The Ground Beneath Wankhede Trembles

March 26, 2010 – 11:30 AMLocation: Varsha Bungalow, Official Residence of Maharashtra CM – Aditya Pratap

The sun glared down on the Arabian Sea, its reflection rippling off the water like molten silver. From the wide windows of Varsha Bungalow, Aditya Pratap could see the hazy outline of the coast stretching far beyond Marine Drive. The sea breeze did little to cut the rising heat—or the tension that hung in his office.

The election victories were still fresh, but Aditya knew victory only made the knives sharper. Every step BVM took now was scrutinized by both allies and enemies, each waiting for the first crack to appear. Today, however, was not about political rivalry. It was about a stadium—and a battle between the past and the future.

The secure landline rang, cutting through his thoughts. Aditya leaned back in his chair, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief before picking up.

"Aditya speaking."

The voice on the other end was familiar—calm, precise, leaving no space for unnecessary words. Aritra Naskar.

"Aditya, I assume you've reviewed the Wankhede file."

Aditya's gaze drifted to the thick folder lying on his desk, the proposal detailing the temporary repurposing of Wankhede Stadium for the upcoming Stellar Gaming World Finals. Even though it was marked 'confidential,' leaks had already stirred murmurs among the state's political and corporate circles.

"Yes," Aditya replied. "I've read it."

"Good," Aritra said. "The structural plans have been refined. No permanent changes to the stadium. The cricket pitch, stands, and historic plaques will remain untouched. We need the stage, seating extensions, and immersive tech displays installed in a way that preserves the core architecture."

Aditya ran a finger along the folder's edge. "That's manageable on paper. But you know what's already happening outside this office."

"Sentiment-driven outrage," Aritra replied, unbothered. "It's expected."

"It's not just old fans," Aditya said. "The United Progress Front (UPF) is already fueling the narrative that BVM is 'selling the soul of cricket' to some shadow corporation. Their Maharashtra leader, Ramesh Kulkarni, is already holding press conferences calling it a betrayal."

"That's fine," Aritra said. "Let him speak."

Aditya stood, pacing toward the window. "They're also tying it to our industrial policies. Claiming BVM's development push is squeezing out culture."

Aritra's response came instantly. "That's because they have nothing else. Maharashtra's industrial revival under BVM has already brought more investment in eight months than UPF attracted in a decade. They're clinging to nostalgia because they have no economic argument."

Aditya exhaled. "So how do you want me to handle the public front?"

"Shift the focus," Aritra said. "Emphasize the temporary nature. Stress that revenue from this event will directly fund grassroots cricket programs across rural Maharashtra. That money will build new practice grounds, new stadiums, upgrade school cricket programs, and sponsor young athletes."

Aditya nodded. "We'll draft that statement today."

"One more thing," Aritra added, his tone flattening. "I want you to coordinate with the Home Department and Mumbai Police. Security has to be tight—but invisible. The players, the spectators, the sponsors—they need to feel excitement, not suffocation."

"I'll personally oversee it," Aditya assured him.

There was a brief silence before Aritra spoke again. "This isn't just a tournament, Aditya. It's the first time the world will see what we're really building."

And just like that, the call ended.

Aditya stood for a moment, phone still in his hand, before placing it down and turning back to his desk.

March 26, 2010 – 3:00 PMLocation: Mumbai Cricket Association Office – Special Press Briefing

The conference room was packed beyond capacity. Reporters from every major news outlet squeezed into the narrow space, cameras crowding the back wall, their lenses trained on the small stage where the senior officials of the Mumbai Cricket Association sat. The air was stifling, not just from heat, but from tension.

Seated at the center was Ramesh Kulkarni, former UPF minister and now the state president of the Mumbai chapter. His face, weathered by decades in politics, was a picture of controlled outrage.

"Wankhede is not just a stadium," Kulkarni said, voice deliberately slow. "It's the temple where the gods of Indian cricket have walked. It is sacred ground to millions of fans. And now, under this so-called progressive administration, it is being handed over for a video game tournament."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the room.

"Let me be clear," Kulkarni continued. "This is not about progress. This is not about technology. This is about arrogance. About a party that has been in power for less than a year, already deciding that the pride of our cricketing heritage can be rented out like some roadside wedding hall."

A younger reporter from Nation First TV raised his hand. "But sir, the government's statement mentions that the revenue from this event will fund cricket academies across rural Maharashtra. Isn't that beneficial in the long run?"

Kulkarni's smile was thin. "And do you believe them? This is the same administration that refuses to disclose who even owns Stellar Gaming. We are being asked to trust faceless corporations, while our heritage is reduced to a backdrop for some foreign entertainment spectacle."

