Cricket Times They Are A-Changin’

March 12, 2015 Leave a comment

Cricket, the game of glorious uncertainties. World Cup, the biggest stage the game has to offer. And how the stage has changed!

kapil1983In 1983, Kapil Dev played one of the most breath-taking innings (apparently) to help steer India out of tight corner. At 18/5, Kapil and Kirmani carefully constructed a partnership to take India to a winning total. Against the perpetual minnows – Zimbabwe. Kapil, that day, scored 175 not out. Out of a total of 166. Kirmani scored 22. Unfortunately for the world, there are no tapes or archives of that day because of a BBC strike. No one was recording it on a TiVo or HD+ or their high def cell phones. India went on to win the World Cup in 1983.

dyanora-tv-oldFor 28 years, Indian cricket fan reminisced about the 1983 Prudential Cup win, the catch that Kapil took to dismiss Viv Richards, the greatest ODI cricketer of all times, the 175 not out, the military medium of Madan Lal, Mohinder Amarnath, Roger Binny, and the guile of Bedi, that spell of Sandhu, and many such things. In 1983, many Indian families bought the black and white TV sets from companies like Salora, Uptron, Beltron. Many of those companies do not compete in the television market, or any market for that matter, any more. Some of those TV sets came with wooden cabinets that people would close to protect them from dust and unwanted access. The channels had to be changed by twisting a hard knob that made the sound of cricket ball hitting the bat (almost). And the memories are distinctly black and white – a beaming Kapil Dev wearing an Indian Cricket Team jacket/ sports-coat (logo on the breast pocket) holding that cup at the Lords’ balcony – etched on an Indian cricket lovers’ mind for almost three decades.

Back then, they sold post-cards. In the absence of desktop wallpapers or Facebook walls, people collected bingo cards and post-cards of players. K Srikanth hitting a lofted square cut, Sunny Gavaskar smiling in a close up, Ravi Shastri in that blue and yellow jersey with a white helmet at the Benson & Hedges series down under, Kapil Dev’s signature bowling pose. There was Big Fun, a chewing gum company, which must have made a fortune by somehow convincing a generation of cricket watchers to collect bingo cards of cricket and football players.

In the coming three decades, we tried hard to repeat that feat. In 1987, the first world cup outside England, in India, we lost the semi-finals of Reliance World Cup. Shortly thereafter, we pinned our hopes on a short fellow named Tendulkar. 1992 wasn’t ours (we won 2 of 8 matches). 1996 took us to the semi-finals again, where a Sri Lankan demon (the first one after Ravana) took us apart.  Tendulkar fought back valiantly, but once he left the golden rectangle (like Jataayu), even the pitch turned on us. In 1999 (horrible super six performance), 2003 (a Bazooka Ponting vs Zaheer Satkela in Final), 2007 (knocked out in round robin with one win against Bermuda!), we hit a here and there, a reasonable high and an embarrassing low.

During this time, the whites were replaced by colourful dresses and multiple brand endorsements. And the black and whites were replaced by color TVs. The CTVs were replaced by a myriad of varieties – Plasma, LCD, LTV, Flat screen, curved LED, 3D, Smart TV. Internet streaming is the new thing. The broadcasting evolved. From 1-3-5 cameras per match, suddenly, there are more than 20-30 cameras per game. There are cranes and javelins and quadcopters. There are moving boundary cameras. There is stump-vision. Oh, how I loved the Sky-network’s boundary camera vision which moved from right to left as the bowlers ran in to bowl!

By 2015, the few commentators that used to be have given way to an army of commentators. Sometimes, the line up of commentators is like a team that could take on any of the current world-cup contenders with aplomb, despite their age. The time spent on technicalities by ex-greats have made a successful commentator out of Ravi Shastri (for the sheer variety he introduces in the commentary box with phrases like ‘tracer bullets’) and Harsha Bhogle (the common man’s commentator).

From two umpires, we moved to three. From three, we have moved to 3+ technology. We have seen Hawk-eye, spin vision, snicko meters, hot-spots, stump mics that record sound, and multiple cameras whose job is to just watch your bat and the crease. We have learnt all about “it’s the on field umpire’s call”. We have learnt about marginal errors. And we have noted with great relief that Steve Bucknor’s faulty version could be replaced by an android. Finally!

The equipments evolved too. From the culture of heavy bats for heavy ground strokes, we moved to long handles, light bats, custom bats, curved edges, heavy bottoms. Somewhere, we learnt about Tennis elbow too. Leather balls became white. No longer a shining red cherry, yeah? And now, one ball has given way to two. To be used from different ends of the stadium. The softer kookaburras to the harder SGs, the realization that SG was Sanspareills Greenlands, and not Sunil Gavaskar, also became all pervasive. Thigh pads and helmets became lighter and sturdier. The LED lights of stumps and bales – who’d have thought! Reviewing umpire decisions rather than getting fined for showing dissent is almost as strong a deviation from the gentlemen’s game as an Indian bowler clocking speeds of 145+ consistently. Umesh Yadav – you have my vote for now!

The discussions evolved. From quoting shots and moments, the cricket debaters have started quoting statistics – averages, home and away records, fastest 100s, strike rates, no of dots in a double century, game impact index. The visualizations now show multi-coloured lines to show the singles and the boundaries and the wickets. There is an accurate capturing of short and good length deliveries. There are dossiers that players carry on their iPad. About their competition. Joel Garner probably believed in small things. Like bowling at fiery pace and making the bowl land in the right areas. And playing mind games. Most teams in the last world cup were probably spending 6 hours discussing how to get Sachin Tendulkar or Virendar Sehwag out by reviewing various batting tapes.

And then 2011 happened. Yuvraj happened. Sachin happened. Mahendra Singh Dhoni happened. The bowlers tendulkar2011showed up. The fielders did. And Wankhede erupted. And a new memory got etched in the new generation’s sub-conscious – that glorious six to win the world cup, Mahindra Singh Dhoni holding the pose after hitting that six and then completing a gladiatorial 360-degree swing of the bat, a team carrying Sachin Tendulkar around the ground, and sending the cup to the background. The color across the stadium – Blue. And yes, the tricolor. And Sunil Gavaskar making the remark – “when I die, the last thing I want to see is the six that Dhoni hit in the 2011 world cup final”. Now when I think of winning the world cup, my memories are not Black and White. They are, 32-bit-high-definition-high-resolution-high blah blah, full of colors. Oh, how the game has changed!

 

There is a small thing that hasn’t changed. Commentary on radio used to be a visual narration filled with excitement. It could not depend on visual aids or the colors. It has stayed Black and White.

“Amarnath is bowling from the pavilion end to right arm batsman Ian Botham.

Bowl thoda andar ki taraf aayee aur ballebaaz ne kalai ko ghumate hue square leg ki taraf bhej diya hai. Umpire chusti se hatTe hue. Bahut hi aakarshak stroke tha Narottam (Puri), aur bahut hi khoobsurti se is se pehle ki fielder Bishan Bedi gend tak pahunche, Botham ne ek run poora kar liya hai. Bahut hi sadhaa hua shot tha aur aise shots se hi aapko pata chalta hai ki Botham jitney ache gendbaaj hain, utne hi ache ballebaaj bhi.”

