions quite like language. It is not merely a means of communication but a marker of identity, a relic of colonial resistance, and a source of political mobilization. In the southern states, where anti-Hindi sentiment has long been entrenched, the National Education Policy (NEP) 2020 and its three-language formula have reignited old tensions. No state embodies this defiance more than Tamil Nadu, where the ruling Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK) led by M.K. Stalin has framed the policy as an assault on its linguistic autonomy.


Naidu’s words, welcomed by his ally and Deputy Chief Minister Pawan Kalyan, mark a sharp contrast with the DMK’s position. Tamil Nadu’s hostility towards Hindi dates back to the 1930s, when C. Rajagopalachari’s attempt to introduce it in schools met with fierce resistance. The anti-Hindi agitations of the 1960s cemented the DMK’s ideological stance, with its first Chief Minister, C.N. Annadurai, famously warning that Hindi imposition could push Tamil Nadu towards secession.


The question, however, is whether this rigid opposition serves Tamil Nadu’s interests. While Stalin, with an eye to the upcoming Tamil Nadu Assembly polls, has been relentlessly portraying Hindi as a threat to his state’s regional identity, Naidu, a partner of the BJP-led Centre, is framing it as a tool for economic mobility. His argument is not that Hindi should replace Telugu or English but that it offers a competitive advantage.


The economic case for multilingualism is compelling. Indians who speak multiple languages tend to have better job prospects, higher earnings and greater geographic mobility. Andhra Pradesh’s Telugu-speaking diaspora is a case in point. Telugus make up a significant proportion of Indian-origin professionals in the United States, the Gulf, and Southeast Asia as Naidu pointed out, hinting that this success story was built not on linguistic rigidity but on adaptability.


In a country where inter-state migration is rising and where Hindi remains the most widely spoken language, refusing to learn it amounts to self-imposed isolation. Tamil Nadu’s approach, by contrast, risks limiting its youth. The DMK government has refused to implement the three-language policy, keeping schools strictly bilingual with Tamil and English. Its justification that Hindi is not necessary for global success could be true in a narrow sense but ignores the domestic context. If Tamil filmmakers can dub their movies into Hindi to expand their audience, why should Tamil students be denied access to the language that could open more doors for them within India?


The DMK has accused successive central governments, particularly under the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), of pushing Hindi at the expense of regional languages. Yet, rejecting Hindi outright is an overcorrection. The reality is that Hindi is an important language in India’s economic and political landscape. Naidu’s position, one of accommodation rather than confrontation, offers a middle ground that other Southern leaders would do well to consider.


Some states already recognize this. Karnataka, despite its own history of linguistic pride, has allowed Hindi to be taught as an optional language. Kerala, whose migrants work in Hindi-speaking regions and the Gulf, has been less hostile to Hindi education. Naidu’s model, balancing regional identity with practical necessity, offers a way forward. Languages should be embraced, not politicized. Southern leaders would do well to listen to him.

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