Question – The wrong’un!

Yep! You are not dreaming.  Wait of the century has just ended.  Yes, it was waited even longer than the 100^th hundred!

Alas! I have just written something about the worshiped god of cricket. Yes, that is Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar.

After the demise (?) and departure of Rahul Dravid and VVS Laxman and a series of sub-standard performances (?) fingers are being raised, though half raised would be the apt word but nonetheless they are being raised on Sachin’s place and role in the team.

I have two question marks in my previous sentence/paragraph. The first signifies that the demise of VVS was a relative term and can never be used with Tendulkar, howsoever pathetic he might get on a bad blue day. 

Stupendous..but God!!

The second is to re-consolidate the fact that class is permanent and form is temporary. Hasn’t Sachin been in tremendous nick off late? Those not agreeing mustn’t have seen his stupendous cover drive during one of his last few innings. It hardly matters if he got out for 5 afterwards. Huh! The pun was intended of course.

I might look biased against Tendulkar to an extent (and I agree I am no big fan of him) but I would try to be as neutral as possible. We Indians in general are double standard at whatever we do, myself included – most of the times. But come on man! Have some senses, some value of words. And specially people who are looked upon when they utter a word. My Granny talking in the awe of Meena Kumari is one thing and a renowned author/sportsman talking non-sense sentiments is another. 

What irritates me most is the way they discriminate among people. The way they loathsomely praise Tendulkar with the heroics he never did and make him a god (may be just to project the world that we still have the best) as if cricket is a mythology and not a game is utmost disappointing. 

I have for my full life believed that there will always be two kinds of people/views – right or wrong. Unfortunately I find it missing here.

Take few recent examples from cricketing realms –

1)      Sourav Ganguly – There were few people wanting he should be dropped (myself included) and there were few blind ones who did wanted him in. Thankfully, he was dropped – may be a touch too late.

2)    Sourav Ganguly revisited – I know, I know! The ghost of Bengal disapproves to vanish. You can punch him hard but he comes back roaring. Doesn’t he? Anyway, this time he was in a good form and scoring loads. I was against dropping him but he was dropped. Anyway, not everything I think is right nor is the world bound to run the way I wish.

3)      Ricky Ponting – There may be questions if the time was up for him or not. But then again there are just two camps – he should have been dropped or he should have been not.

4)    Andrew Strauss – This is more notable and honorable appearance for a player who has been average at best. Yes, I regard him an average batsman and has never been on my watch list, ever. There were no camps eventually. No fighting, no pondering over the issue if he should be dropped or not.

Here comes our god. The little master, the blah-blah-blah man and every trend goes abroad! Don’t ask me where they go, I won’t be able to recall.

The big question today asked is weather Sachin should retire or not?

Till when should he play?

When should he be discussed for his future plans?

What kind of selective games should he now be playing?

To which players should he be grooming with his experience?

Should he move down to soak in the pressure from the junior guys?

I see lot many questions being asked, only problem being, unfortunately none of them are questions – they are pleading, lame ones.

A man who has given so much to the game, a man who has taken so much from the game, a man who lives cricket all through his life, a man who breathes cricket should never be asked about his retirement plans. No! Never!

Why should he retire? Who are we to ask about his retirement?

Are we asked when are we going to die? Or till when we want to walk?

He may and should play until when he wants to play. No one has earned the right to call for his retirement or even suggest him an inch on that.

For the other group who wants him to still play – I call them insane. I have never denied his accomplishments not have said that he is a poor player, but god! Yuck! Gods will be crying if they hear this.

His only big accomplishment is his longevity and that too is due to two major facts –

1)      He entered at a very young age, not many of us get that lucky.

2)      He has been given support in a way or the other to stay up and in. Luck or faith or blindness – whatever!

Play any boy as many games as he did in that conditions, at least 80 tons are guaranteed. 20 more don’t make you an immortal!

A man who has been pathetic leader (it is proven) is not going to aid the youngsters in any way with his experience. Believe it or not, he just plays for his love of the game. Team spirits and all are just shit! Ever heard of him juggling his batting order? Good players are always capable of moldings as per the team’s need. Coming down the order is again a needless question now.

