Mohor Chaudhuri at Eden Gardens
From listening on transistor radios to streaming on smartphones, Indian cricket fans have evolved, but their passion has stayed the same. The older generation still speaks about Sunil Gavaskar’s grit and Kapil Dev’s magic – about patience, defence, and five-day battles. Red-ball cricket itself has been transformed to a great extent. Once dominated by sessions of grinding and cautious play, it is now fuelled by fearless stroke-making and relentless pace attacks. Yet, in every era, the stands are full, especially in Kolkata – grandparents explaining field settings, batting, and bowling techniques, and kids flaunting jerseys with the Indian flag painted across their cheeks.
In the sun-drenched stands of Eden Gardens sits 60-year-old Asim Biswas, a retired professional who spent his youth travelling across India for work, yet never missed a cricket match. Now settled in Kolkata, he is here with his wife – two seats, one love: red-ball cricket.
“I’ve been following the game since 1983,” he says, adjusting his faded cap.. “My father introduced me to the game and I fell in love with it since.” His voice instantly softens at the mention of Gavaskar. “Technique like that is extremely rare today,” he says. “He could leave a ball for hours without losing focus.” According to Asim, the old era demanded grit – “More patience, more fitness, and far fewer gimmicks.”
He expressed his dislike for the T20 storm. “Entertainment? Yes. Cricket? No. Red ball is the true test of character. There should be more red ball games in a calendar year, and some more organised at Eden Gardens. Look at the crowd that has been turning up. Nice to see that kids are also as invested as the older generation.”
His eyes light up when he talks about Sourav Ganguly. “Dada changed everything. Made us fearless. You could see the massive shift – chests out, not intimidated anymore.”
Asked about Sachin Tendulkar, he smiles. “People celebrate his white-ball centuries, but in Tests he was a monk,” he says. “Look at his 193 in Leeds, the way he built an innings – no rush, only perfection.
“I once watched India play at Headingley,” he recalls, referring to the 2002 Test. “[Sanjay] Bangar and [Rahul] Dravid batted for hours. England kept pouncing on them, but they didn’t break. That’s red-ball cricket. No shortcuts. Pure patience, calmness of mind. Where do you find that in today’s world?” For him, the five-day format isn’t just a game. It’s legacy.
Just a few rows ahead, the future of Indian fandom sits bundled in oversized jerseys – three kids, no older than 12, glued to every delivery. All of them wearing Shubman Gill T-shirts, despite knowing that they won’t see their favourite on the field today. “We miss Gill! Why did he have to be ruled out today?” one complains, half-sulking, half-smiling. But the moment Jasprit Bumrah walks to his mark, their energy comes forth. “Bumrahr aura e alada (Bumrah screams aura),” one whispers reverently in Bengali. “O ball koruk, field koruk, mathe haatuk- shetai screams aura (Doesn’t matter if he’s bowling, fielding or just walking on the field, Bumrah is equal to aura)!”
Mohammed Siraj’s fiery spell turns them into their own commentary panel – “DSP! Miyan bhai!” and they start singing the Miyan Bhai anthem as he was walking back to the dressing room.
The elder sister sitting next to them laughs and reminds them how she started watching Test cricket during Kohli’s captaincy. “Unapologetic aggression and fearless intent,” she says. “That era changed everything.” The boys play at a local club, dreaming of emulating Virat’s cover drive and Gill’s short-arm jab. During overs, they were seen video-calling parents, proudly showing the field. Phones flash – pictures, reels, little commentary videos to be uploaded on Instagram. Yet, for hours, they barely move, eyes locked on the red ball, but discussing the game among themselves, dropping important insights.
In a world of shrinking attention spans and aimless scrolling, it is heartwarming to see children fall in love with the slow-burn magic of Test cricket. From Asim’s nostalgia to these kids’ electric enthusiasm, one truth becomes evident: formats may evolve, but the timeless charm of the red ball still unites generations.
