Kurta Cricket.

Instead of the green tussar kurta, the drycleaners handed me seasons’ tickets for the Feroze Shah Kotla test match. It’s not for nothing they’re called Jolly drycleaners. Gagan of Jolly fame said it was to make up for the Mohali game lapse. Just as well, we lost that one. Meanwhile, I forgot all about the missing kurta.

By now Day 3 was down ‘n’ dusted – and in all likelihood Day 4 would reveal who got busted. If ever there was a day to watch test cricket it was this - more so in hindsight.

Up earlier than usual, which isn’t saying much, I drove down Delhi like a Jedi. Once within striking distance of the Kotla, I was amazed to find big yawning empty spaces and a highly legible sign that read, “Free Parking, Pick Up & Drop”. Equally amazed to shell out 30 bucks for Free parking. Was informed that free parking and pick up was round the bend. “I’m not going round the bend.” Meanwhile a cop pasted a yellow florescent sticker that validated my purpose – Vehicle checked no. DL3CQ 3391, 1st cricket test cricket match, 25th November, 2007. Sign: Omkara or something like that.

Many checkpoints and body searches later, I started my final ascent. There’s something magical about the moment you make first contact with the greens – just like after you meander through countless dark gullies in Benaras to reach that pre-climatic point –when you see the light, literally, at the end – when you take that final step, and the Ganges swells through your senses. Yeah, it’s something like that – with equally purgative prowess.

I stood there soaking in the Kotla like a sentinel. I could not bring myself to sit. Even my slack sinuses couldn’t dampen the sensation. If anything, they made it even more psychedelic. And no, I wasn’t on any prescription drugs. I was plain high - on top of the lower level of the West Stand. My gaze accumulated parts, bit by bit, and then pulled it all together – appeared it had been far too long inside a cricket stadium. But then, it always is.

By the time Misbah-ul-haq met his maker, I was in well-informed company, always a bonus while watching cricket. Though the stray comment of, “is that Sehwag fielding?” – “No, Sehwag is not in the team” delight me as much as a pundit’s take on Misbah’s natural instincts as a dasher. Not to forget an announcement that later declared, “To win India has to score…the remaining runs”

When India started to noose Pakistan, the mood around became hysterical. And when Tendulkar came into bat, it was as if the Bastille was being stormed all over again. Guttural shouts proclaimed India’s supremacy in the most unimaginative ways – funny, when the going’s good how anything sounds swell. Chak De played during breaks, between breaks, and long after the game was over.

Kotla was Rome. We were the crowds and the emperor rolled into one. The thumbs were up for Sachin, down for Pak. Sachin Tendulkar was the Gladiator - Possessed by the frenzy that made him nearly play one short too many. But it’s incredible how a leave can reinstate status quo more than public announcements urging restraint.

A few leaves later, it was 4:30 pm again, light meters out - and play called for the day. But it was the kind of day, you’ll probably revisit again and again. Like Chak De, like the hack hip-hip hurrahs.

On my return to the car park, I learnt that free parking indeed was free. Rs 30 were reimbursed to me, sans a smile. On the fifth day, India won. And the missing green tussar kurta resurfaced. At home, I might add.

Six and in.

Appeared in the Hindustan Times on 12th November, 2007.

My six-year old friend, Vasudev has taken to cricket. Not in an air-fairy way, but in a possessed by the will of the cricket Gods kinda way. He was not always like this. Earlier, cricket was faddy, almost like something he took to perforce, because among the birthday gifts came a bat and a ball. And like the bicycle, scooter and drums, the seasons changed and so did his curious little interests.

Meanwhile, on my jaunts to his room, I used to request him for the cricket channel. He would almost always comply, but somewhat grudgingly shift from POGO. I would invariably feel the guilt of denying Vasu his daily dose of toons and make a hasty retreat, handing him the baton, the remote control.

Still I felt there was a hidden, almost waiting to be tapped love for the game. On the few occasions that we knocked around in the basement, and the street, he showed enough guile to take the ball on the half volley and smash it past my whirling waiting hands. Yeah, that’s the way you do it. Smash. Boom. Bang. Take no prisoners, kid.

