To hell with Senas and Sahityas. Sehwag is the one on my mind today. To place him in current context, he tarred many opponents with his willow than the Sainiks did with their ink and wrote lasting cricketing lores than what those literary luminaries achieved with their pens.
Cricket is life for many in this country. But in a philosophical sense, not just cricket, all sport encapsulate life in all its vigour and vagaries. Sporting spirit is true human spirit; a good sport is a good human. A cricketing career, nay, just a match, is a microcosm of the larger scheme, replete with fluctuating fortunes, changing roles, clashes of personalities and passions, and above all the glorious uncertainties about the end.
To me in sport, and through that life, two people stood way above the rest. I remain an ardent devotee of Sunil Gavaskar. I actually retired from active fanhood the day Gavaskar retired. Sunny’s days filled my childhood and adolescence. He was an idol and an ideal for me. He was God, taking guard at the crease: his stance, his poise, his unblinking eyes, his subtle study of the field, the measured tap of the bat … indeed, he was perfection personified albeit in a compact package. As I entered adulthood I tried to imbibe the qualities of concentration and determination that he displayed in his sport in my personality.
Sehwag came a decade and a half later — in between, much runs had flowed from many blades and yes, more Sainiks had blotted the political landscape and on balance, more Sahityas were added to the roster. This man — I mean Sehwag — was strikingly different, and not just because he struck the ball differently from the original and the only Little Master that I know. By now, one-dayers had replaced Tests as the favoured flavour, warranting a drastic shift in batting styles. The limited over format hangover spilled to tests and Sehwag was the ultimate toast or celebration of this melting pot batting. But either way, it was Sehwag unlimited. In that sense, he was the new God on the altar. If Gavaskar helped me mature into an adult with his sanguine grace, Sehwag made me an unabashed child again, with his delightful dance. As with life, so with sport, it’s all a cycle.
This is not to speak less of his contemporaries. But Sehwag’s was a display that can put everyone else in the shade when in full flow. This guy was definitely different. His attitude and approach were ridiculously simple: Nuance is nonsense; footwork is for shoemakers, not batsmen; that red, round thing thrown at you is meant to be thrashed; line, length and sundry jargon are for commentators; quality of pitch is no hitch; the bowler is just a ball vending machine; more than the gaps between fielders, it is the space above them that matters; hit, miss and mishit mean just the same; a day’s work could be anything, from a duck to triple ton.
And that brings me to Chepauk. Here in 1983, Gavaskar single handedly, for over thirty hours, stood between victory and Windies, the cricketing version of all-powerful aliens from Mars or Jupiter. Then, India were always defending, avoiding defeats. Twentyfive years later, India were not only consistent match winners but had a potent missile in their arsenal. And that weapon of mass destruction was unleashed on an unsuspecting South African team with unprecedented force. The match was like starwars at the stadium as Sehwag made his bat a missile launcher. I could not believe this was happening, hardly anything gentle in this Gentlemen’s Game.
Just for that innings alone, Sehwag is guilty of public violence at worst or at least, for showing discourtesy to guests! Even the umpires were in danger as Sehwag sizzlers whizzed and whistled dangerously close to their ears while their arms ached of signalling boundaries. It was like watching a simulated video game. As three hundred piled up from his bat, Sehwag himself was cool and casual, a characteristic that marks all of his aggressive outings.
Gavaskar played to get the better of bowlers. His was a mind game. Sehwag played to batter bowlers. It was brawn first. Though unconventional, he oozed class too and that’s what set him apart from many pinch-hitting peers. He pioneered one-arm and/or one leg boundaries, sixers over off-square and slips, swivel shots and many such delicious offerings. A typical Sehwag knock will not only make you applaud but also laugh. The fun element in his game was unmistakable. Pity be on bowlers who footed the bill.
A Central Minister is in trouble now for saying that north Indians break rules with impunity. Well, Sehwag was one north Indian who did exactly that in batting. And the lawless lot that we are, we enjoyed every bit of his excesses.
Thank you, Mr Dynamite. And I too retire … again.
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