Ravichandran Ashwin’s Test century and the joys of savouring the unexpected

Ravichandran Ashwin became the second Indian off-spinner of recent times to blast his way to a Test Match hundred. Arunabha Sengupta discusses why hundreds by people like Ashwin and Harbhajan Singh is an important part of the game.

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For the many who had assembled at the Wankhede or had tuned in to follow the match from different parts of the world in anticipation of Sachin Tendulkar‘s 100^th hundred, Ravichandran Ashwin‘s rollicking century on the fourth day provided entertaining consolation.

After Harbhajan Singh did it twice last year, Ashwin’s was the third occasion of a three figure score hammered by an Indian off-spinner in recent times.

There are obvious differences in their respective styles.

Indeed, Ashwin looked an accomplished batsman, playing some lovely drives, lifting spinners with elegance, cutting late with a lot of finesse and sometimes executing wristy flicks of genuine brilliance. It may be a wee bit too early to predict given the benign nature of the wicket, but the image of a much required bowling all-rounder did manifest itself on a wishful mind with each of his strokes around the ground.

In stark contrast, Harbhajan’s forays into the middle are almost always accompanied by more than an element of comedy at the expense of technique, which lends sparkle to many a innings petering to a close. The uncanny resemblance of some of his strokes to a Nick Bollettieri-coached double-handed forehand makes us somewhat hesitant to elevate him from a handy man to have lower down the order to a batsman of ability – and that in spite of the two test centuries under his belt.

Although I would much rather have Harbhajan flight the ball and weave a web of his fast- disappearing guile than make more fifties and hundreds, and similarly hope that Ashwin’s enigmatic endeavours with the ball do not dwindle with accumulated runs, I find their batting heroics to be one of those unique facets of the game that make it fascinating.

Believe me, I am a purist. I am known as someone who closes his eyes after each Sachin Tendulkar straight drive or a VVS Laxman whip to midwicket, to allow the sensation to sink into the senses, to deposit the memory forever into accessible chambers for recurrent recall. In that case, isn’t it odd for me to revel in the brutal launch of counter attack by a Harbhajan Singh, in which caution is perpetually projected into the wind and the bat is as much a tool of artistry as a chainsaw used in the Texas massacre?

Perhaps it is not that unnatural to be thus moved. The delights of cricket go way beyond the realms of dexterity and skill.

While aesthetics and technique are very much the elements of batsmanship that make us return to the ground over and over again, almost willing our maestros into spontaneous encores, the raw excitement of engaging in a game of chance and coming out the winner has its own attractions. There are frequent moments when the unacclaimed batsman takes guard that Lady Luck saunters into the game and manipulates the scoreboard with her flights of fancy. There are moments – such as in the last stages of the recent innings, when Ashwin missed his attempted pull and the ball went for four off his helmet, confusing the umpire into signalling runs. There are moments when – such as when Harbhajan manufactures strokes from unwritten handbooks that will never share shelf – nay, not even library – with coaching manuals of cricket. On these occasions, spectators go through the same thrill that one experiences when a pair of dice rolls on the green velvety surface of a casino table, the closing bell rings on the day’s business in the stock exchange, or the notice board puts up the list of selected candidates of an entrance examination.

In many a sense, Test cricket resembles life. As in events outside the stadium, not everything on the pitch plays out according to script. A lot depends on chance.

In the harsh playing fields of reality, many a times we have to stick to endeavours not entirely suited to our skills and potential. Circumstances make us work at jobs that we hate, sometimes live with people we abhor, make career choices based on wants and not desires, take on unwanted responsibility because of difficult personal situations.

This aspect is hardly ever reflected in sports, with the sportsmen most often indulging in their field of excellence, doing what they love to do, blessed with the choice of fate and phenomenal talent.

However, here is where cricket brings those shades of realism into the proceedings. It happens when a tailender walks out to bat or when a part time bowler trundles in and rolls his arm over.

Seldom in any other sport is a player called upon to try his hand at an unaccustomed trade. Very few other tussles in the arena, under spotlight with millions of onlookers, engage participants in the middle trying to strut and grope their way through motions that are not their forte. A Michael Johnson is never asked to run the marathon. A Diego Maradona does not have to stand under the bar as ten others romp around the field. A Michael Schumacher is always in the driver’s seat and not refuelling and changing tyres in the pit. The closest equivalent one can think of is Ivan Lendl huffing and puffing on grass, trying to get his hands on that elusive Wimbledon trophy. However, even then, his hand was always clutching a tennis racket, his tool of craftsmanship had not metamorphosed into something strange.

But, in cricket, Harbhajan and Ashwin have to put their pads on and walk out to face what is dished out by the top bowlers of the opposition. Even though their main job is to make the deliveries turn from the off and to occasionally slip in some straight ones, now and again a doosra or a fancy innovation like the carom ball. The same fate befalls even the most inept of willow wielders like Chris Martin and Monty Panesar. It was no different in the days of yore for Bhagwat Chandrasekhar, Phil Tufnell, Bob Willis and Glenn McGrath.

On the other hand, sometimes critical or desperate circumstances propel Tendulkar into bowling his leg-spinners, just as in the olden days Ted Dexter or Basil D’Olivera had occasionally been goaded into trying out their little swingers and seamers.

And when men utilising their not-so-gifted skills battle the specialists to end up on top of the contest, the spectators are treated to a sight of hope, the victory of the underdog.

The charm of cricket lies as much in these small sidelights as in the triumph of talent. Not one of his 17 five-wicket hauls, contributing to the ultimate tally of 307 Test dismissals, delighted Freddie Trueman as much as his three first-class centuries. ‘Scratch the surface of any fast bowler and you will find a very frustrated batsman,’ he used to remark in his inimitable Yorkshire drawl. And for all the thousands of tormenting deliveries bowled by Glenn McGrath, his brightest smile was flashed on the day he got his one and only fifty at the highest level. I often wonder whether either of his triple hundreds made Virender Sehwag as deliriously excited as his solitary five-for in Test cricket.

Our tales are of continuous struggles against destiny. Men keep trying to ward off the unseen reverse swings and googlies of fate bowled at them on the wicket that is life itself. Elements of chance force them into pitching hesitant decisions into the fray, fervently hoping that fortune won’t come striding out to hit them out of the field.

Thus, the night watchman grafting his way to a century, the tailender hanging in for four hours to save a Test match, the part time leg-spinner bowling into the fifth day footmarks and picking up vital wickets in the fourth innings – all these are symbols of faith. Proof that one can survive and succeed even against the most intimidating of odds. It is the successful coup of hope over destiny, of grit and luck against the likelihood posed by logic and nature.

Hence, when an Ashwin or a Harbhajan strokes his way to an unexpected hundred, leaping over the probabilities stacked up against him, we can take heart and rejoice. It restores belief that turning the tables on fate can be achieved by the unsung, by ones fettered by liabilities and limitations, and the success  can come accompanied by a sense of frolic, with unrestrained relish for the impossible, a bubbling sense of humour, and a twinkling eye on the lighter side of life.

(Arunabha Sengupta is trained from Indian Statistical Institute as a Statistician. He works as a Process Consultant, but cleanses the soul through writing and cricket, often mixing the two. His author site is at https://www.senantix.com and his cricket blogs at http:/senantixtwentytwoyards.blogspot.com)