A week ago I met a bunch of college kids at Oval Maidan in South Mumbai who were indignant as hell. "Everywhere we go, people lose no chance to run down the Games. It's still our country. Where's everyone's national pride?"

I listened with a sympathetic ear and thought, hey, maybe these kids have a point. The Games are happening in Delhi, not Mumbai. I can not name more than five Commonwealth countries, and perhaps six on a particularly bright day. So why make it my personal pet peeve?

Because it is just that. It's personal.

Five years ago, I visited Australia for a six-week journalism programme and opted for homestay accommodation. My 'parents' were this cheerful, pink-cheeked, elderly couple from Geelong and even though I'm far from being a cricket enthusiast, I spoke with great fervour about how alive the game was in our maidans, our bylanes and in our stadia.

My homestay 'dad' took us to the Melbourne Cricket ground and I remembered having to pry my jaw off the floor while I walked through. There was Red Rooster chicken available on the premises, we had comfortable seats and I remember visiting the loo, and not having to screw up my nose while I went about my business.