Music often tells us more about a country than we imagine. Since landing, I’ve been itching to listen to some local sounds. Shamefully, I have managed to do so only very occasionally, though at least it has been on the radio, which brings with it the joyous, unmatched prospect of happening upon something beautiful randomly.

But even these brief encounters have confirmed one thing I kind of knew as soon as I arrived: beneath everything here, there is something, an unheard beat or rhythm. It isn’t obviously detectable or even easy to describe, but as with all good music, you feel it. Some of it comes in the way people talk, the way they move their heads, the way they walk, but it comes through.

As a visitor you are blessed in foreign lands when exploring their music. There is not the trap of cross-genre snobbery that you might fall into in countries where you spend more time. In England, for example, a country with possibly the freshest, most innovative music culture, different genres become different cultures altogether, looking down at each other. Those polished glamsters of house music sneer at the skinny folks of the indie scene, who sneer righteously right back; those rougher-edged ones of jungle, or garage or hip-hop, look down on everyone else. Those into reggae, or dub, mind their own business, the herb traditionally making love not war. So it goes, and often people will not dip into other genres over an entire existence.

But when you’re a stranger somewhere, as I am here, things are different. You don’t choose the music, the music chooses you. So Selaelo Selota chose me a few days back, suddenly, in a taxi, and immediately made all the hairs on my arms stand up. I’m not going to insult locals by writing about him, knowing almost nothing about him as I do, save to say that when you apply jazz to local grooves, the results are lush. His music apparently is influenced by the singing and dancing of workers in gold mines. More will have to be learnt and heard, and long live the internet.

A little prodding and digging reveals that South African music is open this way, to influences from within and outside the continent. Alongside the indigenous scene, many global genres are to be found, given local interpretations: rock, punk, reggae, jazz, soul and hip-hop, lots of hip-hop which is about right for what is currently music’s most global and easily exported phenomenon: it is a monster. Very little of it makes the ICC’s playlist for intervals, wickets and boundaries which is a shame. But they’ve done well to make it at least an eclectic mix of Bollywood, and anything else contemporary and popular.

Pakistan has always expressed itself best, and mixed with the world, musically. Great stuff is bubbling around currently, nowhere better heard than in the Coke Studio sessions, where young, modern, worldlier musicians have melded effortlessly with older, earthier folk and classical musicians. These sounds, and those from South Africa, need to be heard.

	Pakistan fans in Centurion © Getty Images

Of the many things I remember about the 1992 World Cup final, one is the flags that Pakistani fans waved in the MCG crowd. There was the green star and crescent obviously but almost as prominent were the big, broad red, green and white ones of the MQM, a leading, still-young political party in Pakistan, and Karachi in particular, a party supported mainly by Muhajirs: those who had moved to Pakistan on Partition.

Over the years the flag has been seen at various Pakistan games, home and abroad, and I don’t recall seeing anything like it anywhere else: nationalism in sporting contests I can understand but ethnicity? Perhaps in South America at football games, where fans are an equally interesting sociological study, but that’s only a guess.

I’ve always wanted to meet the men who waved those flags and in South Africa I may have my chance. The flags were out at yesterday’s India-Pakistan game in Centurion, though completely overshadowed by those of India and Pakistan. I went down to one of the grass banks just as Suresh Raina was pretending we were all at the IPL.

It was festive, in that kind of all-things-go way of melas. Chants were being traded between sets of supporters, none of them very witty or imaginative, but energetic all. Bollywood songs, classic and new, were being played between overs and boundaries, including that come-hither ditty of love, Asha Bhonsle’s "Chura liya". They also played the oft-overlooked bawdy, big-hall singalong "Jumma Chumma De De", and having registered the bizarreness of that tune at a cricket stadium, I came to the swift conclusion that it was in fact perfect for such things.

I saw the men with the flags at the very front but decided against going, partly intimidated (what to ask them and more importantly how to ask it), partly because it wasn’t the best place for conversation, and partly because there were just too many people between me and them. So I made small talk with some Pakistan fans who were being given unnecessary tension by Raina.

On leaving I bumped into a teenager with the red, green and white and asked him, in a rush, why he had it and not a Pakistan flag. I think he thought I was accusing him and so he said both flags were one and the same thing and that his friend also had a Pakistan flag; they are and they aren’t also. This will have to be pursued.

The game ended with a full-scale pitch invasion, which hasn’t been seen for a few years and was for a while the preserve of Asian fans. Of course it is a serious security concern and all, but it was also, in a selfish way, a bracing spectacle because it is such a liberating, momentous burst of joy: watching India and Pakistan slug it out for seven hours is tense business and release is inevitable.

	Such healthy living can sap the spirit of even the most well-meaning tourist © AFP

I have walked into a country-sized gym. I’ve always considered myself essentially a fit human being, even sporty. I jog, I go to the gym, I play cricket; even if the diet isn’t so well-controlled. But in Johannesburg I am a pygmy blimp of cholesterol and oil, fattened by a lifetime of sloth.

I noticed it first in the South African matches broadcast on TV, in shots of the crowd, a scarily large number of whom looked far too drunk to have ripped, lean biceps and such. Now I see it here, on streets, in stadiums, in malls. People look like they’ve walked fresh out of gyms, glowing, clean, healthy, athletic. Some days everyone looks like a professional sportsperson. It is intimidating, in the way that knowing someone will live longer and healthier than you can be. It is dispiriting also because you know it is a state achieved with great difficulty.

I ask locals about it and they laugh and assure me that there are South Africans unfit enough to think I am fit. I don’t doubt it, but maybe there aren’t as many as in other parts of the world. Some tell me I should go see other areas of Johannesburg. I presume that meant the press box at the Wanderers or Supersport Park, the only public space I have been to so far where I have seen locals without washboard stomachs.

