What traits define the 'Father of Indian Cricket'?

Jack Hobbs, the greatest amasser of runs cricket has ever witnessed, once famously said about C.K.Nayudu, “You have only to see him pick up a ball to know he is a born cricketer”. Nayudu, quite symbolically, became India’s first Test captain. But this article isn’t about Nayudu or Ranjitsinhji or even about Sunil Gavaskar or Sachin Tendulkar. On another day, we will talk more about them, those gems of Indian cricket. It must be noted that Ranjitsinhji and Duleepsinhji played for England and not for India, even though India’s most popular domestic trophies have been named after them. On another day, we might even talk about the trophies that exist in domestic cricket, trophies that have existed long before IPL was conceived and yet, wait for their acknowledgement by the public consciousness in a way IPL is acknowledged; trophies that are bitter step-daughters of a nation that still believes in prodigal sons of the ilk of IPL.

We could talk about greats of the game and great feats of their game, a game that, in spite of its modest beginnings in this nation, has now made its board the richest in the world, and by some distance. We will not adulterate our discussion today by talking about money or about stats. Let us leave them aside for a few minutes, shall we? We will not talk about rules either, for what are rules but just symbols of our collective prejudices?

Today, for a few minutes, let us just endeavour to analyse what could be the characteristic traits of a cricketer we could call ‘Father’. Mind you, the game has seen giants and it would be unfair, given my knowledge and writing age, to consider the entire spectrum. For today, we will just limit it to India and rightly so, for in the present age it can be called the epicentre of cricket. That its board doesn’t take this responsibility seriously and that its board is too busy making money instead of really stamping its class and contribution and developing cricket elsewhere with its muscle is still a disappointment; patriotic Indian cricket lovers like me feel stabbed, from time to time. Oh wait, I promised we wouldn’t discuss money, so we have to leave politics out of it as well. We cannot set an opinion poll either. If we did, Sachin Tendulkar would win hands down. He wouldn’t be a bad choice, he is a great dad, always has been. But handing it to Sachin without really analysing what makes a great ‘Father of Indian cricket’ would be just as unfair as calling C K Nayudu the same, just because he was extremely impressive and was the first captain of the nation’s Test team. We need to delve into traits, at least a few, at least those that we care for since most of us have stopped caring for a lot of traits that were called ‘noble’ just a decade or two ago.

What could be the most important trait to dub someone ‘Father of Indian cricket’ – talent, performance, contribution, performance, symbolism and identity, innovation, performance, emotional connect and fearlessness? Did I add performance? You are getting the drift already, aren’t you, but wait, I promised, we wouldn’t talk stats. We aren’t. Performance was never about stats, was it? Judging performance from stats is like rating a book based on the number of pages it has – a sure sign of a naïve follower of the game. We aren’t naïve, are we? We eat cricket for breakfast, lunch and dinner and if possible, dream about it too. At least we all did, when Sachin smashed the Australians across the park in Sharjah. Warne would call it a nightmare, in Chennai, but he, like us, was what literature lovers call ‘consumed’. So, ‘being consumed’ is a good measure, I suppose…a nation’s consciousness consumed by a cricketer, a cricketer who is bigger than movie celebrities – that species which usually drives people mad without mostly contributing much to society(barring the odd exception) – a cricketer who makes people sit up and notice that a game exists. Sachin will win it hands down, yet again. But wait, we don’t want to bring in names yet, we have to rummage for more traits. And there are a lot more!

How about standing up in the face of adversity? Long before Sachin donned the India colours, or in Tests you could say the India crest since it is all white, Indians were looked down upon. Oh yes, they toured a bit, to England and to Australia, West Indies and New Zealand. But anyone who has heard even one of Gavaskar’s innumerable tales during live commentary, wonderful accounts of wit, wisdom and some well-disguised bitterness, would know what standing up to someone means. Cold corridors, harsh stares, uncomfortable accommodation and embarrassing cricket gear are just some of the many stings our cricketers had to endure. To stand all that and a lot more that our age will never hear of, and yet become the game’s most prolific run scorer in whites, is certainly a wonderful qualification to make someone the ‘Father of Indian cricket’. If Sachin’s burden is heavy – try living up to the expectation of just one friend or family member and you will get a taste of what that burden is like – Gavaskar’s was no less heavy either, and it wasn’t eased by the monetary benefits which in those days were paltry compared even to the figures of our fringe and second-grade cricketers. Oh wait, we can’t talk numbers today, it would be sacrilegious. Gavaskar wouldn’t want us to talk numbers – he was a proud man, for pride was all that he had at stake while playing against fast bowlers who could not only get you out, but could kill you, quite literally.

Didn’t Gavaskar once make us laugh saying he had qualms, that he wondered if tennis wasn’t a better option compared to the daunting prospect of facing the ‘Big Bird’? It was no laughing matter, mind you, not when you are a puny man facing a rocket launcher that stands more than a foot over you. And what defines fearlessness? Probably walking in with a hat to face fast bowlers you admit being intimidated by, as if the only thing he had to save his pride with was unfettered arrogance. You need that, don’t you, that arrogance, to counter fire with fire, the thunderbolts from Roberts, Marshall, Thomson, Lillee, Garner, Holding, Imran and many more. Yes, with an attitude like that, backed by 10000 runs of the greatest quality you will ever get in Test cricket, you could be the father of cricket. But, no, we wouldn’t pass judgment yet. Today is not the day for judgements. We will just look at traits. Let’s look at it this way – if cricketers could pick and choose genes, solely cricketing genes, no offence meant in any other way, what genes would they kill for?