 

“Agli gend karne ko gendbaaz mohammad shami pavilion end se hawa ke virudh daudte hue, aur off stump se thoda bahar tappa kha ke, halke se bahar ki taraf gayee aur ye jordaar appeal. Aur ye umpire in Ian Bell ko out karaar diya. Mahindra Singh Dhoni ka ye is match mein teesra catch, aur Shami ka pehla wicket.

Absolutely Shekhar. This was a beautiful outswinger. You could say that it did not swing much. It just held its line and from the wide angle of the crease from where Shami bowled it, that was good enough to flummox a well set batsman like Ian Bell. Kudos to Shami for having persisted with that line and invite Ian Bell to play that shot. Bell played inside the line and was beaten all hands up. With that we will take a short advertisement break and we will back shortly to celebrate this wicket.”

Oh! Sorry. There’s one thing that has really changed about radio commentary – There are no boundaries hit on air anymore. They are “shandaar BSNL chauka. Connecting India.”

 

 

 

 <This post is my entry for the Blogmint – Harsha – Blogger Dream Team Contest>

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Books Roundup: Autobiographies

February 19, 2015 Leave a comment

Do you read autobiographies?

तुमको देखा तुमको जाना, आइना अच्छा लगा
आज पहली बार मुझको भी खुदा अच्छा लगा

Tumko dekha, tumko jaana, aaina acha laga…
aaj pehli baar mujhko bhi khuda acha laga

(Meeting you, knowing you, I now appreciate the me some more
Today, for the first time, I, too, appreciate Him some more)

These days my love for autobiographies or self referential literature has grown. I am not exactly sure what exactly I look for in these books, whether I am moved by these stories, whether this fondness is reflective of my current life phase or if my quest for understanding myself has begun a little too late.

I have stared enjoying the tales that are not necessarily heroic, and describe flawed geniuses. They definitely help me understand my flaws better.. And maybe, someday, the cycle will eventually lead to my discovery of the genius within me. That’s optimistic though. The genius part.

My love for sports (watching/ following), on the other hand, has gone down. I still enjoy watching a game or two, cheering for something/ someone, posting status messages, getting into occasional debates. But the interest sustains only for a short while. After the previous world cup, and the wankhede moment, my interest in Cricket also has come down faster than the water slides at Water Kingdom.

Coming back to the books, in the last few months, I read four sports-autobiographical works. Playing It My Way by Sachin Tendulkar, Open by Andre Agassi, Rafa: My Story by Rafael Nadal and The Test of My Life by Yuvraj Singh. Unfortunately for everyone, Tendulkar’s book projects him as a genius, but an unflawed one. He is a well-cut diamond all through. The book is so polite that at the end of it, all you can eat is Parle-G.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The best by a margin is Open. Not for its literary quality, but for the openness with which Agassi bares his soul and his life. It tells you of the funny nature of his success and how his failures to come to terms with his personal life and aspirations occupy the top drawer. And also, his growth. I have been in the Pete Sampras camp all my life, and here I was, rooting for Andre well after his retirement. I relived many of those games, the rivalries, their importance or insignificance. And I learnt that the whiz kid of tennis wasn’t really in love with the game. Or, so it seemed. The book is also a very effective reminder of Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers.

Rafa and Yuvi’s books have a few similarities. In pure literary terms, they both suck. And both of them pick a grand event as an anchor (the Wimbledon final vs the world cup) and run the book around that grand event. Those anchor events serve as benchmark of excellence that the world has come to know these two by. And yet, the preparation, the agony of successes and failures on that path, the physical beatdowns, the personal and the professional – they are fairly insightful. Yet, just to highlight the differences, Rafa’s book is a few miles ahead of Yuvi’s book in overall quality and impact terms. And a lot more honest also, I guess.

I have just about finished reading “The Hard Thing About Hard Things” by Ben Horowitz, and for a change, I did not feel like I was being preached to. What a brilliant book to come from a CEO (and not the investor). The book managed to put the mistakes of a decade long career in perspective, without, for a moment, reprimanding me. I strongly recommend the book to everyone out there. Even though most people will consider it a business book, I consider it fairly autobiographical. Especially those who aspire to become a good leader, a good CEO, or to have their own startup someday.

किताबों से कभी गुज़रो तो यूँ किरदार मिलते हैं
गए वक़्तों की ड्योढ़ी पे खड़े कुछ यार मिलते हैं

Kitabon se kabhie guzro to yoon kirdaar milte hain.
Gaye waqton ki dyodhi par khade kuch yaar milte hain

Travelling through books, these characters come and meet you so
In the bylanes of a time gone by, a few friends come and meet you so.

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To call it “Playing It My Way” is UNFAIR

December 29, 2014 1 Comment

Disclaimer: Irrespective of the rest of this post, let me be clear on thing – I am still not open to a debate on Sachin vis-a-vis the other cricketing geniuses. For me, Sachin is “the one”. It is a choice bordering on irrationality, but we are all allowed our vices, right?

His book, though, is another matter.

Playingitmywaybookcover

Playing It My Way is Sachin Tendulkar’s autobiography, written with a little bit of help from Boria Mazumdar.

Blurb from Flipkart (I pre-ordered the book): In this long awaited autobiography, readers will be able to see glimpses into the life of this living legend; and of the man behind the sport, the husband, the father and an extraordinary human being– quiet, calm and with a rare humility. This is the story of Sachin Tendulkar, the most celebrated cricketer of all time in his own words.

So, how does it fare? In one word, the book can be described as – UNFAIR. To the fans of the man, to all those who follow cricket, to all those who read autobiographies, and to all those who pay to buy books, and maybe even to those who downloaded copies from torrent sites as well.

The book was launched with a lot of hoo-ha and fanfare. I think the fanfare was better than the book itself. It was like the Yashraj films’ trailer thing. The gag that’re in the trailer are all that are there.  The launch had a session where VVS, Rahul Dravid, Saurav Ganguly and Sachin shared the stage. And Harsha moderated. That was king. More interesting stories came out of the closet that day than an entire hardcover book.

To be fair (to the extent possible), when you’ve lived a life that’s scrutinized at every possible turn, there is precious little left to reveal. Yet, the man has been an immensely private person. And he finally writes a book titled – Paying It My Way. What’s the least you would expect-  honesty? An explanation of the many unexplained things? Things you’d expect were brushed under the carpet while saying – we had a tough day in the field…

By all possible benchmarks of a biography – the book is BAD! And that’s an understatement. Its boring, it lacks any new insight into a person who’s the biggest sporting legend/ brand that this country has seen, and rather than being an autobiography OR a biography, it’s a collection of post-match interviews. “The boys played well”, “The ball was doing a bit”, “My goal was to stay on the crease as long as I could”, “The team supported me”, “the management has been supporting the team”, kinds. It adds nothing to your understanding of what made the man the legend.