The thing is, why wouldn’t you be? There is such freshness in the air here and if the sky is so blue and the temperature so pleasant (at this time of the year anyway) the only right and proper way to celebrate it, to enjoy it and to fully feel it, is to be outside doing something energetic. The minute you land here you can feel it. It doesn’t seem a constructed thing in any way, or imposed; just a natural, inevitable outcome of the land and climate. Australia I imagine to be much the same.

All this despite the amount of meat that is consumed here; urban Pakistan is big on meat and you can go for days in Lahore and Peshawar without so much as seeing a vegetable. But we’re vegetarians in front of this lot.

	People walk by pillars composing the South African flag on a Johannesburg street © AFP

I received at least 20 personal travel advisories before coming to Johannesburg. Don't get mugged (do I have a choice?), don't be shot (thanks for that one, I'll try my best), don't stick your hand out of a moving car (okay), don't walk around outside after sunset (vampires?), don't go to an ATM alone, don't wear a watch, leather, smart shoes, nice shirts and shoes (am I travelling to the 17th annual Hobo World Summit?).

It's quite a feat because, coming from Karachi, theoretically there aren't many places in the world where you can go to and not feel safe. It got to me initially and my first day here I spent eyeing everyone a little furtively before the guilt sank me: it's a terrible way to be in a new country, especially one where the sky can be as big and as beautiful and as pure as here.

This security thing is a strange business and I'm not sure it's something we'll ever come to terms with. I can live happily in Pakistan with the Taliban and suicide bombings and growing urban crime and yet be nervous coming into Johannesburg. It is not something that has to be understood anymore, it is something that just has to be lived with.

*************

International isolation plays all kinds of tricks with the mind. For various reasons, it hasn't been easy for Pakistanis to travel in recent years, myself included in that honourable and burgeoning list. This is thus my first trip outside South Asia for many years and despite having previously lived abroad, I have felt out of sync.

We say in Pakistan that Karachi is so cosmopolitan, bursting with all kinds of Pakistanis, and in terms of the rest of the country, it is. But compared to Dubai or Johannesburg, Karachi is one person cloned 15 million times over. And to mingle among this mass of culture, dialect, language, colour, to interact, can be disorienting at first if you're not used to it. Slights are seen where none are intended, words are misheard, intent can be misunderstood, gestures and the nuances of those gestures are easily overlooked.

It's like learning how to be a person of the world again and to do this in a city like Johannesburg, which houses three to four entire worlds within one city, is altogether trickier. Globalisation hasn't yet fully come to Pakistan, and much as the country has hurried along over the last 20 years, the world seems still to be passing the country by. It's difficult to capture in a space like this, for it is seen largely in little things, like airports, or customer service at shops, or roads and public transport, or the size of malls and the number of global brands in them, or buying proper, not pirated, CDs, or grand cinemas, or skyscrapers.

On the plane over, two kids sat next to me, whizzing through the touch-screen TV on their seats as if they came out of their mothers' wombs holding just such a contraption. I meanwhile fumbled along, vainly searching for buttons, trying to make sense of all the symbols, amazed at all the options and at how far in-flight entertainment had come. I finally adjusted but until I had I felt like a pensioner, and I'm not even in my mid-30s. More relevantly, I felt as if from another world altogether, where you're lucky if you get a smile on the plane.

I can see why then so many expatriates don't try to overcome this, don't try to adjust, because it isn't easy. It is much easier to seek the comfort of your own and what you know. It is not the way ahead.

Pakistan's cricket team is also coming out of and battling isolation. It will not be easy.

The Indians left in the wee hours of the morning, the New Zealanders departed this morning, and the Sri Lankans have all gone to their respective homes. The hotel lobbies are bereft of any waiting journalists and fans. Conspicuous by their absence is the Indian family of four, always dressed in Sahara India blues, and the fanboy band of five who freaked out at the sight of any big Indian cricketer.

With time on my hand, I decided to go back one final time to Maitland Place, the popular and stand-out road which hosts the three first-class clubs - the Nondescripts Cricket Club, the Colombo Cricket Club, and the Sinhalese Sports Club. Or, as they're commonly known, the triple Cs - NCC, CCC and SSC. The three are unique in that they are all in one line and can be accessed rather easily. There's CCC on the west side of the road, NCC just across it, and SSC a six-hit away.

The time has gone by fast. I had the pleasure of watching a Test at the SSC and a friendly game between Sri Lankan journalists and a television channel team. Today the ground is empty and a few groundstaff are working on the manual scoreboard. The silence is peaceful. They really should put up lights here and host one-dayers. This would be a fantastic ground to hold World Cup matches on.

I quicky dash into the NCC, where the security is far less than at the SSC. What you notice first, is the absence of advertisements. It's a throwback to what I would imagine old county grounds to be like in far corners of England. It reminds me - just a little - of Tunbridge Wells. The archaic old pavillion probably shapes a fair amount of my perception.

The CCC, the oldest of the cricket clubs in Sri Lanka, founded in 1832, used to be known as the Maitland Crescent Ground. It's a small ground; I'm told it can hold about 5,000 spectators. That number seems large to me, given how small the space allotted to fans is. Here too, is a manual scoreboard and a concrete building that houses the media box. There's a row of old trees around one section of the ground, and a verandah from which you can sit and watch cricket. There is no one here today and against the absence of traffic noise, it adds to the charming old-world feel to it.

And so, a 23-day tour has come to a close. It's been fun, getting to speak to Ian Bishop, Ranjit Fernando, and Danny Morrison; interviewing players; watching cricket; making new friends, meeting old ones; dinner at the Gallery Cafe, neighbour to the equally storied Cricket Club Cafe on Queen's Road; a fun pub quiz night with the New Zealanders; mad tuk-tuk rides, equally insane taxi ones. It's been good, Colombo.