March 26, 2010 – 7:30 PMLocation: Bharat News Network (BNN) – Primetime Panel Debate

The studio was ablaze with energy. The debate had already descended into chaos, the split screen showing four panelists all trying to shout over each other. The host, Rajiv Khanna, leaned back, letting the conflict fuel the ratings.

"This isn't about cricket anymore!" thundered Ashok Patil, senior PDP spokesperson. "This is about cultural integrity! BVM is turning Maharashtra's pride into a tech circus!"

On the opposite side of the screen, Shalini Deshmukh, BVM's media face, smiled calmly. "Mr. Patil, with all due respect, you're conveniently ignoring the fact that Stellar Gaming is registered in India, paying Indian taxes, employing Indian talent. This isn't foreign exploitation. It's Indian innovation."

Patil jabbed a finger at the camera. "But who owns Stellar? Why won't your party disclose that?"

"We have already stated," Shalini said smoothly, "Stellar Gaming is a fully registered subsidiary of Echelon Holdings. Its ownership is fully legal under Indian corporate law."

"That doesn't answer anything!" Patil shouted. "Who controls Echelon?"

Shalini's smile was razor-sharp. "If you want to discuss shell companies, Mr. Patil, perhaps we can start with PDP's offshore accounts. Would you like to go there?"

Rajiv Khanna's grin widened as the debate spiraled. Ratings were guaranteed.

March 26, 2010 – 11:45 PMLocation: Aritra's Villa, Jadavpur

The lights in the living room were dimmed, the faint hum of the television filling the space as Aritra leaned back into his armchair. The debates, the accusations, the outrage — it was all playing out exactly as he expected.

Katherine was already asleep, unaware of the firestorm her husband was calmly orchestrating from thousands of kilometers away.

On the television, the split screen shifted to a live poll:Do you support BVM's decision to temporarily convert Wankhede Stadium for the Stellar Gaming World Finals?

Yes: 43%No: 52%Undecided: 5%

Aritra's fingers tapped slowly against the armrest. The tide hadn't turned yet. But it would. Not through press releases, but through sheer spectacle.

Soon, even the staunchest cricket purists would be left with nothing to say — because what they were about to witness had never happened before.

He glanced at his phone, where Lumen's latest intelligence briefing sat unopened.

Tomorrow, the noise would grow louder. And then it would die — drowned beneath the weight of awe.

March 27, 2010 – 8:30 AMLocation: Outside Wankhede Stadium, Mumbai

The morning air was thick with the smell of damp earth and street chai as the first wave of protesters gathered outside the iconic Wankhede Stadium. From college students holding placards to middle-aged cricket club members in crisp white jerseys, the crowd was a strange mix of nostalgia and organized outrage.

The banners weren't subtle."Wankhede for Cricket, Not Cartoons!""Don't Sell Our Sacred Ground for Video Games!"

The protest was heavily covered by local news channels, each network finding their preferred angle — some leaned into the generational divide, others framed it as an attack on Indian culture by corporate greed.

A TV9 reporter cornered a mustachioed man in his late fifties, still wearing his tattered club cricket cap."This ground gave us legends," the man said, voice trembling with emotion. "Gavaskar, Kapil, and now Sachin… they all walked this pitch. And now they want to turn it into a playground for joystick-wielding kids?"

His voice cracked, and the camera panned upward to show the blue sky over Wankhede, as if the gods of cricket themselves were watching.

March 27, 2010 – 10:00 AMLocation: Star Sports Studio, Mumbai

Inside the sleek glass-walled studio, a special panel had been hastily assembled to discuss the brewing controversy. The lineup included cricketing stalwarts Harsha Bhogle, Ravi Shastri, and VVS Laxman, all seated uncomfortably across from a younger tech journalist trying to defend the event.

The segment started civil, but cracks appeared almost immediately.

"This isn't just about Wankhede," Harsha said, his tone measured but sharp. "This is about what we value as a sporting nation. Are we really at the point where cricket — our national passion — can be pushed aside for a video game?"

The tech journalist, a nervous woman in her late twenties, adjusted her headset. "With all due respect, sir, this isn't just a game. WarFall is the most advanced multiplayer experience in the world. It's blending technology, strategy, and physical skill through augmented reality. It's the future."

"Future?" Shastri leaned forward, his voice cutting through the studio like a bouncer. "The future can wait until we're done with the present. This ground has seen India lift trophies. It's seen thousands of kids dream about their first cover drive. You can't replace that with pixels."

