But as I walked in on April 28, these self-drawn images were severely jolted. The eyes could never get fixed on the green centre. There was,in fact, no green centre. The eyes were perennially roving in the stands, amidst the crowds. The Chinnaswamy Stadium, which refused to change its concrete grey apparel for decades, was now a riot of colours. The pillars were painted gaudy bright. The whole thing looked disfigured. Watching the crowd appeared more important than the game. To add to this was a huge stage erected to allow performances. There was a DJ stationed permanently to juggle with the dance beats. And each time there was a six or a four or a dismissal, the music went blaring and the crowd mindlessly were on its feet. There was no savouring the stroke or the hiss of disappointment over a dismissal. It was like the baraat ina north Indian wedding, you danced and you danced till the groom got down from the horse. Some would disagree with me for offering such a honourable comparison and would draw my attention to the strobe lights. Yes indeed, I forgot, it is unfair to compare it to anorth Indian wedding but it is like a 'live band', a local euphemism that we use for dance bars, where you keep throwing money till the lights are switched off and you see no fleshy contour. After the free beer coupons were over, the bar was still open. There were chicken legs and biryani for company. It was a carnival without catharsis. A simple question: why does one have to be cooped up in a cricket stadium for such licensed revelry and consumption?