The most surprising element about the draw made by the Board of Control for Cricket in India was that it was a complete surprise. It attracted the richest and the cutest Indians, but there was not a whisper that they were going to bid. Everyone who is anyone in Indian cricket, from the captain of the team down, writes columns, but none spilt the beans. The fear of getting on BCCI’s wrong side may have played a part in maintaining the secrecy, but there are millions of reporters hunting for a story; it needed only one to splash it before the rest began the chase. Our media are as predatory as Britain’s best. They have only one royal family to hunt. We, being a socialist republic, have hundreds of first families; and we give them importance in inverse proportion to their prominence. The president, for instance, hardly gets in on the 99th page except on Republic Day. The prime minister gets more coverage, but generally only when he is shaking hands with a foreign personage. Hungry hordes of paparazzi feasting on beaming celebrities — the two together give us the most raunchy spectacle in the world. In this melee, to make front-page headlines in every newspaper at the same time was quite an achievement, and that the bumbling BCCI did it was almost a miracle.

Equally surprising was the array of the rich and the famous whom BCCI got to bid. Mukesh Ambani was predictable; all one had to do to get him to bite was hint that estranged brother Anil would steal a march; and Mukesh would, of course, give a bag of gold for the Bombay team, for Bombay was the best breeding ground of cricketers until BCCI’s machinations laid it to earth. Indians learn cricket by playing in lanes and byways; and Bombay’s lanes are best paved. Anil’s bid for Calcutta was a shrewd move, for if Bombay is famous for its cricket players, Calcutta is famous for its spectators. Even in these days of television they go to watch matches; and once there, they keep up a remarkable racket. Not that their attendance is going to make Shah Rukh Khan rich; but he hardly needs to get richer. His smiling presence in the owner’s box at Eden Gardens will make him some more fans in a city that does not watch Hindi movies enough.

Now, I notice that Delhi has recently been breeding good players. It is, after all, India’s richest city. Every one of its public schools has a cricket ground. Money does buy quality — sometimes. I am surprised that none of its tycoons got the Delhi team; the Munjals, for instance, would have prized it. But then that upstart, unknown company called GMR has so much money. It is building airports, for which it had raised billions from private equity. The price of a cricket team would be small change for it. Its bagging Delhi is a sign of the times. Whilst India is growing rich, the riches are being distributed unevenly. The old rich do not have a monopoly of it; there are many Johnny-come-latelies making it to the top. The list of the super-rich will look different in a decade or two. The entrepreneurial Punjabis and Gujaratis will be left behind, and those inconspicuous South Indians, living on rice and rasam, will head the lists.

But then, who knows, they will stop eating rice and rasam, and begin to live it up. To do so, they only have to look at their fellow southerner, Vijay Mallya, who bagged Bangalore. Swimming pools, bathing beauties, fast cars — he has all. All those team owners will have to invent some new marketing tricks to recoup the millions they have sunk; I am looking forward to what Mallya comes up with. If I had the money, I would head for Bangalore for the cricketing experience of my life next May.

I was surprised that Hyderabad went to the Deccan Chronicle group; I would have expected the Eenadu group to have coveted it. A cricket team would have complemented Ramoji Rao’s film studio and media properties. The capture of Madras by Indian Cements was a surprise too. For Madras is south India’s film capital; from Jayalalithaaaa to Kamal Hasan, all the cuties have a house in Madras. But you can never predict the tastes of the rich. Maybe the ones down in Madras are plotting to buy a political party.

Or maybe they are being wise. For the auction was just the beginning. The bidders for the teams have no teams yet; they will have to bid for them. Sachin or Dhoni will not come cheap. And I will not be surprised if less known players come to cost even more. I would place my bet on Ishant Sharma.

But then, I cannot. At last cricket is about to become an unpredictable game, like European football. At last we will have a tournament that the Australians will not win. Finally we are going to get away from the deadening influence of state cricket associations, and get teams that are intended to win, and not just to reward sons of the soil. And all to what purpose? If you want to place a bet on the Calcutta team, you will still have to find your way into the bylanes of Burrabazar and find the bookie with the right political connections not to get arrested.

Indians are natural wagerers; they would come alive if betting were allowed on the Indian Premier League. When I was young, The Illustrated Weekly used to give prizes of a lakh and more to those who could solve its crossword puzzles; in the Sixties it was a lot of money. Till only a decade ago, one could buy lottery tickets. Admittedly, they were a monopoly of the state governments; and some of the lotteries were pretty crooked. But still, a poor man like me could at least dream of millions. And then, suddenly, the kill-joy Central government banned them.

Betting in moderation can give much pleasure. To see how much, one only has to go to one of the few horse races that survive in India; they are the only venues where betting is still allowed by the holy government. It adds spice to life. In Bombay, one has to wear a tie to be admitted to the members’ enclosure; but not to worry — a tie can be hired on the way in. Suitably clad, one goes to a bookie’s booth and places a bet, and then one sits in the stands and waits for the horses to do their thing. Bang goes the gun, and the horses fly round the course.

It is a great pastime for the rich. Vijay Mallya should know; he races horses of his own. I hope he will work his immense charms on the government to allow betting on cricket. I believe he is working to have the ban on drinking on domestic flights removed. But betting on cricket must have higher priority. Domestic flights are too short to savour the pleasures of drinking. Cricket matches are long enough to heighten the suspense.