	Paul Farbrace's two-year stint as Sri Lanka's assistant coach has come to an end © Cricinfo Ltd

Rare is the occasion that an assistant coach accompanies a captain to a post-match press conference, but the occasion called for it. Paul Farbrace, who worked with Sri Lanka for two years, had just completed his last assignment.

At the presentation ceremony, Farbrace had been given a parting gift and a special mention. He received a loud cheer from spectators and players and got a firm handshake from Kumar Sangakkara and Percy Abeysekara, the die-hard Sri Lankan fan. Standing around as Sangakkara later thanked him for all his efforts, Farbrace was hugged by Tillakaratne Dilshan.

Farbrace, who assisted Trevor Bayliss, played an important role in making Sri Lanka a winning unit in world cricket, as Sangakkara reminded journalists later. “Paul has been very good with the little details, the tips he’s given the fast bowlers on improving their techniques has been important. He’s also helped batsmen score runs and there’s been a real sense of belonging with Paul. He’s been a good guy to have around and it’s sad that he’s leaving us at a critical time but we fully support him in whatever he does. We will really miss him.”

“I think this team has plenty of potential in all formats of the game,” said Farbrace while sitting next to Sangakkara in front of the media. “They’ve accomplished a lot and I’m very proud to have been associated with the Sri Lankan team.

Farbrace will be returning to England to take up the position of head coach of Kent, the county he left two years ago to undertake the Sri Lanka job.

	© Cricinfo Ltd

The sign, wearing the look of a hoarding that’s been through many monsoons and in need of a fresh coat of paint, still stood out: MAX Cricket Academy of Sri Lanka.

Having heard of Sri Lanka's premier grooming centre and seen it on a few between-innings television shows, I was pleased to find out it was in a corner of the R Premadasa Stadium’s compounds. The academy, which started in 2003, has been consistently producing players over the years. The idea, borrowed from the Australian model, was to have an institution which Sri Lanka Cricket (SLC) can use year round for development of talent.

Cricketers at the academy must be between 18-23 years. They are selected by the national selectors and sent here not only to hone and develop their talents, but also taught how to conduct themselves as cricketers. Aside from technical skills, the staff at the academy teaches aspiring cricketers about the benefits of nutrition, diet, etiquette and how to interact with the media. Certain batches have had the opportunity to learn computer studies. The academy also liaises with the national selectors about promising talent.

The premises includes a fully-equipped training center with high-quality turf nets, a gymnasium, seminar rooms and a dormitory.

Jerome Jayaratne, the head coach of the academy, who’s been associated with SLC for the last ten years, works with a staff of 25. He tells me that some of the academy’s graduates include Nuwan Kulasekara, Chamara Kapugedara, Upul Tharanga, Angelo Mathews and Dammika Prasad. The academy also sends staff to clinics across the country, aiming at developing the game at the districts and divisions. While it has no plans at the moment to send players overseas, the academy has hosted batches of youngsters from Nottinghamshire and Durham this year. The former Australia offspinner Ashley Mallett worked here during his stint as spin consultant.

Ishara Amerasinghe, the fast bowler who played one Test and a few ODIs for Sri Lanka, steps out of his car. He's had stints here and watches the Indians practice before going into the academy offices.

As the Indian team went through their net session, it was interesting to watch the local net bowlers helping out in practice. It's not everyday that one gets to bowl to international players. Venkatesh Prasad, India's bowling coach, gathered four enthusiasts and asked them what they bowl. There's a chinaman, a legspinner, and two eager fast bowlers. There is a language barrier but it is not a major hindrance and the bowlers are told to bowl to the Indians. A few try too hard, and are told by Prasad to focus on line and length rather than pace. One legspinner got some treatment from Suresh Raina, who looked very good as he timed the ball sweetly. The young lad grimaced every time Raina hammered him off the front foot.

This can only be a learning curve for the youngsters. Hopefully one day they will hit the big time.

	Rahul Dravid batted without any noticeable flourish, but that sturdiness and approach was unmistakable © AFP

There wasn’t much of a change in mood as the Indian team went about their practice today, given the news that Gautam Gambhir was out of the series. If it had affected them in any way, they didn’t show it. MS Dhoni, at a press conference, said the team had dealt with such losses before and had always stepped up.

Gambhir’s departure has deprived India of a player able to score quickly and bat through the innings. Gambhir is also an excellent player of spin. After Sachin Tendulkar at the top, the man most capable of playing the anchor role is Rahul Dravid.

Dravid was a surprise inclusion in the one-day side, but his need was justified. India’s middle order had their share of problems against the short ball, highlighted by several teams during the ICC World Twenty20, and the selectors called on someone reliable.

Virender Sehwag was not an option before the team was announced, Gambhir was today ruled out. Dravid will bat ahead of Suresh Raina, Yuvraj Singh, MS Dhoni and Yusuf Pathan, a quartet that provides India with big-hitting early, during the middle overs, and late on. On these pitches, against skillful slow bowlers who know more about choking than the average serial killer, whether setting or chasing, you need something special. Thilan Samaraweera showed that.

Dravid has always appeared to construct his innings in a thorough manner. He runs hard between the wickets, he drops the ball gently here and there, and manages to find the boundary ropes with deftness as opposed to power. His two most productive regions to collect boundaries when batting at the end of an innings are the arc between point and gully and the area behind square, just wide of short fine leg. Shots played there are mostly down to astute placement than belligerence.

Today he played shots that appeared like they’d perforate those gaps. Watching a batsman at the nets can offer you insights into his mental and physical state: how did he read the ball, move into position in time? Did he play his shots with ease to wherever he wanted? Today, outdoors at the nets against his bowling team-mates, Dravid batted without any noticeable flourish, but that sturdiness and approach was unmistakable. They are two traits Dravid possesses that can quickly deflate a bowling side.

He was in a rhythm today. It’s only practice, but if you have an eye for the techniques of batting it can be beneficial. Dravid stood still until the bowler delivered; his feet and hands moved with speed and precision. His head was still. Raina and Dinesh Karthik, batting at adjacent nets, moved much more at the crease.

