Ajith Nair

I felt the same intense anger that cricket fans all over felt when I learnt about the ball tampering incident. After the “brain fade” in India, Steve Smith did not leave much love on the table. We always knew he was not the most honest guy around. And then on Thursday, he broke down at the Press conference. Those tears were real. One felt sorry. Which Steve Smith is the real Steve Smith- the one who cheated or the one who cried and repented? Both. In my last blog I wrote about how narrow definitions of growth confine and stifle us into spaces that we don’t necessarily enjoy but end up being in. While doing so we suppress and submerge those parts of ourselves which are truly ourselves- our core selves which make us feel truly alive. Steve Smith was probably caught in such a place- the part of him that wanted success at all costs and could not take failure was dominant and active. Infact it was the dominant part that put on Whites and walked on to the field. This was the part...

Many of us grew up hearing the story of Rama, the righteous king who lived his life through dignity, sacrifice and high sense of ideals, protecting what was right, till the end. His kingdom was perfect. We also heard stories in moral science classes about honesty, humility, sacrifice etc. These stories were meant to be imbibed, inculcated, understood and practised.  And then we met the real world, which was anything but. The conflict confused us and our parents too who seemed to have answers for everything, shrugged and asked us to be practical. Ideals are fine, but there was a life to live. The two seemed incompatible. Something died within us as we quickly adapted to the ways of the world which meant ego, greed, false pride, short cuts, jugaad…. And then a diminutive young man entered our lives in the early 90s.  It was almost like a Yuga had begun, and it truly was, as we’d realise later. An era which would tell us, Mumbai, India and the world that the pursuit of excell...

Looked like it will be yet another Saturday of household chores, family and then catching the world cup final at home from the confines of one’s couch. A tweet offering last minute tickets was bait, a huge one. It not only meant paying a bomb but also getting out of the couch getting to Wankhede in no time, no time for mental preparations, if you know what I mean. Time was running away. In 60 minutes, I had the decision, the tickets in place and that nervous feeling which said “What am I headed to” A suburban local train ride in Mumbai always puts things in perspective. It was ‘me’ time, almost like I was preparing for the game. Bat first get to 300, if we chase we lose, will Sachin get to 100, who’ll play Malinga, what if he does a Kenya to us. I looked around and everyone in the compartment seemed on their way to work or some such, I seemed out of place, why weren’t these guys excited, nervous, chatting about the game. I had to talk to myself; there was no one around who seemed inter...

The IPL is the biggest private party that anyone’s ever had in India. While we can debate who the host is, who’s serving drinks, who’s invited and gate crashing, the party is here to stay. It is a metaphor for the raunchiness that pervades a society’s mind that is coming to grips with its identity caught in the time warp between hallowed ideala and a materialistic identity. It’s about the collective subjecting itself to a sin, knowing in its conscience that this is wrong The layering makes the case very interesting. The nomenclature of the teams has an aggressive tone to it; battle cries adorn all their team songs. Every team has a either a glamorous owner or a ravishing ambassador, the late night parties being the story of legendary exploits of players off the field. There are skimpily clad cheerleaders, being treated as feminine objects, meant to prance about in a gladiatorial setting. Every inch of space, on the ground, in the mind has been sold, franchised commercialized labeled. R...

These are tough times for the sub continent. Sri Lanka thought it had won the war against the LTTE but then realized that it’s not over until it’s over. The Bangladeshi rifles went berserk, India went through 26/11, Pakistan is under ever increasing threat of falling to the Taliban and now the Lankan cricketers have been targeted in Pakistan. The Govt of India is reviewing feasibility of IPL given elections in April, May. Rubbish. Terror wars are creeping to our doors and the ploy now seems to be around doing the unexpected, taking by surprise and making the unexpected happen. I sympathize with the average Pakistani and the average Lankan. They probably don’t have too much to do with the reasons why an LTTE was born or why Taliban entered their country. Yet they seem to have been unwillingly cast in the dramatic chapters of how the terror war will ensue. They are props who will play corpses, maimed strugglers and terrified by standers. Some might go beyond their ‘designate’ roles and ...

