Apr.25, 2010

At 11.20pm last Thursday on a hot night in the DY Patil cricket stadium, all hell was breaking loose. The Deccan Chargers' last batsman had just swept the ball straight into the hands of the Chennai Super Kings' deadliest bowler and the ground erupted.

As the cacophony of sound cranked up another notch, fireworks exploded in the sky above the stadium, across the waters of Thane Creek from Mumbai. The international cricketing superstars hired to represent what used to be Madras were heading for the final of the Indian Premier League and the chance to call themselves champions of what is rapidly becoming the world's most controversial league.

Just another high-octane night in the IPL, now among India's most glamorous, intense spectacles, and a brand worth an estimated £2.7bn.

For Indians the IPL is the Champions League, FA Cup and Premier League title race rolled into one, uniting and dividing hundreds of millions of fans gathered wherever a television can be found, from the depths of the jungles to the highest mountain passes.

But it is becoming increasingly obvious that there is a dark underside to the glamour. Ever more popular, the IPL has fallen prey to the whims of politicians and the vast corporations benefiting from India's rapid transformation into an economic superpower: the plaything of a world riddled with financial skulduggery, allegations of match-fixing and rigged betting, and a unhealthy dose of political revenge.

Even as the last four teams slugged it out over the past week, the IPL threatened to implode after a spectacular row over the bidding for two new franchises cost one of the country's brightest politicians, Shashi Tharoor, his job and then engulfed its own boss, Lalit Modi.

Tharoor, junior foreign minister, an MP for a Kerala constituency and a cricket fan, had been brought in to advise a consortium bidding for one of two new franchises for next season. The London-born former UN diplomat had already racked up an impressive string of gaffes, largely through his fondness for the social networking site Twitter ("Flying cattle class out of solidarity with all our holy cows!" is a typical offering). His western style has made him enemies. And when his consortium secured a 10-year franchise for £216m and deprived some very rich people of the chance of becoming much richer, he became a marked man.

It was Modi, the public face of the IPL, who set the pack on Tharoor. It seems that Modi wanted the franchise to go to another bidder. He started to tweet, naming members of the winning consortium. Among them was Sunanda Pushkar, a Dubai-based businesswoman and reportedly Tharoor's girlfriend, who appeared to have been gifted a £10m stake. However much Tharoor denied it, it looked like a pay-off for securing the deal. He was forced to quit the government.

Modi barely had a moment to savour his victory before he was caught in the backlash. No one reaches ministerial level in India without having powerful friends. With opposition parties claiming the IPL was merely a front for money-laundering and illegal betting, Modi suddenly found the tax authorities breathing down his own neck. They let it be known that they were interested in how a man with a history of failed ventures could suddenly fund a private jet, a yacht and a fleet of Mercedes and BMW cars.

Modi's offices were raided and rumours started to circulate about a cocaine possession charge from his student days, and a South African model. Tomorrow – when the IPL's owner, the Board of Control for Cricket in India, meets to tackle the crisis – he faces the axe, although he has denied all allegations.

But the tax people did not stop there. They started to look into previous bids, other franchises and the TV rights deal. Suddenly the entire IPL was under scrutiny. As allegations of money-laundering mount, tax inspectors have ransacked the offices of top IPL teams, including the Deccan Chargers.

The offices of the Multi Screen Media and World Sports Group, the two companies that bought the IPL television rights for nearly £1.3bn, were also raided. One magazine even dubbed the IPL the ICL – Indian Corruption League. Such has been the furore that the decision to move this week's games from Bangalore after two small bombs went off there last weekend has gone relatively unnoticed.

But last Thursday evening in Navi Mumbai, the fans didn't seem to care. As long as there is cricket on the pitch and the entertainment keeps coming, everyone appears to be happy.

Raja Gopalan, a 27-year-old engineer, was shouting himself hoarse for Chennai, captivated by the experience of his first match. "The sport will never die," he said. "What's happened this week doesn't make any difference to the supporters. They love the mix of Bollywood and sport and rock music. People don't think there is anything wrong with the game itself and they are coming for the experience."

That experience was undeniably impressive. Four huge floodlights on the roof of the 55,000-seater stadium cast a light as bright as day. On the pitch, Deccan were in blue, Chennai in yellow. The umpires sported red shirts with dapper black hats and red trim. Test match purists must weep.

But the IPL is not just sport; it is soap opera, too. Shilpa Shetty has a team; so does Bollywood superstar Shahrukh Khan – his Kolkata Knight Riders have also been caught up in the investigation. Nita Ambani, wife of Mukesh Ambani, the world's fourth-richest man, is another IPL personality.

The crowd at the DY Patil was fairly young, well turned out and affluent – India's middle class at play. They enjoyed themselves dancing to the music, sounding their klaxons, chanting the team slogans.

The week's events made the tournament seem like a sideshow, but inside the ground so much was happening that it was hard to concentrate on the game. Two enormous LCD screens flipped constantly between the action, replays of the action, adverts and yet more adverts. Food and drink vendors weaved along the rows of seats.

And then there were the cheerleaders. Whenever there is a break in the play – and there seems to be one between almost every delivery – they appeared up on the podiums as music belted out of the loudspeakers and the screens filled with adverts.

With so much money invested in the league, every pause in the action has been transformed into a commercial opportunity: when a team calls a time out, it is a Maxx Mobile time out, with a graphic of a mobile phone counting down. Referrals to the video umpire are punctuated by a Kingfisher Airlines plane flying across the screen repeatedly until the decision comes up.

"The IPL gives people the chance to cheer for their city. It makes you feel you belong," said Kashyap Juthani, a 26-year-old banker. "Indian people are as mad about cricket as the English are about football. Even my mum watches it now." Juthani is Mumbai born and bred, but was cheering on Deccan. "Everyone knows the politicians were involved from the beginning, it is just that now it is coming out into the open," he said. "You'll always find politicians where there is money to be made."

On the pitch, Chennai's 20 overs are up. Their score of 142 for seven looks eminently beatable, but Deccan, the reigning champions, take everyone by surprise by imploding. It has been a week for surprises in the IPL, some of them highly unpleasant.