Shah Rukh Khan and Priyanka Chopra at one of the KKR matches at Eden

I am looking for a partner to launch an IPL team in Bangladesh. We’ll call them ‘Bengal’s Pride’ to earn the instant affinity of not just Bangladesh’s 150 million cricket-mad citizens, but the Bengali diaspora around the world. But before we go into business together, I should tell you how I fell in love with cricket and decided to make my fortune in IPL Twenty20.

It wasn’t the obvious route. After all, I was born in Buffalo, New York, where baseball, “America’s pastime”, takes a back seat to ice hockey, tackle football and even lacrosse (the truly all-American sport). The US diplomatic service has brought me to four Commonwealth countries, but still I never took a shine to cricket. Sure, I was impressed by the game’s well-steeped traditions and its enduring popularity in an age that doesn’t take kindly to lengthy contests of strategy and plodding, plotting play. As someone who believes sports analogies are the best ways to illustrate life’s idiosyncrasies, I was drawn to cricket’s treasure trove of colourful terms, true gems like “googly” and “golden duck”, but never sucked in.

Even as a wave of World Cup fever swept across the subcontinent, I remained largely uninterested, except when I felt a twinge of Calcutta pride when my city was denied the honour of hosting (and the world denied the pleasure of watching) India play England in Eden Gardens. Even I could not ignore the excitement before the final match, though, so I tuned in from home, though more out of curiosity than any genuine interest. When Sri Lanka closed out its innings with a strong finish, I wondered how Sachin and the boys would respond. I imagined the worst after the golden-haired “Slinga Malinga” took two early wickets — and with them my faith in India’s chances. But my despair turned to amazement, and then to joy, as Dhoni and Gambhir resuscitated a nation’s hopes with their slow, steady and supremely confident return. By the time Dhoni smashed his six into the Mumbai sky, I was dancing with the same passion as Indian fans from Hooghly to Haryana.

If the World Cup final sparked my interest in cricket, the energy of the IPL Twenty20 ignited a full-blown passion. The sense of adventure began at the beginning, when I purchased my tickets under the stands of the football stadium on Red Road. The wall was painted with the brilliant purple and gold of the Kolkata Knight Riders, but the tiny ticket windows — waist-high — made me think I was buying something more illicit than cricket tickets.

And the amazement continued as I reached the venue. I knew I was in for a special experience when I saw the police — wearing name tags that proclaimed “Kolkata Police. How can I help?” — acting as paragons of public service. More than once, I overheard a khaki-clad cop politely direct the crowd: “Excuse me, this way please, sir.”

But the best was yet to come. The facility was so user-friendly that we found our seats in seconds and were quickly engulfed in the festival atmosphere. I have never been to a sporting event that was so family-friendly. Sure, the bulk of the stadium was groups of young men, but there were grandmothers and grandfathers, siblings, cousins, children, toddlers and even a few newborns. Cricket has the unique and awesome power to unite India’s diverse ethnic, religious, social and economic groups, but it was also evident that cricket brings together all members of a family like no sport I’ve ever seen.

Even before the first ball was bowled, fans were singing along happily to recent Bollywood hits and even golden oldie tunes. And when either team made a big play — look out! The crowd erupted, small cannons blasted, coloured plumes of flame shot into the night air, and the cheerleaders took the stage. The cheerleaders deserve a special mention because, either by accident or design, they were an unavoidable aspect of the game. The group in front of me was awful by almost every measure that matters: their dance steps were dull and poorly executed; their costumes were unimaginative; they were clearly as confused by the game as I was. But they possessed the one attribute that matters most: they were able to electrify the crowd. A whole host of doctoral students will some day explore the phenomenon of the IPL cheerleaders and what deeper truths it reveals about India, but for the moment one thing is clear: the crowd loves the cheerleaders.

As the match progressed, the only person who attracted more adulation (and mobile phone snaps) than the cheerleaders was Brett Lee. For many fans, the allure of IPL seems to be the ability to see their heroes — or at least the big names — in the flesh. I thought the police had their hands busy keeping the crowds from swarming the cheerleaders — at one point, when a cheerleader straddled a motorcycle on the side of the field, a riot nearly broke out — but the push for a picture with the dancers paled in comparison with the surge to get a shot of Brett Lee. Whenever Brett, happily obliging, offered the stands a smiling wave, the section around me broke out in cheers as though the match had been won.

And, truth be told, this was an element of the IPL that had drawn me in as well: the celebrity sighting. Perhaps it is only a Calcutta phenomenon, but where else can you partake of such a wonderful carnival atmosphere, enjoy the night with four generations of your family, watch world-class cricket and spot Priyanka Chopra, Hrithik Roshan, Deepika Padukone (in a liplock with Mallya Jr) and His Excellency Shah Rukh “the King” Khan?

At this point it probably seems like I considered the actual game to be an afterthought. I’ll admit: as a newcomer to the game, the atmosphere was at least as important at the progress of play. But even then, watching the game live made it all the more attractive. I loved watching the fielders adjust before each ball, and could almost hear the KKR man in the slips trying to rattle the batsman as the bowler prepared to deliver. The high-quality video screen meant we didn’t miss a replay, and the excitement for each big play — or even the almost-big plays — endowed the match with a dimension missing from even the largest TV or comfiest couch.

As I joined the crowds thronging out of Eden Gardens’s hallowed gates and across Red Road and the Maidan, I knew for sure I was hooked. Waving my purple and gold KKR flag, I knew I would be back for more of the excitement.

I am not exaggerating when I say that Twenty20 is without a doubt one of the greatest inventions in the past 10 years. The IPL should be nicknamed Lazarus, because it resuscitated cricket, brought it back from almost certain marginalisation in the era of high-octane, thrilling entertainment and turned it into one of the most dynamic, contagious sports around the globe.

And it’s still growing. Bangladesh is the logical next step. So who’s with me?