Far before the onset of the supposed mid-life crisis that all men are destined to face, comes a much harsher realisation.
The realisation is gradual - like a Dravid century. And like a Dravid century it kind of creeps up on you unawares and is usually overshadowed by something flashy happening just alongside. I speak, of course about the fact that at some point in our mid-twenties, the average Joe (or Jayaram) comes to terms with the inexorable truth that he will never play cricket for India.
Regardless of whether he has any talent for sport whatsoever, every Indian cricket lover dreams about making his debut for India when the score is something like 23/4 and we’re playing Australia in the World Cup final. In this fantasy, he proceeds to whip 3 boundaries of the first 3 balls he faces before settling down to build a stable innings (at a strike rate of well above 100) upon which the Indian team ultimately seals victory. On this dream debut, his own final score would be a suitable 3 digit number between 100 and 200, followed by the suffix “not out” (perhaps even more than 200 for the more ambitious imaginer! Breaking the world record on debut at the world cup final, you ask? – Why not?! It’s my fantasy!).
In extended versions of this vision, I have charted my entire career – though making sure that the only times I was out were due to blinding catches by the opposition and/or Steve Bucknor. Plenty of not-outs pepper my fictitious career scores giving a test average in the range of 95 to 99.94 (Me? break Bradman’s record? Hey! Let’s not get crazy now! )
At the age of 20, while watching a match, you suddenly see some cocky upstart on your screen and realise that the little shit is only 18. Slowly the veil of inevitability starts shrouding you, but since you’re only 2 years apart, you brush it off. After all, with a 100 on debut and many more to follow, there’s more than enough time to break all records even if 2 years are subtracted from the equation.
By 23, you’re in denial. You stay positive, expecting someone from the board of selectors (or one of the Cola companies) to call you any day and inform you of your inclusion in the team. But it doesn’t happen. Around this time you also realise that you didn’t go for the Ranji trials. Truth be told, with a 100 on debut expected against Australia in the World Cup final, I was kind of counting on the selectors overlooking the whole “Ranji” thing. Silly move – but I’m supposedly a rare talent; a diamond in the rough – I should be allowed my eccentricities.
By 25 you close the book on the whole affair, stash away your lucky abdomen guard at the back of the closet and finally accept the truth. And while it’s still a little annoying to see sub-20 year olds on TV (and also a little embarrassing to note that they are much MUCH bigger than you are), you move on by doing the next best thing – buying an X-box and leading India to victory on Cricket 2000-something. Strangely – this can be oddly satisfying. In my time, I have led India to about 20 World Cup wins – chew on that, Kapil Dev.
