Jottings - Slice of life - 440 ( The sublime art of Sunil Gavaskar - A celebration of fifty years in Cricket)

Jottings - Slice of life - 440 ( The sublime art of Sunil Gavaskar - A celebration of fifty years in Cricket)

If the cricketing bat was a painting brush, then Sunil Gavaskar was its Rembrandt - a master of technique and discipline. If Cricket itself was a philosophy, then he was its Buddha - a combination of stoic serenity and unparalleled fluidity. It is fifty years since the great cricketing master strode to the field for his first game, a game he was born to play, a game upon which he would leave such an indelible mark that ( paraphrasing Einstein’s eulogy to Gandhi) “generations to come will scarcely believe that such a man in flesh and blood ever played the game of cricket”.

In my opinion, there is no greater cricketing spectacle in history than watching the short, young Gavaskar, with no head protection, bat and gloves in hand, confidently stride to the middle, nonchalantly signaling to the umpire to validate his guard of the leg stump and doing so in a single attempt; and then mysteriously drop into that perfectly balanced cricketing stance ( a little lift of the toes and heels pressed down), elbows geometrically aligned one behind the other and the vertical bat caressing the ground with gentle taps, the steady head gazing over his shoulder waiting and watching with serene anticipation the arc, trajectory and position of the bowling arm and the wrists of the great West Indian fast bowlers at the other end.

No one could, or did play the terrorizing quartet of Holding, Garner, Roberts, and Marshall better than Gavaskar, on pitches that were made for them. The giants would come in steaming with twenty yards of acceleration behind them and unleash the hard cricketing ball at 135 - 150 KM/Hr. The young master would read the ball from the wrist, and off the ground in a fraction of a second, to either get behind the ball in a classic defensive motion; or raise the right shoulder in harmony like a music conductor to allow the ball whiz past his armpits to the keeper; or confidently stride forward with a still head, meet the ball at its rise and caress it between the fielders. The shot would have just enough force to keep the fielders interested in chasing the ball till the boundary only to watch it gently slip over the ropes, leaving the chasers exhausted and perplexed. All three outcomes were masterpieces to behold.

Gavaskar would occupy the crease for hours, for days sometimes; and that was the beauty of his cricketing style and temperament. Play the game ball by ball at its own merit and wear the opposition down until they hand you a lollipop of a delivery to be dispatched with disdain. Such a game, in the modern cricketing era of wham and bang style of play, would seem boring, desultory and a waste of time. But few realize the sublime beauty, the tremendous commitment and technique, and formidable mental and physical strength, that is required to play out a test match against the relentless pace and accuracy of a great bowling attack.

Gavaskar is an articulate cricketer as well. His autobiography Sunny days is a wonderful literary effort. It is in the book he admits that the greatest bowler he ever faced was Andy Roberts, not so much for his pace — which was always a factor — but for Andy’s accuracy and intelligence. I have a copy of Sunny days with me. Just to taste his writing again, I read a few chapters. Beautifully written. Elegant styling and a feel for language are visible on each page. Even as a commentator, Gavaskar’s language and sentences were always well-formed, in stark contrast to many who cannot always muster a sentence beyond a few stock phrases.

Gavaskar’s sparkling career began with his supreme display of skills against venomous fast bowling in the 1970s and came to a fitting conclusion on a spinning track in Bangalore in 1987 - his last test innings. What an end to an iconic test career! I still remember that Bangalore innings of ninety-six, and every time I watch it, there are tears in my eyes. If there was ever a deserving century in Cricket, it should have been Gavaskar’s that day. On a pitch where the ball hissed, turned, and coiled in all directions, the little master showed how one should bat. It was an education for posterity; for all youngsters aspiring to play the game at the highest level, Gavaskar’s performance was a poem on commitment, endurance, and patience — the three pillars of greatness in any walk of life. When he was declared out — caught in the slips - by Umpire Ramaswamy, the master put his head down for a brief moment before turning and walking back to the pavilion. It was a wrong decision by the umpire. The ball had ricocheted off the pad. But on a pitch like that, it was a near-impossible job for a human umpire. Gavaskar knew and understood that therefore took the incorrect decision with magnanimity to end his test career four short of what would have been a spectacular century under the most trying conditions. Gavaskar started playing the game as a gentleman of the sport and ended his career as one - without a blemish on his sportsmanship.

There are very few sportsmen in history who have lifted their sport into the realms of art; a state, where the physicality of the sport dissolved into something more sublime and possibly divine. Watching Maradona play football, or Senna drive the race car, or Carl lewis run the sprint, or Bubka do the pole vault, or Federer play tennis or a Gavaskar bat, is an esthetic experience that transcends the sport itself. I am so glad that Sunil Gavaskar was spared the trouble to accommodate his god-given technique to the barbarous dictates of the three-hour game that is in vogue today.

We wish Sunil Gavaskar long life, good health, and many more years of fruitful cricketing life off the ground. His very presence is enough testimony to what Indian cricket can be.

God bless…

yours in mortality,

Bala