He already plays fewer numbers of games and was taking full advantage of runners in the game. Thankfully ICC got some life and poor Raina’s were saved from running for him. Do you still see Sachin fielding for full five days? Hopefully I am not a blind yet!

Why still play when your fitness is so poor? Why select him at all? And why play a random game here and there? It is not a job for homesick fathers. Will my company allow me to skip a month every now and then just because I do excellent work otherwise (or I am assumed to do so)?

That's just OK... just not the title!

Regarding his accomplishments, read a piece from any of the authors with eyes open and you will know how biased they are (or afraid or some abc fans?) when they write about him. Mr. Guha writes his world cup inning as sublime and compares Strauss big ton as equal to his. Why? Strauss was a visiting batsman, facing spinners, he is an average player and still scored about 40 more runs that Sachin at a greater pace and still he is somehow equal! And our man whose strike rate was second lowest and the score second best is sublime! What a pity!

For past more than 2 years he has score only 2 centuries – both in losing cause – one against mighty Bangladesh!

He did not toured West Indies, did pathetic in England, rubbish in Australia (everyone else was even poorer does not mean that he will pass) and was ugly in India against the poor New Zealand whom even Ashiwin tonked wherever he liked. But no, our sportsmen from past say – He is in fine touch. He should be preserved for South Africa tour in 2013.

Touch! Preserved! My foot!!

At this point of time I remember Greg Chappell, a person I am not very fond of, say “I would invest 10 games of someone who is young even if he scores 25 runs per innings rather than giving an oldie 10 games to score 30 runs per inning to complete a record he just can.” 

The investment on a mediocre at best Tendulker is not going to yield anything to the sports or India. He is a mortal and should be treated like one. He was very good and exceptional at times; He has been average off late and is sharply turning in to a poor shadow of his glorious past.

We don’t get too many gentlemen like Strauss, Dravid and Laxman but that does not mean that we always live on the glories from the past.

I don’t have a problem by his getting out or the way he gets. I have an issue with those who consider him special and above the sports. At the end of the day, he is just another good player for me.

For all the pleasure he gave to me, for all the joy he has added to the game, for all the hope I found because of him, for all the glory he brought to us, yes I am deeply, profoundly grateful to Sachin. 

But hey, life must move on. I still have one question, the right one, “Why not drop him?”

Medals will not win you more medals; history will not write another history – Construction everyday is going to make future – only if we are interested enough!

Yaksha's question, love and the tree

During my flight upwards after my fifth and the last dip in the Gangas I felt as if sun has just came low, so very. It was bright, lustrous yet cool. So, it’s not sun then, I thought. I rushed and he stood an inch away from me, ok may be two.

He had a circular ring of light around his head; his forehead glowing with intelligence, his body had more gold than hairs and cloths. His robe was golden white, his dhoti was as neatly done as it could have been and nonetheless we were standing in water almost chest deep, his dress was as set as it would be on a still day. He raised his hand as if suggesting (ordering?) me to march towards the bank. I nonchalantly followed.

We took up about 10-12 steps and the water came up to almost my thighs when he signaled me to stop and he himself rose, as if the water was a normal pedestal. By this time I got a bit habituated of his aura and was not totally allured or amazed. Not to demean his stature, he wasn’t that young or had any abs; rather his tummy looked more out of shape than mine. It was then that the lights went back to normal and then he began.

“O young man! You shall freeze in this holy water if you try to move even a single pace.”

“Why? What have I done? And how could you anyway just pop up out of water and put such curse on me?” Thanks to my senses, I didn’t act over smart by moving.

“Nothing! But I am the owner of this part of water and I swear I can do what I promised. I am Jal Yaksh, brother of the mighty Bak yaksh.” His voice sounded very convincing.

“Is there anything I can do to reprimand my innocence? Anyway to get out alive?”

“Of course little human!”

“How? Please tell me?” Little, duh! Stand at the same heights and everyone would know who is taller. I rejected this thought in a nano-second so that he could not read my mind out.

“You look like a learned man, aren’t you? We Yakshas love quizzing learned dudes. Do answer this one question of mine and I will not only spare your life but will also grant you a wish. But in case you fail to answer, you will stand still here until all the water flows over the human race.”

“Sure sir! If I don’t have a choice I would rather take a chance that to die here standing in a dhoti and unshaved chest.” How damn embarrassing!

