Admire is not a word used loosely. In life,
there will be many you love, like, very few you admire. You may not love or
like these people, chances are, you may not even know them, at least not
personally, but there will be something in them that will uplift you. Make you
soar. Make you want to be like them. Make you want to do it like they do it.
Hope to be as good as them.
To dig in. When it gets so tough, you
don't want to even be there. You want to run away, anywhere, but be there. The
man will dig in. Dig in so deep, you didn't know such deep reserves existed.
The man will go on and on and on. As if
he is not a man. As if he is something else. What that something else is, is
hard to tell. But he is not a man. The essence of the man will be a Japanese
scroll with a red sun on CV Kamesh's headband in the gym. It says, lost in
focus. CV Kamesh wears it every day at the gym.
Anil Kumble wore it every day on the
cricket field. Not the band. The belief. Not just the belief, the action. Anil
Kumble is more than the broken jaw. Anil Kumble is more than an anecdote.
Anil Kumble is the man. Not only when
he took ten wickets. But when he took no wickets. He was the piercing squint of
a lion's empty stomach on spotting its prey. He was the claws drawn out. He was
the Natgeo clip when the deer outruns the lion. He was the Natgeo clip when the
lion runs after another deer. And another deer. And another. Till he feeds that
empty stomach. If not on the first day, then on the second or the third day.
Kumble was the lion that knew a Test match can feed you on any one of the five
days.
He preyed on batsmen with that
knowledge. It wasn't until the 25th over that the first Pakistani
wicket fell. By the 61st over, Anil Kumble had all ten. 14 in
the match. He fell twice to Saqlain Mushtaq. Saqlain fell twice to him. This
lion's elephant memory will remember that.
The man was more than the 619 Test
wickets. Much more than the 337 ODI wickets. The man was the drama. Before
every wicket. The appeal to the heavens. The umpire above. Arms raised. Back
arched forward. Knees bent. “GIVE IT OUT.” The man preyed on the white cloaked
figure as the lion preyed on the deer.
Anil Kumble knew that after feasting
from Saturday to Thursday, lions are made to fast on Friday in the zoo. Anil
Kumble knew an empty stomach is not such a bad thing. Anil Kumble knew how to
straddle the wild and the zoo of world cricket. Anil Kumble survived both.
Welcome back to the jungle, Jumbo. You
are remembered by your lion’s heart. This time could be no different. You’ve
been blessed with a lion: Virat Kohli. A lion on top of his game. His kills
could decide how far you go. Or can you readdress the imbalance amongst the
cubs - from the den to the jungle? Indian cricket is ready for the straighter
one, again. Roar.
For Jumbo.
He was not what you call a master
He was not what you call a blaster
He was just a servant
Servant of the game
He was bespectacled, thick rimmed
Young and nerdy engineer type
Averse to any kind of hype
But eager like any beaver you ever saw
Nobody could read him
Nor batsman nor layman
He was the object of our ridicule
He was no less than a molecule
He was the reason we ragged in colleges
Any kid that that refused to fit in
He was the reason for our losses
He was the reason for our defeats
He was the reason we couldn’t fare better
As a nation, as a people, as a team
He was last choice captain
He was last man standing
He was broken in bandage
He was awoken in carnage
He was the very object of our scorn
Aren’t we happy now he’s gone?
He was the very object of our con
Aren't we happy now he's gone?
He was not Sachin, he was just Anil
He was not what you call a master
He was not what you call a blaster
He was just a servant
Servant of the game
He served in Antigua
He served in Sydney
He served in Delhi
He served in Perth
He served in Bangalore
He just didn’t serve in lore
He was just a servant
Servant of the game
The glasses have long gone
And so the man
He was not what you call a blaster
He was just a servant
Servant of the game
He was bespectacled, thick rimmed
Young and nerdy engineer type
Averse to any kind of hype
But eager like any beaver you ever saw
Nobody could read him
Nor batsman nor layman
He was the object of our ridicule
He was no less than a molecule
He was the reason we ragged in colleges
Any kid that that refused to fit in
He was the reason for our losses
He was the reason for our defeats
He was the reason we couldn’t fare better
As a nation, as a people, as a team
He was last choice captain
He was last man standing
He was broken in bandage
He was awoken in carnage
He was the very object of our scorn
Aren’t we happy now he’s gone?
He was the very object of our con
Aren't we happy now he's gone?
He was not Sachin, he was just Anil
He was not what you call a master
He was not what you call a blaster
He was just a servant
Servant of the game
He served in Antigua
He served in Sydney
He served in Delhi
He served in Perth
He served in Bangalore
He just didn’t serve in lore
He was just a servant
Servant of the game
The glasses have long gone
And so the man
(written after Anil Kumble’s
retirement)
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