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.
Stupefied by the IPL spot-fixing opprobrium, and being the Captain of the contamintaed Chennai Super Kings, Dhoni obviously was daubed in moot colors.
Not being flustured by all this, perfecting his troops, when Mahendra Singh Dhoni went on to collect the elusive trophy, making the emotional, the realist as well as the suave India bleed blue, even the cynics felt the goosebumps.
History repeats itself. And there’s one more evidence to this statement.
Much similar to what he did in the T20 WC, foiling the codes of sanity when MSD handed over the ball to the tall skate in the 18th over, someone just stood up and yelled, “Ye to apni captaincy se hath dho baitha!!”
And after the 18th over was bowled, Sharma could have quite befittingly borrowed the lines from Walt Whitman and sang to MSD:
O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting.
On a wet Sunday night at Edgbaston, Captain Cool, ‘weather’d every rack’ to accomplish the ultimate feat that no international captain had even dreamed of. For a man who started out as a ticket-collector at Kharagpur railway station, Captain MS Dhoni is now a trophy collector, a world-beater.
And as Simon Hughes had it, this Indian pride can well be an early candidate for the sportsman of the 21st century.
Our polar friends keep giving a cue of how difficult transition could be. Australia, having lost the services of the galacticos- Glenn McGrath, Shane Warne, Ricky Ponting, Michael Hussey, find themselves at a crossroad. New Zealand hasn’t dug out an escape route either.
And if you still haven’t got an answer as to why I love MS Dhoni then I might just say that when he sings “tere mast mast do nain” for Bin Laden in a sports award function, and burlesques Kohli and Tiwary, and dances to the tunes of nakkamukaa, my heart peppers, I can no longer walk, and all the love quotes that were ever made (even the lamest of the lamest) start making perfect sense to me.
P.S. I couldn’t wait for 7th July to come, ‘cause when it comes to you, you are just irresistible like that.
Happy Birthday! J
Swarna Bhatnagar for DieHard Cricket Fans
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