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By:

Waleed Hussain

4 March 2025 at 2:34:30 pm

When T20 Cricket Finally Admitted It Was Professional Wrestling with Pads

At the Arun Jaitley Stadium, Delhi Capitals committed the ultimate act of sporting arrogance. They racked up 264 for 2, patted themselves on the back, and presumably started drafting victory tweets. KL Rahul delivered a masterclass 152 not out, Nitish Rana chipped in with 91, and the Delhi dugout looked like they had just invented fire. The bowlers? They were already mentally booking spa appointments to recover from the trauma of watching the ball sail into the stands like it owed them money....

When T20 Cricket Finally Admitted It Was Professional Wrestling with Pads

At the Arun Jaitley Stadium, Delhi Capitals committed the ultimate act of sporting arrogance. They racked up 264 for 2, patted themselves on the back, and presumably started drafting victory tweets. KL Rahul delivered a masterclass 152 not out, Nitish Rana chipped in with 91, and the Delhi dugout looked like they had just invented fire. The bowlers? They were already mentally booking spa appointments to recover from the trauma of watching the ball sail into the stands like it owed them money. Enter Punjab Kings — the team that treats every run chase like a personal vendetta against bowlers’ self-esteem. What unfolded wasn’t cricket. It was a carefully orchestrated heist, a stand-up routine where the punchline was delivered in sixes, and the audience (Delhi’s bowling unit) was left questioning every life choice that led them to this moment. Prabhsimran Singh swaggered to the crease like a man who had already won the match in the parking lot. 76 off 26 balls. Nine fours, five sixes. The powerplay? A grotesque 100+ runs of pure, unadulterated violence. Bowlers weren’t just getting hit — they were being publicly shamed, their economy rates dragged through the mud and left there to dry under the Delhi sun. Priyansh Arya joined the carnage, and suddenly the target of 265 started looking as intimidating as a “Wet Floor” sign in a flooded bathroom. Shreyas Iyer, the dignified captain, played the role of “responsible adult” with 71 not out off 36 deliveries. In any other match, this would be carnage. Here, it passed for calm stewardship. While others swung like they were trying to chop down trees, Iyer collected runs with the serene expression of a man wondering if he should order paneer or butter chicken post-match. Punjab polished off the target in 18.5 overs, six wickets intact, seven balls to spare, and the sort of casual swagger usually reserved for people returning overdue library books without a fine. The broader satire writes itself. Modern T20 cricket has become an arms race where the only loser is the concept of a “respectable total.” Bowlers, once proud warriors, are now glorified ball-fetchers in a batting-dominated circus. Pitches are flatter than election promises, boundaries shorter than Gen Z attention spans, and rules so batter-friendly that even the umpires look sympathetic. Delhi built what should have been a monument — a glorious 264 on a road so true it could have doubled as a highway — only for Punjab to drive a monster truck through it while blasting horns and waving at spectators. Cricket purists are in full meltdown mode, huddled in dimly lit rooms, clutching faded copies of Wisden and muttering about “the good old days when maidens existed.” Commentators exhausted every superlative in the English language and resorted to incoherent screaming. Social media, naturally, lost its collective mind. One half celebrated Punjab as gods of the new era; the other half demanded a return to red-ball cricket, preferably with uncovered pitches and bowlers allowed to glare menacingly without fear of a demerit point. This result wasn’t merely a win. It was a cultural reset. Punjab Kings, long the lovable underachievers of the IPL, have now authored the top two highest successful chases in league history. They’re not just winning matches — they’re embarrassing the very idea of defending a total. At this rate, future IPL auctions will see teams bidding for “bowlers who can at least pretend to try” while batters demand appearance fees for showing up. Delhi Capitals deserve a special mention for their contribution to this farce. They provided the perfect setup: a record total, star performances, home advantage, and the quiet confidence that physics and common sense would finally prevail. Instead, they became the straight man in Punjab’s comedy routine. Rahul’s heroics? Reduced to a footnote. The match? Less a contest, more performance art. In the end, this is what we’ve come to love and loathe about T20 cricket. It’s loud, ridiculous, utterly devoid of restraint, and endlessly entertaining. Bowlers may demand hazard pay or form a union. Traditionalists may threaten to boycott. But the crowds will keep coming, the sixes will keep flying, and records will continue to fall like overpriced IPL franchise valuations. Punjab Kings didn’t just chase 265. They chased away any remaining illusion that this sport still resembles the gentleman’s game our grandparents watched. In its place stands a glittering, chaotic, six-hitting machine — and honestly? We’re all better for it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check the points table. Apparently, defending anything above 200 is now considered radical extremism.

