Diary: The price I pay for India's World Cup victory

It began a little over a month ago.

The precise date is April 3 - a day after Team India won the World Cup.

One of the boys who started playing in the vacant land opposite to our flat replicated Dhoni's iconic sixer, and the ball fell into our room on the first floor of the apartment.

Awestruck, I looked at the ball.

"Uncle, uncle... could you throw the ball down," the boys shouted.

I watched the Dhonis and Sachins of tomorrow with great respect.

"Sure. I will come down with the ball," I said.

"No uncle, throw it...throw it," they shouted.

No, you and your ball deserve better treatment and I will come downstairs with it, I thought.

With awe and respect, I took the ball from the floor, went downstairs, crossed the road and gave the ball to the young cricketers.

They didn't bother to say 'thank you' and started to play in no time.

The vacant land was previously a minor dump yard. The boys converted it into a playground as soon as the schools were closed for the summer vacation.

Vacant land yields the pride of India..., Lifting sixes from dump yard... possible headlines if one of them joins Team India, I thought.

The days which followed saw the little champions thriving - hitting boundaries and sending occasional sixers to my room.

And I felt proud, thinking I was witnessing the future Team India.

A week later, the first break happened.

The ball broke my window pane.

Was I annoyed? Was I? I don't think so...

Why should I be annoyed?

They offered to replace the window pane.

"No need to replace it. You are the Dhonis and Sachins of tomorrow. How could I take money from you? But be a little careful next time," I just suggested (suggested, not warned).

But they continued to send sixers to my room. And I did continue to be their well-wisher. (Who said I turned impatient at times?)

But those little masters broke yet another window pane.

"Uncle, sorry," they said.

"What sorry? You broke one more window. Didn't I tell you to be a little more careful," I said.

"Sorry, uncle. We will replace it... Please give us the ball...Throw it," they said.

"No. I am not giving you the ball. No playing. No playing, " I said.

"Please uncle... please... please give us the ball. You said we are going to be the future Sachins, Dhonis, Gambhirs and Yuvrajs," one of them said.

I said:

"Oh baby when you talk like that
You make a man go mad
So here it is and take it
And don't bat it back to my room."

(And, of course, their hips didn't lie about their joy when they got the ball back.)

But they kept on sending sixers to my room.

Meanwhile, I learned that they had broken the window panes of two of my neighbours. One of them offered to sponsor rackets, net and shuttle if they switched to badminton. But they never accepted the offer and continued to play cricket.

The other neighbour filed a complaint in the police station. But I don't know how the police reacted to a complaint against the young cricketers.

I despised my second neighbour for filing the complaint against the boys. How could he be such a cheap man!

Scorning my second neighbour, I slept in the afternoon to make up for the sleep I had lost the previous night.

I woke up suddenly.

Something had hit my forehead. Oh! It was the ball again. Yet another despised sixer!

Pain, tears and LOST SLEEP...

Is it the price I am paying for being born in a cricket-loving country?

Where is my neighbour? I would rather join party to his complaint.

Let the police come and chase these young rascals away.

But a second thought...

Should I maintain patience till the schools reopen?

Oh goodness! One more month is left for that!

How will I tackle the young Sachins and Dhonis till then?

More articles by Salil Jose

Read more diaries:

Have a slice of PIE to make love work

My night in a haunted house

'I'm young, arrogant and Indian'