A couple drives off the quick bowlers and two late-cuts from off stump off Amit Mishra – the shots were placed with the accuracy of a surgeon – was ample proof that Dravid is in good nick.

A significant part of being a cricket journalist involves standing around. It can be a pleasure and a pain, depending on how you see it. Today a group of print and electronic media waited two hours for a five-minute spectacle. In the evening, 25 minutes of watching Rahul Dravid seemed too short.

Welcomed by a thunderous rainstorm, the Indian team arrived in Colombo for the Compaq Cup, which they will contest on September 11 and 12 with hopes of making the final. The players reached Sri Lanka in the afternoon and headed straight for the team hotel under strong security cover. Two hours before their arrival, the lobby at the Taj Samudra was abuzz in anticipation. It felt more like a G8 Summit. Rounds of coffee and tea were had. Jokes were cracked. Acquaintances were made and renewed.

The Indians arrived and out came the garlands. Shutters clicked. Cameras panned every inch of the players’ moves. The area between two elevators was chaotic. Hotel staff, guests and traveling fans clamoured to get a look. I was startled when a male fan came running toward his friends and actually jumped up and down showing off the pictures taken on his camera phone. The entire spectacle lasted but five minutes, and we’d been waiting for two hours; some from even before.

You know the Indians are around because security and the number of cameras is tripled. Some 35 journalists applied for media accreditation for a four-game tournament, out of which India are guaranteed only two. In the evening, an optional practice was attended by the entire Indian team and support staff. Where only a few nights ago I had been able to virtually stand a few feet from Shane Bond and watch him bowl, this evening all of us journalists were told to keep our distance.

The players warmed up with fielding drills along the length of the pitches before disbanding into three groups. One bunch did reflex catching along with Gary Kirsten in one net. Robin Singh conducted pick and throw sessions in another. Paddy Upton conducted another drill. After turning a shade of purple trying to blow up an inflatable stretching ball, the trainer worked with Abhishek Nayar.

Two of us journalists strolled along the outer circumference of the R Premadasa Stadium to watch Dravid bat. While Sachin Tendulkar faced Ashish Nehra, Harbhajan Singh, Praveen Kumar and Amit Mishra, and played some rather aggressive shots, Dravid batted for roughly 25 minutes against four local net bowlers. I’ve always enjoyed watching net sessions, because it gives you the ability to watch a batsman in his own zone without the pressure of spectators, cameras and playing in real time. A net session is about the individual. Standing around watching a session doesn’t feel tedious for a second. It can be rather enlightening. Kishore Kumar's tunes, playing from near the players' kitbags, also kept us entertained.

This was Dravid’s first net session with the Indian team on tour. He was far from his best against the four lads. There were plenty of mistimed drives, inside-edged tucks off the pads, cramped pull shots and bottom-handed drives to the off. But there were also fine drives off the front foot and rubber-wrist glances. Dravid didn’t use his feet much to the two slow bowlers, one whose action was a crude mix of Sohail Tanvir and Mushtaq Ahmed. The times he did, the ball was firmly hit and almost always along the ground. The frustration of mistimed shots was evident in how Dravid threw the ball back to the bowlers.

When Tendulkar was finished, Dravid walked over to face the team bowlers. The timing improved. Mishra was twice driven straight, one shot going nearly into the sight screen. Harbhajan was slog-swept with power. Dravid shuffled a lot to Nehra and Praveen, looking a bit twitchy.

Yuvraj Singh, having taken Dravid’s place against the net bowlers, began with pokes and pushes before settling down to show off his power. One mighty heave landed on the roof. Venkatesh Prasad and Nehra, as practice winded down, did laps of the ground. Dravid and Suresh Raina did the same.

It was time to head back and we walked to the media centre unrestricted past the ground, staying just inside the boundary rope. We knew how to keep our distance. Cricket journalism is a job undoubtedly, and it's pretty fulfilling.

	Future perfect for 19-year-old Dinesh Chandimal © Jamie Alter

Dinesh Chandimal has earned quite a reputation and is spoken of highly in discussions about the next generation of Sri Lankan players. A highly talented top-order batsman and wicketkeeper, Chandimal rose into prominence with a string of impressive performances on the local school cricket circuit. Since then he has hardly looked back, having a consistent run with Ananda College, being elevated to Sri Lanka's Under-19 vice-captaincy, and turning out for an SLC Development XI and Sri Lanka A - all before playing his first club match.

Coming from the small coastal town of Ambalangoda to Colombo was a necessary and seminal move forward in Chandimal’s career. Chandimal’s family, victims of the tsunami in 2004, could not sustain his sporting ambitions. He did not belong to a prosperous cricketing school. He had been rejected by Dharmasoka College’s Under-13 team due to an unorthodox bowling action. But he worked hard, kept his spirits high, churned out runs, and his fortunes took an upswing when he was drafted down from Dharmasoka in Ambalangoda to Ananda College for the 2006-07 season.

Suddenly he was in the city, at a prestigious Buddhist college with a rich history of churning out international cricketers: Arjuna Ranatunga; Siddath Wettimuny; Brendon Kuruppu; Marvan Atapattu; Thilan Samaraweera are just some of the names to have come out of Ananda. “It was a big move for me, coming from the outside,” says Chandimal, ”And I was determined to do well.”

He immediately left a mark, starting off with a double hundred in a limited-overs fixture, and then churning out runs in a two-day tournament. Chandimal’s heavy contribution with the bat carried Ananda’s fortunes all season. He lists the achievements bestowed upon him like a ticker tape reel: “I was awarded Schoolboy Cricketer, Best Batsman, Best Fielder, Best Captain … I really enjoyed myself at Ananda College.”