How about aggression, the aggression that makes you the third most successive bowler in Test history? So what if you couldn’t bowl fast and were told so – you could still have the attitude and find another way to terrorise batsman, a way so lethal even the best fast bowlers couldn’t match the numbers. I just can’t leave out numbers, can I? Apologies again. Instead, let’s talk about an image, a bandage-wrapped head, longitudinally mind you, holding your jaw to the skull, quite a long one, making onlookers wonder, “What is he doing in whites, running up and delivering a ball to one of the legends of the game? Is he out of his head, does he even know pain?” But Kumble will get the left-handed legend out, the legend who in his prime was the most beautiful batsman to watch, a ballet dancer almost, only enacting a savage epic, instead of a swan tale. Pain never troubled these men, did it? Take for example, the teenager who had his face smashed on debut by the Sultan of Swing himself, only to get back to batting in whites, splashed with red. Those whites, how many different hues did they get drenched with – disappointment, tears, grief, injustice, sledging, taunting, corruption – without ever dirtying the fabric, the thread that forms the very core, the work ethic of the god that he turned out to be. We aren’t done yet, and I know, it is easy to get carried away by melodrama, when one has been asked to define words like ‘great’ and ‘grand’…today, let’s just focus on ‘father’ and that is a far more intense word than ‘great’ and ‘grand’ could ever dream of becoming.

How about ability? Ability that will stand the test of time, ability delivered artistically through performance, performance that still didn’t do enough justice to it, as if a painter creates a masterpiece that mere mortals can only marvel at, and yet, one feels the artist was a touch reckless. In a game that has been played in three different centuries, a basket holding 5000 runs and 400 wickets is still an insignia only one man boasts of. But being a father isn’t about stats, so let’s resist the temptation one more time and instead turn subjective. A man who reached the pinnacle of his profession, who, by lifting a World Cup, showed that a nation belonged to that stage – he can be ‘father’, can he not, especially when that image of a half-shy, half battle-hardened, gleaming young man with a proud moustache became an image of national pride, redemption and renaissance? It is tough, and yet, we must push ourselves little further back. Don’t we know, in these days of adulteration, the pricelessness of yesteryear’s artistry – in wood or in stone, in character or in wisdom?

Who could be the ‘father of Indian cricket’? Someone who can compete against the best and come out in flying colours? What could be better than that – may be doing a lone soldier act, waging a tough battle when worlds around are falling apart? Long before a Bollywood celebrity made his name famous, Vijay Hazare did exactly that, a century in each innings and as if that was not meal enough, the Don’s wicket to go with it. Yes, Don Bradman, the best batsman in that team, which later was called ‘The Invincibles’ – a sparkling dew drop of competitive cricket that still encompassed an entire rainbow of ability, pride and a nation’s will to prove itself. And it wasn’t a one-off affair either. The man knew how to perform, against all odds, in circumstances when one’s logical head ominously whispers the desperate plea for a miracle that could save you from defeat and yet, you are willing to give it a try. We may wonder agape, wonder if a nation’s cricketing legacy could be reinvented. Oh yes, we will then enjoy a spring of excitement, pat each other’s shoulders, remind ourselves of that man with rubber wrists and a temperament that is awaken only in the harshest of situations. We could think of Laxman, who looks bored at most times of cricket’s placidity, discovers his artistry and zeal only when there is no one else left on the cricket field to do it, only when there isn’t any other choice but to play to the gallery.

There could be a few more traits that hold the key to stir a people’s collective consciousness, a people’s way of identifying themselves on the world stage, a people’s belief. Over the years, we have reclaimed many big numbers, we own them and we will for a while. But today we have done well to overlook numbers, aside from a few minor indulgences and instead focus on the finer aspects of a cricketer’s nature – ‘finer’, not ‘easier’ or ‘imitable’. Years later, Dhawan’s belligerent tonking of the Australian bowlers will be cited probably for unheralded, fresh arrogance and supreme self-confidence. Generations from now, when the Sachin worshippers grow quiet and nostalgia takes over, we may even redeem ourselves a little bit, by acknowledging Dravid, the greatest gentleman, by far, that Indian cricket has ever known, a gentleman who knew how to fight and battle in agony for every inch. It is incredible how some men are so pure they make even war an ethical enterprise. Dravid did it with ease, with flair, with panache. And the man is one of contemporary cricket’s elitist ‘future voices’ with a thinking head and a fluent tongue, a combination even the most gifted of sportsmen aren’t gifted with. But, don’t get upset, yet. We aren’t talking about names here, so you can pardon me for not mentioning Sourav Ganguly doing the unthinkable at the Lord’s balcony, an incident that came to represent his cricket more that his achievements, which by the way, amount to something. We are not talking names, just attributes…we will discuss the names some other day, when we are mature enough to handle our petty prejudices and romance the game, stripped of its numbers and pretences, regionalism or politics, stripped to its naked glory wrapped in satin edges of sportsmanship and artistry, of inimitable muses and genius ruses. We may even talk of Dhoni then…we will persuade ourselves to include ice-coolness as a trait to make someone the father of Indian cricket, the father who doesn’t scorn, doesn’t remark much, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t express, who goes about his duty with silky quietness, silken nonchalance, a grace of personality that hardly exists in his game. Someday, we will probably explore our roots enough to zero in on someone we could call the ‘Father of Indian cricket’.