The Long Walk Back

I met him the first day of the IIMB interaction. I thought he was one of the nicer guys. I invaded his computer the night after I gave my AuMale interview to leech Scrubs off his FTP and I thought he was a fantastic guy. Then he egged me on to continue in marketing and joined SNDU a year before me. And I thought, he was a super guy. Then he joined my team and it was like a breath of fresh air and I thought he was an awesome guy.

And then, as we were in Colombo, he got me to the Premadasa for a World Cup Semi Final – My first. And he proved that he was a super rock star. Actually I always knew it. Few people have this kind of a passion for anything. The Coke Tag of Eat Cricket, Sleep Cricket comes true with him. Thanks crazy follower of Little Master. The Manoos should be proud of you.

Anyway, while we were sitting at an awesome place watching the match I suddenly noticed that the walk back to the pavilion was really long and in the TV screen we never get to understand what goes on as one walks back after losing his wicket or as they call it – take the long walk back. It’s beautifully tragic in some ways. A lot of people walk the last walk back. They know they will never be on the 22 yards again and that realization suddenly makes you wonder about the transient nature of the world around us.

The atmosphere was electric. I think the greatest gift a sportsperson gets is to stand in front of a full stadium and hear the National Anthem of the country. It does not matter if the crowd is supporting or opposing you. Both have their charms and can give you the goose bumps beyond imagination.

The drums, the beer, the hairdos, the last ball of Murali on home soil and a wicket. You could not have asked for more. As he says there is always a compelling historical fact somewhere. The Sri Lankan Team has never lost a WC semi final in South Asia that my family has watched on the ground :)

The next day was the Mother of All Matches. India Pakistan in a World Cup Semi final. And interestingly I watched it with the super awesome guy mentioned above (SAG), the super excited boss, the Amaze-ing Lady and a friend from Pakistan (FFP). And as much as I would have liked to be a nice person and be neutral about the match, I don’t think I handled it too well.

Cricket and I have been strange companions ever since that Chemistry Class in Class 9 when our teacher caught hold of me on one of those not so rare occasions when I missed an organic chemistry twister and said, “if Sachin scores a century what’s it with you?” Since then I think I have always put cricket on the backseat if there was something more important. So on the day of the Mother Match, I was actually talking to Sri Lankan kids about their food habits, aspirations, choices and I don’t think I missed the game too much while I was at it.

But then I arrived just after God of Cricket lost his wicket and all hell broke loose from there. SAG and I rocked the entire Cinnamon Lakeside with our constant cheering and just could not be the nice neutral people. It was an India Pak Semi final. Poor FFP- he was outnumbered 2 to 1.

And then the three of us returned back to our rooms. Finally, watching a match which had so much more cricket than politics in it; we had fun all the way. The Long Walk Back takes a new meaning altogether.

But now, it’s time for blood, sweat and blue. The final hurdle is yet to be crossed.

Bengal’s Last Hero

Today as I was waiting for the clock to strike six so that I could make my getaway, a fellow bong and school mate from Germany pinged me knowing fully well what news could distress me to no end. (Lately people have been developing the habit of giving me distressing news during the course of work. For example, someone pings and says E-Ka is marrying K-Jo.) But then this news was more distressing than any other. Ganguly had finally announced his retirement.

A lot of events flashed in front of my eyes. I remembered how four or five of us had defended Ganguly all through our 2 years at IIMB when everyone worth a penny of salt was fighting against Dada and us. Dada came back again and again, like a phoenix defying every doomsday prediction and getting deified in the eyes of his ardent fans. Lots will be written about him, many better writers will write eulogies for the Prince of Calcutta but here let me just try to say what endeared him to me.

To say I admire Ganguly because he’s a Bong will be akin to questioning my basic levels of intelligence. I have never been regional and I hope I never will be accused of being one. Yet I can sense some logic in Bengalis being blind to any fault of their beloved Dada. The Tamilians had their MGR, the Telugus their NTRs. For a communist and hero starved state, Ganguly came like a ray of hope. From the days when Bengal defined the directions of the Freedom Struggle, to the failed Naxalite Movement that claimed the lives of the best and brightest of Bengal, till the communist reign in a state where hero worship had been replaced by ‘party worship’ Bengalis starved for a hero. The nation was growing tired of flaunting its Tagore, Teresa and Bose. At that moment came a century at Lords. And Ganguly became the symbol of Bengal’s hurt pride slowly raising its head again. They had been told by their leadership that Bengal was lagging behind because the ‘Centre’ i.e. Delhi hated this communist state. The students were leaving the state in droves as the Engineering and Medical Colleges had not grown in number since their Parent’s times. And then came Toronto. Newspapers feasted on the new Hero. Bengal realized that it could still perform on a bigger platform. His Love marriage with his childhood sweetheart made every Bengali mother feel protective about their son. Every detail of his life was gobbled up by The Bengali Bhadrolok with his morning cup of tea and as he went to office in Metro. Finally, Jyoti Basu refused to become the Prime Minister but Dada became the India’s Cricket Captain, a position more important than that of the PM for this cricket crazy nation. And since then Bengal has been there for Ganguly.

I admire Ganguly for quite a few reasons. He made us realize that we could look at the best in the eye and never blink. He made us realize that it’s not wrong to break traditions if your ultimate objective is to be the best. He told us that we a billion strong nation can win the World Cup once again, even if it’s a World of 9 nations. He showed us that brilliance can’t be stopped. Even with 9 fielders guarding the off side, his bat would show the ball the direction to the boundary.

But the only reason why India should remember Dada is because he is the one who destroyed the age old system of selection processes in Indian Cricket. He nurtured talent whenever he found one and backed him to the hilt. He was our first players’ captain. He was Dada - both the Don and the loving Elder Brother. What Team India today is actually a dream that Dada had planted.

He perhaps could have retired with more dignity. There was perhaps truth in the accusations against him. But then he’s not a God. We have a Tendulkar for that slot. And that’s why Ganguly will be remembered - as the human who dared to defy conventions.

Cricket and More

I have been lucky to have a TV set near my desk at my offices since the time I have come to Mumbai. So with the cricket season on, I see people stopping by and stealing furtive glances or if they are like me, sipping their coffee in front of the screen.

Anyway, with the Boxing Day test on, here is something about proving a point. Pushy always writes passionately about cricket and Sachin. If only he wrote a little more.