VVS Laxman, ever the diplomat, tried to play mediator."But can't they coexist? Cricket isn't dying. It's evolving. Maybe there's room for both."

Harsha shook his head. "Not if they trample the legacy to make room."

March 27, 2010 – 11:30 AMLocation: United Progress Front (UPF) State Headquarters, Nariman Point

The conference room was crowded, cigarette smoke curling upward to mingle with the tension hanging in the air. Ramesh Kulkarni, UPF's Maharashtra chief, stood at the head of the table, his knuckles resting on the table, knuckles white from the pressure.

"We hit a nerve," Kulkarni said, voice low but satisfied. "The protest is growing faster than expected. We've already secured statements from over thirty cricket clubs."

Beside him, Vinayak Mehra, the media tycoon funding much of UPF's state campaigns, steepled his fingers, his gold watch glinting under the fluorescent light."Good. But this isn't just about sentiment. We need pressure from above."

Kulkarni frowned. "Meaning?"

Mehra slid a folder across the table, filled with discreet memos from real estate moguls, sports equipment manufacturers, and beverage companies — all of whom had financial stakes in cricket remaining the dominant cultural force.

"If gaming takes over even a fraction of the sponsorship deals cricket enjoys, those companies bleed. They want us to make sure that doesn't happen."

March 27, 2010 – 1:00 PMLocation: Cricket Association of Mumbai (CAM) Emergency Meeting Room

The air inside the boardroom was suffocating. Every member of CAM, from the youngest administrator to the aging secretary who'd been around since the 70s, sat hunched over the polished wooden table.

"We can't afford to lose this ground," said Ashok Ranade, CAM's vice president. "Wankhede is more than a stadium — it's a symbol."

"But the revenue—" one of the younger administrators began, only to be cut off by Ranade's palm slamming onto the table."I don't give a damn about revenue! This is about identity."

"We've already signed the agreement," someone muttered from the corner. "Breaking it would cost us millions."

Ranade's eyes darkened. "Then find a loophole."

March 27, 2010 – 3:00 PMLocation: Echelon Holdings Private Boardroom, Salt Lake City, Kolkata

Aritra sat in his dimly lit office, screens surrounding him like a digital cocoon. On one, the live protest feed from Wankhede. On another, the Star Sports panel still debating whether eSports belonged in India's holy temple of cricket.

Katherine, curled up with a book on the couch, glanced at him occasionally, sensing the tension in his silence but not understanding it.

"Lumen," Aritra murmured. "Track sentiment across cricket fan groups."

"Analyzing now," the AI responded. "Nostalgia-driven outrage spiking. Predicting coordinated backlash from traditional cricket institutions."

Aritra's fingers drummed on the table, gaze unfocused. He knew this was coming — blending eSports with mainstream culture was always going to draw blood from the old guard.

But they were too late. The contracts were signed. The infrastructure was being installed.

And the world was watching.

March 27, 2010 – 5:45 PMLocation: Wankhede Internal Inspection Room

The steel beams for the augmented reality stage were already arriving, disguised as equipment for a "sports technology demonstration." Engineers moved quietly, overseen by a small team directly under Stellar Gaming's command.

In the corner, Vikram — CEO of Stellar Gaming — checked a private channel on his Omnilink feed. Protesters gathered outside, oblivious to how far along the transformation already was.

They weren't stopping anything.

March 27, 2010 – 11:00 PMLocation: Aritra's Villa, Jadavpur

The sun had set, casting long shadows across the balcony where Aritra stood, watching the faint glow of streetlights flicker in the distance.

This wasn't about gaming or cricket. It was about control. About forcing open the doors the old elite had kept locked for decades.

Katherine's voice drifted from the living room. "Are you coming to bed?"

"In a bit," Aritra replied softly.

Because there was no turning back.

March 28, 2010 – 10:00 AMLocation: Wankhede Stadium Perimeter, Mumbai

The crowd had doubled overnight. The morning sun baked down on hastily assembled tents and hand-painted banners fluttering in the sticky sea breeze. Protesters lined the barricades, chanting slogans that blended nostalgia with anger.

"Save Wankhede!""Gaming Isn't Our Culture!""Cricket Lives Here!"

Journalists wove between the demonstrators, some more interested in catching sweat-drenched soundbites than understanding the root of the unrest. Cameras panned over retired club players, cricket school coaches, even parents clutching their young children in crisp white jerseys — kids too young to understand why they were there, but clutching signs handed to them by passionate elders.

