The curse of being Rahul Dravid

 (7 Oct 2013)

Being Rahul Dravid in an era when many Indian legends played the gentlemen’s game hasn’t been easy. Playing along with Sachin Tendulkar and still be able to leave a permanent mark on cricketing timelines as one of the greats who ever donned the cap has of course not been easy either. Despite all the historic moments Rahul mesmerized us with for so long, despite being the ever Mr. Dependable, despite earning the title of ‘The Wall’, and also despite exhibiting true gentlemanly traits on and off the field, he for no fault of his perhaps represented India in a period that could largely be seen as belonging to the wonder boy from Mumbai. The curse of being Rahul Dravid is that he times without count stood his ground at the 22-yards when the rest of the batsmen collapsed like a pack of cards, yet his unforgettable innings and winning contributions were sadly dwarfed by some of his more fancied teammates’ sometimes average performances.

True he did not during his initial days hit a four or a six on the first delivery he faced; he would instead patiently read the bowlers and gradually open up. True he needed time to gain acceptability as an ODI batsman who steadily but surely emerged as the most bankable willower in both the formats of the game. He in fact much later also conquered the T20 version, something that would have been unimaginable for someone who followed the early hours of Dravid’s career. But he did. And boy, didn’t he lead from the front? Didn’t he last night bow out on a real high despite losing the final match of his professional cricketing life?

Memories of my sister in her teen age collecting Dravid’s postcard-size photographs and hiding those in her books are as fresh in my mind as is all the madness girls back in the day incessantly showered on this chocolate-faced boy from Bangalore. All this media glare did not shake up an ounce of his focus; he knew he was out in the middle for a long haul, he knew he was technically sound, he knew he would work really hard on his game. He kept his life simple and chose not to get carried away by all the swooning and lure that he was getting used to being dangerously close to. He never lost his cool, he never threw tantrums on or off the ground, he was suave and smart. Everything he did – as a player and as a captain of the national side – may have always been overshadowed by the mere presence of Sachin Tendulkar, who got spoken about and written about more, even when matches were won by the unsung hero.

It is perhaps true that Sachin has been more flamboyant, more exciting to watch, more charismatic with runs. Rahul however hasn’t been any less in his own right, trying to win every match he played never caring for his personal milestones, trying to shed the last drop of his blood only so the tri-color could fly high. He played cricket, and nothing else. 

Rahul Dravid will not play a professional match again. We’ll never on the ground see this institution of talent, technique and grace hit a cover drive. That elegance forever will be missing. The cricketing horizon minus this sparkling rainbow shall never be the same again. Cricket will be played for generations to come. But the game of cricket without you, Rahul, will never be the same again.