As I creep towards the quarter century mark of my life I am trying to evaluate, like I have done for every ‘budday’ of the past few years, if I truly am no longer a kid. It is impossible to assess this purely on the basis of numbers. I felt no different, to whom I was before, when I hit 18, the legal drinking age, or 21, the legal marriageable age. Liquor and Women, in either that order or the reverse, are probably accurate parameters to judge everything else in life but I propose that this is one of the few exceptions.
It is difficult to arrive at the correct ones but the events of the last few days have, unexpectedly, made it easier. One of life’s essential truths is that as you grow older it’s harder to have heroes. I suppose this is especially true when they start retiring. And it is when your very first hero, a sportsperson no less, retires that you recognize that your childhood has finally ended.
This piece I hope will get me to terms with my gloom, which one naturally feels on realizing the same, and my increased apprehension towards the days ahead. Not for the future of Indian Cricket but for my own.
Let’s start at the beginning. In April of 1997 I move to India at the age of ten.
If you remember what you’ve watched on Animal Planet you will recall that when a creature seeks to enter a new clan or herd, seeking acceptance or at the least survival, it has before it two options. One, through force establish itself as the dominant leader, or two, adhere to the well established social structure and hope to God that nobody notices while it waits in line for its turn at the carcass. (This is also, if you were wondering, the scientific origin of the Socially Awkward Penguin)
As a scrawny foreign kid, who was at the time as far from being a dominant leader as our present Prime Minister, the honorable Dr Manmohan Singh, currently is, I prudently went for the second option. Though I must admit there were fewer carcasses in India than I initially expected but a great deal more cricket matches to contend with than was possible for a kid whose cricketing career till then merely included holding a bat used for beating clothes while washing. Don’t ask.
So whilst accusing my cousin of using black magic to spin a tennis ball in ungodly ways I decide to learn as much about cricket as possible. Since advice like “Hit the ball for fours and sixes” which I was receiving from my elders and peers wasn’t as helpful as they would think it to be, watching cricket was my only alternative.
Cue the Pepsi Independence Cup, a tournament held to mark India’s 50th year of independence, India Vs Pakistan at Chennai. Saeed Anwar produces what could arguably be the single greatest ODI innings (194) every played. India go on to lose but not before threatening to make a match out of it. Amid the ruckus, of the town people, whom I’ve never seen before, entering our home to catch a few overs of the game and the intermittent power cuts, a certain Rahul Dravid scores his first ODI hundred, a fine 107, a knock now forgotten in time. Despite the snide comments coming from the townies- “It was too slow”, “No use. We won’t win anyways”, it was the first century I had ever seen by an Indian Player and boy was I smitten.
I try to learn everything there is to know about the man. How he scored his first Test hundred in South Africa battling the likes Donald, Pollock and McMillan. How he walked on 95 in his debut innings at Lords. Walked. Who does that? Concepts of principles and values were far removed from anything I had to deal with at the time. But these anecdotes reaffirmed the faith that I, as a boy, had decided to invest in R.D.
A few months later R.D loses his place in the ODI team since the selectors believe his game isn’t suited to the shorter format. I am devastated but thankfully devastation for a ten year old doesn’t last too long. I quickly get over it. I have to get up to speed with the other aspects of the game. Leg spin isn’t going to teach itself to me and I am puzzled as to how Muralitharan does what he does using that action of his. And from the looks of it I’m not the only one.
Fast forward a year and I am now, more or less, a well adjusted Indian boy; literally able to spin a ball left, right and centre. But even better R.D makes a comeback to the One Day team in what could only be described as a feel good triangular series involving Bangladesh and Kenya. I remember praying, every time he came out to bat, that he scores at least a 50. In one particular innings against Kenya after settling in with some controlled stroke play he is bowled out on 49. Why? How could this happen? He had obviously worked very hard on his game. He deserves to succeed. Why isn’t he? This becomes one of the first lessons I learn from supporting R.D. Hard work doesn’t guarantee success. All those people who said that if you work hard towards something then you’ll get the results were wrong. All hard work does is statistically improve your chances of success. Failure is always a possibility. But giving up after giving it your best and failing was something R.D never did. He kept coming back focused and fitter than ever before, after each setback. Only by consistently working hard could you hope to succeed consistently.
