Dear Rahul,
I have learnt from watching you over
the years; observing you, making every effort to ape you or even attempting to
create fake stickers for my bat so that it looks like yours. I didn’t do a very
good job of that. I couldn’t match up at all, neither on field nor off it. That
look of devotion on your face when walking into bat in the first over ever so
often, the unbelievable composure under pressure, the perfect control over your
emotions. No one will ever come close to being that.
The closest I came to being anything
like you was playing the square cut whilst biting my lips and puffing my
cheeks, just like the way you always did.
Nothing else. Many times you
made me wonder whether you even know how great you are.
You batted at number 7 on your
debut, when your fellow debutant walked in at 3. That you ended your career as
one of the game’s best number 3 batsmen makes me blush with pride. You
always had the answer to all the tough questioners: to some with a big stride
down the track and to others with never-ending strength while standing tall on
your toes and fending off their spitfires. When the team needed a
squiggly-wiggly amoebic character that they could kick around and take for
granted, you were there for them; when the team needed a rock-solid
impersonation of grit and determination, you were still there. That is what
sets you apart: you played cricket for what it was, a team game. You did for
the country what no other would have.
When you had sacrificed many a
finger as wicket-keeper for Karnataka at the junior levels and sworn never to
don the gloves again, you had only sworn to yourself. For when the country
needed you fifteen years later, you picked up the gloves without making faces,
squatted behind the stumps and still pegged everyone on- whilst producing
flashes of brilliance in there too.
Your contributions to the test team,
whether while saving a game or doggedly taking traffic head-on so that the men
at the other end could bask in the glory of their limited skill was never
recognized. Your decision to bat at number 5/6/7 in one-day matches so that the
likes of Yuvraj, Dhoni and even Dinesh karthik who didn’t even have half the
ability that you have could go ahead of you, showed how different you were from
the other two Indian batting legends of your era. Ego led them on, cricket led
you on.
When half the country was calling for
your head just because you used to reached fifty ten balls later than the guys
who used to bat when only TWO fielders were outside the ring, was outrageous.
It was even more outrageous when they said the same thing about your batting in
the five-day version. They said you didn’t belong. The nation was outrageous,
the experts were outrageous, ex-cricketers were outrageous. But the fact that
you retire in 2012, the oldest active player in the world is just the cherry on
top of the humble pie you made everyone eat without actually intending to feed
them.
When you were captain, you took the
team to many a historic victory. You soldiered on in difficult conditions and
you continued being the symbol you were. You led the team to victory in places
where we hadn’t secured anything for quite a few decades. Of course, like the
rest of your achievements, no one remembers any of that. They only remember you
as the guy who declared when “god” was in no hurry to get his double hundred.
They only remember- read, hate- you as the guy who replaced the previous
captain. They only remember you as the guy who led the Indian cricket team out
of the World Cup when, in all reality, it wasn’t a team at all.
Luckily there are people who still
do remember everything you have done for us, however few we are.
I will never forget watching you
score two centuries against New Zealand in the same test. I tried so hard to
remain 190 not out against the guys from the opposite street after watching
that match, but no one ever had the interest to bowl to me for more than half
an hour. I think that should describe your style of batting completely-
graceful, patient and annihilating.
I will miss watching your steely,
determined eyes in the slip cordon; and the awkwardness in front of the camera.
No one else will celebrate Laxman’s centuries the way you did and I don’t think
Indian cricket will ever see a 10 hour long knock any time soon.
You are the perfect man, the perfect
cricketer and the perfect role model. You’re also the guy who asked a 20-year
old girl to concentrate on her studies instead of falling for you when you were
one of the biggest stars of the game! The greatness you have attained is no
mean feat; but the best thing about your greatness is, you never knew it
existed. That’s who you are.
You were everything I tried to be,
you are everything everyone should try to be: but you are Rahul Dravid and
there can be none other.
I never thought a man would make me
cry.
Yours gratefully,
A Rahul Dravid Fan.
