by Varun R. Iyer
The beauty of art lies in its imperfection, and is accentuated by the fundamental premise that no work of art can ever be typecast into a rigid interpretation. Every single nuance tells a different story; each angle is a revealing wholesome truth, and the sum of its parts is always greater than the whole itself. Whatever maybe the definition, whoever maybe the critic, there is a seamless convergence of opinion that VVS Laxman when at the crease is a pure artist and that his batsmanship is Indian cricket’s equivalent of the Taj - simple, yet serene; contemporary, yet classical.
The sheer majesty of his achievements is a complete paradox to his persona. At the crease, he is as gentle as a fawn. Nimble feet and relaxed hands. His eyes do not possess the steel that is characteristic say a Hayden. There is no mad rush associated with batting, a la Sehwag. He does not thump his bat with a Dravidian resolve, while taking guard. His face never contorts, not even when greeted by a searing bouncer. When VVS bats, things move in slow-mo ( except when the ball races off the bat ). Watching him bat is akin to sitting by the lakeside in a deep African coastal jungle, feet up, resting your back on the easy chair, watching the exotic birds fly back home in a V, as a gentle wind rustles the trees and the sun begins its descent beyond yonder hill. Kipling, almost. Time stands still. The celestial beings seem to put away all their tasks as they assemble to view the Zen master at the crease, a being more divine than any mortal or God ever born or lived.
Calcutta ( I insist on the name ) 2001 was a watershed moment in the history of Indian cricket. Our first ever hat-trick ( Sadagopan Ramesh at bat pad, what a catch! ), the derailment of the great Australian juggernaut, the conquering of the Gavaskar 236 albatross and the Rahul Reply ( 180 runs of blood and sweat ). The match is often heralded as the ‘making’ of VVS Laxman. Strangely though, it is not my favorite VVS innings. For me, and many others too I’m sure, VVS was already ‘made’.
Two years before, on that ill fated Aussie sojourn, with one of the most ragged Indian sides. MSK Prasad was our opening bat and wicketkeeper and opening bat. To my mind, he couldn’t do either. With the Wall having a disastrous tour, Sachin’s ‘20 for 2 man’ nickname was justified and Jaywant Lele had his money in the right place (3-0, prophetic indeed). Agarkar completed a PhD on binary number systems, Sach got his customary hundred v/s Australia. But at the Sydney Cricket Ground, the first sighting of the Zen Master took place. At the SCG, VVS happened.
He probably understood the pain we were going through back home in India. Time and again we would wake sleepy eyed at 5am and switch on the telly (ESPN with a red logo ), only to see our team being blown away. Our prayers though, were finally answered. The Gods finally decided that the time had come. They sent forth the holy one. On that morning in Sydney, VVS went to work.
Wielding the bat like a brush, with the deftness of a seasoned artist, he essayed strokes that would in time change the demographic of artistic batsmanship the world over. Supple wrist work, beautiful balance and exquisite timing. Using these primary colors to varying degrees, he painted the SCG a different hue. And he could not have picked a better canvas. Arguably the most beautiful ground in the world, the dark blue back drop of the skies, the green clock tower, a congregation of spotless white seagulls three quarters of the way to the midwicket fence, scattering hurriedly as a Brett Lee delivery on off was dispatched towards them, by a tall young broad shouldered man, as the incumbent Mark Waugh shook his head in disbelief. 167 of the most elegant runs ever scored at the SCG, in Australia or anywhere on planet earth.
He was never the best runner between the wickets. His technique at times, left much to be desired. But there can be no doubt whatsoever, that the evangelic nature of VVS Laxman is the Lord’s gift to mankind. Laxmana it seems walked right out of the Ramayana and into our lives. Elegant, Dutiful, and as in the epic, understated.
You shall always be Very Very Special.