If I think about his career, as someone who has no desire to get into the stats surrounding his career, I would still want a such titled book to  get into a few spheres–

  • The kind of monstrous desire to play cricket and be successful in it that made him play two matches a day with hours of practice around it
  • His relationship with Marc Mascarenhas, his brother, his family, etc. – the people he thanked so well in the speech that made a nation cry
  • The momentousness of the first match. The match that actually stood out in his lifetime. Was there one? Ever? Anything?
  • The mental and physical preparation that went into some of the big matches, like world cup final or Sharjah.
  • The Chennai test, and some such disappointments
  • His captaincy years
  • A little more about the monkeygate incident.

 

I can go on and on and on. But the book has nothing to offer.

And that’s a huge disservice to the people who’ve been waiting for the book. What was the point of the autobiography anyway? I might as well have clicked a few hyperlinks on Cricinfo. The book is an opportunity wasted.  And that’s why I think the book is unfair. Grossly unfair.

There are times I am glad that there aren’t too many times Sachin has given hour long interviews. His aura would have diminished. For now, let me go and watch some of his innings on youtube.

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Thank You Sachin

November 15, 2013 2 Comments

Its been a while since I wrote something on this blog. But then, some things need to be written. And that’s that. I am here. To say one more time. #ThankYouSachin.

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In a way, you can call him my first ever crush. That sounds inappropriate coming from a guy, but its true. You stay up all night to be with him. You would probably be ready to give up your precious bicycle to shake hands with him. And not wash your hands for days after that. You wait eagerly to watch them in action. Say something. Something. Anything. Their arrival (on the pitch) is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Their departure, the worst point of your day. They become the reason why you stick on to a match. The only time I managed to get an autograph was when he came to Ranchi to play in a double-wicket tournament (do double wicket tournaments still happen these days?).

I have a distinct memory that defines my relationship with Sachin. But the memory that I am talking about is a couple of years before Sachin debuted. It was the India-Australia league stage match of ’87 world cup. India lost to Australia. Steve Waugh had done what he always did. Came to bowl the death overs to sound the death bells of the opposition. Somewhere you liked Steve Waugh. Somewhere you hated him. At that time, I was 7 years old. Our room (me, bhaiya and didi) had posters of Srikanth, Gavaskar Kapil and co. We lost by 1 run. After a pretty awesome start led by Gavaskar, Srikanth and Sidhu. We had a usual middle order collapse. Our number 10 batsman in that match was Manoj Prabhakar, who eventually opened the batting for India at a later stage! We still lost. I pulled down the posters of Shastri et al. Tore them down.

Being someone who started watching most of his cricket around that time frame, I always thought that we had a spineless and a 50% team. 50% of the team was there on merit, while the rest where there because we did not have anyone better. The older players had started fading, and newer ones were few. The flashy shastri of Benson & Hedges had given way to a walk-stop-walk-stop Shastri by then. Colonel was slowing down. Gavaskar, Srikanth and co were exhausted. And we celebrated mediocrity. And victories over Pakistan, as and when they happened.

And then came Sachin. In 1989. The exhibition match. The four sixes of Abdul Qadir in the same over. I felt good. Then NewZealand. 82 of 49. Somewhere, Perth had happened. And I was growing a spine. For the next decade, he became the reason I watched matches. I switched off television after he got out. I hated people like Jonty Rhodes or Adam Bacher. I hated people like Harris even more, bloody part-timers who got him every once in a while. I rejoiced Olonga badgering, even though I knew that the previous one was a one-off fluke. I created revenge stories in my head. And the ultimate high of that hit-over-the-midwicket off Shane Warne. Or, that straight six of Kasprowicz in Sharjah. And that straight drive. And that paddle. And that drive. And then the nudge. That flick off the hips. That manoeuvre. That lofted shot over the wicket keeper. That hunger for that single. That back. That tennis elbow. That heavy willow. That stance. That looking towards the sky. That late cut. That playful leg break. And the number of times I played those shadow shots in the house. In the neighbourhood. Tried to. Still try to.

Our hopes created many Robins for this Batman. And we blamed everyone else for the times when India failed while he fought on. Gradually, we started blaming him. We blame the Gods, don’t we. For the pain and suffering in this world. So, we blamed him. But did not feel good about it.

We wanted him to retire earlier, because we didn’t want him to die a mortal. The sudarshan wielding Krishna who was shot by a mortal’s arrow. Sa-deha Swargyatra.

And now he does. It doesn’t matter what he did in the last year or two. Because we are ungrateful like that. Because we forget that the Indian Cricket team of today is, in fact, his legacy. And of a few others who get forgotten when a moment like this comes (Dravid, Ganguly, Laxman, Kumble…). There may be more who may end up scoring more, better, faster, more consistently, more frequently. The game will change and the players will too. Yet, there will be none who can be Him. And there will be none who will impact a sports in a nation like he did. So, lets celebrate the One. The Only One. #ThankYouSachin.

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Kohli summed it up for me when India won the world cup last year – “He has carried India for 20 years, so now it is time we should carry him.”

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Image courtesy: Dailymail.co.uk, Firstpost, NDTV

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Book Review – The Test of My Life – From Cricket to Cancer and Back

April 12, 2013 Leave a comment

the-test-of-my-life-from-cricket-to-cancer-and-back-hardcover-Have you ever started your day with an abrupt cough and vomiting attack? Imagine a tooth pain, can you? How does the drudgery of going to the office or college or school feel like on that day? Are you able to focus? Now multiply that discomfort several times over. And then, imagine trying to focus hard enough to win a world cup. And be the player of the tournament. Fathom the magnitude? That’s what Yuvraj did in 2012, as he overcame major personal odds to win the tournament. Yuvi pours out his heart in this chronicle of his fight against Cancer. Abruptly at times, incoherent at times, but with his heart in the right place most of the times.

This book is not exactly an inspirational book, like most such books are expected to be. It’s just a heartfelt chronicle. It starts with his denial of the disease, and ends with his eventually successful treatment of it. It is not a tale of heroism. It is not a glorification of how this victory was achieved. And thankfully, it gives credit where its due. The people around Yuvi who helped him wade through this journey. The resources he had at his disposal. And probably, most importantly, his mother.

The book was kind of personal to me. Over the last couple of years, we have gone through a similar journey, where sometimes the very act of living gets discounted by the fight for survival. Moving from a test to another, one opinion to another, one chemotherapy session to another. You know that you don’t have an option but to fight, but it becomes difficult every now and then. Somewhere when I was reading through the book, the book was an insight into how my dad might have felt over these months. We do not have the kind of resources that Yuvi might have had at his disposal, but I am sure the fight of mind over body does not become easier just because you have the best doctors looking at you. So, for that, I am glad that I read this book.

The book does not carry much of a literary value. Its language is unpolished, and fairly inconsistent. The timelines are fuzzy, and the editors have done a rushed job on the book. I would say that it’s a purely commercial act, and that ends up discounting Yuvi’s ordeal a fair bit. But thankfully, somewhat like Rafa’s sectional autobiography, the book has a very honest sound to it, and that’s what makes it an OK read. A somewhat more interesting story that runs parallel throughout is Yuvi’s relationship with his father. It makes you wonder if it was even a remotely healthy one or not. And how did such an unhealthy relationship become the foundation of such a promising sportsperson.

