And he hobbles away, shaded amidst other limelights that curiously shaded him in adamance throughout his career. His walls were broken, like in his late Test days. But he walked away with his head held high, why wouldn't he? He has been, after all, the closest to what a good man could be on a cricket field. The quietest monk in the monastery, yet the most respected and most revered.
From being a shy school boy who finished his homework on time, then playing U-15, U-17, U-19, playing Ranji in 21, to making debut in Lords representing his country proudly & missing a century by 5 runs (where in this case the limelight happened to be a being carving magical off-drives), personifying solidity & showing the world what true defense means, spending most time on crease than any batsman alive (yes, exceeding by a far one and half DAYS than his compatriot all-time highest Test scorer, because hey, scoring is too mainstream than staying: a whopping 64,800 minutes), taking catch after catch at 1st slip off the bowling of a certain legend 'Jumbo', doing whatever his captain tells (or rather 'asks') him to, whether open the innings or come 1-8 down or keep wickets or walk on broken glass or even jettison himself off the aircraft without any parachute, all for the team... the shy school boy forged himself into a gritty man who can take anything and still remain the calmest monk in the monastery.
I'm feeling numb deep inside, for his time is up in international cricket of any form. I will never be seeing him again live on TV nor his bitter-sweet drone. The least I could do is recollect a few favorite memories I could gather.
Like the 148 against South Africa at Johannesberg in 1997.
Or the 190 against New Zealand at Hamilton in 1999.
Or the 180 against Australia at Kolkata in 2001.
Or the 148 against England at Headingley in 2002.
Or the 233 against Australia at Adelaide in 2003.
Or the 270 against Pakistan at Rawalpindi in 2004.
Or the 81 & 68 against West Indies at Sabina Park in 2006.
Or the 93 & 46 against Australia at Perth in 2008.
A blogger once quoted, "He is the anti-McGrath. A batting metronome. Ball after ball, over after over, he wears bowlers down with his patience. It's almost as if he has a plan: leave, leave, defend, leave, score. He sets up the bowler, making him bowl where he wants. Amid all this he calculates the vagaries of the pitch. It's when he's in a struggle that he's in the zone."
"Don't fight for revenge", the great man himself said, "fight for pride. The more you take from the pot, the more you have to put in."
I thank him for the joy he gave my eyes and my cricket endearing soul. The word 'cricket' was synonymous to his name the whole of my life till now. I was after all in my nappies in round-building at my school in Chennai, doing my LKG when he was negotiating seam and swing at Lord's in his debut. How could he ever be separated from 'cricket' in my head?
I want to borrow a quote I wrote in my 12th grade yearbook: 'A fish, which had been born and had died in water, never would have known the value of water, or rather, never would it have known the absence of the gasp for breath in air. Completeness blinded the absence of incompleteness. But it is when you part, you realise the real value of completeness that we all once took for granted'.
Indeed. But I'm happy for his recognition, especially in the past few months. From now on, he will be in the folklore of cricket. Pundits will romanticize him, "There were days when cricket looked classy..." Decades from now, we will be telling our sons, daughters and grandchildren the heroics of a man who never flinched on what was thrown at him. Importantly, we will not just tell how well he played, but also of how well he fared. He will remain as an example, not as a mere entertainer. We would advise them all to walk through a road... a very good road... the Dravid Avenue.
From being a shy school boy who finished his homework on time, then playing U-15, U-17, U-19, playing Ranji in 21, to making debut in Lords representing his country proudly & missing a century by 5 runs (where in this case the limelight happened to be a being carving magical off-drives), personifying solidity & showing the world what true defense means, spending most time on crease than any batsman alive (yes, exceeding by a far one and half DAYS than his compatriot all-time highest Test scorer, because hey, scoring is too mainstream than staying: a whopping 64,800 minutes), taking catch after catch at 1st slip off the bowling of a certain legend 'Jumbo', doing whatever his captain tells (or rather 'asks') him to, whether open the innings or come 1-8 down or keep wickets or walk on broken glass or even jettison himself off the aircraft without any parachute, all for the team... the shy school boy forged himself into a gritty man who can take anything and still remain the calmest monk in the monastery.
I'm feeling numb deep inside, for his time is up in international cricket of any form. I will never be seeing him again live on TV nor his bitter-sweet drone. The least I could do is recollect a few favorite memories I could gather.
Like the 148 against South Africa at Johannesberg in 1997.
Or the 190 against New Zealand at Hamilton in 1999.
Or the 180 against Australia at Kolkata in 2001.
Or the 148 against England at Headingley in 2002.
Or the 233 against Australia at Adelaide in 2003.
Or the 270 against Pakistan at Rawalpindi in 2004.
Or the 81 & 68 against West Indies at Sabina Park in 2006.
Or the 93 & 46 against Australia at Perth in 2008.
A blogger once quoted, "He is the anti-McGrath. A batting metronome. Ball after ball, over after over, he wears bowlers down with his patience. It's almost as if he has a plan: leave, leave, defend, leave, score. He sets up the bowler, making him bowl where he wants. Amid all this he calculates the vagaries of the pitch. It's when he's in a struggle that he's in the zone."
"Don't fight for revenge", the great man himself said, "fight for pride. The more you take from the pot, the more you have to put in."
I thank him for the joy he gave my eyes and my cricket endearing soul. The word 'cricket' was synonymous to his name the whole of my life till now. I was after all in my nappies in round-building at my school in Chennai, doing my LKG when he was negotiating seam and swing at Lord's in his debut. How could he ever be separated from 'cricket' in my head?
I want to borrow a quote I wrote in my 12th grade yearbook: 'A fish, which had been born and had died in water, never would have known the value of water, or rather, never would it have known the absence of the gasp for breath in air. Completeness blinded the absence of incompleteness. But it is when you part, you realise the real value of completeness that we all once took for granted'.
Indeed. But I'm happy for his recognition, especially in the past few months. From now on, he will be in the folklore of cricket. Pundits will romanticize him, "There were days when cricket looked classy..." Decades from now, we will be telling our sons, daughters and grandchildren the heroics of a man who never flinched on what was thrown at him. Importantly, we will not just tell how well he played, but also of how well he fared. He will remain as an example, not as a mere entertainer. We would advise them all to walk through a road... a very good road... the Dravid Avenue.
