A few months ago, on our way to the airport, my mum and I started chatting about (what else?) cricket. This was in the early days of IPL 2024, and so the chosen topic for charcha was the Mumbai Indians (MI) captaincy debacle. As someone who has always admired Hardik Pandya for his tenacity, I was keen to defend him. And my mum, enamoured with Rohit Sharma ever since his blazing run at last year’s ICC Men’s ODI World Cup, equally eager to take up his case.
Cab commute is a habit and usually follows a script. That day, too, our cabbie and we were initially following the same cues. Suddenly, a switch flicked. Our IPL debate threw a googly in the works. The uninterested cabbie sprung to life, unable to contain his emotions on the subject. Hanging up his phone to become party to a much more important conversation, he jumped in to share his two cents and defend (who else!) Rohit.
Born into cricketing fandom
Such is the case with cricket in India. From offices to cafes, grocery stores to clinics, I’ve rarely seen places that aren’t transformed into a fan zone at the mention of cricket, a place where one sport bonds people who may have little else in common.
Some of my earliest conversations with strangers on the internet were on cricket — young girls like myself, hopelessly infatuated with Virat Kohli, seeking a common parlance to express our desires. Unlike other communities that I found and grew into, the fandom of cricket is something I have always felt I have been born into. The sound of cricket on the TV is analogous to the smell of parathas or my dad humming along to the radio. It’s home, like few other things in my life. Which is why my sense of ownership over this game has always been much stronger than over any idol or subject. The sense of euphoria I felt when the Indian men’s team lifted the T20 World Cup trophy in the West Indies remains unparalleled. For my generation, it is the sharpest memory of a World Cup win, made even more special by seeing our childhood heroes celebrate and be celebrated.
Across categories in India, cricket is the one point of intersection for every brand’s advertising strategy
As a fan, everything in India is primed to make you fall and stay in love with cricket. Brands and cricketers alike vie for fans’ attention, eager to emphasise the value of their support. A whole market has grown around this bond, kept alive by unceasing cricketing campaigns. From the 2009 IPL ad “Ek Desh, Ek Junoon” to Star Sports’ “Mauka Mauka”, marketers in India understand the opportunities available through cricket fans, leaving no stone unturned to maximise this potential. Over the years, with the social media revolution exploding the canvas of advertising, this focus has turned even sharper.
In its “Strategy for Global Growth” in 2021, the ICC outlined six primary ambitions, one of which is to “build digital platforms that enable members to create direct relationships with 300 million fans by 2032”. Closer home, JioCinema launched a new feature this IPL — the Hero Cam, a split-screen option that allows fans to keep track of star players (more like fan favourites) like Kohli, Rohit, Mahendra Singh Dhoni and Rishabh Pant during matches. And Dream11, a brand founded upon fan engagement, continuously incorporates fan stand-ins in their ads.
The examples are endless. From franchises like the Chennai Super Kings (CSK) to female communities like leap.club, everyone wants to be on the cricket marketing train. Across categories in India, cricket is the one point of intersection for every brand’s advertising strategy. And with good reason. There is no other sport in India — the fervour for the Olympic Games notwithstanding — that generates as many desires and as much discourse as cricket.
For stakeholders like critics and cricketers, this hunger is influential. The Indian cricket fan is seen as a symbolic representation of popular emotions. Often treated as a homogenous unit, the ‘fan’ or the ‘fanbase’ is a stakeholder in its own right. For instance, the Royal Challengers Bengaluru’s (RCB) trophyless run in the IPL is rendered more emotional (perhaps more meaningful) by their die-hard fanbase, regularly lionised by critics and RCB players alike. Similarly, the Mumbai Indians’ (MI) fans jeering Pandya during IPL 2024 granted legitimacy to the popular sentiment that Rohit had been wronged by his franchise. And, of course, Rohit’s tweet, dedicating the T20 World Cup win to Indian cricket fans, stands as yet another shining example.
For a female cricket fan in India, the obstacles are endless
Access to stadiums is still a problem for female fans, especially when it comes to hygiene issues Getty Images
You would think so much influence would give Indian cricket fans some power. That, unfortunately, is not the case. As a fan-spectator in love with the communal bonding offered by the game, I am consigned to watching matches at home, sometimes with family or friends, but mostly alone. The stadium experience is closed to me. Partly because of the safety nightmares. Partly because of the logistical issues: How soon should I book a ticket? Is it affordable for a first-jobber? How do I reach the stadium? Is there going to be any parking? What all do I need to carry, and will I be allowed to carry it all inside? Are the washrooms usable? Will I be able to get food there? How late will the match end? How will I make my way back home at night? The obstacles are endless. For a sport as strongly supported as cricket, it’s sad that the stadium experience is a luxury available to the rare few.
But I wish the problem for the Indian cricket fans ended there. Even after I have resigned myself to spectating on OTT and found my community on X, the social problem persists: What is my role as an Indian cricket fan? Being a fan-critic in India today is a confusing affair.
On the one hand, everyone is eager to tell us how much our voice matters. The “Thums Up Fan Pulse” tried to exemplify this idea by hosting discussions among cricket experts like Harsha Bhogle, Gautam Gambhir and Yuvraj Singh, with the aim of reflecting fans’ opinions (although inviting fans themselves might have been more effective). Dinesh Karthik, going a few steps further, even credited RCB fans for his selection in the 2022 Men’s T20 World Cup. There’s no dearth of debates around how fans should defend their idols. However, as fans, we know very well our woes and wisdom count for nothing. Our choices for team selections matter only on fantasy apps. Our concerns about the lack of transparency in India’s cricketing structure and administration are always ignored, if not actively suppressed.
On the flip side, when it comes to selections of icons like Kohli and Rohit, as was the case in the recent Men’s T20 World Cup, the credit for their inclusion in the team is frequently attributed to their popularity, not performance. And because popularity is sustained by fans’ sentiments and support, when these icons fail to perform, the blame for their selection is transferred at the feet of fans. Criticising fandoms for their supposedly blind devotion, this transfer also calls out fans for not giving players’ performance enough consideration — as if fan opinions are not actively informed by matches. If my role as an Indian cricket fan is to use my voice, then why am I told at every turn that my opinion is inherently incapable of holding critical value?
It’s a mark of how much Indian cricket means to fans that we stick around, in spite of everything that’s thrown at us
The relationship between Indian cricket fans and the game they are obsessed with often feels like a case of unrequited love Getty Images
It is the farce that pinches. Not the lack of power, but its forced illusion. It is one thing to know you are voiceless. It is another to be granted a stage and a mic and still not be heard. We are repeatedly told that we are an important stakeholder, but where’s the proof?
It’s a mark of how much Indian cricket means to fans that we stick around, in spite of everything that’s thrown at us. Mostly because we can’t imagine our lives without this game. And when days like the RCB women’s team lifting their maiden cup, the 2021 win at Gabba, or June 29, 2024 come around, all this fades into a blurry ache. The hangover is long and beautiful. In the face of unbridled joy, how can anything hurt? Thrill. Bliss. Pride. At the heart of it, it’s these simple things that make me a fan. I love being in love with cricket. But a little reciprocation — is that too much to ask for?
Anushka Bidani is a cultural strategist by day and a cricket enthusiast the rest of the time. You can find her on Instagram @anushkabidani