At this juncture, it’s difficult to say whether Yuvi will ever be a permanent fixture of the Indian Test team, but it suffices to say that several years back, when he opened the gates to the grand entrance, he almost blew them open. His talent is unquestionable, his work ethics has often been questioned, and his achievements do not stand true to his potential. Yet.

I think the true segment for this book is cricket lovers, and not people who are looking for an inspirational tale of fight-back. Someone who has no relation with the game may not even appreciate it. Not for cancer survivors really, because Lance Armstrong’s book is a better one for that. And I don’t enjoy the sports called cycling much.

And lastly, Dear Yuvi, you should not have used the book for such a heavy parading of your twitter presence and your charitable foundation. Seemed like an overdose by the end of it.

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Sachin

December 23, 2012 Leave a comment

The Tallest Cricket We Will Ever See

The Tallest Cricket We Will Ever See

I am affected by his retirement from ODIs. It’s time. It’s his decision. But it didn’t happen right. And we know it. And maybe at the end of SAF tour, he will announce his test retirement. The signs are there. The statement was on phone, brief, and a formality for a decision made differently, in some other place.

I am a Tendulkar fan. I won’t use the word “was”. I am. And I will be. Let me try and explain why.

Today, Indian team is going through a slump. Right? Several test defeats home and away, spineless performances, unimaginative captaincy, etc. etc. are being discussed. And somewhere, Sachin’s run with the team is being questioned. And people are talking about their growing disinterest and apathy towards the game.

If you were born in the 1975-1985 period (you just missed being a part of India’s WC 84 victory, but you’ve heard about it), you may remember. We had a horror of a team in late 80s and 90s. Full of legends dragging themselves, and a support battery that boasted of one hit wonders. Batsmen that were crafty or interesting or talented, but not match winners. Spinners that never could replicate the famed Bedi-Prasanna-Chandra era. Fielders that could make me feel like I am super-fit. At my present day fitness levels. And attitudes that reeked of – thank you, take it or leave it.

And then we heard conversations. About this talent. And then we saw it happen. Against Abdul Qadir. And then New Zealand. And then Australia. And then. And then. And we finally had something to attach our hopes and aspirations to. And he played. Like a tidal wave, he offered us adventure, excitement and peace. We rose with him. And we fell down with him. We reveled in the desert storm inning that did not win the match but took us to the final. And we made statements like – “if only he were around for 2 more overs”. Or – “Ab kya faayda. Band kar do ab TV”. And we cursed anyone who came up some convoluted statistical analysis to prove that you aren’t what you are made out to be. One of the things that all religious people tell you is that it’s about believing. And hence, the #SachinIsGod hashtags/memes never seemed too overboard.

Fast forward to 2011-2012– he fails. Critics who couldn’t last ten overs on the field debate how long he should stay on the field. I don’t care. Though I am all worried too. And I hope that there will be a swan song, but I am afraid that there won’t be one. For this is not a bollywood movie where someone just listens to a patriotic song or a mother’s cry and gets up to beat the bad guys.

Now, is there someone who’s been able to keep me interested? Someone to explain – why it doesn’t matter if I don’t follow every delivery of the game?. Online, offline? Why I won’t go out of my way to buy “Cricket Samrat”, “Sportstar” and go through the scoresheet of every match? And those cutout posters on the walls of your room? Yes, Kohli will earn his chips. And maybe a Rahane will happen. But right now, all hell breaks loose, and everyone’s fixated on this one guy. And you still want to debate that he is not the one you want to see as your best bet. Be my guest. I have nothing more to tell you.

Tendlya – Do what you’ve always done. Put on your headphones. And listen to Kishore Kumar or Pink Floyd. For the chatter ain’t worth it.

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Sachin’s Retirement?

November 30, 2012 6 Comments

My response to GreatBong’s post on Sachin’s retirement and the comparison with Gandhiji.

Somewhere, most people are finding it fashionable to ask for Sachin’s retirement – legacy, quitting at the top of your game, etc. Well, sadly, most of us won’t even know what the top of our own respective game is. Maybe, that’s why, every text book on success asks you to keep challenging yourself for a higher goal. A goal higher than the one you’ve just achieved or you think you can achieve.

First up, I don’t want to pay heed to the comparison. It’s grossly unfair to compare the two. What Gandhi baba was affecting was the future of an entire nation and maybe his outliving his utility could be, well, a debate worthy point. What Sachin is affecting, and apparently adversely, is what a vocal part of the media is parading as ‘his legacy’. Well, first up, his legacy is his choice. Maybe he does not want the legacy that you think he should leave behind. Maybe its right now a joke, but probably true, that he wants to continue to be fit and performing enough to take the cricketing field alongside his son. Maybe after scoring 100 centuries etc, he still cares about that one more century, one more knock, one more extended stay at the crease facing the best of the bowlers. Remember what Punter said about old fashioned cricket meaning that he goes out and stays at the wicket for as long as someone else cannot get him out. More than he cares about his legacy. Maybe his love for the craft his bigger than his love for what you think of him. Just maybe. Remember Pancham? The great artist. The great musician. The one who’s revered. Remember his swan song – 1942 A Love Story. Remember how he got his “3rd and last” film fare after his death. And remember his failures in the last phase of his career. No? Should he have stopped playing music? Composing? To protect his legacy. And not given us Ijaazat? Or 1942? I believe that the world of Hindi music is richer by the coming together of those three geniuses for Ijaazat.

Pro-sport is an individual choice. Competing at the highest level requires many sacrificies that the average reader of any blog is not even capable of. Sachin’s actions may hurt your sentiments by having (apparently) caused a cricketing loss, but beyond that, there is nothing. To enter the game was his choice, to have treated his body with care (or not) in a way that he has outlasted his peer group (and you don’t see him walking out of the field or not fielding at the boundaries or not taking those cheeky singles yet), his love/economics embedded in the game – EVERYTHING is his decision. And hence the legacy that unfortunately exists in your head or mine is our respective problem. When he started, he started playing the name. What he is leaving behind is a legacy alright. BUT a legacy is not just the last chapter of a career that spanned more than two decades. His legacy is that a generation of cricket fans have survived, have not given up, and continue to debate Indian cricket. His legacy is a team that teams around the world don’t write off anymore. His legacy is the joy of watching great cricketing shots every time you pick a Sachin video. And the collective disappointment when he is dismissed. His legacy is the ability to convert the theoretical basics of cricket into geniusly creative implementation that you and I can debate for hours. And like a  corporate review system, if we’re constrained by the last patch to decide what the true legacy of this performer is going to be, that AGAIN is our respective problem.

The unfortunate truth somewhere here is that our selection committee has forgotten what they need to do when players are going through a bad patch. However, that’s true of us a nation. Gandhi parivaar should not be touched because they have a legacy. Everything Ambanis touch is corrupt because there’s is a legacy too. Don’t question your parents, because they are, after all, your parents. Asking Dravid, Ganguly or anyone else who was big enough a name to rest has always been a problem. Except Laxman! 🙂 A related unfortunate truth is that a player should give way to someone who can do the job better than him/her. In this case, we have had a serious dearth of options. If we had options, we would not have discovered the true genius of Laxman, btw. I could agree that Rahane and Mukund and co deserve extended blooding, but that could well be at the cost of a Dhoni, right? Is he performing with the bat? He does not even have a legacy. And worse still, he does not have a technique.

