The compelling rhythms of India-Pakistan cricket
The Hindu, 16 April, 2004
The India-Pakistan series has been nearly everything a committed neutral could ask for. There have been no dead matches and no inflammatory incidents. For the most part, the contest has been closely fought and unpredictable, enriched by a succession of gritty individual performances. In the Test matches we’ve been able to savour Virender Sehwag’s triple century and Anil Kumble’s six for 72 at Multan, Inzamam-ul Haq’s 118 and Umar Gul’s five for 31 at Lahore and Rahul Dravid’s mighty innings at Rawalpindi.
I especially relished the rearguard hundreds scored by Yousuf Youhana in the first and Yuvraj Singh in the second Test – contrasting examples of an art unique to Test match batting, a high-wire act involving managing the strike, protecting the tail, playing shots, seizing singles and stretching singles into twos. At Lahore, Youhana nursed the four bottom-order batsmen through 28 overs, during which he scored 87 of the 103 runs added to the Pakistan total. At Multan, Yuvraj’s partnerships with the final four spanned 35 overs, during which he scored 94 of the 160 runs added to India’s total. Though both efforts were made in a losing cause, they lifted teammates and supporters, and contained their own satisfying mini-drama.
I feared, however, that we might be denied the exhilarating spectacle of Shoaib Akhtar in full flight – until the second day at Pindi. On his home ground, the oft-criticised but seductively exuberant speedster bowled with pace and purpose in a sweat-drenched struggle to keep Pakistan in the match and the series. With the second new ball, he speared V.V.S. Laxman’s middle stump and tested the well-set Dravid to the limit – a purple patch that came to an abrupt end when injury forced him from the field, much to the consternation of fans and commentators.
Shoaib is, anywhere, one of the big draws of the game. At his best, he serves up a zingy cocktail of muscle and mind, thigh-pumping power and furrowed brow cunning. Part demon, part clown, a drama queen with a huge competitive heart, he’s a player of passion, and along with that go the superstar moods and outbursts. But when he makes the stumps fly, spectators gasp.
It’s been possible to enjoy these performances because of the sane atmosphere in which the series has been played. The spiteful national chauvinism that turned previous encounters into proxy warfare has been relatively subdued. The consistent warmth of the reception in Pakistan – for Indian players, journalists and spectators – has sent a good vibe across the border. For some, at least, the Pakistanis will never again be the demons of Bollywood legend or official history textbooks. The fearsome fantasies and jehadi stereotypes have been dispelled by direct experience of the diversity, hospitality, humour and complex frustrations of Pakistani society. If nothing else, the cricket has fostered the kind of people-to-people interaction that supplies a much-needed antidote to populist paranoia.
The main achievement of the tour has been to restore India-Pakistan cricket to something like its proper proportions. Or at least to begin the process. It’s surely now clear that displacing the rivalry to offshore venues and irregular one-off encounters (in World Cups and triangular series) inflated the stakes and distorted the spectacle. In the context of a full tour, minor abrasions seem less significant, victory and defeat less absolute. The cricket is experienced as an extended interplay of talents, not an orgasmic all-or-nothing collision of collective entities. It should be remembered, however, that it has only been possible for the cricket to unfold according to its own compelling rhythms because, for the moment, the powers that be in both countries are cautiously embracing the rhetoric of peace. The political context has reined in those forces that might have wanted to construe the series as a national or communal battle. Should that context change, the cricket will remain vulnerable.
The series has been the most significant success story for south Asian cricket since the World Cup of 1996, but it leaves many challenges. How will the PCB spend its windfall? Can it rebuild public confidence in the game? Can it find ways to fill Test grounds? Can south Asian cricket as a whole resolve its perennial crises of governance? Can it use its influence in the world game (enhanced by the India-Pakistan series) for the better? Will the boards be able to resist the temptation to milk the renewed rivalry for every last rupee? This clash should be part of the routine of world cricket, coming round at predictable intervals, like the Ashes. That raises another question. Can the ICC address the chaos of the global cricket calendar and establish a rational schedule that keeps both players and spectators fresh? The revival of India-Pakistan competition will surely add to the current congestion.
Of course, world events or upheavals in domestic politics could render all the hopes and challenges arising from this series redundant. As a committed neutral, I have to wonder: the next time India plays host to a side visiting from overseas, will the air be rent by cries of “Pakistan – Hai! Hai!”?
