By Vinay Rao
Every IPL season brings with it packed stands, roaring crowds, and high-decibel excitement. But alongside the spectacle on the field, there is a far more predictable phenomenon off it—an annual awakening within sections of Hyderabad’s cricketing ecosystem that insiders now describe, with pointed irony, as the “Kumbhakarna Culture.” A system that remains in deep slumber through the year on matters of governance suddenly springs to life during the season, animated not by accountability, but by privileges.
This year is no exception. The familiar murmur has returned, growing louder with each match: Where have the passes gone?
On paper, the structure is straightforward. Clubs are allotted passes meant for players. Cricketers are entitled to a limited number of tickets for their families. Officials are tasked with overseeing institutional allocations. Yet, the reality appears far removed from this neat framework. Multiple stakeholders suggest that the intended beneficiaries are often left out of the equation. Players struggle to secure access, families find themselves restricted, and yet premium enclosures remain conspicuously occupied.
This disconnect between allocation and actual distribution raises a fundamental question that refuses to go away: if passes are indeed being issued, why are they not reaching the players they are meant for?
Amidst this confusion, the paying spectator emerges as the most overlooked stakeholder in the entire ecosystem. Fans are expected to purchase tickets at full price, often navigating limited availability and tightly controlled access. Yet, running parallel to this is a system of widespread complementary distribution that continues unchecked. For a professional sport driven by revenue, fairness, and fan engagement, this creates an uncomfortable contradiction. Why should large-scale complimentary access exist at all? If transparency and equity are priorities, then discretionary distribution must either be justified with clarity or reduced significantly.
The issue becomes even more striking when one looks at the utilisation of hospitality boxes—premium assets estimated to be worth around ₹2 crore per season. In principle, these boxes could serve as powerful revenue generators, funding player insurance, strengthening welfare measures, and supporting grassroots development. Instead, concerns persist that they are frequently used by members of the Apex Council as personal PR platforms, hosting influential guests and nurturing networks that serve individual visibility more than the game itself.
This brings into focus a larger, more uncomfortable question: can such high-value assets not be deployed in a manner that strengthens the sport rather than individual profiles?
Yet, the sharpest criticism is not reserved for administrators alone. It is directed equally inward, at a cricketing fraternity that appears selectively vocal. Many of the same voices that now express outrage over passes and access are conspicuously absent when deeper, more structural issues demand attention—be it byelaw violations, financial opacity, league governance, or questionable administrative decisions.
For most of the year, there is silence. Come IPL season, there is sudden urgency.
This cyclical pattern has come to define what insiders now call the “Kumbhakarna Syndrome”—a culture of selective awakening, where outrage is triggered not by systemic flaws but by the denial of privileges.
There is little disagreement on certain fundamentals. Cricketers deserve respect. Clubs are entitled to fair and transparent access. But what critics increasingly argue is that entitlement without accountability is a hollow demand. Seeking more passes is not the same as seeking a better system. One is a question of share; the other is a question of structure.
The debate, therefore, is no longer just about tickets. It is about transparency in distribution, fairness in access, and clarity in institutional priorities. More importantly, it is about who chooses to speak—and when.
As Hyderabad continues to host marquee cricketing events, scrutiny is shifting beyond the boundary ropes. The focus is as much on governance as it is on performance. And the questions refuse to fade: Where have the passes gone? Why is the paying spectator at a disadvantage? Why are ₹2 crore assets deployed for personal PR instead of public good? And why does accountability remain dormant while entitlement stays wide awake?
Until credible answers emerge, the phrase will endure, capturing the essence of a system caught in its own contradictions—Hyderabad Cricket’s Kumbhakarna Culture: awake for privileges, asleep on accountability.