The Mumbai IPL team is practicing on the eve of their first encounter at Wankhede. Standing by the side, Sachin is chewing on his nails. He awaits a crucial encounter. Enter Raj Thackeray, the local goon, and the bone of contention. He is demanding his pound of flesh and a couple of spots in the Mumbai side for the locals. For the first time, inspite of not being on 99, Sachin Tendulkar is tense. Raj comes straight to the point “Chaila (Marathi expression for what the hell!), I want sons of the soil in the team, not some foreign players. Sachin bhau, I respect you, but this is unfair. Aamcha Mumbai cha team, aani phakt ekas marathi manoos (Our Mumbai side and only one Marathi native!) Sachin tries to leave that argument alone, and raises his arms in helplessness. Mukeshbhai entered the stadium just then, two bodyguards and four petis with other lackeys. “Raj bhai kaise ho, suna hai aapko bhi cricket khelna hai?” “Dekho Mukeshbhai, aapke office mein hamare bahut saare ladke hain isliye...

Didn’t take much to get him to do his swansong, did it? A few dropped chances, self appointed critics calling for his head and out walked the man who could have easily blazed victories for Australia for at least two more seasons. That act pretty much sums up a simple family man who loved to give the ball a resounding thump and had gloves that could grab passing thoughts, not to say the red cherry, with alacrity. In the team of seasoned street gangsters that he was part of, he had a cardinal like presence. Not one to claim a wrong dismissal and not one to let go off a right one. He embarrassed his rather greedy team mates on more than one occasion by not lending vociferous support to their dubious appeals for that all important wicket. He wore his conscience on his glove and however hard something thudded into it, the glove would remain unmoved. So when he did appeal, and was he loud, the umpires could trust him with the judgment and not just the appeal (a certain Mr Dravid might veheme...

If you thought Ponting was Bhajji’s bunny, think again. Bhajji has competition from a lanky North Indian named Ishant Sharma. If David had the sling against Goliath, Ishant had the swing against Punter. In an hour of relentless interrogation, there were more questions asked than answers given. There were other legends of the bat standing at slips and watching as a rookie from their team undid a legendary opponent. The fielders were incidental, there were hardly any runs coming. Most of them were enjoying the undoing of the most competitive street fighter in modern day cricket. Ponting fumbling against spin is something that even the school kids of Tasmania would tell you about but this fresh script is a promising one. For a man who more often that not has a boundary as his first scoring shot and pulls fast bowlers for six over deep square as if that is where they were always meant to be, being undone by an Indian rookie is unfathomable. A six foot plus, wiry young lad with a bunch of ...

T20 is just like what we used to play every weekend as teenagers. 8 over matches, hard tennis ball, no care in the world and a 1000 window panes to knock over. Hardly any time to settle down; see the bowling and all those nice things mentioned in the coaching manuals. It was downright scything from the word go, some did it better with technique, others just did it. As evening approached 8 overs would come down to 6 and the attitude would become more scavengers like. Standing 4 ft outside the crease to a fast ball, attempting impossible singles, getting away with it, running off overthrows, mock running off every ball, fighting with umpires and crying hoarse on parched mouths shouting abuses at someone who bungled. At the end of the day, there would have been 6 ‘matches’ and a cool kitty of money if it had been our day. Otherwise there would be hell breaking loose, with accusations flying at a rate that would put Ferrari to shame. Dhoni and his boys, took this to a different level, so d...

Choice is always welcome, especially if it involves something that’s remained a monopoly for 80 years . In fact, it’s quite surprising that this didn’t take place concomitant with the liberalization of the economy. We had newer cars, the congress lost power regularly, more variety of soap (both TV and bathing) but the same cricket board. The problem with the BCCI, for ever and recently has been that non- cricketers have been taking decisions on behalf of cricketers. So you have an agricultural minister who runs both Baramati and BCCI, the man who preceded him was a seasoned baniya. Cricket some might argue is serious business; my contention is that is its cricket first and business later. So do we have genuine choice now, I don’t think so. Subhash Chandra is a shrewd businessman, don’t know too much about how much he loves cricket. He’s roped in the man who brought tears to eyes in 1983 and tears to his own eyes in 2000. The Haryana Hurricane is now an emotional whirlwind with a financ...