Listening to this, the Yaksha took out a mattress like thing from air and placed it on water and sat on that and started narrating this story to me:

Long ago in not a far off place there was a huge tree, old, wise and unaffected by the seasons. One fine monsoon morning a creeper took birth and was soon grown up like a green and beautiful scarf. She looked at the tree with a hope, an expectation of shelter. Her eyes mesmerizing, her voice docile and her approach reverenced.

The tree who was conceived as god of all the animals, insects and birds was kind and proud. He took upon the liana and allowed her to climb up. They loved each other for days and months. The tree looks like wearing a crimson, pink and green scarf. It look beautiful to eyes, his fame enhanced and only godly Kalptaru could have had matched that.

The creeper was also very happy, it replaced almost all small twigs and leaves down under. The greenness has increased and it almost glowed. The gussets blossomed at an exponential rate and now the tree and the creeper could not have been imagined separately.

Days of chanson and love passed away, the season changed summer was in with its brutal force all over.  The birds moaned in heat, the leaved ached in loneliness, but the tree stool still embraced with the green and lovely limbs.

Slowly but surely the pain and the grief of the smaller kind went upon his very summit, the vultures have arrived.

Oh art thou! The god of life was surrounded by the signals of death. The ones whom he took oath to protect were dying in front of his eyes. The tree was shattered and down. He asked his beloved creeper:

Dearie O' creeper, love for we live,

Burning they are, children, their hid,

Can you abash, contract a bit,

So can they get shelter they need.

She brutally refused saying:

They are all grownups,

they are no kids,

Nor are you father,  

to fulfill their needs.

I used so less,

that too for love.

Why don't you just say,

there is someone else.

Months passed. The glory and wealth of the tree were now a story of past. By the look it felt that the tree must have been splendid sometime but it was no more the same. The creeper grew younger though.

One day after the offering the morning prayers to sun, the tree was watching carefully if any of the birdies were around to talk he saw his beloved creeper clinging to the other tree on his left. “So, that was it? That is why she was ignoring me.” He thought.

Though creeper said they were only friends and talked rarely, the news spread and so did the creeper over the other tree. The other tree in itself was small and fruitless and had millions of thorns. Their story didn’t go too far and the bindweed came back to the tree, her older loving friend. The tree was broken somewhere inside but still loved here so much that he didn’t even murmured.

Time is such a special agent; it brings so many things and situation we could never imagine.                  The tree was now getting really hollow, devoid of his loved ones, his authority, his pureness, his majesty, his empire, his ego and most of all self esteem. There was another young tree taking shape nearby. It has a similar aura the tree had in its youth. Same twigs, same strong branches, same hardened and mighty roots and same desire for greatness. “Ah! Older days! The tree would think often. ”

One of the vultures one day told the tree that the creeper has been seen embracing the another tree and alas! It was true. The green scarf was missing from the monstrous tree. The symbol, the identity which was there now for almost 18 years has gone and where? To a nearby tree! Another tree!

The tree decided to have a final talk. When the world was sleeping, it murmured slowly into the ears of the creeper “Why shall you do this to me?”

“You are no more the same you. You have changed a lot. You keep asking too many questions. I don’t get any personal space. Moreover, everyone looks for a better and secure future, what you have today to offer me? A junkyard body? ” Her reply was as blunt as it gets.

“So?” The tree was still confused.

“I don’t think it is working anymore between us. Let us part our ways now.”

“Part our ways! Is this a joke for you? I gave my golden years to you and now part our ways? Is there anything left for me now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk over it now.”

The creeper now stays wrapped to another tree and they look generally happy. The tree still prays and looks to the star. It is still the tallest tree around yet ruined and best describable as a skeleton of its stupendous past.

It’s been seven  years since then when the creeper came back to the tree yesterday saying that it has been her best friend. She always wanted to keep it as an option and never seen it out of her life. She wants to come back as another tree takes no more interest in her. She has again started engulfing the lower step of the tree in her warm embrace. The tree now says nothing – neither yes nor no. It is quiet, as quiet as an old age sinner sitting on the Himalayas, repenting for his sins.

The Yaksha took a deep breath after narrating the story. “Who do you think have been at fault the most: The tree, the creeper, the other tree, another tree or the vultures?”

