Gully cricket in Jalandhar was not a hobby. It was an argument with rules nobody fully agreed on.
The street was too narrow, the balcony was always in play, and one parked scooter could change the entire fielding setup.
Every team had one cheat, one peacemaker, one crybaby, and one guy who owned the bat so he behaved like the board president.
Out decisions were political. Window breaks were diplomatic crises. Lost balls were national emergencies.
If an aunty came out shouting, the whole match paused for ten seconds and then restarted two feet away.
We were sweaty, loud, unreasonable, and completely serious about it.
That was the beauty of it. For one evening, that lane became Eden Gardens and nobody needed convincing.
Tell the adda the most controversial out call your mohalla ever saw.