IN the 49th over of the Australian innings in the sensational Bangalore match of the Titan Cup, Venkatesh Prasad was walking back to the top of his run-up, having just been flicked for four by Ian Healy, when his vice-captain called out to him. Anil Kumble’s question was obvious: why hadn’t Prasad moved long leg squarer if he was going to bowl that line?
"Avanu beda anthane kano (He says there’s no need)," was the baby-faced seamer’s reply, audible on television screens across the subcontinent. Much as Prasad’s response gives a first-hand view of Sachin Tendulkar’s grip on his men, it reveals how Kannada has replaced Hindi—Bambaiyya Hindi at that—as the team’s lingua franca.
"A former cricketer used to say one of the biggest problems while playing Pakistan was they understood Hindi," wrote Chidanand Rajghatta in The Indian Express. "They knew when the Indians would go for the second run ("do, do, do"). But now there’s plenty of nattering in Kannada on the field. Even David Johnson, an Anglo-Indian, is a son of the soil and speaks the language fluently."
The Indians aren’t winning matches nor, certainly, are they running better between the wickets because they use the Prime Minister’s lingo, Javagal Srinath please note. But the change is palpable. "I don’t get Udaya TV (the Kannada satellite channel). But so what, I get ESPN; there’s lots of Kannada on it!" exults B. Sachidanandamurthy, a homesick Kannadiga in Delhi.
For, when Sir Geoffrey Boycott isn’t exhorting batsmen to "roon" and Ian Chappell isn’t enlightening us on what happened in the bar last night, the most-familiar cackle on the sports network is Kannada—as it’s goodly spoken by its denizens in the side.
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