Whether or not there is a set of 11 players beyond this current lot that needs to be looked at is a question that should be asked, in all fairness. But, the debate cannot be about Sachin. Let the debate be about Indian Cricket. Let the debate be about what’s working and what’s not. What can be improved and what cannot be. Who needs to go out and who needs to come in. And if the answer is Sachin, the people in charge need to have the balls to say it.

And yes. If, in there, somewhere, Sachin is still your best bet to go out, take on a quality opposition and make a game of it, then let him play with the peace of mind that he deserves.

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Culture of Whites

November 9, 2012 Leave a comment

As a young kid, impressionable, ambitious, and a little crazy as I might have been back then, there was a little thing that was sacrosanct. That someone who was really serious about his Cricket, wore the “whites”. The other colors were for fun. Like the Benson & Hedges tournament down under. The cherry was supposed to be red. For it to be menacing and serious. You get the point.

So, when I went for my first cricket camp, since I could not really have a separate set of appropriate whites for playing cricket only, it boiled down to my white school shirt, and that white school trouser that you were supposed to wear on a specific weekday, for example, a saturday. I had white canvas shoes as well. But this time, thankfully, big brother came to my rescue. He had played school league already, and much as it would have affected the monthly budgets, my parents had bought him a pair of cricketing shoes with spikes and everything. He had outgrown them, and they were available for me. A little worn out, but a matter of pride, because not everyone had them. And you had to go to “Main Road” to buy them in Ranchi.

But, in short, the whites were sacred. Once you donned the whites, you played seriously. The stakes became higher. The intensity, that much stronger.

And the players wore those white V-neck sweaters in winters. The ones which had a combination color rim around the neck. The colors representing your country colors. Indians had blue. Aussies had yellow and baggy green. Me and my brother had pleaded with mom to get her to knit one of those sweaters for us. And she did. And we wore them, and felt let like the real deal. Nothing could go wrong after that. Yet it did. You did gt thwacked around the park. Or bowled out for a duck. But that could happen to Kapil. OR Kris Srikant as well. It’s just that you felt that you were giving your 100%.

And you imitated. That wonderful Kapil pose. Or the long Kumble run up. Or, that menacing Akram yorker. Or, even Gladstone Small. Or, that Shashtri defend and take a few false steps trick. Or that Kris Srikanth twitch, walk to the leg umpire, stretch your feet apart much more than any other batsman would, and try to take on the Akrams and the Ambroses of the world.

And much as the game was called a gentlemen’s game, complain like rowdies whenever you felt that a decision was unfair against India. Be ridiculous about supporting Sunny’s walking out. Be kiddishly gleefuk about that akram yorker that brought some ofthe finest to the ground. And discuss the match for several hours after it ended. That hit and that miss. Quite different from the post-match package by Sony Entertainment.

And just as the day would be coming to an end, with a little bit of light still left before sunset, run to the ground to get a five over game in. You and your band of fellow gentlemen. Whites or no-whites.

Such was the culture of whites. As I remember it.

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A Very Very Special Friend

August 19, 2012 1 Comment

Have you ever had a friend that you depend on without really being overtly worried about where they are at this very moment? The kinds you don’t bother to call for days and weeks and months, but you know they are there. The conversation with them starts seamlessly every time. Irrespective of the break. Maybe not so often, but they are the ones that you call when you really need to talk.

Today, I can feel a void. One such friend has decided to call it quits. Not be there. A very very special friend.

A little too much is said about Tendulkar (who kept me interested in cricket in an era where there was hardly anything going for indian cricket fan and all the “talent” was in Australia, Pakistan or West Indies), Ganguly (who brought the spunk in the team with shirtless heroics), Dravid (the wall that stood tall), Dhoni (the deliverer of the world cup), etc. But not so much about Kumble.. and this very very special guy from Hyderabad, Vangipuruppu Venkata Sai Laxman.

As a young cricket fan, I watched every match, every series, every tournament. Always hoping, never believing. Always knowing that it’s possible, always scared that it won’t happen. And then, “it” happened. On the third and the fourth and the fifth day of a test match in Eden Gardens. And whether I accept it or not, that was the day I stopped being scared. He became the friend that I did not talk about too often, but always knew that I could depend on him. He might have failed me a couple of times, but that’s ok. I never burdened him with the weight of my expectations, and he never acted like he didn’t care.

Dravid once wrote – “Nothing calms you like Laxman”. So true for the fans too. And while saying that, I am not discounting what a Sehwag or a Tendulkar or a Dravid had done already or were doing. But, here is a cricketer who did not have the odds going in his favor, who was the favorite scapegoat on the sacrificial altar, and who had been left out more often than he was called in. For a batsman of his caliber to not have played the world cup despite a 16 year long career, would be considered blasphemous in many countries, and I struggle to find an example so intimidating for the opposition, yet so indifferently treated by his own countrymen. And in the middle of all this, that sense of calm is enviable. I remember that 5 second jumper from Michael Jordan in 1998 against Utah Jazz. The remarkable thing was the sense of calm as he went up, and time stood still for a moment, as he downed the jumped. If I had to take a bet on someone who could do something similar for Indian cricket team, it would have to be VVS. And nothing brings it to the fore as acutely as the test match against west indies.

As Mukul Kesavan points out in his article in Telegraph today, someday, the statisticians will discount the value of VVS by looking at his sub-50 averages that “will strike the future fan as pedestrian”. But while the phone minutes run higher for your most recent girlfriend, the value of that single call made to that dear friend in that moment of need cannot be quantified. And you, VVS, have been one of the dearest friends of Indian Cricket.

 

(Image Courtesy: HindustanTimes)

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Cricket Can Be Like That

January 13, 2012 2 Comments

Long ago, I was working on a difficult project. The analysis had been difficult, the recommendations not too obvious, the storyline not so coherent. One of those engagements where V75 of the deck looks completely different from V01, and quite different from the final version of what is shared with the client. Intense debates happen. All the time.

At about 4 in the morning, we finalized the presentation. After 2 hours of going through pennies and dimes and the lines and the fonts and the colors and the boxes and the flows and words and the sentences, we sent it to the client. We were all sure about the great job we had done. We had couple of hours left to lighten up and get refreshed. We had a plan. And we felt good about it.

First 20 minutes were by the book. It was a good feeling. Then we hit the third insight on the sixth slide, which made us refer to slide 192 of the appendix section. That number was wrong! Shoulders dropped. We all lost a bit of our altitude and attitude. From that point onwards, for the next 1 hour 40 minutes, things were on the tenterhooks. We could not be sure any more. And the client was not sure. They double checked everything. They had a feedback about almost everything. We felt bad. We were not ready to concede our mistake so easily. They were not ready to acknowledge the work that had gone in. Everyone was unhappy. And we get into that mode of well, give us another chance and we will set it right. But some problems are just difficult. Sometimes.

