Dancing into the night

Even when the cricket team loses, the festivities and celebrations do not stop in Bangladesh © Cricinfo Ltd.

No matter what criticism comes Bangladesh’s way after each new whitewashed series, it rarely takes long for the singing and dancing to resume. In the case of their 45-run defeat in Chittagong on Friday, their bouncebackability was so instantaneous, it was already underway before the presentation ceremony had concluded.

As the ever-enthusiastic crowds drained into the fields behind the stands, and the press corps trooped off to conduct the post-match briefing, the sounds of nascent revelry began to float out from the village that backs onto the ground. And as dusk kicked in, the atmosphere kicked off, with all manner of excitement wafting up from an otherwise sleepy community.

The village of Malpara lies a half-hour drive from the centre of town, across two railway lines and past a rickshaw graveyard, and near an expanse of scrap-metal merchants where the spoils of Chittagong’s famous ship-breaking yards are hammered back into shape. It was a quiet fishing settlement long before the Bangladesh Cricket Board parked the Chittagong Divisional Stadium on its doorstep, but happily for the villagers, the impact of the intrusion seems, for the most part, to have been beneficial.

During the ground’s construction back in 2003, many of the local women earned extra income by chiselling bricks while sat beneath flimsy umbrellas, and if that sounds like a hardship then it at least helped establish a firm link with the community. Besides, you’d be hard-pressed to find any children in the neighbourhood whose lives haven’t been enriched by the thrill of big-match cricket on their doorstep.

Just as was the case back then, the villagers’ cows still shelter beneath the stands at night, and occasionally find their way through an unlocked gate, while during the heat of the day, the scrubby grass is taken over by an expanse of drying nets, dotted with contemplative fishermen armed with threads and needles. The Bay of Bengal lies barely a kilometre to the west, where fragile sampans run daily jousts with the mighty freighters of Bangladesh’s busiest port.

But tonight Malpara had an atmosphere that was distinctly out of the ordinary. The flickering glow of bonfires was visible against the night sky, while a row of market stalls had been set up along the perimeter wall, selling trinkets and jewellry, popguns and dolls, and great piles of sticky teeth-extracting sweets and cakes.

It turned out that the villagers were preparing for the spring festival of Holi, the one which involves coloured powder being flung in all directions, and which basically amounts to a religiously sanctioned riot. Bangladeshi culture tends towards the secular, so this is a party for all creeds to enjoy. Aklas, the press box’s irrepressible tea-boy (whose eye for a thirsty hack is quite possibly without equal), sensed my interest in what was going on, and took it upon himself to organise an impromptu tour. The net result was predictably chaotic.

Off we wandered through the narrow and teeming streets, where my fascination and bewilderment was at the very least matched by that of the startled locals, who hadn't bargained for a gangling gora in their midst. Feeling much as I’d imagine Prince Charles to feel in such a situation, I found myself stopping at random stalls along the way, examining the wares on display (including three exceptionally tempting vats of curry), and gesturing “And what do you do?” style questions at their owners.

On a quieter evening, there might have been time to drink in the atmosphere, but tonight that wasn’t an option. Pandemonium greeted my every step, as I was swept through the streets on a tide of revellers, past doorways and alleyways and round and round the houses, before stopping finally at the focal point of the celebrations, the village temple, where a troupe of musicians were playing their drums and flutes and cymbals, with the womenfolk sat at the entrance in their finest saris, soaking up the scene.

A few more rapid introductions later, and off I floated in the other direction, with Aklas leading a merry march, and a train of children in our wake, bouncing off the stalls in over-excitement. And then, within a matter of seconds, I was back where I'd started. In the air-conditioned sanctuary of the press box, reunited with my laptop, and surrounded once again by furrow-browed hacks with their deadlines looming. Back in a world far removed from the one I'd just left behind.