The heart of the anger was simple — Wankhede wasn't just a stadium. It was memory, heritage, and a monument to every aspiring cricketer who ever dreamed of stepping onto its pitch.

But anger alone wasn't enough to turn the tide.

March 28, 2010 – 11:45 AMLocation: Inside a Colaba Five-Star Hotel – Private Meeting Room

The windows were tinted, keeping the room shielded from the harsh Mumbai light, but it couldn't shield the tension crackling in the air.

Seated around the polished mahogany table were some of the most recognizable faces in Indian cricket — Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, and Anil Kumble, alongside Sharad Deshmukh, the president of the Cricket Association of Mumbai (CAM), and a rotating cast of corporate sponsors who had built their brands around cricket's iron grip on the Indian psyche.

"We need a united front," Deshmukh began, wiping sweat from his brow. "This is bigger than Wankhede. If this… thing… happens, we're opening the floodgates for video games to hijack every stadium in the country."

Sachin's expression was carefully neutral, but there was tension in the slight crease between his brows. "It's not that simple. If the state government has already approved it, can we even legally stop it?"

"That's the problem," Deshmukh growled. "The contract was signed under the table — no public consultation, no input from CAM. They bypassed every established protocol."

Rahul Dravid leaned forward, his fingers clasped together, voice calm but firm. "Legal challenges aside, the optics matter. If we, the cricketers, speak out, people will listen. But… are we sure that's the right move?"

The room fell silent for a moment.

Anil Kumble tapped a pen against the table. "It's not just about games. It's about money. If this event succeeds, sponsors will see esports as a competitor to cricket. Broadcasting rights, endorsement deals — everything could shift."

One of the corporate representatives, a man with a diamond-studded Rolex and a permanent sneer, leaned back in his chair. "It's already started. Three major FMCG brands have asked for revised contracts — they want clauses that allow esports events alongside cricket promotions. This isn't theory anymore."

Sachin's jaw tightened. He didn't like politics. Never had. But this wasn't just about preserving tradition — this was about protecting the future of every aspiring player who still saw cricket as their only path to greatness.

"We'll issue a joint statement," he said quietly. "Not against gaming — but emphasizing that cricket grounds should be for cricket first."

Deshmukh nodded, but there was a gleam in his eye — he knew how to twist a neutral statement into a weapon.

March 28, 2010 – 3:15 PMLocation: Omnilink Headquarters – Monitoring Room, Salt Lake, Kolkata

Aritra sat cross-legged in his private viewing chamber, three screens flickering with simultaneous feeds — one showing the swelling protests outside Wankhede, another the leaked minutes from the CAM meeting, and the third tracking sentiment trends across social media.

Katherine dozed on the couch nearby, oblivious to the scale of what was unfolding.

"Lumen," Aritra said quietly, his fingers steepled. "What's the projection if Tendulkar and the others release a joint statement?"

Lumen's voice, smooth and clinical, filled the room."Based on current sentiment modeling, their influence will trigger a 9% spike in negative perception towards the event. However, due to generational divides and the current popularity surge of WarFall, this effect will decay by 4% within 48 hours."

Aritra exhaled slowly, his eyes flicking to the sentiment graph. The older generation was fighting to hold onto the past, but momentum was an unforgiving force.

"Prepare Omnilink influencers," Aritra said. "The second their statement drops, I want controlled counter-narratives. Focus on innovation, economic growth, and the global spotlight this event brings to India."

"Understood."

His fingers tapped the armrest, mind already moving ten steps ahead.

They could scream about tradition all they wanted. But traditions didn't pay bills. And the future wasn't asking for permission.

March 28, 2010 – 6:30 PMLocation: United Progress Front (UPF) State Headquarters, Nariman Point

The room was dark, lit only by the glow of a projector screen showing a live drone feed over Wankhede. Ramesh Kulkarni stood at the front, arms crossed, flanked by Vinayak Mehra and half a dozen UPF strategists.

"The cricketers are onboard," Kulkarni said. "Their statement will drop tomorrow morning."

Mehra's smile was thin. "That's not enough. We need disruption. Physical disruption."

A younger strategist hesitated. "Violence?"

"No," Mehra said smoothly. "Controlled chaos. Human chains blocking entrances. Sit-in protests that force security intervention. Old women crying for the cameras."

Kulkarni frowned. "That'll backfire if it looks staged."

"It won't be staged," Mehra said. "We'll mix paid demonstrators with real cricket club members. Blur the line so even they don't know who's genuine."

Kulkarni's stomach churned slightly. The game had changed, but the old rules — deceit, manipulation, emotional warfare — still worked.