Critics often remind me of clients. They are the gatekeepers of the collective insights, through their (right or wrong) opinions. A mistake, that nudge or that poking of that ball that you should have left, the ambitious loft, the failure to get your act together in the face of crisis, are dissected in every possible way. And if nothing else, the leader. Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.

What did I do when it was all over – I was terribly upset. I got all defensive initially. Angry in a bit. And finally… I don’t remember :-).  I would have liked to remind myself – Shit Happens!

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Tomorrow, we will win

April 1, 2011 Leave a comment

My heart skips a beat, as I think about the match tomorrow. In anticipation, trepidation, excitement and fear.

In 1983, when India won the worldcup, I was 3 years old, my brother was 7, and we were a joint-ish family living in a small town of Uttar Pradesh. I think it was around the middle of the world cup that our family bought a TV, a black and white Uptron TV, that used to come with wooden slider doors to keep the TV safe while you weren’t watching it. It was on that TV that my mamaji, my cousin, my dad and everyone else saw India lift the cup, and it was then that my brother became a cricket fanatic. I think my love for cricket has something to do with that world cup, because I do remember watching every match of the World Championship Series in Australia after that, and Ravi Shastri winning that Audi as the man of the series.

In 1996, I was a India fanatic when it came to cricket. A fan, who believed that irrespective of the quality of opposition, India is entitled to win every match. Just to get disappointed every now and then, but holding on to the belief. Tendulkar had come of age. I had belief. And there was a small matter of faith in match winners like Ajay Jadeja and Anil Kumble.

In 1996, we played Pakistan in Bangalore, and in that era, my brother was a gully cricket mate of a certain Mahindra Singh Dhoni, and I was Mahi’s school cricket mate. I had played cricket at the school and district level. I had played alongside this someone who I thought could make it big, but never would. It was too difficult to break the shackles of corruption in Bihar, inside sports as well. Nepotism was a fact, and the opportunities were fewer. My brother had stopped representing any team, and started trying to build a career based on academic education, and I had chosen to get ready for the mass orgy known as IIT Joint Entrance Examination. I had, for what it was worth, hung my boots. But I was a fan nevertheless. The evenings in a small town like Ranchi, and in a township like Mecon are all about celebrating the victory of the match gone by, or the drowning of the loss. We played tennis ball cricket. We felt happy that India had defeated Pakistan. Few days later, we met Sri Lanka, a team we had lost to in the league stage (and we called it a fluke), and a team that we lost to yet again (bad pitch, right), despite that oh so hopeful brilliance of getting Jayasurya and Kaluwitharana out early. The memory of Vinod Kambli in tears still swells me up. Even though I know for sure that we could not have won the match from there.

15 years later, I am still a fan. I am not fanatic anymore. MSD is inside the television, and I am on the armchair. Given the company I keep, and the analysis that everyone does, and the views and opinions that are bombarded at me from all corners, I have, I believe, become pragmatic. When India plays Australia, I weigh options, and think of getting Ponting out cheaply because he is not just a sheet anchor, he is also a destroyer, and an aggressive leader. I evaluate the weaknesses of Indian bowling. Back then, watching a cricket match was about shouting childish abuses, stupid chants of abracadabra – arvinda desilva swaha, and wishing that every delivery get a wicket, or every shot from Tendulkar’s willow be a boundary. Today, it’s about appreciating that brilliant spell from Wahab Riaz or Brett Lee, even as they come close to demolishing the Indian dream of winning this world cup. If I don’t do that, people will think that I am a biased Indian who is not enjoying the game in totality, and missing out on much the game has to offer. Well – intellectualism comes at a price. It often takes your passion away. One upon a time, I too wanted to wear the blue. And those who wear it, and have walked inside a stadium full of people cheering you to win (Mahi wears it. I envy him. And I love him for that), I can only dream of the high they feel. At that one moment, its not rational. And I create that moment. I am no Navjot Singh Sidhu sitting in an air-conditioned studio analyzing the game. I am ‘The Indian Fan’. And to me, the only thing that eventually makes or breaks my days, is whether India won or not.

And so, this world cup, for the quarter final and the semi final, against two brilliantly tough opponents, I let my heart be where it belongs. I watched and predicted like an Indian fan. Before the match started, my heart and mind knew only one thing. That we will win. I chanted. And I cursed. I did not get up from seat with the fear of jinxing things. Things might have looked like going this way or the other as the match progressed, but I knew only one thing. That we will win. As Ponting accumulated a masterclass century, and people started talking about the pressure, I still said only one thing. That we will win. As Wahab Riaz ripped Indian top order, and analysts and pundits said that we are some 30 runs short, I still said only one thing. That we will win. I added, purely from my heart, that the margin will be 30 runs at least. And my heart was right. We did win. By 29 runs.

Now, we are back to an opponent who’s given us one of the worst scars of cricket, with the exception of Miandad’s Six in Sharjah. Incidentally, after India lost the sharjah, I tore off all the Chetan Sharma posters at home, that used to come with Cricket Samrat. When India lost that 1987 match against Australia, I did feel betrayed by Sunil Gavaskar and Ravi Shastri and co. In 1996, I felt sorry for Sachin, and I hated the entire team for what they brought the match to (apparently). Was there any logic in those emotions? I doubt.

I don’t want to be pragmatic and think about the strengths and weaknesses of my team. No. I am back to where my heart belongs. I know that we are going to win. And damn it, I will raise the stakes this time. If India bats first, we will win by at least 35 runs, and if India chases, we are winning by at least 5 wickets. And till these predictions are violated, you can try and use any mathematics, logic, divine analysis to suggest that something otherwise would happen. I would just stick my tongue out at you.. make a :P, and then go “brrrrrrrrrr”. I will be there. Watching every ball of the match. And believing in only one thing. That we will win.

You still want to say something? Brrrrrrr…. We Will Win

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India-Pak Semi: The Pinnacle of Advertising in India

March 30, 2011 1 Comment

Today should be noted in the books of history. It doesn’t happen too often. And it’s unlikely to happen again in the next 8 years. As India play Pakistan in the semifinal of Cricket World Cup, the world of adveritsing would have changed, and the price barriers would have set a new benchmark for how expensive an ad slot can be. It will be interesting if any weed smoking son of the gun can calculate the real ROI of an ad slot today.
Here’s the opportunity (the ‘for dummies” version) –

