Rahul Dravid retires from cricket : Tribute articles to Dravid

[Zelig]

Craig Spencer ‏ @craigspencer1 Reply Retweet Favorite Ž· Open @BumbleCricket Dravid surely a great candidate for future ICC president or political role, well mannered true gent and an amazing cricketer

Bumble's awareness of Indian Politics :giggle:

[Stuge]

Open @BumbleCricket Dravid surely a great candidate for future ICC president or political role, well mannered true gent and an amazing cricketer

atul wassan was saying similar stuff on tv .

[SLICKR392]

Rahul Dravid Cricket's Best Student A beautiful article on Dravid from Planetcricket.

June 1996. It was the second Test of the 3 match series in which two batsmen made their debut. While one of them -Sourav Ganguly- went on to make century before being bowled by an Allan Mullaly delivery, the other one was unlucky to get out on 95 getting caught behind off Chris Lewis. While Sourav GangulyÃÔ innings was celebrated, not many take a note a not of Rahul DravidÃÔ slow innings (strike rate of 35.58) which had no out of box shots or any power hits. It was plain copy book style of cricket that the young man played. Both these players went on to become two of the most reliable batsmen of Indian cricket and even went on to captain the side. However, while the likes of Sourav Ganguly and Sachin Tendulkar enjoyed being in limelight more often than not, it was Rahul Dravid who was IndiaÃÔ man in crisis. Rahul Dravid was a master of playing every shot in the book. He was a complete team man and had gained immense respect even from the rivals through his skill and selflessness. Dravid always played under the shadow of fellow greats like Sachin Tendulkar and Sourav Ganguly. He showed his team-mates how to bat in the difficult conditions overseas. He went to score 24177 International runs with 48 centuries and 146 fifties which shows his consistency. Though Rahul was better known for his defensive style of batting, he developed the skill of playing power shots at the later part of his ODI career which included fearsome square drives and shots over the mid off boundary. His selflessness can be judged by the fact that whenever his team needed to step up for a job, he was the man. He did all, batted 1 down, opened the innings, batted lower down the order and scored quick runs, stitched long partnerships, kept wickets in absence of a regular wicket-keeper in the team and even rolled his arm over when needed. His career has hardly had any dark spot apart from an allegation of ball tampering which was hard to believe for many (it is believed that he unknowingly rubbed chewing gum on the ball during a match). He also holds the highest number of catches in test matches. Despite being immensely talented, he has always been low profile even when he was the captain of national team. As a captain, he lead the side to series victories in England and the West Indies for the first time in a generation. In the age of T20 and IPL, where a batsman is expected to make changes in his style and go for rash shots, Dravid showed how to score runs thick and fast by playing textbook cricket. He has the record of second fastest fifty in ODIs for India. Dravid was well known for his concentration and ability of play for long hours and to stitch huge partnerships. The fact that he is involved in 88 century partnerships and 126 half century partnerships which included 32039 runs shows how good he was when it came to staying at the wicket. One of the finest knocks by Rahul came in 2001 in Kolkata when India were following on against world champions Australia when he not only scored a century and stitched a huge partnership with VVS Laxman, he ensured that India comes into a position of winning the game and ending the record winning streak of Australia out of nowhere. Just when it seemed his best was over, Dravid showed his class once again on the tour to England in 2011 in a series in which India were completely outplayed and Dravid went on to score 461 runs, by far the highest by any batsman from his team, including three hundreds, two of which he got while opening the innings. Rahul Dravid has always been a trying to learn the game even in the last phase of his career when he had nothing to prove. Now that Rahul or the Wall, as he is known amongst the cricket lovers and players, has retired, it will be very difficult to find a player who can fill in his big shoes. There might be a stop gap or a temporary solution for it but the vacuum that RahulÃÔ retirement has left behind will take a lot of time to be filled. Rahul, the Mr. Reliable and a great student of the game who showed that it is possible to make it big even without trying anything fancy will be missed a lot to one and every cricket lover for he is one of the finest cricketers that the game has ever seen. Miss you Jammy!