I gathered all my thoughts and learning on market strategy and women empowerment. I had no guts to face feminine activists on saying a word against creeper; she had to be pious as Gangas itself. The other tree represented backward class and rose above all with quota and on saying anything I might have been spared by Yaksha but not by law. Another tree was strong and the future of earth, saying anything to it would bring me bad name for sure.

“Yes! I know it. It is the tree who is culprit for all this.” I said in a blink.

“Good! You answered it perfectly. I shall spare you now. Ask your wish intelligent man.” He smiled.

“I would for once want to see that tree in case it is still there.” I was interested to see the giant who failed in love.

“Granted son!” The Yaksha and the light vanished.

I was puzzled for few minutes. When I gathered that I do not have anything to ponder about I retreated back to home. Not sure why, but I took the longer route which takes me home along the country and not the road. Very few people used that and there was pleasant silence on that path which for my amusement was not to be there today.

I saw about 50 men standing like a crowd and inquired about the incident.

“The huge tree which had almost no leaves has fallen off suddenly.”  Someone said.

I was shocked! 

Was the Yaksha god of death? 

Was he confirming if the tree should be killed? 

Was the tree hurt that not even a story listener stood by his side?

I turned my head in disbelief and there she was – All green, vastly extended over the another tree, smiling with all the beauty she had.

                                                                                                                                                                                                          

Fire Breathing Dragons - There is a LITTLE more to cricket

Raw power and brutality

Not all the dragons are devils; I wish you’d have heard of Yinglong. The responding dragon, Yinglong is one of the most powerful dragons in Chinese mythology and is said to be the god of rain. Or may be Ryujin also known as Owatatsumi, the tutelary deity of the Oceans in Japanese mythology as the dragon symbolizes the power of ocean. Whatever it is, white or grey, dragons symbolize power and heroism, the macho which is unmatched. The worriers who take up opponents fist on fist, bouts on faces, cuts and punches and yes, blood. 

Royal conquerors; fearful, effective, brutal yet poetic and beautiful. Yes, only at times.

Playing 120 something with no assistance on cattle yards, going bonkers over the cow corner and hitting sixes in small ground is the new era cricket, T-20s. With ropes reducing in perimeter, with bats getting wider and better, with guards getting comfortable, with bowling getting meeker, and with the invent of white balls the balance has now subdued. Taking nothing away from the batters, the increase in averages over these years has to do with the degradation of pace bowling. 

Compare this:

A Praveen Kumar coming in from the far end with 124 KMPH with a white leather and you are having thigh pads and helmets on, and smack, four!

Holding: No one wants to face him

A Michael Holding running in with 150+ on a lush green with seam upright, the red cherry bruises your unprotected jaws and lo and behold, you mouth is all blooded.

What situation would you want to be in? Uh, dare I ask? Have sometime to watch the body-line series clips on Youtube and you will feel the shakiness and numbness in your limbs.

Fast bowling has always been one of the most sought after and special skill in the arena of cricket, India been an exception, as we have always been deprived of good fast bowlers. Batting is what we cherish and regard and the vicious circle goes on.

Remembering a thing read few days before; it wasn't just Australians in the Bodyline series who weren't terribly keen on facing Harold Larwood at his fastest. During a county match at Grace Road in 1928, the Leicestershire fast bowler Haydon Smith sent down a few bouncers, before his batsmen reminded him who was lurking in the opposition ranks. When Smith came out to bat later, Nottinghamshire's fielders were quick to inform Larwood who the new arrival was. Duncan Hamilton's superb 2009 biography of Larwood takes up the story: "Larwood's opening ball reared past Smith's face. He didn't see it, but felt the cold air as it rushed past him. The second took the edge as Smith backed off towards square leg. The ball shot towards gully, where Sam Staples caught it on the bounce. Smith began to pull off his gloves and walk off. 'Wait a minute,' Staples shouted. 'It was a bump ball. I didn't catch it.' 'Yes, you certainly did,' said Smith, not daring to look back." Such was the fear, who would want to go back on stretchers?

West Indies of old, Australia, Pakistan and to an extent England and South Africa always had a rich tradition of pace bowling.