Bobilli Vijaykumar has a lot to write everyday, considering that he seems to be the only spors journalist that TOI has. In today's TOI he typefies the Indian attitude to wins After running through the article, you'd probably think that the title doesn't do justice to the content. The first half is a diatribe, the second half eulogy of sorts. For me this typefies how journalists today are shallow opinion makers who don't have the conviction to follow through and play the long hard innings. Learned cricket lovers will empathise with Dravid, Vaughan being the first. For a team labelled poor travelers, this move was conservative yes, cowardly, no. The same journalist would have pounded Dravid to pieces if we'd asked the Poms to follow on and lost. Remember, we don't have a great record batting last, do we?. So the phrase BVK uses " A few scared minds and a defensive approach" does not do justice to the kind of cricket that we played through this series. Za...

It was worth the 47 day wait. As barmy army, swami army and the mystery around Bob Woolmer’s demise faded into the background, one man rose, literally after the Ashes. It’s been a long time since one saw massacre on the cricket field. There’s been enough talk around it when the practitioners of the art, or the scythe if I may call it that, walked out to bat. But few delivered, and even if they did it was against minnows and bowlers who wouldn’t qualify to bowl at the Aussie nets mostly. One man waited, accumulating all his aggressive instincts only to unleash it at the biggest spectacle of all modern day cricket. He picked the big occasion, as had his skipper in the earlier edition, to create an indelible aura around himself. And how. As the big man Viv said, at one stage it looked like a benefit match. A word or two on the Lankan obituary. Making Hayden look like a spectator, Gilly sent the Lankans on a leather hunt of their lifetime. Starting off with Vaas, Gilly had the Lankans guar...

Arjuna (Rahul) looked at the Kauravas (BCCI members) standing in front of him on the battlefield and said “ Oh Krishna! how will I fight my own bosses ” Krishna (Chappell), his charioteer, assumed his Vishwarupa and exclaimed “ It is all about The Process Arjuna ” Saying this he removed his laptop and made a 10 min PowerPoint presentation on The Process. Bheema (Sachin), wielding his MRF mace and standing next to the chariot exclaimed “ Chaila Krishna ….I don’t like the animation …and moreover this doesn’t not have an exclusive section devoted to me ” Krishna looked at him benignly and said “ O great wielder of the MRF Mace willow…your days of being invincible are numbered…there stands between you and your destiny nothing but the hand of god ” Bheema, started biting his nail and staring away into the distance…he ignored his cell phone as a couple of sponsors tried contacting him Enter Yudishtira (Saurav), eldest of the lot, who looked at the PowerPoint presentation through his glasses....

As a child I harboured dreams about playing for India, I soon realized that playing for the building team was much easier and less pressured. All arguments about the perks of the job apart, I think it’s a tough life. Sad that it took a foreign coach’s death to nail that one home, for now at least. As a youngster when one hits the International cricket scene, the curtains in your bedroom are drawn wide open and a thousand cameras start following you like the Truman Show. Your privacy exists only when other cricketers or issues become more important, else its a day night game. Everything that you don’t do is also news, people would pay to have your shadow pass them by. You sign on big endorsements like Nike the smaller ones will keep queueing up... You’ll cut many ribbons and even lanes, no one will stop you. Every morning the papers will have you reading things that happened to you while you were sleeping, or while you were looking the other way. At award functions, you’ll sit next to p...

TV has played a huge (and largely unacknowledged) role in making the legend called Warne or for that matter any sportsperson of this generation. There is no bigger joy than watching the camera capture and replay the revolutions on a Warney delivery and the magic being executed as it roughs up soil and dishes venom to take the outside edge or the stumps of a flummoxed batter. Right since the ball of the century, every delivery that Warne has sent down has been mesmerizing to one and all, the cameras of course adding to all the effect. I can’t imagine how boring it would have been to watch Warne bowl just using the run of the mill cameras which would never have been able to capture positioning of the seam and the rip off the wicket. Mc Grath too with his consistent seam position and the subtle variations that could unnerve the best, was unraveled by some great camera work. On the players side, videos of Warne have been studied to death by opposition teams, not with too much success thoug...

