It was a bright sunny day, the perfect tennis weather, unlike most other days in London. The moment I got off the train at Wimbledon, I felt I had stepped into a purple and green heaven. The entire town was painted in the Wimbledon colours. The crowd, like one happy family was pacing towards the ground. We were loud, we were discussing Murray, Federer and Nadal like they were our brothers and sons and the usual shyness (some call it arrogance) in the people of London had gone to the dogs.
And then in the way, we hit the crossroads, separating the men from the boys, with the banner which said - ‘Ticketholders, walk straight, and people wishing to join ‘The Queue’ proceed to the left’. A handful of people marched on straight and the rest of us like gladiators ready for a battle turned left to join ‘The Queue’, a tradition at Wimbledon where people stand in a line for several hours or camp for couple days to get premium tickets at a cheap price. The queue card I got from the steward spelt the digits 10,423. Looking at my astonished face, the steward with an encouraging look whispered ‘You will get in. Just be patient.’ Overcoming my initial dejection, I joined the queue which was completely different from what we Indians would imagine. Fifteen neat (and very long) rows of people stood in the fields in such orderly fashion that I remembered by kindergarten days. People were beaming, munching on a picnic, listening to commentary and bathing in the sun. The next seven hours were spent chatting about our favourites, the new kids on the block, and the time passed in a jiffy.
And then the moment came which every tennis lover dreams of in his life - I stepped into The All England Lawn Tennis Club. The atmosphere was electrifying - The thudding of tennis balls from every corner of the club, zillion spectators running around and the lush green Wimbledon grass. The players accompanied by stewards were rushing to their matches. It was quite unreal to see all the stars you see on the screen in front of you heading to fight the great duels. I went into my first match and was astounded to see the pace which the players generated and how nimble they were on their feet – almost unreal. I was reminded of a musical in the West End theatre with ballerinas dancing to beautifully choreographed songs on stage. They were oblivious to the spectators – doing what they do best.
Despite getting into Wimbledon, to get into the Centre Court was another battle. I stood in another line for couple of hours and managed to get the tickets to the most sacred place in the club. It was like entering the great Roman Colosseum. The magnificence of tennis surpassed what I had ever seen on TV. The duel ended in less than 3 hours and I proceeded to do one last thing before I left the club. Sitting on Murray Mound cheering with thousands of spectators and having the famous strawberry and cream while downing the famous Pimm’s completed the most memorable day of my life in true Wimbledon style.