The Power of Her

Updated: Mar 10, 2025

‘The Perfect Voice’ celebrates strong, trailblazers in this series with stories of women who brave battles every day that serve as an inspiration to the next generation. We have daughters fulfilling their parent’s dreams, victims of domestic abuse rebuilding their lives and professionals dealing with the famous ‘mom guilt’.


Part - 6

Braving All Odds

Kalpana Patil, Mumbai


Kalpana Patil

Her life was a struggle from the very beginning. Born into a family of limited financial means in Belagavi, Karnataka, Kalpana Patil, 57, couldn’t study beyond Class 10 because her parents couldn’t afford to pay her fees. They wanted to marry her off early, an idea she resisted. Her family, however, couldn’t find a suitable match until she was 20 years old. But as luck would have it, even marriage didn’t offer an end to her financial woes; in fact, it was the beginning of a traumatic journey in an abusive marriage. Patil claims her husband misled her family. “He told us he had a big house in Mumbai. He also told us that he was well settled and was in the position to keep me happy all my life. I came to Mumbai and was shocked to see a house that was confined to a 10/12 square feet room. My in-laws, my brother-in-law, his wife and kids, all of us were supposed to live in that one room,” she says.

There were no means to verify the groom’s background. Her family was riddled with illiteracy and was helplessly poor. Societal pressure meant they accepted the first proposal that came along for their daughter.


Patil and her husband, who worked as a tempo driver, shifted to another house in Dahisar, which was not bigger than the earlier one. She was subjected to “extreme mental torture” for not conceiving a baby for five years after the wedding. “I was relieved when I delivered my first son five years after my marriage. After a few years I was blessed with another son,” she says.


Financial troubles mounted as Patil’s husband spent all his money on alcohol. After marriage, she discovered that her husband had been addicted to alcohol since he was 12 years old. There was no money to feed the children and Patil decided to work in a bid to save some money for her family’s future. She has experimented with several jobs from diamond industry to bangles manufacturing to catering to pest control chemical factories to working as a peon at a school and many more. She recalls “challenging experiences” while she looked for jobs in factories. Finally, Patil got a job in a company located at Dahisar, close to her home, where she’s been working for the past 16 years. “My employer has been an epitome of humanity. I always shared all my issues with him and he has been a patient counsellor and support,” she says.

The financial troubles mounted into a crisis, when her husband took out a loan to buy a tempo but couldn’t bring in enough money to make ends meet. To add to that, abuses and thrashings were part of her daily life. “He would waste food, he would beat me up mercilessly. He used to be most often drunk. Once he even kicked me in my waist when I was asleep. I woke up in shock and pain,” says Patil.


Tired, she attempted suicide several times, experimenting with different methods of ending her life. “Someone advised me, eating baked soil reduces life expectancy and helps you die early. I have been eating that for the past few years. My employer was good. The team offered counselling and I stopped thinking negatively,” she says.


Worried about the “dire consequences” of her decision, Patil never considered divorce and puts up a brave face in her challenging situation. Her older son has completed a BCom degree “I am really proud of him. He used to work during the day, and would attend night college to complete his education. He has worked really hard and now he is settled,” says Patil proudly. Her sons’ education has changed the dynamics in their home. My husband doesn’t abuse me anymore. By now, I have gained courage to give it back to him, and my sons are able,” she says confidently.

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