Jhakas | Sanjay Jha
When he removes his blue helmet revealing often a checked handkerchief covering his balding plate he resembles a tough stud of a railway driver navigating a steam engine through the mustard fields of Punjab and Haryana. But over the years, he has been christened more grandiloquently as the Nawab of Najafgarh, the title bestowed on him following the royal insouciance with which he usually surmounted insuperable foes, usually earning their reluctant acknowledgement as well. On December 3rd 2009 the tradition continued with much pomp, style and grandeur.
I vaguely recollect first seeing Virender Sehwag in an ODI match against the Australians in 2001 where he contumaciously dispatched balls to the fence with his destructive bat scoring 58 runs of 54 balls and then returned to trick three batsmen with his contrasting gentle off-spinners to win a Man of the Match award. What was most noticeable was the remarkable physical similarity between Sachin Tendulkar and Sehwag when both were suitably in protective gear. Also, there was the same cavalier disregard for anything pitched at a pedestrian length. A sixth sense told any discerning cricket lover that we were to see more of this near-barbaric Spartan. Thankfully, we have. Continue reading below
Endless realms of paper has been written describing Rahul Dravid as India's unsung hero, but on quiet introspection one discovers that the man truly deserving of that title is actually Sehwag. Let me explain. It was Tendulkar's refulgent flamboyance in both Tests and ODIs that largely eclipsed the more methodically laboured Dravid. While Sachin was the nation's poster-boy because of his insatiable appetite for runs at a quick-fire strike rate, Dravid was seen as the man with a constructive work-like brilliance around him. But honestly, for all batsmen cricketers in the Tendulkar era it has been a similar predicament, everyone paled into a dark corner in the same manner in which Roger Federer and Tiger Woods embalmed their superiority in their respective greens.
The fact that Dravid was a somewhat measured character, exasperatingly diplomatic and frequently made for boring copy exacerbated the difference. But then Dravid had his big moments too. He assumed captaincy in controversial circumstances, had a reasonably golden run overshadowing even Sachin momentarily during the 2004-2006 phase, and his urban suave looks even landed him the best commercial endorsements. At one time during the Chappell era, Dravid virtually dominated Indian cricket both with his stellar performances and a new-found belligerence in his usually restrained demeanour. That was the one time Tendulkar's legacy looked a wee bit threatened by a more determined contributor.
Unknown to one and all, the one man who actually remained unobtrusively out of sight even when he had the world at his knees was Sehwag. And unlike Dravid, it was Sehwag who actually did not just match Sachin's remorseless destruction run for run but actually rewrote a completely new script of incredible domination which was to take India into a new zone, just when Sachin himself had consciously begun to become the conservative sheet-anchor.
Viru, as Sehwag is affectionately called, is perhaps an apt nickname given to the gentle Jat, much reminiscent of former Bollywood hero Dharmendra in the classic Sholay. A braveheart warrior maybe but essentially not just exceedingly simple, but almost bordering on being a lone wolf. The contrast is quite baffling. He made a top notch Test century on debut (105) at Bloemfontein in South Africa against a fiery pace attack but typically analysts began to sound as crestfallen as Cassandra's usually do because of the short-lived international careers of most Indian players whose playing days had dramatically folded up after the initial brouhaha. Sehwag had other intentions, and they were to surface intermittently with thunderous impact. Superstitious issues and statistical jugglery never impressed the man.
The triple century at Multan (309) in 2004 against a helpless Pakistan bowling line-up was a masterpiece scored in record time in a different territory against perpetual adversaries. It resulted in an emphatic innings win for India and greatly assuaged wounded sentiments of the Chepauk Test of 1999. Even as a stunned nation watched in utter disbelief the highest runs ever by an Indian (overtaking VVS Laxman's monumental 281), Sehwag remained on a leather-hunt with a sharp eye. Unlike other great batsmen of his generation what truly lifted Sehwag to another level was the casual disdain with which he struck those magnificent innings. And there were several other ruthless decimations on the way; namely the 155 against Australia in Chennai (2004), 173 and 201 in the same series against Pakistan in 2005 being those that stand out for their raw aggressiveness. The Boxing Day 195 runs in 2003 at MCG, Australia was undoubtedly, a gem and a jewel.
Ironically, it was the shorter version of the 50 over game requiring more hit and run madness which unfortunately overshadowed Sehwag's natural genius, as most experts expected the run-machine to surpass his war-mongering propensity of Tests. His strike rate between Tests and ODIs differs only marginally. It revealed the short-sightedness of both Indian selectors and the over-rated cricket pundits who failed to understand the marauder's real dilemma. Sehwag is a player who needs unlimited infinite space in his mind, an interminable unending stretch of mustard fields to play his own inimitable brand of cricket . That is why his second innings record is also comparatively shallower , with sinking space he begins to struggle. Like Adam Gilchrist, his game defies the laws of gravity and common sense.
The feeling of being curtailed in limited versions of both ODIs and T20 put shackles in his otherwise trademark stroke-play, disturbing his rhythm somewhat and compelling him to make adjustments. It is here that Tendulkar's and Ricky Ponting's greatness really comes up, the ability to adapt in singular fashion at rapid speed. While Sehwag has had some superlative knocks, notably his lone centuries in New Zealand in the disastrous series prior to World Cup 2003 he got hauled into the coal-pits for those innumerable 30-40s scored at a strike rate of 150-200 that never translated to Indian wins. It was to result in Indian cricket's most bizarre decision ever and Sehwag's ultimate personal tragedy; being dropped from the Indian team in both Tests and ODIs. And then the final nail in the crumbling coffin was being ignominiously removed from the probables squad for the Down Under trip of 2007/08. The rest is indeed a historical tale of a fighting spirit who just did what came to him.
In fact, Viru did nothing appreciably different when he returned. The unimaginable fastest second triple century against South Africa in 278 balls, which put him in the august company of Sir Don Bradman and Brian Lara. And then, of course, that splendid talismanic comeback against Australia against all odds at Perth and then at Adelaide in 2008 where he played a match-saving 151.
When I saw him get caught and bowled by Mutthiah Muralitharan for 293 at CCI, Mumbai I thought the gods had been most unfair. It was gross injustice. Because this man deserved to be higher than Bradman in the triple centuries stake, not just an equal. I remembered then that winter chill of January 2005 when he had squandered the opportunity to overtake the existing world Test opening partnership record of 414 runs by a mere boundary with Rahul Dravid at the other end. But then that is Sehwag. He plays the way he does because that is him. No records. No media publicity. No endorsements. No talk-shows. No felicitations by corporate big-wigs. Nothing really affects the one man who has perhaps redefined Indian cricket the most since Sachin Tendulkar's debut.
In that famous Chennai Test of December 2008 against England all TV commentators and experienced soothsayers were unanimous that India had a Herculean task of saving the Test . 83 runs and 68 balls later on the fourth evening they were discussing the prospects of a likely Indian victory. One man transformed the whole team and the match itself.
The title of Nawab does not suit the unassuming man who travelled miles to practise the game he loved as a child on cycles and buses. Who made it to the team on his own. Whose English is still peppered with a rustic intonation. Who still smiles and walks back to the pavilion even if he has just missed a glorious world record that potentially might remain for decades in cricket archives. Who rarely appears in advertisements of multinational products. Who is just happy to praise all his team-mates and shrug shyly when prodigiously adulated. Mister Modesty would be more appropriate a name for Viru. Even Sehwag ki Maa will probably agree.
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