Special Correspondent
Yet another missile has been launched at the ever-entertaining universe of the Hyderabad Cricket Association, this time by former Secretary Sheshnarayan — a gentleman who, judging by his tone, appears torn between outrage, exhaustion, and the strange burden of being “too vocal to be trusted” and “too silent to be innocent.”
And honestly, one almost sympathises with him.
Because in today’s HCA ecosystem, silence is apparently proof of compromise, while speaking up instantly earns one the title of “habitual litigant,” “troublemaker,” “anti-development crusader,” or perhaps even “enemy of Telangana cricket.” The modern administrative formula is remarkably simple: if you clap, you are progressive; if you question, you are disruptive.
In an informal conversation with this correspondent, Sheshnarayan reportedly observed with dry frustration that whenever he refrains from commenting on HCA affairs, whispers begin circulating that he must have “settled” with the ruling establishment or received monetary blessings to maintain monk-like silence. But the moment he writes or questions anything, he is conveniently branded a litigant.
A fascinating democracy indeed.
Perhaps in HCA’s enlightened culture, citizens are expected to behave like decorative flowerpots — present at meetings, absent in opinion.
To be fair, the present administration has undeniably attempted some initiatives that, at least on paper, sound promising. One such initiative is TG20 — projected as a grand platform for aspiring cricketers, particularly from rural Telangana, to showcase their talent and potentially catch the attention of the glittering talent scouts of the Indian Premier League.
A noble vision. A powerful slogan. Excellent brochure material.
After all, nothing screams “grassroots empowerment” quite like luxury hotel meetings, corporate boxes, and VIP buffet politics.
Yet, as always in HCA, every “good initiative” arrives carrying a convoy of uncomfortable questions. And former office-bearers — irrespective of their own past records, controversies, or administrative adventures — continue to raise doubts that simply cannot be brushed aside as irrelevant background noise.
This is what Sheshnarayan posted in the HCA affiliated clubs WhatsApp group, and one must admit, the man did not exactly use a diplomatic teaspoon:
“There are too many questions on the way TG-20 being conducted!
The elimination of stake holders has begun, money bags, appointees have taken over?
SC orders on Constitution, dumped into dust bins!
Parallel Authority of Administration is the order of the day!
Where is APEX COUNCIL?
STAR HOTELS for meetings?
STAR HOTEL FOOD FOR SELECT CORPORATE BOXES DURING IPL?
Crores wasted on tickets freely distributed amongst themselves, understand each Corporate box was sold by franchise for 10 lakhs per match? That is nearly 70 lakhs for each box?
The Ten boxes allotted to HCA COULD HAVE GENERATED
70 x 10 = 700 lakhs?
Add another crore or so for food and beverages?
Whose money is this, dear?
Did the stakeholders give ordinary food?
This Discrimination clearly certified the Cockroaches are clearly being separated from main stream?
Time we wake up and stop this corridors to grounds percolation of cockroach culture entering HCA?”
Strong words. Very strong words.
But then again, HCA has long ceased to be merely a cricket association. It now resembles a never-ending political theatre production where every act contains rebellion, betrayal, constitutional interpretation, moral outrage, leaked WhatsApp messages, emergency meetings, and enough factional drama to keep television serial writers unemployed.
The most intriguing phrase in Sheshnarayan’s outburst is perhaps “parallel authority.” That deserves special attention. Because if one listens carefully to many affiliated clubs, former office-bearers, and frustrated stakeholders, a recurring allegation emerges — that constitutional bodies exist ceremonially, while real decision-making allegedly occurs elsewhere, through informal power corridors, unelected influencers, backroom strategists, and invisible remote controls.
The Apex Council, theoretically the supreme decision-making body, often gets invoked in discussions the way ancient kingdoms invoked forgotten gods — respectfully mentioned, rarely seen.
And then comes the glamorous side of cricket administration.
Star hotels.
Corporate boxes.
Exclusive food arrangements.
VIP treatment.
Nothing wrong with comfort, of course. Cricket administration is not expected to function from roadside tea stalls. But Sheshnarayan’s sarcasm stems from the contrast he alleges — ordinary stakeholders receiving ordinary treatment while select circles allegedly enjoy five-star privileges in the name of administration.