  • Everyone’s watching – It’s that one topic. If you are marginally aware of cricket, you’d be watching it. If you’re not, then you’d be forced to, because the others won’t let you put anything else on the tube.
  • The same thing – The match is being telecast on three channels I guess- DD, Star Cricket, Star Sports. Each of them have their reach and captive audience. English speaking audience would prefer Star Cricket, given the commentator panel. DD would be the default for the parts of the country where people don’t still have cable tv/ set top boxes.
  • And they are confident India would win – the confidence of the nation, because despite the relative strengths or weaknesses, Pakistan has never defeated India in a world cup match. Oz and SL have. And that’s why the emotions are a lot more subdued. Lots of critics would weigh the balance of the two sides. And lots of people on the street would feel that we are going to the final. Its as much a celebration as it is an encounter
  • Yet they expect it and want it to be competitive – It has usually been like that. And more so in our head than in reality. A 50 run partnership in another match can be seen as normal, but would be seen as a high pressure situation for the bowling side today. So, people are going to take it to the wire, irrespective of the end score.
  • Without any lapse of attention – Its an 8 hour+ marathon. That tension would means a higher adrenalin rush, and greater attention to the most minute details of your ad. People will be all eyes and ears. They will watch just that one channel, and will keep looking for it. Because they don’t want to miss that moment when something happens – that wicket, that boundary, that divine shot, or that cut, or that miss.
  • And will be discussing it – everyone’s a critic today. Everyone has an opinion. And today, it’s out in the open. To the extent, that they would discuss the ads that feature the cricketers to assess how weird/funny/ridiculous it might be. In some cases, those ad taglines would be used in the context of the match. Imagine Shoaib bowling a bouncer to Sachin and thousands of people quipping – aisi delivery khelne ke liye protection chahiye.
  • In their rooms – Quite like the superbowl, there is a frenzy in metros and villages alike. Inverters/ Batteries/ Generators have been arranged for and charged to ensure that a power failure does not stop them from watching the match. Watch-dos have been organized by people inviting friends/ family/ colleagues. Offices have arranged for projects and audio systems for large hall screenings. And people will be reaching early to get their prized seats early.
  • Or, on the internet – If OZ match was an indication – half the internet generation of India would be tweeting/facebooking about the match, with their emotions out in the open. There will less analysis, and more expression of the moment. Y
  • And will remember – Yes. We may not remember what the boss said this morning. But we are pretty good at remembering that six Sachin Tendulkar hit of Kasprowicz in that Desert Storm innings, or the exact shape of the Venkatesh Prasad delivery that took care of Aamir Sohail. And Sehwag ki Maa stays as one of the most epic ads (in terms of recall) ever. I won’t be surprised if Yuvraj’s Revital and bhaag daud se bhari zindagi might be the next one.
  • If they like or dislike something – the opinions and expressions are not always about things people dislike. It covers the likes, the neutrals, the sharpness or the dimwittedness of the moment, analysis of players, analysis of commentators, ads, presentation ceremony and everything else.
  • And while doing all this, they are consuming! Let’s not forget that these viewers will also be guzzling down large quantities of drinks (Alocholic and non-alocholic) with chips, popcorns, dine-in orders, kebabs, pakodas and what nots. Unless the delivery guy of the neighborhood shop refuses to go for delivery today, or the ever so accommodating mothers and wives decide to join the cricket party.

What you are assured of is an assured and a HUGE number of viewers who’d not flip the channel even as you beam them with the most inane and absurd ads, and there are quite a few of them. What you gonna do that’s gonna leave a name for you? In advertising, there cannot be bad recall, as long as there is recall.
And yes, its also a day where the nation’s collective productivity loss would have most likely offset any commercial return possible. Even the Prime Minister is not working. Yet, wouldn’t the ultimate master of ceremonies say – “People of India, and People of the World, ARE YOU HAVING FUN?”

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Shaz, Waz & Bhaz? Dunce Premier League

February 1, 2010 3 Comments

Harbhajan Singh has made some shocking revelations in his yet to be published autobiography, portions of which were leaked online, reportedly by himself. He has apparently been inspired by Rakhi Sawant who believes that Jejus favors those who claim their rights, lefts and centers, at the drop of a hat. Unconfirmed sources reveal that the Turbanator, whose last successful outing was a dance competition where having gone for a back breaking dance performance along with partner Mona of “Bhajji jaisa koi nahi”, lost interest in any kind of outings shortly after the show.

He developed a keen interest in innings though, a phenomenon which is hardly driven by the feedback he received for his dance performance after winning the show. The judges, the good looking duo of Waseem Akram (known for his in-swinging Yorkers) and Sushmita Sen (who has been a bollywood industry insider for a while), caught his fancy, though it was unclear till now who had a longer lasting impact on Bhajji. During the feedback, Bhajji apparently heardthe judges say that “broke dunce” was something actors like Hrithik excelled at, and could be a great asset for a Bollywood career, if he ever decided to pursue one. Drawing inspirations from the successful Bollywood careers of previous actors like Mazhar Khan, whose blockbuster role “naam abdul hai mera sab ki khabar rakhta hoon”, and Mohsin Khan (whose unforgettable performance in Saathi, featuring songs like “chahe meri jaan tu le le”, are stuff legends are made of), Bhajji decided to immediately check the dictionary meaning of broke dunce.

Having concluded that Waseem bhai was instead making a point about what he thought of Bhajji (dunce) and his financial status (broke, the reason he apparently decided to become a swinger rather than a spinster), a devastated bhajji took the vow that he will beat Waseem bhai at his own game – toe crushing yore curse. Though he never looked up the meaning of toe, industry insiders claim that they fully understand the part of Waseem bhai’s anatomy he was going to crush/curse. Too tired to be a Moin Khan shouting “shabaas waseem bhai, shabaas”, Bhajji took to black magic, especially visible in his black turbanating performances in international cricket being supremely superior to all other spinsters being tried by the Indian team. He finally earned his rightful place down the order and in the middle overs.

I'm a black magic woman!

Black Mamba!

Bhajji trying doosra

Bhajji has also seen black a few times, the signs of which could be seen in his symbolic conversations with Symonds in a match during the friendly Australia series.

Sign is king!

Lately, unconfirmed reports from media suggested that Bhajji having read the confederacy of dunces (he reveals in the leaked prints that he never actually read the book, he just heard that it’s an award winning book which talks about the force that intellectuall duncity can be), and getting spurred by the successful run of 3dunces, led by the karismatic/kareenatic Aamir, remarked that being a dunce is not a bad deal, as long as you are not broke. Since then, he has decided to consume a lot of MSD for keeping him high up the preferential ladder compared to noobs like Mishraji (the mixed one) and Ojhaji (mera black magic tumhare ojha-tantrik jhaad phoonk se better hai). Some crack indeed. These addictions have also revealed why Waseem bhai’s comments hurt Bhajji so much.

After Shaz, why not Bhaz, is a question, he reportedly asks in his book. “Bhazzi & Wazzi on the beach” could have become the greatest love story since “Ajab Prem Ki Ghajab Kahani”! I think that Wazn’t meant to be!

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Faded Memories: Playing Cricket circa 1994, with Mahi.. or… Dhoni(?)

