Shabbash Anil bhai!

It was a perfect lazy Sunday afternoon. I was just relaxing watching the Kotla Test meandering towards a draw. A heavy Sunday lunch accompanied by the laidback artistry of Sourav Ganguly and VVS Laxman leads one into a heavenly state of mind, a regal sense of calm. All was well with the world. India had saved the game and were going to Nagpur needing only a draw to regain the Border-Gavaskar Trophy. Then it happened. A small message flashed on the score ticker. ‘Anil Kumble has announced his retirement from international cricket’. I was rudely shaken out of my stupor. I stared at the screen, dumbfounded.

You know the inevitable was coming. That it had to happen. You even know it was probably the right time. Yet one part of you hoped that it be postponed for one more series, then one more . . . A Test match without Anil Kumble? More than that, a home Test match without Anil Kumble? Since the time I was about eight years old, I have been used to seeing this guy doing duty for Team India. I remember I used to mimic his run-up of those days. An index finger would rise to prop up the spectacles on his nose, a hand would fiddle with the front of the India jersey, a twirl of the ball in his hands and off he would go on that peculiar run-up of his, taking frog-like hops on the way.

He was like money in a state-run bank. Ball after ball, over after over. How many times have we seen him return figures like 31-6-77-2, on the first day of a Test? He holds the record for the most number of leg before and caught and bowled dismissals in Tests. This is because he was always at the batsmen, forcing them to play. As a batsman, you were never ‘in’ against Kumble.

Yes, his googly turned more than his leg break. He seldom mesmerised the batsmen like Shane Warne. He could never have bowled the Ball of The Century. But that’s the problem with cricket. Results do matter. But many times, it’s the manner in which a result is achieved that seems to matter as much as, if not more than the end result itself. It’s not enough if you have 619 Test wickets. It’s not enough if you have been the stock as well as the strike bowler for your team for most of your career. Where’s the classical leg-spinner’s loop, critics asked? Where’s the turn, they asked? Why does it need to turn eight inches when all it requires is a couple of inches of deviation to take the edge, Anil countered? They ridiculed the man’s means, but he pointed towards his record, and they had to accept grudgingly.

For eighteen long years, Anil with the ball in hand was a man possessed, refusing to give in. Nothing could stop him. Not even a broken jaw. But of late, the load had started to take its toll. The returns were diminishing, the effort was unwavering though. The body had begun to give in, though the mind refused to give up. But Matthew Hayden had other ideas. Kumble thought he had a chance to catch the brute of a drive off Hayden’s blade. The resulting eleven stitches on his little finger hastened the end. He was too proud a performer to foist himself as a passenger on the team. At the Kotla, time stood still as Jumbo took the field for one last time. One’s eyes were moist as India’s highest wicket in both forms of the game took a lap of his favourite arena.

The first of the Fab Five departs. That last catch off Mitchell Johnson will forever remain etched in memory. Shabbash Anil bhai!