Starting of it, the first name that strikes my mind is Frederick Trueman, one of the all time greatest. The fearsome English pacer of 1950s had taken so many wickets that it was thought that the record will never be broken. Thanks to the increasing number of games and increasing career span and some great bowlers, the records look paltry at best now.

Nonetheless, the nickname Fiery Fred given to this hairy, speedy Englishman cannot be denied. He had the rare talent to swing the ball both ways and with the speed he had, it turned out to be a nightmare for the batters around.  

Roberts, Holding, Croft and Garner; Nothing gets bigger. The 70’s and 80’s terror from the Caribbean was so difficult to face that half of the world just meekly surrendered in front of them. And the mastery over the art was such that they never need to be a Shantakumar, spitting. The red leather did all the talking. Such was the effect that they didn’t lose a test series for as long as 15 years.

Whispering Death was the name given to Holding, by the umpires! You heard it right; death can be so calm and quiet! He made no fuss as he didn’t needed arrogance to bring out aggression in his doings. His deeds were enough as he has all the arrows in his quiver; from toe crushing Yorkers to nipping away out swingers. He was a 400 meter running athlete and effectively used that in to his cricket, possessed one of the longest run-ups and smoothest action.

Marshall: Accurate and fierce

Owing to his humongous height (6’8”) Joel Garner was named Big Bird, and you would never ever witness a Yorker better than his. He could hit a pin in your toe. Don’t mistake that a Malinga with rubbish action only can do it. It has already been done and that too in a much graceful way.

Talk of fast bowlers and you would first think of bouncers. Ah! Not the ones our Indian blokes through to be hung up over fine leg by Ricky Ponting. Here I am talking about the WI pace battery, Andy Roberts, who had a special ability of dual bouncers that looked same but were of entirely different speed and acted as trap to the batsmen.

8 wickets for 29 runs! Ah! That’s Colin Craft for you. This tall aggressive bowler completed the quartet of West Indian mighty attack and was an expert in angling the ball inwards.

It takes special skills to be Malcolm Marshall, for he was small (5’11”) by the standard of pace men at that time. Yes, he is regarded one of the fastest and finest pacers of all time.  He broke so many noses; including Mike Getting’s that people around requested to ban his bouncers. Such was the fear.

The tradition was kept high by fellow countrymen Walsh and Ambrose with that we saw the golden age of West Indian cricket coming to an end.

Opinions divided and taken in good spirit, ODI and T-20s are cricket too, but a closer look will tell that this ain’t basic cricket. As someone said, you either win or you lose, containing someone for less does not mean your win. If you cannot take opposition wickets all, you do not deserve to be the winner. This is the essence of cricket and only test cricket still cherishes that.

Batters can save you matches, scores run, but for winning the games you need to take 20 wickets and that too cheaply. Look at any good team and you would have to agree to the facts. The mighty WI of the 70s and 80s, the Aussies of 90s and 00s, having a perfect dart man in McGrath and likes of Gillespie supporting him, the Pakistan of 90s with Imran, Akram and Waqar, the South Africa in Donald and Pollack.

Even when you look around today the best teams around are South Africa and England and they have an excellent pace attack.

Steyn: Class apart

There can be nothing better than watching complete batsman like Sangakara, Dravid, Mahela, Cook batting in front of a pace attack comprising of Dale Steyn, Morne Morkel, Vernon Philander and Merchant De Langes.

Or on the other side, some Ponting, AB, Kallis or Sachin batting in front of Anderson, Broad, Tremlett, and Finn. Wow!!

Anderson: Institute of Swing bowling

Ironically, these mythical gods are so rare these days. I feel an urge to keep James Anderson and Dale Steyn cotton wrapped, for we are witnessing pace bowling death in Pravin Kumars and Shahadat Hussains.

Otherwise, time will only have stories of leg cutters and swings. Bowling machines will replace pacers and cricket will no more be the game I cinched for.

Being a purist from heart, I cannot see the steadfast death of cricket, but alas I don’t have a choice, do I?

I would still, in my all capacity pray to the gods, the dragon gods, the warriors to return back, to enrich the game once again, for this art of fast bowling goes beyond the normal human capability and only fire breathing, yet calm, clinch fished dungeons, the gods of rain and the sea have the capacity of keep it alive.