[Prakat]

Beautiful. Read somewhere that "Rahul is the guy we want our sons to grow up to be like." how true.

[SLICKR392]

Sharad Pawar's message to Dravid

[Chandan]

A sportsman of model decorum, Dravid batted as a river runs GIDEON HAIGH From: The Australian March 10, 2012 Indian batsman Rahul Dravid in full flow for his country against the West Indies last year. Source: AFP RAHUL Dravid is a thinking cricketer. But one person I learned last season that he does not spend a lot of time thinking about is ... Rahul Dravid. It was shortly after the Boxing Day Test, and we were having dinner with a mutual friend near my home, at a spaghetti joint in Lygon Street, Carlton. As happens when you're in distinguished sporting company, the subject of conversation turned to setting down some thoughts about that career when it ended - as Dravid announced yesterday, it was. Test cricket's second-tallest scorer, and the man who faced more Test deliveries than any other, would seem to have a tale to tell. Dravid did not agree. What, after all, had he done? He had had a comfortable upbringing, a good education, a loving marriage and ... well, yes, he'd made more than 24,000 international runs with 48 hundreds, but what of it? Dravid had recently read Andre Agassi's autobiography, Open. Now that was a story. Drugs, girls, money, triumph, disaster. By comparison, Dravid said seriously, he had hardly lived at all. While it seems almost churlish to dispute such a commonsensical self-estimation, on this occasion let's quietly beg to differ. For most of his 15 years at the top, Dravid was the most immaculate cricketer in the game, a batsman of preternatural serenity and a sportsman of model decorum. That wonderful Indian cricket writer Sujit Mukherjee once said of Dravid's great antecedent Vijay Hazare that his innings had "no beginning and no end", because "whether his score was 2 or 20 or 200, he (Hazare) was assessing the bowling with the same exacting concern that characterised his every moment at the crease". The same was true of Dravid. He batted as a river runs, at an immemorial pace. You could tune into an innings of his at any time and be unsure whether he had batted six hours or six minutes. He carried himself with the same easy dignity in success or failure, in India or abroad: unlike the other members of his country's prestigious batting elite of Tendulkar, Sehwag, Laxman and Ganguly, he boasted a higher average away than at home. Dravid's decision to retire will not come as a great surprise to those who watched him struggle through the Australian summer. You arrive at a point in contemplation of any great batsman dealing with poor form where rational explanation no longer suffices. Some little advantage has been lost; some indefinable aura has faded. Bowlers sense it: they attack where they used to be content to keep quiet. Fielders sense it: they crouch in eager expectation of catches, and relax in confidence of accepting them. Such was the case with Dravid in 2011-12, and he is too perceptive not to have sensed it, despite his valiant struggles. He was, as ever, a model guest, his Bradman Oration being quite possibly the season's outstanding Indian performance. It is also characteristic that Dravid waited until the Australian summer was completely done with before making any announcement; it is in line with his view that individuals are at the game's service, not vice versa. Not every cricketer's cricket faithfully reflects their personality, but Dravid's would seem to. In company, he thinks before speaking, gives his interlocutors undivided attention, is unhurried and unflappable. That evening, dining al fresco, we were perfectly at the mercy of passing rubber-neckers. Every two minutes, it seemed, someone would ask Dravid for an autograph, want him to pose for a photo, or simply stop to gawk. Even the chef came out to shake his hand. Dravid gave every petitioner perfect partial attention, not once growing flustered, not once losing the thread of a conversation - dealing with them rather like balls wide of off stump, giving them their due but no more. There was, I realised after a while, a well-honed technique to it. Dravid acquiesced to each request politely but straightforwardly, volunteering nothing in addition. People got the message; it was impressive. Various subjects were discussed that evening, which it seems impolite to divulge, and may even be unenlightening to, because Dravid is so reticent about his career, and so respectful of opponents. About one opponent, though, he was forthcoming, and that was Ricky Ponting. He recalled being accosted by Ponting, whom he hardly knew and had barely conversed with, during Australia's tour of India in 2010. "I want to talk to you," Ponting insisted. Dravid wondered what he had done wrong; on the contrary, Ponting wanted to tell him what he was doing right. Dravid was having a poor series; Ponting urged him to hang in there. "I know you're not making runs, and I know there's probably a bit of pressure on you at the moment," Ponting told Dravid. "But let me tell you: every time you come in, I tell the guys that you look like you're going to get runs today. You've been getting out, but I reckon there are some big scores around the corner for you." Dravid was moved by the grace of Ponting's gesture - as indeed were we, his companions that night, to hear of it. He went and proved Ponting right, too, enjoying in 2011 the second-most prolific calendar year of his Test career. Just over a week after our dinner, Ponting dived headlong for his crease at the SCG, just beating a throw and achieving his first Test century in nearly two years. It was noticeable that while most of the Indian fielders assumed excruciated poses, hands on heads, looking martyred, Dravid moved in from mid-off clapping appreciatively, and perhaps also gratefully. You would think that having a cricketer play at international level for more than 15 years might conduce to a little succession planning; this being Indian cricket, you would think wrongly. Nobody stands out in this Indian line-up as an inheritor of his mantle. His retirement will leave the same breach in his team as it would have a decade ago. All the same, there is perhaps no modern cricketer better equipped intellectually and temperamentally to make a contribution to the game's governance and direction. Dravid's greatest impact on cricket might lie ahead of him. And that would be a story worth telling.