When he was just a kid, (and that is a very small ballpark in kid years nowadays), little man Vasu floored me with his wide, unconventional batsman’s stance. Also did I mention, he was that rare breed – a Left Handed Batsman. Just like his grandpa, who had long given up on cricket’s avarice. However, when I did mention Vasu’s Gangulyesque style, he repeated, not for the first time, that he too was a Left Handed Batsman, and a wicketkeeper too. But that was it. Anyway, that was possibly the longest cricket chat we’d had in a while.

Next came the summer holidays, and Vasu was flung into a cricket camp. And I thought only Sehwag was batty enough to play through the Delhi summer. Evidently not. Yet the fervour was missing – possibly in both Sehwag and Vasu. Summer camp didn’t quite take off. And it looked as if Vasu’s waning interest in the great game was just another fling. You know how kids love to fling things around?

But then came the Twenty20. From no hopers and non-watchers, an entire nation embraced this new idiosyncratic form of cricket. I was glad to observe that Vasu and grandpa were both showing signs of growing up too – they were the new converts, diligently watching matches, lock stock and two smoking barrels.

And by the time India had smoked both Australia and Pakistan out, and won the T20 World Cup, both Vasu and his grandpa were yapping more cricket than me. Almost like Mr. Manmohan Singh reciting more poetry than Vajpayeeji. Hoola! Alaap?

The times are a changing. Vasu now fixates on even re-runs of antiquated games. We sit and watch no-brainers like India Blue vs. India Red. We chat up on Uthappa, MSD, Yuvi and Irfan. I sense the pulse and impatience of young Indian fans. If a savvy six year old city kid (already a captive market for advertisers) has forgotten about Sachin and Saurav, what will happen in a few years? How many heroes can the Indian cricket assembly line produce? Boy, it’s going to be tough capturing the ever-changing imagination.

Meanwhile, a minor setback. Vasu has not made his cricket team – he informs me cheerfully, as if he’s on the T20 victory parade to Wankhede. At first I don’t get it. Shouldn’t he be upset? And then I think about Uthappa and Gambhir – who in spite of their setbacks have only came back stronger. I smile. And ask him my pet cricket question, “ Who is your favourite cricketer today, Vachi?” Won’t you just love to know what he says?

Also in the same series: Cricket Santa!

Third Man

In spite of his triumphs as player and captain, is Rahul Dravid’s lesser standing among the “Big Three” a reality or perception?

Beware, this is Indian cricket, and there’s no such thing as the right thing. Also, by the same logic, or lack thereof, you do no wrong here. Often enough, two wrongs make a right as do one right and a wrong – in fact, think of all the permutations, and chances are, they will result in a right. What, at times even two rights result in a right. This might appear confusing, but that’s what Indian cricket is – the more you know of it, the less you really know about it. It’s like a highly secretive yet dysfunctional family. You think they are off their rocker, but they put forth such an incomprehensibly serene face that you start to think, maybe it’s just the imagination running wild.

But it’s far from that. Indian cricket is like a Reality Show. In it, black and white coexist, but when shades of grey appear, the signal goes off. Fact is there are no grey areas. Why a certain captain greys prematurely is hastily hushed up – either with hair dye, a death knell or a new scapegoat. Either way, there are no answers, draw your own conclusions, live with your own concussions, gentlemen. Indian cricket is not for the overtly rational.

Which brings us to Rahul Dravid – was he far too rational? Did he captain India in a cocoon, blissfully unaware of the monster called Indian cricket? Or did he take it upon himself to rid Indian cricket of its demons?

It’s obvious that the Rahul Dravid-Greg Chappell combine made more foes than friends. After the World Cup ouster and Chappell’s resignation, Dravid, Tendulkar and Ganguly were in the eye of a storm. There was a deafening demand for change. Supply was met with Tendulkar and Ganguly being rested for the Bangladesh one-day series – giving them a much-needed breather; after which they returned for the test series. While the ODI and test series’ victories did not make up for the World Cup ouster, it gave the three seniors a little more time. Also, resentment had simmered down to indifference.