In the Test Arena records continue to fall by the wayside. In New Zealand he is out duck for the first time in his career having scored a world record 1805 runs before this. The very next match of the series he becomes the third Indian after Vijay Hazare and Sunil Gavaskar to score hundreds in both innings of a test match. Bouncebackability should have been a term coined to describe R.D.
R.D keeps his place in the side and is selected to play in the 1999 World Cup. To show my support I buy a huge poster of his at the Church fair using Rs 20 of my hard-begged-intended-for-ice-cream money. It was the most God awful poster you could ever hope not to see. Set against an amber background is R.D’s face decorated with beads of sweat. There’s a huge grin on his face, the kind of grin one wears after an exhausting yet satisfying days work. Using copious amounts of Sellotape I finally decide on a spot on the wall from where the first thing I’d see after waking up in the morning was R.D’s toothy smile.
The 99 World Cup is both mine and R.D’s first. And I’m sure, what with India’s performance, a thoroughly disappointing one for the both of us apart from for the fact that R.D scores the most runs in the entire tournament. It is here I believe R.D earns most of his young fan following. ‘Your first World cup’ is special for all fans and it defines who we take as our Idols. (Those whose first was 96 or 03 cannot help but be diehard fans of Sachin Tendulkar. Similarly for the newbies and Yuvraj Singh in 2011.) R.D is not selected as the Man of the Series. He loses to a man who can’t judge a single. Scandalous.
Years move on. R.D cements his position in both the Test and ODI teams. But the performance of the team as a whole continues to be poor. The Match fixing scandal sees the ouster of established middle order batsmen – Skipper Mohammad Azharuddin and Ajay Jadeja. In 2000 Sourav Ganguly begins his 6 year reign of aggressive captaincy which will change the direction of Indian Cricket and prove to be a golden period in R.D’s career. The turnaround point is Day 4 of the Second Test match between India and Australia at Eden Gardens, Kolkata. We all know what transpired but the day before I was a tad annoyed at seeing R.D being dropped to number 6 in the batting order. We were following on and R.D had little to no experience of playing in that position. I was sure it was going to be a quick end the next day and went to school without giving it a second thought. In those days nobody carried cell phones to school and we were immersed in our year end exams. I reach back home towards the end of days play and ask Dad how much we lost by. Dad tells me they are still batting. VVS Laxman and R.D are still batting!!! The rest of the day is spent watching highlights and news coverage of the greatest partnership in the history of Test Cricket. Though Laxman’s very very special counterattacking innings is the toast of the nation, I can’t help but marvel at R.D’s ability to adapt not only to an unfamiliar position but also the disappointment of being bumped down the order. Making the best of a tough situation is the greatest lesson I could take from the man.
Masterclass innings follow one after the other. I bunk class to watch the 233 at Adelaide on a tiny 17” TV in the kitchen of the local pakoda and lemon soda shop outside PU college. It gets me all teary-eyed. Not from the possibility of victory in Australia but from all the onions being chopped around me. I watch the 270 Vs Pakistan at Rawalpindi despite it being during my 12th board exams. The next exam was Hindi. Who studies for Hindi, Mom? Who Studies Hindi when we are beating Pakistan in Pakistan? Not me.
Try as he may he couldn’t stay away from controversy completely. He would attract his fair share of delusional folk accusing him of intentional ball tampering and conspiring to deny Sachin Tendulkar a Double Century. I defend him as vehemently as possible though I don’t need to. His dignity and reputation eventually shine through and ensures that such talk dies down before it can pick up speed.
