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'I'll take 10 at 74!'

The gentleman who paid Shane Warne and Mark Waugh a fistful of dollars for a weather report was apparently called John.

It could even be Pinky. And then again, it could be anything -- for almost definitely, whatever name he gives you is not the one he was born with. The Indian bookie, you see, has no name, and most of the time, no face either -- just a fistful of money, and a couple of players in his hip pocket.

Rediff On The Net went visiting with a couple of Delhi-based bookies. Both of them have names, and faces, we know -- but cannot reveal, since they offered to talk only on conditions of strict anonymity. In fact, trust and secrecy are the foundations on which the huge network of betting and match-fixing has been assiduously raised.

And no, neither of them had paid Shane Warne or Mark Waugh.

"You must be joking," says one about the Australian duo's role as weathermen. "That was just an initial payment. To make first contact. I won't be surprised it they were paid more cash later."

John (not his real name) actually is a nice guy. Barely 27, he dresses in casual but expensive clothes. He laughs easily and confidently, very much the boy next door. And this time, his laughter is at the expense of Warne and Waugh's attempt to escape in the name of stupidity and naiveté. "Why will anyone pay them over 10,000 dollars for such stupid information?" he demands.

He explains with a real example. "On the night of December 16, we were offering 75 paise (we shall explain the rates later) for a draw in the first Test between India and New Zealand that was due to start on Friday. On Thursday, however, we pulled the rate down to 57 paise (such sheer drops are not normal in the world of betting) because BBC forecast heavy rains for the weekend in New Zealand."

When we have such reliable information ready to hand, John argues, why would we need a Warne?

When the first day's play eventually got washed out, the rate dipped to an uninviting 20 paise. "No bookie is going to offer anything for a draw if it rains on Saturday too," John said confidently on Friday.

He concedes that weather is crucial, especially for away matches. "But we watch the television for that. And we don't have to pay anything to anybody." They don't even take Ravi Shastri's or Tony Greig's word for the pitch's character. "We go by live action," he declares. "We change the odds as the match progresses."

A Nokia cellular phone in hand, a blue blazer thrown carelessly over his shoulder, John speaks flawless English. Which is not surprising, given that he is the alumnus of a prominent Delhi public school. And he is happy, he says, with his choice of career. Incidentally, he makes his gravy indulging in bets on matches -- using other bookies to bet with, while the 'family business' keeps him in clover.

Our other friend, let us call him Pinky, looks more like a bookie. About 35 years old, he radiates just that little bit of negative energy in his kurta, pyjama and waistcoat. "You may not believe it, but people bet in crores," he says. "We accept a minimum bet of Rs 5000; there is normally no ceiling on the upper limit," he adds, juggling his three cellular phones as he talks to us.

The betting beast is rampant in virtually all parts of the country. But Mumbai, Delhi and Calcutta breed the real big sharks, possible fixers if you like. Dubai and Lahore also get active when India's three major cities show signs of life. "People bet on anything," says Pinky. "Tennis, elections, football. But cricket is our lifeline." Not surprising, again, as it is played virtually every day of the year.

"We get a fair amount before the match begins. For a win, for a draw or a defeat." But the real fun begins only when the match gets under way.

In an incident-packed match (where wickets fall regularly or runs are scored rapidly) odds fluctuate rapidly. Money often keeps pace with the changing odds; punters keep pumping in money to hedge their initial investment.

It is the low-end punter, however, who invariably loses in the end: He just cannot keep pace with the changing fortunes of the game.

"People bet because the returns are very high. The take might go as high as 2,500 per cent if you are really lucky. Or, of course, if you get a hot tip that a match has been fixed."

Ah, that brings up the ticklish subject of match-fixing -- does it really happen? "Of course, the bigger bookies are always in touch with players. There is, in fact, one agent who is covering the Ashes tour at this moment," says John.

The agents are everywhere. Their job is to get as close to the teams as possible. They are at hand, in the city, in the stadium and if possible even in the same hotel. They pick up the gossip on players, listen to rumours-of squabbles, injuries, team-selection.

Anything that might make a difference to the outcome of the match. "There is no dividing line between betting and match-fixing," says Pinky. "If a player becomes an impulsive bettor, he will sooner or later cross the threshold."

In other words, you cannot seperate betting from match-fixing? "No!" is the terse response.

John casually names five Indian stars, past and present, who figure among his main customers -- and the list, shockingly, includes two former captains, one current star, one former all rounder and a leading pillar of the Delhi cricket team. "They are regulars, they bet with us whenever they are in town and sometimes even when they are not here."

