Can two teams playing a cricket match overcome the wounds of terrorism? Can they make the world feel a more secure place? Can they deliver a slap on the face of a terrorist? As my sport so beautifully takes centrestage once again, I debate these questions endlessly. These and many more. Can England vs India at the Chepauk quell the anger in my land? Can sport be a balm at all? Does it count?

Yes, I tell myself but I am not sure if cricket can bring solace to those that are hurt. Cricket can uplift me because I have lost nobody. I played a game against Ashok Kamte, the brave officer of the Mumbai Police, and we laughed between deliveries. Can I go to his wife and say that Harbhajan bowling to Pietersen is our response to the man who killed her husband? That everyone is being brave, that the show must go on? Which show?

And so cricket can at best be an intoxicant, a mild drug that soothes you and lets you forget briefly. It brings a smile to your face to see a Tendulkar, a Dravid, a Dhoni, a Pietersen, a Flintoff; fine people doing what they know best. They are wonderful ambassadors of joy and may they long be that way but even as I visualise Harmison and Flintoff firing thunderbolts into Tendulkar’s ribs I cannot, and may not for a long time, get myself to use the word ‘brave’.

So let us put the imagery behind us, rein in our adjectives a bit, and watch cricket for what it is. And let us say thank you to England for coming back to our shores when they had every reason to be apprehensive, even scared. Maybe they still are but they are playing cricket on our land, as our guests and we must applaud them for that. They had a reason to pull out this time, unlike in 2001 when Robert Croft and Andrew Caddick got their geography mixed up and couldn’t find a map handy.

... contd.