January 30, 2010 4 Comments

It was 1994. One year since I moved from Kendriya Vidyalaya, the government school that I was used to studying at, to DAV Shyamali in Ranchi. End of my standard 9th exams, a below average academic year by the standards set for myself, in a new school, and a notice on the notice board which talked about an upcoming cricket camp during summer vacations, I joined the camp. I guess more because it was cricket, and twice a day, than the fact that it was a camp.
That was first time I changed from being a backyard gully cricketer which probably 90%+ of school going boys were in those years, to someone who took (or wanted to take) cricket a little more seriously. And that was the time I met my cricketing quad – Anil Singh, Niraj Singh, Mahi (Mahendra Singh Dhoni) and myself. The camp was for 12-15 year olds. I was 14 then, and Mahi was 13. Niraj and Anil were my classmates.
Note: We still remember him as Mahi. His earlier cricket records from school league would mention Mahinder Singh. Not Dhoni. And yeah, it’s not the punjabi way of saying MAAAAAHI. It was Mahi, simple, with a very very short emphasis on ‘a’ (the ma of Maa – mother vs. the ma of Mandir). Or more ruggedly, “ka re, ee mahiyaa kahan hai”, which was not the mindblowing Maahiya kinds. It was the bihari Mahiyaa (with a very short emphasis on the first “a”).
The quad? because the four of us played for the DAV cricket team the same year. Anil was a left arm fast bowler, with a very nice angling run-up (Mitchell Johnson kinds) and had a natural outswinger. But too inconsistent, and too prone to nautanki (like trying to invent a left arm version of Kapil Dev’s vintage bowling pose). Niraj was a leg spinner who also batted up the order. Mahi was a keeper batsman (used to come in at 1 down or 2), and I was an off-spinner (the most lowly of breeds in the game of cricket).

In a short stint, I did well (I had my own off-spinner’s version of Anil Kumble – run up to the crease, jump, and pace – full package deal). That was the era, when India used to have spin trios all the time (Raju, Kumble, Chauhan kinds). So, having bowlers like me, Niraj et al in school league, which was more about slam, bam, thank you ma’m, was not a misplaced error from the selection committee.

Those of you who’ve followed ‘Dhoni’ would remember K R Bannerjee, the school teacher who moved him from soccer to Cricket. Though, in my memory from 1994 onwards, I don’t remember Mahi ever playing football/soccer that seriously. All my memories of him are of him playing cricket with me and the school team folks, or of him playing cricket with the team which had my brother and the likes of Tunna. But then, I must be wrong about his simultaneous calls from district level cricket and football being an urban legend.
We used to live in Mecon colony in Ranchi, and Mahi’s house was in the lane behind our house. J block. And, my brother was his tennis ball cricket team-mate ( they won a few local tournaments together), and I was his leather ball/school league cricket team mate (we also won a few tournaments together).

Back then, like his earlier years in international cricket, he was a mercenary batsman. Few snapshots I remember very vividly from 1994-1997 era- hitting Subroto Banerjee (who had just come back from an India team outing) for a six towards the square leg boundary (the ball landed on top of a huge water tank, several storeys tall a couple of blocks away from the stadium), hitting the double ton in school league final (a 35 over match), hitting 5 sixes in the space of 10 balls in a day-night tennis ball tournament (where for some weird reason, he had not come in at his usual 1 down, and had come pretty late down the order). One of those sixes was a hoist over cover boundary (and believe me, its not very easy with a tennis ball, when playing under dim lights).

The only thing I had in common with him was the devil may care attitude about our game. Hit me for a six, and I would hardly be flustered. Get him out first ball, or beat him three balls in a row, he would hardly be flustered. And he would have the widest grin for everything. That is something still seen on TV. Though I dont remember seeing him get angry about anything back then. He does now. Guess the stakes are too high now.

A batch junior to me in school, and with our limitations limited to the cricket ground and thereabouts, he was the usual 9th standard Ranchi kid back then. Always up to some mischief or the other, had a wise-crack for almost everything, was interested in the girls around, but probably hadn’t talked to more than a couple, loved batting more than keeping, loved taking a single off the last ball to keep the strike, and avoiding doubles even when the opportunity would be for a quick three. Don’t remember him as someone who’d walk away with his bat if he got out early. He also wanted to hit more boundaries than take runs. And he could run the first run really quickly, if it was the first delivery of the over.

There aren’t a lot of outings we had together. Why? I was from a background where hopes resided on my academic abilities more than my athletic abilities. My brother anyways was a much better cricketer than me, and had succumbed to the ways of preparing for engineering entrance examinations long before me. Though, to be fair to myself and everyone else, I did play a few important matches during that year’s school league, and had the call to join the district team. Its a different matter that the final round of NTSE exams on 14th May 2005 coincided with the district team training and selection camp. That being said, the outings we had together, we never dropped a game. And in some of them, I did play my part as well.
So, starting with the camp, I took 7/12 in the final match of the camp, and Mahi scored 43 of 30 odd balls. I think he took 30 odd balls because Jitendar Bhaiya (the wicketkeeper of Mecon cricket team who was running the camp) had threatened him with repercussions if he threw his wicket away.
In the school league finals (under 15), I took 3/22 in 6 overs, after he scored a double ton against my earlier school, Kendriya Vidyalaya. School league finals (with oldies), I had taken 4/23, while he scored a half century.

We went to the DAV east zone selections together, where we both got selected. It was the year, when the trials had happend in torrential rains. For one of the catches during fielding trials, I had skidded a distance of over 15 feet, involuntarily I must add. Anyways, I was considered as a bowler who had pace variations, a nice loop, and a nice dip. It’s a different matter that I took up off-spin bowling because I did not have the height or arm for pace bowling, and unlike Kumble I was conceptually against building a career in spin bowling, unless I could actually turn the ball. For him, there were no adjectives. He came, played for his trials in the nets, and there was a tick. No one asked a question, no one gave any answers.

By the way, the only time I remember batting in a match in those scattered matches across two years (I did not play much after 1995), was in an internal match where he was in the other team. For the record, I did not get him out in that one, but conceded only 15 runs from 4 overs for 2 wickets. Some achievement, huh?

Fading memory – me and my brother talking about him in 1999, when he had started playing for Bihar/ Railways. Our fear back then was that even if he survived the politics of Bihar cricket (you had to be a favorite of Deval Sahay to be in the Bihar team), it would be difficult for him to survive the national cricket/zonal cricket politics and reach the Indian team. And this was the era, when the teams world over had brilliant wicketkeeper-batsmen (Andy Flower, Alec Stuart, an emerging Gilchrist, etc.), and we wanted to place our bets in him. Bhaiya felt that he was not as good a wicket keeper, but his batting should have been enough to get him the slot, if there was no politics.

BTW, that just reminded me of an incident that a colleague of mine narrated about Devang Gandhi. When he got selected for the Indian team as an opener, apparently, Sadagopan Ramesh missed out. At that time, the culture of Ranji was that you played more cricket within the zone, which mean that DG (from Bengal) would play more against Tripura, Orissa, et al. DG was scoring heavily at that time in Ranji. SRamesh quipped – against teams like that, even Mahatma Gandhi would have scored a double century.

Anyways, almost everyone that we know from those years in Ranchi, like Kaushal or Deepak et al, they’ve all met him post his rise to stardom, and they all say that he is still the same. The wickedness and the nicety in the same pack. And its good to see him rise so much. It’s a small town story that we see in movies. He really did not have a kit full of bats, or a car dropping him for nets or a set of boots (one for batting and one for keeping). He often played cricket wearing canvas shoes (or chappal, for tennis ball cricket). But he was brilliant then. And he is excellent now, in a different way.

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Fabulous Fluke.. Ponting’s best catch

December 2, 2008 2 Comments

Check out from 3:10 in this video. One of the best fliers I have seen in the recent times. No wonder Brett Lee called it the best fluke catch he has seen. Brilliant stuff. 

I wonder if any Indian cricketer would have even managed to stretch that far…

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