[kabira]

Dravid a humourous guy: VVS http://www.bcci.tv/bcci/bccitv/index/viewarticle?article=/media/releases/content/4f5afd087b8ab.html

[ravishingravi]

Farewell Sir If Sachin was the teacherÃÔ pet marked for greatness ever since he joined the school, Ganguly the arrogant gang-leader of the cool kids and VVS Laxman the freakishly-talented loner in the corner, Rahul Dravid will always be the hair-cleanly-parted, diligent ÅÈood boy? the one who studies every waking hour to get the best grade. The perfect student. Not for him the arrogance of knowledge. Nor the satisfaction of absolute success. Dravid was always learning, and as of the first ads he shot for so prophetically predicted, ÅÂlways practicing? Not naturally aggressive in his batting, one of his most inspirational achievements was how he developed his limited-overs technique to retire with a record as good as the best. And even while batting in Test matches, an art he had mastered better than any of his contemporaries, you could see him continually changing, adapting, fine-tuning his game, often shaking his head in disappointment even after a perfect cover-drive. It is this relentless, almost religious, pursuit of perfection that will be remembered the most about him. As also the precise movement of feet, the opening of the stance to counter the swing, the pivot of the heel, the last-minute leave, the perfect balance of the body at the moment of impact, the stillness of head. The man was as close to an anthropomorphism of a Swiss watch one could get, not just in its engineering precision, but in its total reliability. Session after session, like gears of platinum, he would grind out the opposition, his almost absolute invulnerability sapping them of all hope . Time could stop. But not Dravid. The other guy would trudge to the pavilion. Not Dravid. He would be at the other end. Always. However even ÅÂlways ends. It has to. The bails are removed. Shadows creep over the pitch. The reassuring presence at number 3 takes his last walk. Memories crowd around. Calcutta. Adelaide. Lords. Georgetown. Headingley. Rawalpindi. Now they are all a blurËÃne glorious image giving way to another in rapid sequence. The flick. The square-drive. That back-lift. The studious expression. The self-effacing smile. The punch in the air. And that silently smoldering hungerÃö the hunger to be the best one can possibly be. We will miss you sir. http://greatbong.net/2012/03/10/farewell-sir/

[Prakat]

Yes. Farewell, Dear Rahul. :((

[Chandan]