The prayers hope they reach beyond the skys. And someday, even during this age of swat hitting we will witness the fight of concentration and furious moving leather. There are fewer better sites that this.

May this wish come true, the dragons may return by the monsoon, amen!

********

Before I take leave, this is the time for last 15 day’s star. This time it is Mahela Jayawardene, for his superlative batting display in both the tests, add to it, his excellent captaincy. Keep it up MJ!

There is a LITTLE more to cricket - I

Perhaps it is a touch late on my part to write this, but as they say “better late than never”. Talking about cricket in a country like ours is like breathing or walking or eating or sleeping as if no one notices, as if it is so common and as if everyone out there is well, well verse with the head and tale of this thing, called cricket.

Why this then? What is the need of writing this?

Essentially, even I myself am not very convinced with the idea of writing a column like this but then deep down somewhere I feel something is missing amidst the hurricane of sixes and fours. Something is not there between the cans of cola. Something that has not to do with as Ravi Shashtri says on TV. Something a cricket lover ought to know. Something that separates us from hola-de-berserk crowd and makes us comfortable in the admirer’s balcony. Something that teaches us to enjoy even the losses, for a game ain’t a war.

Yes, a detonation was required and was fired from someone very dear and here I am with my insight of cricket and how it is getting along. I am bound to be wrong almost every time, but hey! That’s OK to be wrong I suppose!

Just before I start, I would admire and cherish you sincere comments and would try to answer them in my capacity (if there are any at all). I am at will to be active at least once every month and specially during any important series. Feel free to bang me, if you want me to cover something special (not someone and certainly not THE ONE specifically).

                                                      
                                                  *****

This was to come earlier but because I am very late in everything, it has somehow automatically become a fitting tribute to Rahul Dravid, a man who deserved it all but never made it at first choice.

This ain’t going to be a song of praise for he does not require one from someone like me at least. This ain’t an analysis of the work accomplishments at all for this was his job and he had to do it and he was paid, quiet well.

This doesn’t mean that he does not have them, he have them and in abundance. No less than anyone in the sporting world, if not more.

But this is about the poise and calm he brings in. The technique, the composure, the grit and the flow; they are simply matchless. And during all this that could have well been absolutely stupendous he remains totally restrained and by the deference you would only help yourself believe that this was natural and obvious and was effortless- nothing exceptional.

Yes, that’s been a characteristic of the man who never liked the name given to him, The Wall!

He often joked that this makes him easy target for critics; they can easily say that wall is down or cracked if he failed.

Call it a fan obsession or our near sightedness, we have learned to live with this name which to me, does not seem to have done justice to this great cricketer. Yes he has the steeliness yet he has not been just a blocker, for those who have not seen his powerful cuts and purer than the purest drives have missed something for sure. Those who have seen have missed a heartbeat or two. He for sure does not have the flamboyance of a Ponting or the brilliance of a Tendulkar but he has more of it. Both on and off the field.

And cricket is not only about record books.

Ed Smith, a fellow at Kent County and now a columnist say that during his county stint with Kent, the players met a special human being first, an international cricketer second. Such has been his presence that makes things look normal. This does not mean that he does not know the value of his stardom or his success stature but such is the obliviousness that comes inherently in his nature that he looks and makes everyone feel so normal.

There certainly are humble people around, more so lesser these days but they surely have been and are still there, but it can be seen from their faces that they have been trying very very hard to be normal. The sheet of over modesty is palpable on to their face. This is somehow missing from Dravid’s ethics. He surely would not be human if he does not like the charm and the publicity and the glory but no one has ever scented a hint of it for the past 16 years. He has remained normal all through his life.

He is an honest gentleman. Again, gentleman is a misconception we often attach with being good looking, well dressed and charming. Of course he has all these inherently but being a gentleman demands more. It is being constant and restraint in every condition. It is being there for every situation and fulfilling you duties and obligations without a fuss.

And Dravid has it all. He is able to deliver what he thinks and what he does. He knows him quite well and has always been a great student of the game. He is tough as are his in-numerous innings: at the Oval, at Jamaica, at Rawalpindi and the list goes on. But the toughness comes automatically, he never paraded it. It has to come from within, by the job he does, by the process he follows. He has always been social, polite, mentally tough and intellectually curious.

