The past he could see but not touch
Sourav Ganguly tugged at the heartstrings in a way that no Indian cricketer has before or since
09-Nov-2008
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The stadium was more than half-empty, but the several thousand dotted
across seats of many different hues rose almost as one when he emerged
from the dressing room and stepped across the rope. There were 15 minutes
to go for tea, and there must have been a few thousand hoarse throats by
the time he reached the middle to be met by an Australian guard of honour.
Where Tendulkar was revered, Ganguly was reviled, but as he embarked on
his final innings, old grudges were briefly forgotten.
From my vantage point near the radio commentary box on the northern side
of the stadium, I could see the tension writ large on faces. Quite a few
had "Dada" painted on their cheeks, alongside miniature Indian flags, and
the placards were everywhere. On air, Mike Coward explained to Australian
listeners what Dada meant, and also how he was likely to be remembered by
millions of adoring fans.
As he marked his guard, the messages of goodwill and support froze in
nervous hands. As Jason Krejza walked back to his mark, there was a lull
after the emotional storm, with nails bitten and the sides of chairs
clasped. The contest within a contest was appropriate in more ways than
one. All those years ago, Ganguly had been a controversial pick for the
tour of England, and his selection disparaged in the same way that
Krejza's had been. Ganguly had responded with 131 at Lord's, Krejza with
eight wickets in an innings.
From round the wicket, Krejza looped the ball up in the direction of
Ganguly's pads. The left-hander's blind spot. Throughout his career,
Ganguly's footwork to spinners was nigh on immaculate. This time, he
leaned forward, but not quite quickly enough to tuck the ball away in the
direction of mid-on. As the ball spun across the bat and took the leading
edge, expectant faces struggled to comprehend what was happening. It was
only when Krejza dived forward to take a sharp chance that reality hit
home like a bucket of cold water.
For a split-second, nobody moved, except for jubilant Australian fielders
and those waving the flag with untiring energy up in the stands. Ganguly
stared, then turned on his heel and started the slow walk back. As he did,
the pent-up emotions burst forth. Around me, people held on to railings
and shouted out messages of affection. One young man was nearly suspended
in mid-air as he mimed the "We're not worthy" gesture.
The applause was deafening. Anil Kumble got a magnificent farewell in
Delhi, but Ganguly had tugged at the heartstrings in a way that no Indian
cricketer has before or since. The last few years of his career were like
reality TV, with no one able to look away. But like a man who knew the
significance of a big occasion - who else would start with a century at
Lord's? - he had saved his best for last.
Even Bradman didn't manage a golden duck for his farewell. Of the many things you might accuse Ganguly of, lack of a sense of theatre wasn't one | |||
Before the series, his average against Australia languished in the low
30s. He finished these four Tests with 324 runs at 54, a century in Mohali
and 85 in his final game. And even Bradman didn't manage a golden duck for
his farewell. Of the many things you might accuse Ganguly of, lack of a sense
of theatre wasn't one.
Though never a poor man, Ganguly carried the reminder of every glove that
laid him down or cut him. It inspired him to heights that few expected,
and instilled in the group around him the belief that they too could
touch the sky. As he walked off, millions and millions across a vast
nation must have felt the sentiment that Wong Kar Wai expressed with such
stark eloquence in his classic, In the Mood for Love. "The past is
something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred
and indistinct..."