In 2004 I move to Bangalore for college. My obsession with cricket decreases. I try to keep track of the team and R.D as much as possible but I don’t watch nearly as much cricket as before. Living in Bangalore does give me two chances to see R.D. play in the flesh at Chinnaswamy stadium and I have had the good fortune of seeing him score 50s on both occasions. The first- being a match between Royal Challengers Bangalore and Kings XI Punjab in the very first season of the Indian Premier League. He scores a brilliant 66 while the rest of the team collapses in an insipid fashion which comes to define RCBs first season. However in a format deemed to be antithetical to his style of play he ends up being the highest run scorer for RCB in the tournament. It also marks the first and last time I have celebrated by doing the Egyptian Dance in public. All video evidence has been confiscated and destroyed. The Second- Day 3 of a Test match between India and Australia. R.D scores a solid 51 before being trapped in front. It is also the first time I watch Tendulkar, Laxman and Ganguly walk out to bat. My loudest girl-like screams are, of course, reserved for R.D.
But better than all of that, I also catch R.D with his son Samit late one night buying Ice cream from the now defunct Corner House on Old Airport Road. I and a friend are behind him on the line to place our order. I am so star struck I can’t even think straight. My friend though is all “OMG! It’s Rahul Dravid. OMG! It’s Rahul Dravid. He’s so cute”. She asks for an autograph but, curse her cruel fate, her pen runs out of ink. R.D apologetically says he has to leave because he’s running late. This fascinating story is one I always recite to anybody willing to come with me to Corner House. And, let me tell you, the numbers are dwindling.
However before all of this happens, India, under the captaincy of R.D., are embarrassingly dumped out at the first group stage of the 2007 World Cup. No new fans choose their idol from that World Cup. Under the captaincy of R.D. India also win away series in West Indies and England. A proud R.D returns home from England and relinquishes the captaincy of the Indian team. Throughout his career I have instantly agreed with every decision that he had made. This one would prove to be the exception. I couldn’t understand it. Was he losing his nerve? Not likely. Though one did get the feeling he wasn’t enjoying it as much. Was he being forced out? I doubt I’ll ever know the answer to this. Who else could lead the team? It turns out that this would be another example of R.D’s impeccable timing. His successor would prove to be one of the most successful captains of Indian Cricket.
Life moves on and in 2009 I find myself working in New Okhla Industrial Development Area (Noida), a place as depressing as it sounds. Meanwhile R.D is going through the worst phase of his career following two lean years in 07 and 08. But he never loses his sense of humor. At the SCG vs. Australia, he takes 39 balls to move from 18 to 19. The crowd cheers and R.D being the sport that he is raises his bat to the crowd. Self Deprecating humor at its best! Although he took playing for the country very seriously he never shied away from having a laugh at himself, which is something I’ve tried to cultivate. To be honest I’ve had more people laugh at me than is necessary. What’s one more? Besides that way I could say that they are laughing with me rather than at me.
Anyway, feeling sorry for myself in an unfamiliar city, I am desperately looking for something to get me out of my funk. What is the point of a hero if he doesn’t inspire? R.D produces back to back centuries during Sri Lanka’s tour to India silencing his detractors once again. Keeping track of his scores on Cricinfo and watching highlights late at night get me through an initial difficult period. And as with almost every great R.D innings where an early struggle is followed by exquisite stroke play, I too do quite well in the months that follow.
The next few years see R.D get dropped twice from the ODI team, get recalled twice, retire from one day cricket, make his debut in an International T20 match and retire after the same but not before spanking 3 consecutive sixes. In test cricket he suffers dips in form but yet scores hundreds a plenty. The 3 centuries in England, where everyone else failed, being his true final swansong. A disappointing year end tour to Australia proves to be his last. Demands for his removal grow more vocal, the heroics of the English tour quickly being forgotten.
On 9th March 2012 Rahul Dravid announces his retirement from International and First Class Cricket.
R.D can now relax with his feet up and reflect on a fine career and simultaneously endure the perils of trying to teach his kids long division, which is all fine and dandy. But if I may take a moment for myself, where does this leave me? I find myself at crossroads in my own career with important decisions to take; knowing that regardless of what I choose there will be hardships and uncertainties along the way. Those that can no longer be faced by watching him play. What’s a Boy to do? A Boy without a hero. Yet a Boy left with inerasable life lessons. A Man.
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