Both have been doubted . One was dropped unceremoniously the other was never picked cos his coach felt that turbaned sardars made good taxi drivers and that’s all. This is not about how both went on to prove their critics wrong. It’s about what makes them special. There are only two 'characters' in the English cricket team- one’s a huge name already the other is a public favorite at least. Kevin ‘colored hair’ Pietersen wears his personality on his sleeve and his heart in the willow. The joys of watching him on the field are comparable to the joys of watching him bat. As Mark Nicholas pointed out recently, the art of being Pietersen is about forgetting the catch that you just spilled and shouting out the next ball “get him boys”. Monty is an apprentice in this school but a promising one at that. He has Muralitharan like eyes which light up whenever he sees the ball, even when he’s not bowling. He resembles a yokel when he chases the ball to the boundary and frequently messes it...

The Carribeans are simple people. There’s beer, there’s calypso and then there’s cricket. In between mundane things like work n family happen. When beer’s inside, sunshine outside and the sweet sound of Lara middling Mc Grath- its pure heaven,. If any of those bearded bajaans had been at the Brabourne they’d have sobbed the beer out of them or maybe they’d have hurled some empty bottles in the direction of the Windies dressing room. The Windies, to sum it up, as Lara succinctly put it (much like his pull shot), had a stage fright. I know what they’re saying as I have gone through it in detail. Stage Fright for me began in class I when I couldn’t spell either Stage or Fright. I was pushed into Poetry recitation Competition by my English teacher simply because I had scored the most in English. The written word doesn’t guarantee Caesar like oratory else even Shakespeare would have been Churchill right? So after mumbling a mix of defiance, sorrow and the only two lines I could recall I ran...

I don’t have too many memories of the 1983 World Cup or earlier. I just remember seeing my first test match in 1984 on TV when the fearful Malcolm Marshall was pulverizing Indians. My elder neighbour used to tell me that the West Indies could bowl any batsmen out whenever they wanted. I was baptized into believing that bowling like the West Indies do is the most appealing part of cricket. I turned myself into a rookie fast bowler, enrolled for a coaching camp. I would bowl like the West Indies do, provided the batsmen batted like Papua New Guinea. What was encouraging was that the senior members of the club started calling me Walsh. I later understood that the nick was not because of my bowling accuracy but rather due to the fact that I did a particularly poor imitation of him in bowling. The next season, Sportstar started the star poster offer with every issue and I remember plastering the wall above my study table with Waqar Wasim, Ambrose and Walsh. Ambrose though was the new heart ...

There was magic at the Kinrara Oval today. The rain gods might have prevailed but there was just one man that everybody bowed to. There was the magic of old, which off late had started seeming almost fictional. On a wicket that had wicked intentions, against an attack that could have done much better, the Little Master got to work slowly and steadily. Some deliveries missed the edge, a few slashes almost went to glove but then when ur seeing the Taj Mahal you don’t talk about the graffiti on the marble. This innings was about redefining deft touch, rejoicing in the straight drive and resting assured that all was well with the MRF blade. The five sixes, three over covers and one each on either side of the wicket were vintage Sachin, a mix of Sharjah and Wanderers woven together. There was good batting at the other end but the art on display made everything else pale in comparison. To come down from eulogizing to probably an ominous fact, this was probably the first time in a long long t...

The fiasco in the Pak England test match had to have an Aussie somewhere. The pakis take the cake for creating fracas in most occasions and there’s only one another nation which can give it a good run for its money, you guessed it! Recently two Aussies have been in the news, one for shooting off his mouth, the other for not having opened it! Dean Jones- of the madras test double hundred and dehydration fame, recently called Hashim Amla a terrorist. And then later apologized by calling the Pakistani team his friends. While I didn’t quite see the connection between the two, Deano was sent packing. Interestingly Cricket Australia didn’t say or do anything about this whole episode. Yesterday the sloth like Hair who has few friends in the sub continent, felt that the Pakis were at it again. The old art of scratching their balls! He signaled five penalty runs, stared at his sloth counterpart- the ever so poised and somnolent Inzy and walked off for tea. No explanations mate! Post tea, Inzy a...