And then came the Under-19 World Cup in Malaysia, where he first came under the international radar. With matches being televised around the world, Chandimal felt that would be a big chance to showcase his ability, but instead he ran into a bad phase. “I didn’t score too many runs there, which was disappointing, but the chance to be at that level was exciting,” he says. “There was the match against Australia in which I didn’t get to do much with the bat, but I took seven dismissals while keeping wickets and that helped us win, and I was adjudged the Man of the Match. It was a very special day. I felt I had achieved something.”

But the biggest opportunity, says Chandimal, was the practice match against the touring New Zealanders in August. Having walked in during the third over, Chandimal soaked up the pressure for a 234-ball 109, adding 127 for the sixth wicket with Dammika Prasad to take the SLC Development XI into the lead.

“Playing with international players, especially some very good bowlers, was a good chance for me,” he says. “There was pressure on me but you need to have it to play well. That century was slow, something I am not naturally prone to doing, but such was the situation. I looked at that match as a stepping stone to bigger things. I had of course watched many of those New Zealanders play on television, then in the nets. It was a big match for me.”

That match was just his second first-class match, his debut coming in the first match against the New Zealanders a week earlier, and his first innings yielded a score of 64. He has joined the Nondescripts Cricket Club, another big step forward in his fledgling career. Chandimal’s heroes are Romesh Kaluwitharana and Kumar Sangakkara, with whom he had the chance to speak and ask questions about the trade they share in common – wicketkeeping. “Sangakkara told me I could come over to join NCC whenever I felt,” he says. “That felt good. He said just some and join us, nobody will ask any questions. He said I am a good talent and that I should make contacts here at NCC. I am looking forward to scoring runs even more now.”

I took out time yesterday to go to the SSC and watch cricket. Well that’s what I'm on tour for, right?

But this wasn’t an international. This was Ten Sports Thunder versus Sri Lankan journalists, and it was like something out of Marcus Berkmann’s Zimmer Men.

The teams have arranged to play on the proper SSC pitch. This isn’t a practice ground. It’s the real deal. There are first-class umpires in proper attire. Players from both sides, in various shapes and sizes, are practicing their batting, bowling and fielding. You can immediately tell who’s played to a certain level and who hasn’t.

As I enter the dressing room, the mood is positively upbeat. The room is strewn with cricket gear. There’s music playing from a docking speaker system. The Ten Sports team is yakking away in clusters, a mile a minute. Some are discussing tactics, other cursing the heat. Danny Morrison, sitting with Hamish, a cameraman, is having a laugh. Gavin is waiting for the arrival of a set of T-shirts. The Mobitel mascot, a rather sad looking excuse for a bunny, is being suited up. Ranil Abeynaike is talking to a few production crew members. Mike Haysman is nowhere to be seen. Tony Greig is scheduled to be here for the post-match formalities. Kumar Dharmasena was supposed to umpire but he's not here.

The Sri Lankan journalists across in the other room look decidedly confident. Chaminda and Manoj, from Cricinfo’s local office, are discussing the batting order. Chaminda says he’ll go at No. 5, with Manoj just ahead. Word on the street is that the journalists have drafted in a few young club players. Hemant, who just landed from Ten’s base in Dubai yesterday, isn’t worried: “They’ve got club players, we’ve got Test players.”

The T-shirts arrive. Immediately, players start dipping in to the pile. Not all of them get the right size. Some are a tight squeeze. Morrison and Hamish keep talking and laughing. Nothing fits Ian Bishop, not even XL, so he decides to stick to what he turned up in. While the others warm-up, stretch, have a knock, listen to music and Morrison’s attempts at singing alongside his favourite song, The Foo Fighters' The Best of You, Bishop sits by himself on the balcony. He’ll much rather be putting on the green.

The two captains return from the toss. “What’re we doing, skip?” yells Hamish, now out on the balcony while Morrison drops his pants and gets into gear. Gavin makes a bowling action with his right arm. “Oh, no” says Bishop, rolling his eyes.

The match, originally slated for 35 overs, has been reduced to 30. A couple players mutter that 20 should be more like it in this heat. The game begins. A mixture of English, Hindi and Reggae music resounds from the stands. The fielders pretty much stand where they feel. Abeynaike stands at slip. Morrison runs in from a few paces and delivers the ball. It’s short of a length outside off stump and cut away for runs. He keeps a pretty tidy line all over. A Sri Lankan kept on stand-by for the Ten Sports team, chatting on his cell phone, turns to Hemant sitting next to me and asks: “What’s the bowler’s name, please?” Classic.

The fielding is a mixed bag, as expected with a side of non-professionals. Sluggish fielders are cheered by their team-mates and colleagues in the stands. Hard-hit interceptions are applauded. The wicketkeeping is pretty good, bar one dropped catch.

Morrison gets a wicket and while his team-mates rush to congratulate him, he stands, arms on knees, looking out of breath. Bishop swings his arms, in a golf-shot motion, time and again. I ask him if he’s going to bowl first change and he shakes his head. “I’m just making up the numbers,” comes his reply. Then he gets down and does some push-ups. Morrison gets another wicket, and his stoop straightens. There’s a spruce in his steps now.

There’s something I read Steve Waugh say about Bishop that I’ve never forgotten. Asked once about the toughest bowlers he faced, Waugh mentioned Bishop. He said that Bishop was capable of bowling six different deliveries in an over, each one in creasing in pace, and if he’d played five deliveries in a row consistently, Bishop would come up with a corker on the sixth.

One firm shot goes down the ground between Morrison at long-on and Bishop at long-off. Four runs. “Cricket in slow motion,” says Mohandas Menon, the statistician. Manoj slashes his second ball, off Morrison, square on the off side for four. “There’s a shot!” says Hemant, clicking away on his camera. Morrison gets another wicket. He bowls very accurately – “tidier than when he played for New Zealand” someone quips. Hemant asks if he wants some water. “Got a Heineken?” is the reply.

