As the sun warmed the quiet winter air, the bowler running in, opening his shoulders, and sending the ball zipping past the batsman, was a sight perfect days were made of. Not too many years ago, sitting in one corner of the Ferozeshah Kotla stadium, leaning against the old wall beyond the boundary, was the best way to spend a cold afternoon.

It was a time when annual inter-college matches filled the stands. A time when first-class games commanded a die-hard following. When cricket, and not cricketers, drew thousands of eager spectators.

The Ranji Trophy, once celebrated on such lazy mornings by students playing truant from school and officegoers squeezing in a few hours between work, started this week in front of empty stands across the country. With cricket constantly playing on television — every day of the week, from every country in the world — the unhyped, unsung premier domestic tournament has over the years been lost in the by-lanes of new India.

Its runs and wickets no longer capture our imagination, and Ranji cricket’s disconnect with the fans is never more evident than when stadiums are packed for IPL matches, and when the craze for the sport’s glitz and glamour manifests itself in crammed hotel lobbies and long queues for tickets whenever the national team is in town.

As international cricket has grown to become an obsession over the last two decades and as the number of matches has multiplied, the stock of domestic cricket has fallen in direct proportion. In its glory days, India played eight to ten Test matches a year, and there were only a handful of one-day matches, if at all. The highest form of the game was a drink to savour, and domestic cricket was the standard beverage of the masses. It was also full of intrigue, with intense competition and genuine rivalries. Dilip Vengsarkar, for example, wept in the dressing room after Bombay lost the final by two runs to Kapil Dev’s Haryana in 1991, and half of Wankhede stadium cried with him.

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