The writing on the wall finally came true. Rahul Dravid, long serving servant of Indian cricket has hung up his gloves from the final version of the game - the version he was best at, the version that he will always be remembered for. Test match cricket will be the poorer for the loss of one of its stalwarts, a man whose influence of the game was never appreciated to the fullest. Hopefully now, when India totters at 6 for 1 after an injudicious shot from Sehwag, the impact of Dravid will hit home, simply through his absence.
The decision couldn't have been easy for him. On the one hand, he would have the desire to go out more gracefully than he has. His last Test series was one he would like to forget, and that is hardly the most romantic or ideal way to go. And yet, on the other hand, he had to have wondered if he was in any way motivated to carry on, to iron out the technical fault that had crept into his batting, to grind out yet another match-, or at least face-saving innings, to prove - again - that his resilience and courage made him the most valuable asset of an ungrateful team. Not that he thought they were without gratitude. In his press conference earlier today, Dravid had only good things to say of his team. But somewhere deep in the annals of that mind, there must have been the thought that his determination to give the best was not matched by his team mates over the years..
Be that as it may, the grace and dignity with which Dravid conducted the final rites of his glittering career is but an replication of his entire innings. Never in danger of being listed among the "best batsmen in the world", Dravid went about his job quietly, amassing runs by the buckets, ignoring jibes about the speed with which he made his runs, and shrugging off sycophantic praise whenever that came his way. The only opinions that would have mattered were his teammates, and his opponents. And he's faced a litany of the latter, earning their respect and can I say fear. Many an opponent would praise Sachin and his brilliance, but secretly Dravid's was the wicket they craved. Simply because he put such a premium on it himself, you couldn't prise it away with all the tools in the world.
But that was not all that Dravid was about. He was one of the Fabulous Four, the strength of the Indian team at a time when the Indian batting was universally acknowledged to be the best, not only of the time, but possible of all time. Any yet, batting was not the only thing that brought Dravid the name. He was not the most athletic of fielders, or runners, but yet he has held the most number of catches. He was not a full-time wicketkeeper in his younger days, but he kept wickets for 73 ODIs. He was not the most aggressive of captains, but he was certainly the most intelligent ones, and if his desire to keep feathers unruffled in the team were not so intense, he might well have made the best captain India had ever seen. As it stood, the fickle dynamics of being an Indian team skipper would have tasted too sour, even for someone who always put team ahead of personal glory.
Then there was the question of demeanor. On field, bowling at him was like running full tilt into the kind of wall that would crush your spirit, delivery upon painful delivery. The forward defense that earned him his career nickname was at most times impenetrable, but as Dravid himself acquiesced, more a testament to his powers of focus more than application of technique. Bowlers would try it all. Swing, movement, bouncers, intimidation, glaring contests, verbal abuse, taunts - the lot. There was never a reaction, other than the occasional blank, stone-faced stare back. He fielded in slips most of his career, but there was never a moment that an opposing batsman would find issue with. There was applause for a great shot, congratulations on a milestone reached, the perfect gentleman in what was the original Gentleman's game. Off the field, none had a bad word for him. Humility and grace were synonyms for Rahul Dravid. The Nicest Guy in the Game brought respect and credit not only to himself, but also the rest of the team.
Since this morning, I have read several articles bidding farewell to the man. Several sobriquets have been showered, several odes dedicated. At the end of 16 years of a full career, you would not be faulted for expecting that. Three of these articles were very personal, emotional pieces from people most affected by the retirement. Each gave specific reasons, a particular moment that they remembered and had influenced their opinions, or even their whole concept of cricket. I can't say that there is one innings that I will hold for ever in my head. For a man I have followed and been a fan of since his leading the Under 19 team to a World Cup win, I should probably have that 'defining moment' that should justify the sadness I feel today, the day he officially declared himself done with cricket - as a player at least. But I don't. For me, every innings Rahul played was one I cherished. It was like watching a close friend or family member perform. I rooted for him to succeed, I despaired when he was dismissed, I rejoiced when he reached a milestone, I raged when he was dropped from the one day team, I nodded when he gave up the captaincy, not because it was the right thing to do, but because I felt that it was the right thing for him. I danced with him when he did that jig across the Adelaide pitch on that rare win in Australia. I cringed when I saw him run after a ball with those strange loping strides, when he dropped a sitter in slips, when he tried to hit the ball out of the park in an IPL game. One of the article writers that seemed crushed by Rahul's retirement said that he was the reasons she got interested in the game. I know the feeling. I stopped following the NBA after Jordan left the game. Personalities make the sport interesting, and that has been true for most sports. I don't know if I will stop watching cricket because Dravid is no longer there to follow. But yes, the soul has been removed. For now.