The Mobitel bunny takes off his mask and sits down in the stands. It’s hot, can’t blame him. He doesn’t look too thrilled to be here. Methinks some cheerleaders would help. Bishop is coaxed into having a bowl and he gets a wicket almost immediately. His Ten Sports team-mates are all too thrilled with his effort. Bishop can hardly contain his excitement. I’m kidding about that one.

After his over, Bishop slowly walks back to his place at long-off, still looking like he’d rather be driving on the green, and goes back to practicing his golf swing.

I ask Manoj about facing Bishop. “Didn’t run in, machan, just took few steps but when the ball hit the ground it came very fast. Still got some pace. One ball I pressed forward and the ball came off the wicket, zzzzuup, and beat me.”

I hear a voice calling my name and turn around to see Ranjit Fernando. He’s pretty fit for 65 but says it’s been a while since he played. We talk cricket for a while, wicketkeeping in particular, and then walk over to the boundary rope where Morrison is coming off after his spell, looking rather flushed. “I’ve been fresher,” he says and joins us in the dressing room. Back on goes the docking system. I hear shouts outside the pavilion. Another wicket has gone down. Ten Sports aren’t doing too bad at all.

Revived by his mid-day siesta, Morrison goes on to play a key role with the bat as Ten Sports chase down 207 with three wickets in hand. Morrison, promoted as a pinch-hitting opener, clubs 46 in four overs, including four sixes off the opening bowlers. And as each ball is being delivered to him Morrison yells out “Giggedy Gig” (from The Family Guy) before slogging. The Mobitel bunny gathers some steam with a female counterpart. With Gavin providing the anchor’s role with an important unbeaten 60, and Bishop’s 30 steadying the side after they slipped to 130 for 6, Ten Sports complete a very satisfying win after struggling to win matches in Dambulla earlier, during their long stay in Sri Lanka.

Spare a thought for Hamish, though, who drops four catches and makes a silver duck too. Fernando and Trevor Chesterfield hand out the awards after the match, with Morrison fittingly named Man of the Match and Gavin named Best Batsman. Bishop considers making himself available for the West Indies F team that will be going to the Champions Trophy soon.

A rematch is promised next year. I can see Bishop still practicing his golf swing at long-off.

When their job begins, that’s normally the cue for people to change channels, start typing furiously, or go get a coffee and cigarette. Their work is not always applauded but really should be. Rain or shine, their work goes on.

I’m talking about the groundstaff who have been kept busy since 3.15 this afternoon at the R Premadasa Stadium in Colombo. A 20-minute downpour then forced them into action and they’ve been busy since. At 4.54 a three-minute passing shower lashed across the ground as the group of roughly 100 young men was starting to remove covers off the outfield.

This time I tried observing them as attentively as possible. A key part of their job is anticipation and for the most part on this short tour I’ve noticed the groundstaff at venues is very good at knowing when a shower is approaching. This group never for a second lost enthusiasm for what is a high-pressure and strenuous job. Running through rain in slippery conditions dragging heavy covers – 12 of them, estimated at 100 feet by 40 feet - is no easy task but these guys go at wholeheartedly.

They whoop, they shout, they curse, they laugh, they move at great speed lugging those massive tarps. Some fall, some choose to slide across the sheets and into puddles of water, some back-slap, some high-five as one of them trips. Teamwork is so crucial in this job. All the while they are hooted at by two groups of spectators that have assembled hours before the start of play. That’s just not on, and downright disrespectful.

These chaps need a good pat on the back for their efforts. They really do a brilliant job out there, at work against the elements. They get soaked and run the risk of getting ill. Their wages probably aren’t too good either. You rarely hear players or administrators thanking them. The drainage facilities in this part of the world aren’t that good so these chaps, often teenagers, have to be darn good at what they do. Their efforts often ensure minimal or no damage is caused to the ground so play can resume quickly or start on time.

So the next time rain interrupts play, before you switch to MTV or VH1 or put on the kettle, spare a thought for these chaps.

	Almost there! Jesse Ryder's homage to Richard Hadlee nears completion © AFP

Touring in foreign countries where security limits your mobility to hotel premises pushes the thresholds of boredom. Perhaps in homage to New Zealand stars of yesteryear, such as Richard Hadlee and Jeremy Coney, or perhaps because the enchantment of being cooped up in their hotel rooms with PSPs has worn off, Martin Guptill and Jesse Ryder have decided to grow moustaches.

Ryder’s has been slowly gaining growth over the last week or so but Guptill’s is a newer endeavour. The two players were seen showing off their best efforts at the first Twenty20 international.

It reminded me of one of the episodes in Family Guy, where Peter Griffin, the lead character, decides to grow a moustache. I won’t say more …

* * *

The ‘tache fad hasn’t caught on elsewhere in the team, but it does seem like a few others are on a mission to put baseball caps back on the fashion radar.

Waiting for a friend in the lobby of the hotel Cinnamon Grand, I cannot but help notice the various designs of baseball caps being modeled by the players. I chuckle, remembering a college friend once telling me that baseball caps should be banned as a fashion statement.

Each cap on view is a prominent American baseball or basketball team. Nothing to do with cricket, international, domestic or franchise.

Jacob Oram is wearing a blue and white Phillies cap. Shane Bond has on a green and white Boston Celtics cap. Kyle Mills and Daryl Tuffey walk past together in Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees caps. You won’t see that outside Fenway or Yankee Stadium, I’ll tell you. A funky designer white baseball cap sits awkwardly perched atop Martin Guptill’s crop of red hair. Apart from Guptill’s, each of the caps look like they’ve been properly broke in – a very crucial part of looking cool in a baseball cap, as a cousin told me when I was given my first Celtics cap as a child.

A member of New Zealand’s support staff looks out of place with a designer beret on his head. Spike Lee and Steven Spielberg, who pioneered a shift from berets to baseball caps in the 1980s, would have muttered about how passé he was.

