The suspension of the Indian Premier League (IPL) due to escalating India-Pakistan tensions not only quieted the stadiums but also halted all the activity surrounding them.  However, on Saturday, the IPL lights were shining again and – even though rain caused some disruptions – the lively street economy outside the M Chinnaswamy Stadium in the city was also in full swing.  TOI examines the small enterprises, from food vendors to merchandise sellers to auto drivers, that rely on the cricketing carnival.  Every time the crowd erupts in a roar and every six hit occurs, it transcends mere entertainment for them; it represents income, survival, and hope.

Related: How Much Money Did IPL 2025 Lose from Suspension Due to the India-Pak Conflict?

At the bus stop close to the stadium, 36-year-old face-painter and devoted Royal Challengers Bengaluru (RCB) supporter Vijay brandishes his brush with a reinvigorated sense of determination.  He has turned cheeks into canvases of loyalty since 2017. 

He maintains, “This isn’t a business for me; I’m a passionate fan,” as he applies red and gold to eager faces for Rs 40 per design.  However, Vijay, who works in a corporate job during the day and is an artist at night, expresses regret about the increasing competition: “People come from Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh… it’s getting harder to get customers.

Mallikarjun is the ultimate chameleon of the matchday environment.  The vendor, who is 40 years old and has a disability, transports his inventory near the Cubbon Park Metro station. His items include T-shirts, caps, and flags—all manufactured in Tiruppur, Tamil Nadu—and they are priced from ₹50 to ₹300.  Arjun, attired completely in his merchandise, turns into a mobile advertisement.  „Früher habe ich bis zu 100 T-Shirts verkauft.“  He states, “Now it is considerably less.”  Still, every match provides him with ₹4,000–₹4,500, which is sufficient for his needs.

The Sunkadakatte brothers, G Ravi Kumar and Veer, aged 62 and 56 respectively, show up with a crate of bottled water and a box of hot samosas.  Ravi says, “Our samosas are priced at Rs 20 and our water at Rs 10.”  “However, if it rains, we incur losses.”  The two men, who usually work as a watchman and a fruit vendor, time their visits to coincide with match schedules, hoping that hungry fans prefer them over the stadium queues.

Lata and Narayan from Tumakuru offer simple meals for Rs 30 per plate nearby.  However, the foot traffic has decreased.  Our customer count is merely in the range of 10 to 20.  Lata mentioned, “At times, the majority of my food is wasted,” and noted that her income of Rs 400-600 hardly meets her expenses.

23-year-old fine arts student Bharat Bhupati presents caricatures inspired by viral memes not far from the gates.  He states, “I simply want to involve the audience with humour and art.”  His creativity brings a cultural rather than a commercial vibrancy to the matchday atmosphere.

We also have 28-year-old Sushan Shetty, who has transitioned from mechanical engineer to digital creator.  Equipped with posters of MS Dhoni, he sells more sentiment than souvenirs as he stands outside the stadium.  Posters are not for sale by me.  With a smile, he says, “I’m selling passion.”  After a successful sale and fueled by abundant conviction, Shetty personifies the entrepreneurial spirit of the IPL.

In a city fixated on cricketing heroes, it’s these quieter champions – the unseen and unfancied – who play a different kind of innings.  Just one match at a time.