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By:

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.

Tainted Mandate

Mumbai’s narcotics enforcement apparatus has once again found itself in the dock. The booking of Amit Ghawate, the Narcotics Control Bureau’s (NCB) Mumbai zonal director, in connection with a suicide case is not merely an aberration. It is the latest episode in a pattern that raises uncomfortable questions about the conduct, culture and accountability of one of the country’s most visible law-enforcement agencies.


Ghawate, a 2008-batch Indian Revenue Service officer, now faces serious charges under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, including abetment to suicide, extortion and criminal conspiracy. The case stems from the death of Gurunath Chichkar, a Navi Mumbai builder who allegedly shot himself in April 2025. According to investigators, a suicide note pointed to sustained harassment by NCB officials pursuing his son, Naveen Chichkar, an alleged kingpin of a transnational drug syndicate.


It speaks volumes when a premier anti-narcotics agency, tasked with dismantling criminal networks that span continents, now finds one of its senior-most officers accused of tactics that resemble the very coercion and illegality it is meant to combat.


This is not the first time the Mumbai arm of the NCB has courted controversy. The tenure of Sameer Wankhede, Ghawate’s predecessor, was marked by headline-grabbing drug busts and equally explosive allegations. Wankhede’s tenure, once hailed as emblematic of a no-nonsense crackdown, now reads more like a cautionary tale in institutional overreach. His high-profile raids, most notably the Cordelia cruise ship case, initially projected the image of an officer unafraid to take on Bollywood, business elites and political networks alike. Yet, as allegations of extortion surfaced, alongside claims of selective leaks and procedural improprieties, the narrative began to fray. Investigations by central agencies into his conduct cast a long shadow over cases that were once trumpeted as breakthroughs.


The recurrence of such controversies suggests something deeper than individual misconduct. It points to structural incentives that reward spectacle over substance.


The Chichkar case is instructive. Law enforcement agencies often argue that pressure is an unavoidable tool when dealing with hardened criminal networks. Yet the line between legitimate investigation and harassment is a thin one. If the allegations against Ghawate hold, they indicate not just a failure of judgement but a systemic tolerance for excess.


Such excess is particularly dangerous in the context of India’s stringent narcotics laws. There is also a broader institutional cost. Public trust in enforcement agencies is a fragile commodity. When successive Mumbai NCB chiefs become synonymous with scandal, it risks turning the agency’s regional office into a byword for controversy rather than competence.


The NCB’s mandate is both necessary and daunting. But effectiveness in such a battle depends not only on aggression but on credibility. An agency that appears compromised cannot command the cooperation it needs from the public or from other institutions.


In the war on drugs, the state must occupy the moral high ground. When its agents descend into controversy, that ground begins to shift irreversibly. 


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