By the time I have managed to get this one wrung out India have just won the Under-19 World Cup and also the first test against New Zealand - a largely expected result. This post, not unlike Sachin Tendulkar's retirement, is long overdue. But better late than never.
VVS Laxman's retirement.
A sporting retirement is inevitable. It is the sole aspect that is common to all sorts of careers and personalities. But some, when timed really well, leave us with a sense of longing and a sadness. Especially when time is called on a career that had come to define a rare quality of Indian cricket - defiance. Watching Laxman's retirement go by is like finally selling a car that you were really fond of. Especially if that car happens to be a Toyota Corolla. Far from flashy, not remotely flamboyant and a 0-60mph number that may not be the most impressive. Yet you don't remember when it has stalled on a Monday morning, or on a rainy night on your way home. Ever reliable in getting you from point A to B. Point A, in this case, often being a precarious situation against quality opposition in a tense test; while point B was, just as often, a position of safety or, on many occasions a victory. For, make no mistake, Laxman was the Toyota Corolla of Indian cricket - the no fuss, all-weather, everyday man.
Most of Laxman's memorable knocks were an artisan's assignment executed with the flourish of an artist - artisan in the no fuss acceptance of the team's needs and going about the rescue act; artist in the magical methods that he chose. Occupying the lower part of India's greatest middle order, and always in the shadow of the hype and exploits of the bigger names, his role has been one of understated efficiency. His crucial contributions, though, were consistent and often delivered when it mattered the most.
Together with Rahul Dravid, the other gentleman cricketer to hang up his boots recently, Laxman formed a partnership, that can be best described as thayir sadham (curd rice). The great Indian cricket feast has seen its share of spicier and tangier dishes together with the accoutrements that are readily remembered when recalling the feast. It is the humble, smooth and mellow curd rice that one remembers least, yet it is that very dish that rounds off any square meal; providing the much needed relief and comfort for the connoisseurs.
Laxman, over his entire career, has entertained the fans of the game, helped supplant despair and resignation with hope when the chips were down and brought a certain measure of balance to a star studded team.
The sight of the old school stylist from Hyderabad - the honest man's Azharuddin, if you will, walking in at the fall of the 4th wicket will be missed. The silken mastery that helped conjure gaps and angles unseen by mortal eyes will be missed. The man wearing a toothy grin and a white hat at second slip will be missed. Thank you Laxman.
VVS Laxman's retirement.
A sporting retirement is inevitable. It is the sole aspect that is common to all sorts of careers and personalities. But some, when timed really well, leave us with a sense of longing and a sadness. Especially when time is called on a career that had come to define a rare quality of Indian cricket - defiance. Watching Laxman's retirement go by is like finally selling a car that you were really fond of. Especially if that car happens to be a Toyota Corolla. Far from flashy, not remotely flamboyant and a 0-60mph number that may not be the most impressive. Yet you don't remember when it has stalled on a Monday morning, or on a rainy night on your way home. Ever reliable in getting you from point A to B. Point A, in this case, often being a precarious situation against quality opposition in a tense test; while point B was, just as often, a position of safety or, on many occasions a victory. For, make no mistake, Laxman was the Toyota Corolla of Indian cricket - the no fuss, all-weather, everyday man.
Most of Laxman's memorable knocks were an artisan's assignment executed with the flourish of an artist - artisan in the no fuss acceptance of the team's needs and going about the rescue act; artist in the magical methods that he chose. Occupying the lower part of India's greatest middle order, and always in the shadow of the hype and exploits of the bigger names, his role has been one of understated efficiency. His crucial contributions, though, were consistent and often delivered when it mattered the most.
Together with Rahul Dravid, the other gentleman cricketer to hang up his boots recently, Laxman formed a partnership, that can be best described as thayir sadham (curd rice). The great Indian cricket feast has seen its share of spicier and tangier dishes together with the accoutrements that are readily remembered when recalling the feast. It is the humble, smooth and mellow curd rice that one remembers least, yet it is that very dish that rounds off any square meal; providing the much needed relief and comfort for the connoisseurs.
Laxman, over his entire career, has entertained the fans of the game, helped supplant despair and resignation with hope when the chips were down and brought a certain measure of balance to a star studded team.
The sight of the old school stylist from Hyderabad - the honest man's Azharuddin, if you will, walking in at the fall of the 4th wicket will be missed. The silken mastery that helped conjure gaps and angles unseen by mortal eyes will be missed. The man wearing a toothy grin and a white hat at second slip will be missed. Thank you Laxman.
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