The wall is perhaps the most inappropriate, simplistic and arguably an insulting name to him. For walls don't think. They just stand there, till a force greater than it can collapse it forever. For, the holder of the egregious nickname, never collapsed! Of course he failed. But always stood up again, taller, stronger!
When I read in the morning that Rahul Dravid is celebrating his birthday, my mind wavered to childhood, for the many days when I tried to imitate him. We learnt to drive like Sachin, flick like Azhar but always defended like Dravid. The front foot well forward, the bat in line with his eyes, dead straight, softest of hands and of course the eyes on the ball. This never changed. Like a well oiled machine, the foot and the bat did its work. Day in and day out.
Dravid never wrote poetry. You don't relate mathematics and poems, do you? For he wrote theorems. Every innings of his had a structured hypothesis to it. The steps clearly in place; the syntax intact; his batting never had conjectures, the theorems always ended with the customary Indian "Hence proved" label.
When Sachin and Laxman were doing their art, on the other side Dravid often stuttered and stopped. The cover drives often went to the fielder. The boundaries were not flowing. Sixes were unheard of. Yet, often at the end of it all, Dravid stood still. The shirt drenched in sweat. The eyes gleaming. Concentration intact. The man in a trance. Till the theories he developed was proven, he never quit.
Happy birthday Jammy;
When I read in the morning that Rahul Dravid is celebrating his birthday, my mind wavered to childhood, for the many days when I tried to imitate him. We learnt to drive like Sachin, flick like Azhar but always defended like Dravid. The front foot well forward, the bat in line with his eyes, dead straight, softest of hands and of course the eyes on the ball. This never changed. Like a well oiled machine, the foot and the bat did its work. Day in and day out.
Dravid never wrote poetry. You don't relate mathematics and poems, do you? For he wrote theorems. Every innings of his had a structured hypothesis to it. The steps clearly in place; the syntax intact; his batting never had conjectures, the theorems always ended with the customary Indian "Hence proved" label.
When Sachin and Laxman were doing their art, on the other side Dravid often stuttered and stopped. The cover drives often went to the fielder. The boundaries were not flowing. Sixes were unheard of. Yet, often at the end of it all, Dravid stood still. The shirt drenched in sweat. The eyes gleaming. Concentration intact. The man in a trance. Till the theories he developed was proven, he never quit.
Happy birthday Jammy;
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