However, Pinky, who corroborates the names, adds that he does not remember any of the five players betting in matches involving India. "I am told some players do. But they have never bet with me," he says with finality.

Here, maybe one should highlight a practice that has become prevalent in recent times. Most teams (especially India) announce their eleven just about half an hour before the match actually begins. There may be nothing incriminating here, except for one fact: the eleven is often selected on the previous evening itself, during the mandatory team meeting.

And -- this is the real key -- that list is then made available to some people, including a few journalists.

The bookie remains anonymous for the most part, emerging only when a regular contact brings a prospect. New contacts must necessarily come through the old ones: and even then, they are fully checked out before being given membership to the exclusive club. And yet, despite all the checks and balances, the bookies insist that the newbie's first few bets should be placed on his behalf by his sponsor, the regular customer.

Visual contact is minimal. The bookie meets the punter only when payments have to be made or received -- bets are accepted only on phones. The punter asks the bhav, the bookie gives it, the punter puts his money. That's it. No other confirmation is required.

"I had to be introduced by my betting friend," says a punter, who spends about Rs 40,000 per match. And he is not a big punter. "Once the bookie came to know me, it became more informal and easy. Now I can vouch for somebody else too," he adds, rather proudly.

Bookies create a match book before the game begins. Each account's bets are written separately, tabulated, updated if necessary, and settled one day after the match. And the records are immediately disposed of, never preserved. "A recent raid on a bookie in Calcutta scared a number of other bookies and punters, because he had maintained computer records," John explains.

The regular punter too maintains his records to keep track of his bets, especially if he likes to maintain pace with the fluctuating fortunes of the game, or indeed, if he is friendly with more than one bookie. There are usually no arguments over the final figure; even if there are, they are settled instantly. And peacefully.

"The payments are made at a mutually agreed time and place. All in hard cash. No cheques, no drafts. And no excuses."

John and Pinky are not familiar with any major cases of bad debts, or any serious consequences thereafter. "No, we are not aware of any murders or such things," says John. Agrees Pinky. "The punter is simply written off with the bad debt. He may be threatened. But it rarely comes to that."

Trust is crucial in this business but, paradoxically, nobody is a friend. "Competition is cut-throat. There are only a limited number of punters and everybody wants as big a share as possible," says Pinky.

Interestingly, there is no network of bookies. No mafia. No cash-collectors. Most of the bookies know each other, but they operate independently. The bigger sharks in different cities stay in touch. Not merely to keep track of the inside stuff but also to place their own bets.

The police are aware of the action. But they can't do anything about it. "Inadequate laws and lack of hard evidence are the main problems," says a senior police officer in Delhi. "It is only the Rs 100-type bettor on the footpath that we can arrest. The big ones are almost beyond us."

Karol Bagh, Jama Masjid and Regal Cinema are some of the hot spots for live betting in the capital.

While a majority bet on the outcome of the match, the compulsive bettor is game for side-bets too. Will a batsman complete his century, will the bowler pick his fourth or fifth wicket? The odds keep changing with virtually every ball. In the event of a tie, all bets stand cancelled.

In India, bookies do not talk of odds in the language we are familiar with. It is never 1:2 or 7:9 -- he merely says dono assi (meaning, both teams are even, at 80 paise each. That is, if you put Rs 10000 on the right team, you make a profit of Rs 8000.)

If the odds are, let us say, 70-74 in favour of Pakistan and you want to back India, the other team, you will have to pay a premium of four paise. Therefore you have to place almost Rs 15000 (15000x.74=Rs 10000, approximately), instead of Rs 10000. Otherwise, you can stick to 74 main dus de do (give me 10 on 74). That is, if India win you make Rs 10000 but if India lose, you pay Rs 7400).

If a team is almost certain to win, as it was obvious during the West Indies-South Africa Test, the bookies may try to lure you. They will not take any bets on South Africa but might take you on by offering Rs 100,000 for a West Indies win against Rs 4000 or 5000.

You win some and you lose some, of course. Shane Warne and Mark Waugh were the first losers. Pakistan's Salim Malik and some other big stars are expected to be the next losers. But in India, where even criminals with a long record roam about freely, the betting and match-fixing noose may not find any necks.

Unless, of course, John or Pinky or whatever the gentleman who paid Warne and Waugh's real name is, steps forward and points his finger into the Indian dressing room.