SIGHT & SOUND
Wimbledon all the way
Amita Malik

I make no apologies for watching tennis more than anything else this past week. Wimbledon is the top of the pops as far as tennis is concerned. Not only for its strawberries and cream, washed down with champagne, but for its unique traditional atmosphere, which only television can convey so charmingly.

The lineswomen in long skirts, the men bowing and the women players curtseying to royalty. The lovely green lawns, in two stripes of green, the women being described as Miss or Mrs and never just by their surname. For this columnist, it is a family game. One of my brothers-in-law even reached the last eight at Wimbledon. And so addicted is the family to tennis that one of my younger brothers, when five years old, wrote a memorable couplet about it: "Do you play tennis? The Wimbledon is played in Venice." Well, not in Venice, but it is, in spite of being an elite sport, watched by millions around the world. In India, however, it is not as populist as cricket. Thanks to the TV, it has brought into our homes a close glimpse of this fascinating game with its endless nuances of character, style and sportsmanship.

Most relevantly for this column, it has introduced us to the art of sports commentary. When we flinch at DD’s loud commentators, especially in Hindi, shouting non-stop and making every anti-climax into a climax, it is a joy to listen to the commentators from several nations who cover tennis. Some of them speak almost in a quiet whisper and never interrupt the game for superfluous descriptions of what you can see. There is the cheerful, expert commentary by our own Vijay Amritraj, there are those staid British voices, men and women, but right on the ball.

And, this year we had the wonderful experiment of those mortal erstwhile enemies on the court, Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe in the same commentator’s box. Connors left after a time and they later stuck to different boxes. McEnroe brought to his commentary the same nasty style as he did on the tennis courts. Poor Tim Henman, struggling for years to get to the finals, is someone we all joke about as "Tiger Tim", but with affection. Not McEnroe. A typical comment:

"Today is the longest day in the year. It certainly is for Tim Henman". Well, McEnroe will be McEnroe. A last thought. All this TV hype is a great strain on Sania Mirza. While we all wish her well, let us not overwhelm the girl with too high expectations and make her into the Tim Henman of India.

I have been watching the serial Sarrkkar for some time now, and noted its spelling, no doubt in deference to Shobhaa De, who has also added an extra A to her name. And also saw the carefully planted denials that it has anything to do with Indira Gandhi and her family. All that is TRP stuff. But what disappoints me is the central character Divya Seth, with white streak in the hair and a brisk upright walk and all. All that Seth does is make too much use of her eyes, which are so sternly and constantly fixed that they look in danger of popping out of her head. Her expressions are fixed and so is her speech. No, I have tried hard, and am only taking an academic interest and cannot get involved.

Coming to Astitva, Ek Prem Kahani, it has done the unforgivable. It has changed actors in midstream. Siddhanth, the lean and convincing doctor so far, has been replaced by a baby face who can neither act nor look like a doctor. He lacks both credibility and talent. And Jassi continues going down the romantic downhill.

Tailpiece: That ugly ad about a man who, on his wedding night, gets entangled in his undergarments and terrifies his waiting bride by brandishing a murderous pair of scissors to free himself is in very bad taste. What relevance it has in the middle of a Wimbledon tennis commentary escapes me. It has upset many tennis lovers and I am truly surprised at Star Sports’ lack of judgement.