Smash-and-grab crony league
I live in Bangalore, down the road from the Karnataka
State Cricket Association (KSCA). I am a member of the KSCA, which means
that I can watch all the matches played in its stadium for free, and
from a comfortable seat next to the pavilion. I exercise the privilege
always during a Test match, often during a one-day international, and
sometimes during a Ranji Trophy match. However, I have not yet watched
an Indian Premier League (IPL) game played at the KSCA, nor do I intend
to in the future.
My original reasons for boycotting
the Indian Premier League were aesthetic. 20-20 lacks the subtlety of
the longer form; no one can build an innings, no one bowls a probing
spell. I didn't much care either for the way the game was packaged,
while the man who owned the local Bangalore team was — as seen by
someone whose day job is studying the legacy of Ambedkar, Gandhiji,
Nehru — somewhat on the loud side.
The sting
operation involving some (fringe) IPL players and the fight between Shah
Rukh Khan and the Mumbai Cricket Association both seem to confirm these
aesthetic reservations. But in fact the problem with the IPL goes far
beyond petty corruption and boorish celebrities. The Indian Premier
League is not just bad for me, but bad for Indian capitalism, bad for
Indian democracy, and bad for Indian cricket.
With liberalisation …
Let me defend these claims. When the Indian economy was liberalised, in 1991, it unleashed the long-suppressed energies of the entrepreneurial class. Sectors such as software and pharmaceuticals, that depended chiefly on innovation and knowledge, prospered. This was capitalism at its most creative; generating incomes and jobs, satisfying consumer tastes, and also spawning a new wave of philanthropy.
More
recently, however, some less appealing sides of capitalism have
manifested themselves. The state retains control of three key resources —
land, minerals, and the airwaves. These resources have become
enormously valuable with the expansion of the economy, prompting
sweetheart deals between individual politicians and individual
entrepreneurs, whereby land, minerals, or spectrum are transferred at
much less than market cost, and for a (quite large) consideration.
Creative capitalism has increasingly given way to crony capitalism, with
dire consequences for society, for the environment, and for public
institutions. Hence the 2G scandal, the spike in the Maoist insurgency
due to the dispossession of tribals by mining companies, the killings of
whistle-blowers by the land mafia, etc.
The Indian
Premier League is decidedly on the crony rather than creative side of
the ledger. The original auction for teams was shrouded in secrecy — the
allocations were not made on the basis of bids transparently offered
and assessed. Player prices do not accurately reflect cricketing worth
either. Thus foreign players are paid a fraction of what Indian players
of comparable quality are paid. The most egregious form of cronyism,
however, is the ownership of an IPL team by the current president (and
former secretary) of the Board of Control for Cricket in India. It is as
if Alex Ferguson was simultaneously manager of Manchester United and
the president of the English Football Association. Tragically, the
cronyism runs down the line. The current chairman of selectors is the
brand ambassador of the team owned and run by the Board president. The
famous former cricketers who cover Indian cricket on television have
been consultants to the IPL. Other commentators have accepted
assignments from IPL teams. To put it bluntly, their silence on this
(and some other matters) has been bought.
The IPL has
given capitalism and entrepreneurship a bad game. But it has also been
bad for Indian democracy, in that it has vividly and even brazenly
underlined the distance between the affluent, urban middle classes and
the rest of India. Consider the fact that no city in India's largest
State, Uttar Pradesh, which has an excellent Ranji Trophy team, was
awarded a franchise. Nor any city in Bihar, Orissa, or Madhya Pradesh
either. To leave out four of India's largest States — all cricket-mad,
and which collectively account for close to half the country's
population — must seriously disqualify the League's claim to be
‘Indian.'
Names and bias
Yet it can still be called ‘Premier,' for it speaks for the more prosperous parts of India, and for the more prosperous sections within them. The very names of the teams are a clue to its elitist character — two ‘Kings,' two ‘Royals,' and one ‘Knight,' this in a democratic Republic whose Constitution and laws (rightly) did away with aristocratic titles of any kind.
The
IPL is explicitly biased against the poorer States of the Union, and
implicitly biased towards what, in marketing argot, is referred to as
‘S(ocio)E(conomic)C(lass)-1.' Maharashtra has two IPL teams, based in
its largest and richest cities, yet it is the upper strata of Pune and
Mumbai society that most closely follow these teams. Some watch the
matches at home, over a drink and after a hard day at the office; others
go to the stadium, seeking vicariously to soak in the glamour of those
even richer than themselves. That is to say, they go not so much to see
Virat Kohli or Sachin Tendulkar bat, but to be in the same privileged
space as the Nita Ambanis and the Shah Rukh Khans, this fleeting
proximity reassurance that they too are within that part of India which
is Shining as well as Winning.
Balance of power
The middle classes of the major metros are large and prosperous enough to sustain the IPL. But the rest of India, that is to say, the majority of India, does not appear to connect with the tournament. When there is a match on at the KSCA, there are crowds in the ground and in pubs in central Bangalore, but no interest in the poorer parts of the city or in villages 10 or 20 miles away.
On the other hand,
when the national team plays, as India, the peasant and the slum dweller
can follow its fortunes as keenly as the hedge fund manager and
software engineer. The IPL is exclusive; the Indian team inclusive.
Notably, they do not live in separate worlds; rather, they are
connected, with the former having a decided impact on the latter. Had
the Indian cricket team taken six weeks off after the 2011 World Cup,
they may not have lost four-nil to England in that summer's Test series.
Two of India's leading batsmen and its leading bowler were carrying
injuries sustained by playing in the IPL, which was held immediately
after the World Cup. The weariness and the exhaustion carried over into
the Australian series, likewise lost four-zero, and into successive
one-day tournaments, where the World Cup champions were humiliated by
such sides as Bangladesh. The ordinary cricket lover now knew what our
‘professional' cricket commentators were too nervous or too polite to
say — that too much cricket, and too much of the wrong kind of cricket,
was a major reason behind the disgraceful performance of the Indian team
in the latter half of 2011.
English and Australian
cricket administrators may have other (and less salutary) reasons to
dislike the IPL — namely, that it has shifted the balance of power in
world cricket away from the white countries to India. However, some
former colonial countries should be less than pleased with the
tournament as well. Thus, the international game would benefit hugely if
the West Indies were to somehow rediscover the art of winning Test and
one-day matches. Recently, the West Indies have fought hard in series
against Australia and England; their pluck might have been rewarded with
victory had they the services of their best bowler, Sunil Narine; their
best batsman, Chris Gayle; and their best all-rounder, Dwayne Bravo —
all, alas, choosing to play in the IPL instead of for their national
side.
There is a larger, cosmopolitan, reason to
dislike the IPL; and also a local, patriotic, one. The baleful effects
of the tournament should worry Indian liberals who admire that form of
capitalism which rewards those with the best ideas rather than those
with the best contacts; Indian democrats who wish to nurture a more
caring and just society; and Indian cricket fans who want their team to
perform honourably at home and abroad.
(Ramachandra Guha's books include A Corner of a Foreign Field. He can be contacted at ramachandraguha@yahoo.in)