Such a long journey

This piece was written a while back at the height of the euphoria that had gripped the nation as the new emerging Indian team had taken everyone by surprise. The euphoria and the happiness has just worn off a little...

History is a vast body of disciplines, intertwined and complicated. Where does the history of Indian cricket figure in the scheme of things? A trivial pursuit, say some who prefer losing out on the glorious rise of the game in the sub-continent. From the Bombay and Deccan Gymkhanas to the Hindoos and Parsis competing against the Mohammedans in the confederacy of Bombay to the heights of success that Palwankar Baloo – the first Dalit cricketer – touched in his walk to fame, the story of the game goes beyond the boundary, quit literally.

India has seen a gentle rush of cricketing giants for the past many years…a good number have fallen by the wayside while others have gone on to attain legendary status. He of the fathomless spirit and gregarious powers of ingenuity, the peerless Lal Amarnath; suave and handsome, the princely swagger in place, Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi swept everyone from cine-stars to critics off their feet. Who can forget the inimitable, magical spin trio of Bishen Bedi, Erapalli Prasanna and Chandrasekhar bamboozling the opposition into submission?

If the fluent elegance of Sunil Gavaskar was a treat to the senses, the plaint demeanour of the portly G. Vishwanath ambling to the crease only to thrash any bowler in sight was a lesson in attacking batsmanship. Krishnamachari Srikkanth’s demolition of the Pakistani spin legend Abdul Qadir is a sight to behold even after long years have rolled past. The thumping success of a fiery Kapil Dev is not lost on anyone while the fluid wrist work of (the much maligned) Azharuddin is the packaging material of icons.

The dust bowls of India has thrown up heroes time and again. Be it the sublime, venerable destroyer Sachin Tendulkar or the calculative grafter Rahul ‘The Wall’ Dravid; be it the grinding, thudding batsmanship of the rustic Virender Sehwag or the carefree panache of a Mahendra Dhoni in full flow; Indian cricket has seen ebbs and heights at the rate of once a million.
Arise then and cruise along as the glorious game moves into the next generation…where starts are born, not made and talent and success is not the preserve of the urban middle classes…where an R P Singh can make an even mark with Irfan Pathan, the son of a muezzin and a Suresh Raina can elicit accolades with his pristine skill on the ground. The beginning of a beautiful time!