Fractured/Earth

About two years ago, I had sought an appointment with veteran sports reporter Sharda Ugra to discuss a story idea around cricket. In that chat, after answering my questions, she also told me about online gaming apps like Dream11 and My11Circle.

They were getting Indians to wager money on real world matches, promising them huge money if they correctly predicted the 11 players who would make the biggest dent on the match, the works. Thoughts thereafter about the potential size of the market — between cheap cellphones, cheaper data, desperation due to joblessness, the lure of quick money, and the conviction that Indians get cricket — had left me reeling.

A huge story in a country with no dearth of huge stories. And so, work on this proceeded in bits and pieces. And then, the government outlawed online money gaming, the usual avalanche of misinformation — lost GST revenues, lost jobs — began. And it felt like an idea to write about the huge sociological shift triggered by this pointless industry.

“Much has been written about how India’s small businessmen, in the wake of dropping revenues, switched to stock trading in the hope of higher returns. Similarly, crores of Indians (especially those from poorer families), faced with dwindling opportunities but aided by the spread of UPI, cheap smartphones, cheaper data and familiarity with games like cricket, have turned to online real money games.” Along the way, India became a land of speculators.”

This industry, which styles itself as ‘sports’, leaves me marvelling. They are no different from the bankers who inflicted the subprime crisis on Americans — both profited through the immiserisation of others. I am going to leave you with the lyrics to Bruce Springsteen’s “Death To My Hometown”. Nothing sounds as apposite.

Oh, no cannonballs did fly, no rifles cut us down
No bombs fell from the sky, no blood soaked the ground
No powder flash blinded the eye, no deathly thunder sound
But just as sure as the hand of God, they brought death to my hometown
They brought death to my hometown
No shells ripped the evening sky, no cities burning down
No armies stormed the shores for which we’d die
No dictators were crowned
I awoke from a quite night, I never heard a sound
Marauders raided in the dark and brought death to my hometown, buys
Death to my hometown

They destroyed our families’ factories and they took our homes
They left our bodies on the plains, the vultures picked our bones

So listen up, my sonny boy, be ready for when they come
For they’ll be returning sure as the rising sun
Now get yourself a song to sing and sing it ’til you’re done
Yeah, sing it hard and sing it well
Send the robber barons straight to hell
The greedy thieves who came around
And ate the flesh of everything they found
Whose crimes have gone unpunished now
Who walk the streets as free men now

Ah, they brought death to our hometown, boys
Death to our hometown, boys
Death to our hometown, boys
Death to our hometown, whoa!

(The song itself, here).