They were right when they said, “you never know when it happens.” And what I’ve lately cryptanalyzed is that this saying holds true in case of admiration too.
People ask me “Why do you love Dhoni?” “Why are you always going so gaga about him?”
I have my reasons. Some absolutely logical, and some other, equally illogical, dillogical!
But if you ask me, “When did you begin liking Dhoni?”
I will be tongue tied, for I don’t have an answer.
Maybe when he along with his long locks obliterated the Sri Lankan attack, that awestrucking 183*. Maybe when he gave the ball to Uthappa in the India-Pak ball out. Or maybe when he took of his jersey after winning the WC of the shortest format.
Whatever the reason maybe, it ensured that I was enslaved. And enslaved for keeps.
Yes I follow Mahendra Singh Dhoni. I follow him not to strike a note about his stats and records or to call him “lucky.” I do not follow him to debate about he being the best Indian Captain, for I know that he incontrovertibly is. But I follow him, ‘cause for me he’s a synagaogue of idealness. A perfect cricketer, and more than that, a perfect human being.
Calm, ice-cool, composed. Planning scrupulously, wangling insidiously and striddling the opposition like an edacious beast of prey. Bogusing a brine of phlegm amidst tempestuous storms. An wellspring of sagacity, amidst the gore. The calming dominion in Indian Cricket.
That’s what he is to me.
I wonder what my cardiograph looks like when he’s taking strike. Those who get a chance to watch him with me being in the same room, can figure out three different forms of me in the post-hitting moments 1) a girl admiring and being awed by the alacritous runner between the wickets; 2) a wacko caterwauling “Oh, boy!” at the top of her lungs with both hands up in the air, if the ball crosses the ropes; 3) and, a leaviathan springing, throwing expletives at the air if the ball takes one beautiful flight and kisses the sky.
You might be charmed to see a MJ moonwalk, or a Madhuri Dixit dance straight from the 90s. I will be beguiled to see a MS Dhoni sideways dive. Or for that matter, even a flash of his pearly whites.
Having talked of MSD’s antics, I am so cajoled and can’t stonewall the fire in belly to talk about Champions Trophy as well.
Putting the dumb in a dumbfounding decision, when it was dreaded that in the battle of common sense vs. ICC, common sense might just retire hurt, fortunately, cricket overshadowed the stupidity.
Yes, Shikhar Dhawan played well, Virat Kohli batted elegantly, Jadeja came a long way, from internet jokes to the golden ball, and Ashwin bowled as if he never really left home; but among all these spine-tingling performances, MS Dhoni’s was heart-stirring like none other’s. How tiring it should be to scrunch balls, keep wickets and simultaneously, make strategies for eleven people? But Mahendra Singh Dhoni, like a warrior, never halts in the battle.
