Revision as of 17:30, 6 September 2015

A profile

Source:

1.[ From the archives of the Times of India], Bobilli Vijay Kumar

2.[ From the archives of the Times of India], Boria Majumdar

A Classical Hero For Modern India

Rahul Dravid epitomised the best traits of a resurgent country as it moved into a new century

His arrival in mid-1996 on the horizon of India’s cricketscape could not have come at a better time. Just as a liberalised India was opening up and making giant strides in the world – and just when middle-class Indians, uninhibited and confident, were leaving home shores to stake a claim to the world’s treasures – arrived Rahul Dravid to control and steer Indian cricket forward. Dravid was symptomatic of the mid-1990s India; strongly nationalist and resurgent, determined and passionate, committed and hard-working. Of a middle-class ethos and with a global outlook, Dravid was a product of his time. The away pitches of Australia, South Africa and England did not scare him for he represented a different India, hardly ever insecure. Not as talented perhaps as the other legendary number three, Ricky Ponting, Dravid epitomised virtues which a turn of the century India would need; reliability, reliability and further reliability. Even when things did not necessarily go his way like in Australia in December-January 2012, his commitment never wavered. He was the first and only Indian at the MCG at 9 am on Christmas day to practise against hundreds of throwdowns ahead of the Boxing Day Test. He would even shadow bat over dinner when things weren’t going his way as manager G S Walia later recounted. How do we define Rahul Dravid in a sentence? The task might sound impossible but isn’t so in reality. In fact, the answer is fairly simple. Had Sachin Tendulkar not played his cricket at the same time, Dravid would surely be the best batsman to have ever played the game for India. At a time when we are ruing our sudden dip in form in overseas conditions, Dravid’s achievements overseas, more than anything else, appear staggering. In the pre-Rahul Dravid era, India hardly ever won a Test match on foreign soil, the presence of Sunil Gavaskar notwithstanding. Port of Spain 1976 or England 1986 were aberrations that were few and far between. Most if not all of India’s famous away wins between 2002-08 have one common factor, Dravid. Not always associated with his style of batsmanship, Dravid has been the catalyst for all of India’s famous overseas Test wins in the course of the last decade, a record incredible enough to catapult him to the echelons of the game’s greatest of all time. Rediscovering himself against Steve Waugh’s Australians at the Eden Gardens in Kolkata in 2001 with a peerless 180, in the process helping V V S Laxman to his magical 281, Dravid fashioned the Headingley (2002), Adelaide (2003-04), Rawalpindi (2004), Kingston (2006) and Perth (2008) away wins for his team. His scores in these matches, 148, 232 and 72, 270, 81 and 68 in a low-scoring contest in Jamaica and 93 are Bradmanesque figures, which put the debate over who is the best ever number three of all time after the Don himself to rest once and for all. No tribute to Rahul Dravid can be complete without mentioning his off-field persona. Even when the going was tough, he exuded a sense of calm at press conferences, just like the way be batted. Comparable perhaps to the State Bank of India in his qualities, unfailing and purely Indian, not without reason is Dravid recognised as a true ambassador of the game in an era of hyper-nationalism and aggressiveness. Gesticulating to the crowd or hurling abuses at the opposition just isn’t Dravid, as also misbehaving with scribes or acting in a high-handed manner. Not without reason does Tendulkar say, “There was, and is, only one Rahul Dravid and there can be no other.” The other interesting attribute without mentioning which an assessment of Dravid remains incomplete is his emphasis on what he called “the importance of ugliness” as a standout quality in any cricketer. While serving as guest editor of the Times of India he was forthright in observing that the achievement he values the most is the "ugly hundred" – a century that is achieved despite poor form, touch and timing by virtue of sheer determination and unflinching commitment and integrity in one’s approach to the game. Dravid, it is universally accepted, wasn’t particularly suited to the 50-over format. Yet, he ended up scoring 10,000 runs. This statistic, more than any other, defines Dravid the cricketer. Prepared to struggle and prepared to be uncomfortable for long periods if need be, he is a rare species in an age of T20 cricket. Talking about the need for accountability and modesty for cricketers in the course of his much appreciated Donald Bradman oration in December 2011, Dravid had an interesting take on legacy in the context of continuing when you aren’t doing well and in the process tarnishing your legacy. He echoed the Australian swimmer Ian Thorpe’s words, “'I can sacrifice my legacy for the love of the sport.” There can be no other cricketer who can say such a thing for there can be no other Dravid. To conclude, it is fitting to leave the last words on Dravid to Tendulkar, who has spent more time with him on the field than any other player over the last 16 years. “For someone who has played 164 Test matches and scored 13,200-plus runs, no tribute can be enough.”