Somehow I don’t think this cap fascination is going to catch on with the Sri Lankan cricketers, most of who, when they’re not playing or practicing, slick and gel their hair to perfection.

	Prasanna Jayawardene's white Ssang Yong Rexton © Cricinfo Ltd

When I was younger, I had this image of Aravinda de Silva – ‘Mad Max’ himself, the playboy of Sri Lankan cricket – harrying down one of Colombo’s wide roads in a flashy sports car. Reading and hearing about how fast cars were de Silva’s passion and how women swooned over him, I crafted a picture of a debonair lifestyle, of high-speed cruises down one of Colombo’s wide roads.

I haven’t seen that on either of my tours to Sri Lanka, and probably won’t, given the security and roadblocks. Last summer, while in a tuk-tuk, I was nearly run over by Kumar Sangakkara’s black 4x4 as he tried to dodge another tuk-tuk on his right, on the outskirts of Colombo.

But what is unmistakable is how popular sports cars and SUVs are here in Colombo, and how many Sri Lankan cricketers drive them. I spotted Mahela Jayawardene and his wife Christina in a big Jeep 4x4 and Sanath Jayasuriya in a Ford Explorer. Ajantha Mendis and Muttiah Muralitharan drive SUVs. Chamara Kapugedera got out of one at the SSC. Sachin Tendulkar’s Ferrari fixation is so yesterday. Big is best in Sri Lanka.

And it’s not just cricketers or politicians. I saw two monks get out of a huge Toyota pick-up truck. Monks! Just walking down Galle Road you see great hulking 4x4s and SUVs as frequently as tuk-tuks. Jeep Grand Cherokees, Toyota Fortuners and RAV-4s and Prados, Nissan X-trails, Land Rover Discovery 3s, you name it and Colombo has them.

What I also quickly noticed is how the number of foreign cars outnumbers what you see back in India by far. Ironically, Jeeps are more common in Sri Lanka than the Mahindra jeeps made next door in India. Jeeps are apparently the most sought-after model on the local market, with the Grand Cherokee being the hottest, with a gigantic 4.7 liter engine. I haven’t seen a lot of those tank-like Hummers, all the rage in India despite a massive cost of roughly Rs 70 lakhs when you slap on taxes and import duties, but Sri Lanka is a hotbed for engineering and importing such foreign cars to India. Harbhajan Singh recently got a Hummer from England and had it shipped to Colombo to have it changed from left-hand drive to right-hand drive.

Sri Lanka does not have a local industry to protect, so there is a large consumer market for foreign second-hand cars, the majority of which are Japanese makes. The vehicles are reconditioned in Sri Lanka and sold at used car dealerships and are also imported.

As per Sri Lankan law, there are two types of permits on vehicle imports. The first is a gift permit, under which Sri Lankans who work overseas under valid visas can gift a vehicle to blood relatives and family members. The second is a blue permit, which allows you to bring the vehicle you own overseas. Interestingly, the import tax system in Sri Lanka actually encourages expatriates returning home to import used vehicles as a way to transfer assets under a blue permit.

Sadly, I don’t fall under any of those permits and won’t be affording one of those SUVs anytime soon. For me, it’s the tuk-tuks and plenty of haggling and headshaking. “Hotel Intercontinental, how much?”

	Tillakaratne Dilshan allowed the crowd to vent any pent-up frustrations © Getty Images

There had been a degree of trepidation, for those of us who were not here for the last Twenty20 at the R Premadasa Stadium, as to how security would be handled for tonight’s game. I had read in the web versions of the Island and Daily Mirror, and later been told first hand by local reporters, about just over three weeks ago, policemen baton-charged spectators outside the gates of the venue.

On that unfortunate evening, the main gates had been closed as security guards began individual checks on ticket-holding spectators after forcing them into a small side entrance. As men, women and children were jostled and pinned against steel blockades, anxiety swelled and in a panic police offers manning the gates resorted to assault some spectators.

The issue did not go down well in the local papers. The Daily Mirror accused the security contingent of not only failing to do their job but “allowed arrangements to descend into what has been described as a total shambles”.

On Monday, the day after the Test series finished, Sri Lanka Cricket’s security unit held a press conference at the board headquarters spelling out the security arrangements. The aim was to ensure spectator safety and comfort for the two Twenty20s and the tri-series to be held at the Premadasa. The security and traffic plans were outlined and senior bigwigs from Colombo’s police force vowed not to allow such an incident to happen, while SLC apologised to the crowd after three weeks.

We journalists were advised to follow a specific procedure to reach the Premadasa. I personally had no difficulty reaching the venue, but had decided to arrive well in advance. The difficulty began once I was in sight of my entry gate.

With vehicles not allowed down the road from where I has used to entering last year, I got down at Khettarama Road and decided to walk the few hundred odd meters on foot. I was stopped five times before covering 50 meters with a cordon of police officers requesting to see my media pass. After the sixth check I was directed to cross the road and go show my pass again. Then three spectators and myself were ushered single-file through a metal scaffolding-like check post at the end of which each of us was thoroughly frisked – and I mean thoroughly. I had to open my bag and display all the contents. The laptop was pretty self explanatory but the cordless mouse, audio recorder and ipod needed explaining.

After about 50 meters I was again asked to show my pass. Then I reached the gate through which media and certain ticket holders were allowed. Another walk through scaffolding followed, after which I again had to open my bag. Once past the gate, I had one final hurdle to cross: the security guard at the gate in front of the media enclosure. He didn’t need much convincing that I was part of the media, but refused to let me turn left even when I assured him the press box was to my left. Luckily, a member of Sri Lanka Cricket’s media relations saw me and waved me upstairs.

Police and security personnel, almost as a rule, are seldom polite in this part of the world. Those ordered to man the check posts and every person not in uniform were gruff and unfriendly.