In HCA, equality appears beautifully democratic until the buffet opens.
The corporate box calculations he mentioned are also designed to provoke precisely the kind of discomfort administrators dislike. If each corporate box during IPL season indeed carried massive commercial value, and if allocations were handled casually or distributed internally without transparent revenue optimisation, then stakeholders are naturally entitled to ask: who benefited, how much was earned, and whether the association maximised its financial interests.
These are not anti-development questions.
These are governance questions.
And governance, unfortunately, is the one format HCA has consistently struggled to master.
Then comes the now-iconic “cockroach” reference — a term that has evolved into both satire and symbolism in HCA politics. In Sheshnarayan’s usage, the “cockroaches” appear to represent ordinary stakeholders, neglected affiliates, or inconvenient voices treated as irritants rather than participants in cricket administration.
One must appreciate the poetic absurdity of the metaphor.
In most organisations, stakeholders are called members.
In HCA, they are apparently classified entomologically.
Yet beneath the sarcasm, theatrics, and provocative language lies an uncomfortable truth: many stakeholders genuinely feel alienated from the system. They believe decision-making is increasingly centralised, participation selective, and constitutional spirit subordinated to personality cults and factional dominance.
Whether Sheshnarayan himself possesses moral authority to preach reform is a separate debate altogether. In HCA, almost every former administrator eventually transforms into a revolutionary once removed from office. Yesterday’s establishment often becomes today’s whistleblower. The cycle is as predictable as Hyderabad summer heat.
Still, dismissing every criticism merely because it comes from a former insider would be intellectually dishonest.
Because sometimes, those who helped build the maze are also the first to recognise how dangerous it has become.
And that, perhaps, is the tragedy of HCA.
Everyone claims to be saving cricket.
Yet cricket itself often appears missing from the meeting agenda.
However, our correspondent, Vinay Rao, wishes to say this: Well, Sheshnarayan may be right in raising some of these pertinent questions, and they certainly deserve to be asked. However, I also feel the administration is justified in arguing that not every question necessarily deserves to come from this particular disruptive former administrator, whose inconsistency in stance is well known among many club secretaries. In my view, both he and Venkateswaran are mistaken if they believe their observations, by themselves, settle anything conclusively.
The HCA has long ceased to function merely as a cricket association. It has evolved into a never-ending political theatre production — complete with rebellion, betrayal, constitutional interpretations, moral outrage, leaked WhatsApp messages, and enough factional drama to keep television serial writers comfortably employed for years.
And cricket itself, as always, appears to be waiting patiently somewhere off stage — perhaps still hoping that one day it may finally find a place on the meeting agenda.
The self-appointed “pest controllers” of Hyderabad cricket and the ever-busy vanity-van gossip brigade appear determined to convince the public that replacing a diseased organ is the same as curing the entire body. Unfortunately, history, medicine, and common sense suggest otherwise. In HCA’s case, every time a new doctor is paraded before the public as a miracle cure, another vital organ seems to fail. The diagnosis remains unchanged; only the faces around the hospital bed keep changing. What was once a proud institution is now surviving on borrowed oxygen, and even the ventilator appears to be running out of air.
Cricketing intellectuals and administrators of substance such as G. Shesh Narayan, Shivlal Yadav and Arshad Ayub have witnessed every chapter of Hyderabad cricket’s rise and decline. They understand that institutions are not revived through cosmetic surgery, public relations exercises, or theatrical announcements. A soul cannot be resurrected by dressing up a mannequin and declaring it a newborn. The tragedy confronting HCA is that the original body has long been buried beneath years of controversy, mismanagement, and self-inflicted wounds, while its present custodians continue presenting an artificial replica as evidence of renewal.
The harsh reality is that hope of revival fades when accountability is replaced by impersonation, governance by spectacle, and reform by propaganda. What remains is not a renaissance but a slow procession towards institutional irrelevance. Unless genuine structural change occurs, future historians may well record that HCA was not destroyed by its critics but consumed from within by those who claimed to be its saviours. And when the dust finally settles, the only beneficiaries of the decay will be the cockroaches thriving beneath the ruins of what was once considered the grand cathedral of Hyderabad cricket—a Mecca not of excellence, but of accumulated sins. Amen. May the soul rest in peace.