Like Arjuna, he only saw the bird’s eye

He was Arjuna; he would go on to become one of the greatest archers, if not the most accomplished warrior in mythology. Dravid’s rise to legendary proportions also rode on similar traits: unflinching focus and unyielding dedication for his skill. Like the Pandava, he too had been marked out for greatness at an early stage; but he traversed the horizons and reached that destination by tangoing with perfection, all along the way.

Being intelligent, charming and good-looking, he could easily have succumbed to any of the vices, or all the temptations; but he rarely looked beyond the eye, he never really saw the bird. He could shut himself from the world, or simply shut the world to find solace in a book, in his hotel room. Sunil Gavaskar’s preparation, famously, started about 30 minutes before he went out to bat; for Dravid, though, the exercise would begin almost 30 days earlier. Like an earnest student preparing for a big exam, he would study the itinerary carefully; he would dig into the background of the pitches and analyse the bowlers he was going to face. If it was South Africa or Australia, he would work on his hook and pull shots, with wet tennis balls; if it was England, he would hone his forward defensive leaves, making sure his head was over the ball or was ready to weave in or out of its line. It didn’t end there though: once he landed, he would find time to grasp the history of the city, just to feel its air and catch its spirit. It has a liberating effect on Dravid. On the eve of the match too, he has a different routine: with a bat in hand, often without it too, he would spend close to 30 minutes by the pitch. It’s almost like he was trying to unravel its mysteries, befriending the devils within; he would meditate and he would indulge in positive visualisation, thinking of all his previous big knocks here. He, then, would close his eyes and play and replay all his strokes.

By the end of it, he seems healed; you can almost sense that he is in a zone of his own. There were, of course, times when his elaborate preparation didn’t yield the desired results; but until the just-concluded Australian tour, it had mostly been to unplayable deliveries, death balls that would materialise from nowhere just for him. At that point, probably, Dravid knew it was time to go: six times bowled out of eight would have broken even Arjuna. It’s ironic that just a few months earlier, in England, he was batting on a different plane. While the rest were collapsing, he was virtually unbeatable; the pitches were difficult, the bowlers fast and aggressive, but nobody could get past him. For all his numbers (13,288 runs. 36 tons. 210 catches and One-dayers), the ride has not always been easy though; he was shunted up and down the order before he commandeered the most pivotal slot: Number 3. In One-dayers, too, he had to make peace with the big gloves merely to keep himself afloat. Yet, he had the courage to walk away from the one thing every player aspires for: India’s captaincy. It wasn’t just that the hype was breaching his sanctum sanctorum, the private space that he so dearly cherished; it was the pressures and politics from within which were leaving him a shattered person. He’d rather lose the coveted prize than lose his faith in people, in friends. So, in a way, he didn’t give up the captaincy; he renounced it. His goal was never to be India’s top captain; he simply wanted to be one of its best batsmen. And he realized quickly enough that this was blurring his target, that he couldn’t shoot well enough; in no time, he was only seeing the bird’s eye again. Yes, it took him almost three years to reach the pinnacle of his batsmanship, at the same place where the journey had begun 16 years ago: England.