Cricket watching is supposed to be a leisurely experience, but by submitting ticket-holding spectators to near a dozen checks just to reach the stadium is frustrating. It will be all the more uncomfortable when India play here next week and the crowd turnout is way more. It’s also tough to see how World Cup matches will be held here in 2011 with the current situation. When planning for the World Cup, putting in place security measures that don’t leave you feeling violated can be a starting point.

Given the fiasco that happened last time, it’s not easy to see why there isn’t a packed house here this evening. They’d probably much prefer watching it on television than being charged by baton-wielding police and navy officers.

But once they’re inside the ground, the fans who have gathered put up a good show. They make for a fun and colourful audience, in a literal sense. Standing outside the media box and hearing the fans go wild is good fun. Standing, swaying, shouting, blowing para pan trumpets, waving Sri Lankan flags with the trademark lion embossed in the middle and inflatable thingamajigs, dancing the bayla, this crowd has enthused an energy that the New Zealanders could only have envied. And this is in the hour leading up to the toss.

Unlike back in India, the fans don’t have it bad once they’re inside the stadium - water bottles are allowed, food stalls are a brief walk away and there are toilets.

* * *

Move over, Sanath, there’s a new rock star in Sri Lanka. Tillakaratne Dilshan is doing what he does best, batting with characteristic belligerence as he thrashes New Zealand’s new-ball pair all over the ground in Sri Lanka’s reply to target of 142. Shane Bond’s first over for New Zealand in nearly two years goes for 16, Dilshan taking four successive boundaries. The ground is nowhere near its 30,000 capacity but the noise is electric. Then comes the Dilscoop off Kyle Mills and it's delirium in the stands.

Chris, the only touring New Zealand journalist, shakes his head – he wears a look that suggests that for him this was almost as inevitable as the sun setting in the west.

Jayasuriya departs for another poor score but the crowd is hardly bothered. They’re here to see Dilshan stick it to New Zealand. Not happy with just boundaries, he runs like a hare on heroin, pinching manic singles from under the New Zealanders’ noses. Dilli, as he’s called lovingly by the spectators, is going ballistic and the fans are going mad. “Sri Lanka! Sri Lanka! Sixer! Sixer!”

A superb throw from Jesse Ryder at backward point runs out Mahela Jayawardene. There are a few oohs as the big screen confirms the direct hit got Jayawardene short. Then Dilshan hits consecutive fours off Ian Butler, one through point and the other paddled over short fine leg. The crowd goes berserk.

	Shane Bond is just one solid performance away from making the world smile with him © AFP

When visible to the media and fans, Shane Bond has worn the same expression on his face ever since he landed in Colombo from Chennai. It’s been virtually blank, not a trace of excitement or anticipation or nervousness of an international comeback. What thoughts have rattled around his head since he quit the ICL, was handed a New Zealand Cricket contract, was named back in the A and one-day teams, what he felt when he picked up a niggle in India after one over, what the emotions were when he joined up with New Zealand here in Sri Lanka, only Bond knows. And he's hardly shown it.

But tonight I thought I saw him smile.

Bond’s final net session the night before his first international appearance since November 2007 gave little indication to what may be going on inside his head. Bond didn’t speak much as New Zealand began their training under lights at the Premadasa, warming up by himself next to the green railing that runs around the ground. He then joined Daniel Vettori, Jeetan Patel and Daryl Tuffey for leg stretches and conditioning exercises, which included hopping on one leg and working with a fitness ball. A few words were spoken with Vettori and Tuffey, that’s it. The drill went on for about 15 minutes. No real emotion on Bond’s face.

After a couple swigs of water, Bond joined a few others for fielding and catching practice. After a good 25 minutes of hard work, in which he judged and took some skiers, once even tumbling to the ground, Bond again had some water and then slowly made his way to the nets.

He stood with Tuffey and Jacob Oram watching the McCullum brothers, Jesse Ryder and Kyle Mills bat. Then the three men were summoned to the last net on the left, where Ross Taylor was batting. The local net bowlers stepped back as Bond marked out his run-up. “Shane Bond, Shane Bond!” cried a few young boys near the boundary rope. There was no reaction.

Bond took a ball and ran in after Tuffey. The first delivery was a full toss which Taylor worked to the on side. No reaction from Bond. He picked up the ball and slowly walked back to his mark. The next delivery was back of a length and Taylor hammered it off the back foot. Again Bond picked up the ball, shaking his head slightly. The next ball was fuller and Taylor blasted a full-blooded ball past the stump marker. This time Bond nodded, just a slight bobble of the head.

The fourth ball was short and Taylor thrashed a cut. The fifth was on its target, pitching on a good length. Taylor inched forward on the press and then had to go back to adjust and defend, the ball just scooting off the side of the bat. “Good ball, Bondy” said Oram.

As he turned back towards Oram, Bond half smiled. It wasn't a curve to set everything right, but it was a noticeable smile. He'd found a rhythm during his most significant practice session in two years.

Daniel Vettori, when questioned about the importance of Bond’s return, said he just didn’t want undue pressure put on his strike bowler. “He’s been a while out of international cricket and he’ll want to find his way back in and not have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. We’ll let him ease back into it and let him get the results everyone has been accustomed to. On his days he’s one of the best bowlers in the world.”

Kumar Sangakkara was not surprised to see Bond back. “It’s always nice to have such a great player back. All sides look for these kinds of match-winners and Bond is going to be one of them for New Zealand.”

No return to international cricket has been so anticipated since Shane Warne made a comeback after a drugs ban in 2003. After his return, Warne enjoyed three wonderful years in his final chapter. Nobody is sure how to judge Bond’s progress since being recalled, but the hope is that he and fans around the world will be able to smile. If you're going to be a near a television on game day, do try and catch Bond bowling. If he gets a wicket, check out the look on his face.