And yes, he has been extremely honest to himself and to his fans and country. Despite being one of the most modest men, he never covered himself with the artificial modesty or macho yobbishness that most of the sportsperson do. On the contrary of the usually myth that they had nothing special and they worked very hard, he has always accepted that very early it was seen that he has this special talent, the ability to do it all and he worked hard to it. He knew he was different. "I was given a talent to play cricket," Dravid explains. "I don't know why I was given it. But I was. I owe it to all those who wish it had been them to give of my best, every day."

What an insightful truth! What a man!

There can be no greater examples of humbleness and truthfulness.

He could well have carried it a bit longer, as everyone else has been doing and you know who does what.

But it would have been undravid (this deserved to be in the dictionaries now on) to not do the way he has done it, the retirement.

It is no wrong in hoping for a farewell test, where fans stand up and gather in large number or waiting for a fairy last game to happen but as said, he has been a man of no fuss, no individuality, and no stardom tantrums. Nothing!

He stepped down when he felt it is time, and it skipped between the lines, as he always have been. He has been the glue which has not to be seen but seeps through gently and importantly, without creating any news or amusement.

Not many people would know that his retirement was planned, for he was thinking of it for almost 8-9 months, starting the tour of West Indies. He was the first man to vacate seats for new comers, those who deserve to give a run of their money. He chose the English tour to say it last where it started 16 years ago. In a team of old, wounded, injured and talentless folks he fought a war solely and splendidly. Yet, he was not satisfied for he could not help for the cause, win. Dravid and personal milestones never stood together.

On being asked after retirement, if there are any regrets of doing a failed tour of Australia, he simply quips that after a greatly successful tour to England, it would have been unfair not to serve his country. He owed this much to his team, sadly not every story ends like a fair.

Arguably the fittest person having played for such a long time, he never learned to complain as he always says, “There is no end to complaining and learning. I choose to do the second.”  He says that cricket has given him so much that complaining does not suit the bill. And he keeps learning, for learning to not only the adjustment he has to make but a continual process of evolution. Rahul Dravid, the phoenix keeps on evolving come what may.

Done everything for the team, when he could have done the way he would have wanted to, makes him stand out from the greats. Fortunately for the cricket there are few people with whom senses prevail and they know the value of cricket personified. The speech at Bradman’s oration speaks volume about what he thinks and how much how good he thinks about cricket. Leaving hefty ads and going to Abu Dhabi and testing the ICCs idea of Pink ball day and night tests tells the story about this man’s dedication.

More than the Blues, I would miss him in the whites. His humbleness in taking guard and serenity in acknowledging his fans on centuries and not pumping the fists like Kohlis and Rainas, his straight from the book cover drives and his rock solid defense and the mature smile will be missed. More than this I will miss the sportsmanship which drives him to rise and reach to Ponting to congratulate him for his long sought century when other 10 players spend time swearing and crying.

It’s been 15 days of finding salvation and crying and mourning over the last closed book of cricket, the gentlemen’s game it once used to be. Yes I know life never stops, yes I know cricket will move on, yes I know there will be more talent, yes I know that nothing is irreplaceable is a good line to speak. But then I know that playing IPLs and T-20 s will not make a Rahul Dravid. Choosing grit over beauty, humility over arrogance, struggle over rejection and self belief over instinct is what makes one Rahul Dravid.

It hurts while writing these lines as I could not stop the flow of water from my eyes, the riches of which have been flowing through the veins of my cricketing body. My heart does not want me to believe what I have lost 15 days back, yet again there is Dravid calmly, slowly but steadily subsiding down on the floor of my cricketing self.

Thank you my friend for making me rich with these 16 years of yours. In the years to come, perhaps too late we might realize what we have lost; the civility and the craft, the steel attitude and the dignity, the team spirit and the sportsmanship, we have lost cricket, period.

                                                                        
                                                 *****

Before I leave, I would mention the star performer for the last month. And this month it has to be Shakib Al Hasan for his all round heroics for Bangladesh in Asia Cup and preceding BPL. This man can do it all and deserves a place in any team today (yes, even in Aus or Eng) based on his performance. More on him, sometimes later.

 Virat Kohli and Jhoolan Goswami (can she not play for the men’s team?) are missing by a little.