India, Nov. 3 -- My generation - the Baby Boomers who've seen extensive scarcity and deprivation - will know what I'm talking about. In our youth, mohalla cricket was 'the thing', but whether there would be a game or not depended on the rich fat boy who owned bat, ball and plastic stumps on a stand. He had to be humoured in every which way, mollycoddled to the extent that until he had scored runs to his satisfaction, the umpire would rule 'no ball' post-facto even if he was clean bowled.

He was crude and rude, and yet he bossed the show! We hated him but had to lump it because we were desperate to play cricket and that would be impossible without the fat boy's largesse! Even at that tender age, we employed the art of sinful compromise an...