This must be the greatest of ironies. Among the sport's last edifices, Dravid finds himself confronted with a scenario where he can bury the twin ghosts of leadership and acquired acumen at an abrupt, truncated sport in one go — two games actually — and that should once again endear him to us for good. But it is the emergence of Dravid, one of the top three Test batsmen of all time, as Indian cricket's unlikely statesman in these trying times that is proving the biggest revelation. And at one level, it is a lamentable one, coming at a time when the specks of grey under his temple are too obvious to miss.
For all their everyday presence in our lives, Indian cricketers have hardly ever been our go-to men. They may have been match-winners, but seldom men we would seek to hear anything meaningful from. They will not say anything of note to the media, but will happily reveal their true selves in potato chips ad. For all his Lata-esque longevity, Tendulkar can hardly be accorded with an elder-like presence. Kumble briefly seemed to fit into the role during the ill-tempered Sydney Test in 2007-08, but soon the league came, business interests took over and the image swiftly faded.
Dravid, too, inexplicably dithered over this responsibility, strangely reluctant to assume the role of anything more than leading run-getter. As India captain, he cut an isolated figure and as his team, fractured during the Chappell era looked to him, Dravid perhaps foolishly believed that his own performances would help carry them. It did for a while and then, it drained him.
This time, the fixing scandal has forced his hand. Dravid was enjoying his stint as the leader of an underdog side in this league. It showed in the way he leaned into the melee of hot heads and smiled indulgently at Gautam Gambhir — all fire and brimstone for nothing — and his burly sarge Manvender Bisla at the Eden Gardens. But then the scandal put it all at his doorstep, in a manner of saying. How would he take on this one now? As a child of the so-called post-fixing era, did his coaching manuals or the management tomes that he devours, have a chapter on correcting this?
It instantly posed great questions of the man respected in his world for his integrity, quiet dignity and in an aspect our parents would perhaps identify with, a long-forgotten middle class belief in ethics. Suddenly, in this shrill and malevolent world of the T20 league — where no one, it is emerging, is above board — a new Dravid has emerged, a little bit too late, but welcome all the same.
This was not the same man we had known before from a distance — that of the furrowed brow, worried frown model. It's a face of a man who seems comfortable in his new skin today, unafraid to throw in a few chuckles at the whole thing. The spring in his step comes with knowledge and importantly, control — something that had seemed elusive to this personality when he skippered an Indian side of prima donnas.
On Wednesday, after likening the Sreesanth stab to bereavement, Dravid was smiling again. In fact, he even poked fun at the absurdity of events, without for a moment belittling the seriousness of the fixing scandal. "Look," he said with a short laugh, "we're short of spinners for various reasons. I would like to make a joke on it, but given the seriousness of the situation, it won't be right." The remark came after his side came to be within two games of a title, which you may or may not care who wins, but it could be the destination in what's proving a strange journey of learning and self-discovery for the ever-receptive Banglorean.
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