Next, an unexpected 2-1 one-day series victory over South Africa in Ireland; a famous1-0 test series win and a lackluster 3-4 one-day series defeat, both versus England.

In the ODI series, Tendulkar did exceptionally well, while Ganguly soldiered on manfully. What about Dravid, you may ask? The trouble with Dravid is he tends to go along unnoticed, especially when he scores; for, that is what we expect of him. Also, with a personal P.R. that is low-key at best and non-existent at worst, Rahul Dravid never quite captured India’s imagination like Tendulkar the player or Ganguly the captain. So, when he succeeded it was like he was doing his job. Somewhere down the line, Dravid had not come to grips with the trappings of modern Indian cricket. And this lack would catch up, sooner rather than later.

By now Dravid had also relinquished his coveted No.3 spot to that of a finisher down the order. However, one task would remain unfinished – out of the blue, Dravid resigned as captain from both forms of the game.

The furore caused by Dravid’s resignation was short-lived. Indian cricket attained dizzying heights with the Twenty20 World Cup win. MS Dhoni had arrived yet again, and this time with his band of brothers - with Yuvi, Veeru, Irfan, Uthappa, Gambhir, Rohit Sharma. It was like Indian cricket was up for grabs.

But then came Australia, and India reverted to pretty much the same one-day side pre-T20 World Cup. Another “I told-you-so” horror run, India went down 4-2 in the 7 match series. We were left wondering, what if? If only? Why didn’t the T20 Champs play the one-day games? Why are we back to square one? A little of that post World Cup anger was back again. And it was time for another resting (like in that Bangladesh ODI series).

The bed had been made. Dravid was rested on the grounds of form and fitness for the first two one-dayers versus Pakistan. Chairman of selectors, Dilip Vengsarkar had spoken, somewhat incoherently as usual. His was the last word. Dravid made no comments. At a marathon in Delhi, he was only taking “non-cricket” questions.

Some may argue that’s precisely what this is – non-cricket. But Dravid gave little away, only saying, in true Jammy fashion, “it’s a long season”.

It’s baffling that Dravid did not play in the “Challenger” series – which was to be the so-called selection trials for the India-Pakistan ODI series. But when selections are made even before the finals, you realise it’s all hogwash! Forget India Blues and India Greens, India is in the red now.

To make sense of Indian cricket, try reading between the blurred, zigzag lines. But even then it’s more about unanswered questions.

Like, after his controversial resignation as India coach, why did Greg Chappell return for another appointment? Why did Chappell take on Tendulkar? Was he right in doing so? Why did Dravid stand by Chappell? Why did Saurav Ganguly return? Was it good for Indian cricket? Did Dravid want him to return? Was it Chappell/Dravid vs. the rest of the Indian team? Why did Dravid declare when Tendulkar was closing in on his double hundred? Was he right? Is the Ganguly/Tendulkar–Dravid divide idle media chat? Is resting Dravid part of a rotational policy? If so, then why aren’t the selectors saying so? Question hour can go on till the mind becomes a maze.

Probably better to stay in the present with an Indian team sans Rahul Dravid. What will India be missing? For argument’s sake think South Africa sans Jacques Kallis or Pakistan without Mohammed Yousuf – what do they miss?

Point is, you can bundle all the boundary boys in your team, but they cannot replace the blue-chip quality of a Dravid. These new kids will thrill. They may even make more attractive ad models. But to understand the nuances of cricket (one-dayers and tests), they can do with the disciplined mind of Dravid.

Out of the big three, more so, in the last few years, Dravid has asserted himself as the standout player, hardly missed a game – while both Tendulkar and Ganguly have been indisposed either due to form or fitness, Dravid has gone from strength to strength. If anything, he has looked the fittest, most accomplished of the three – and looked set to out-bat and outlast the other two, until this series of unfortunate incidents.

If the selectors and the BCCI are even remotely committed to Indian cricket, they should strengthen The Wall. Cherish Jammy. But before that, speak and listen to Rahul Dravid. Maybe they too will learn a thing or two about cricket. And it’s definitely not “six and out”. For that is only Brett Lee’s pop group.

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