Rahul Dravid: The gift of reassurance He wore polished shoes but never an aura. In a world of Gods, he preferred his humanness, an unadorned man battling his own imperfections with a low-key dignity Game Theory | Rohit Brijnath At the core of the great athlete often resides a self-centred animal. Lit up by the spotlight, the rest of the world falls into his shadow. Once, a former cricketer, his nationality irrelevant, dined at my house and was staggeringly oblivious to my other guests. He was prepared to be questioned, he simply did not have any for them. As if they were the distant, faceless crowd in a tiny stadium. It is here, for me, that Rahul Dravid found his point of difference. Life intrigued him, even yours. When he once came to Singapore, he charmed my friends (one gave him batting advice; he smiled). What are you reading, he'd ask. What do you think, he'd query. Not about cricket, but tennis, toughness, politics. He'd linger in bookshops, stroll into theatres, sit in wildlife parks. One year he opted to go and learn from a visual skills specialist in South Africa; last summer, he drove to Chelsea FC to wander through their Mind Room. From his wide interests emerged cricket's most interesting man. He wore polished shoes but never an aura. In a world of Gods, he preferred his humanness, an unadorned man battling his own imperfections with a low-key dignity. He was forever conscious of the families he represented (his own, the team, the fans, the game at large) and owned an authentic decency we crave in athletes but rarely find. My mother is not given at all to cricket watching, yet sent me a mail after his retirement press conference which included the words "poised" "grace" "dignity" If the old-fashioned among us have a quaint notion of what the athlete should represent, then he met it for us. Greatness can be worn gently, a man can stay true for 16 years to the idea that desire and sportsmanship, ambition and etiquette, are not virtues in conflict. We needed a reminder that even amidst the over-indulgence and over-worship of modern sport a man need not lose himself. Dravid was precocious that way, always the grown-up cricketer. He had a conscience and in a way became ours. There is for me an irony in the mourning for him in a time of Virat Kohli worship. Perhaps we realise what we are losing, perhaps the time of such men has passed. He was teased recently that it was fortunate he was not 22 for he would be a misfit: Dravid with his hair jelled, a tattoo of his wife Vijeeta on his forearm, retinue in tow, snarling, is an image both amusing and obscene. Dravid took cricket seriously but not always himself. Or you. During the 1999 World Cup, on watching me take a few casual swipes with his bat, he fell off his hotel bed laughing and offered this advice: "Please, don't ever write about technique" His batting could be classical, yet he never viewed himself as the classical hero. As he said: "My only qualification is that I come on television more than a nurse or a soldier or a teacher. Anyway, I don't think sportsmen can really be considered heroes. Indeed, in the evening after his retirement press conference, he suggested with amusement that his immediate future included "practising my new sweep shot with a broom" I met him first in 1996, a slim young man, shirt tucked in, hair parted, and his method on the field would be as fastidious. He saw the nylon cages of the pratice nets as his university and practiced like a man pursuing a degree he might never earn. There, and on the field, it was the discovery of himself, this uniquely private moment, which he most relished. For him, and youÃÅ groan when he repeated his favourite word, it was about the "process" There were many batsmen in Rahul Dravid. The worst one once found him the most applause. In some forgotten one-dayer, he smashed a quick fifty (these very words must make him shiver) and he joked that he received more handshakes for it than anything before. Of course, he could be a picture of balanced harmony, his shots all refined architecture, and this was becoming. But the cussed Dravid, a man of team cause not crowd, was my favourite, playing to his own scholarly sheet music. Laxman offered me art, Sehwag liberation, Tendulkar consistent genius, but Dravid taught us that reassurance is a gift. For such a neat man, he loved an ugly scrap. Runs might emerge in unsightly dribbles -- sometimes it was as if to be uninhibited was an act of immodesty for him -- but he'd keep going, a leave, a block, a block, a leave, and this should have been boring -- and well, yes, sometimes it was -- except by the end he'd built a lead, or rescued a situation, or offered us a winning chance and you'd look at this man, shirt bound by sweat, ferocious in his concentration, and just think, bloody hell. Struggle, in all its forms, was his hymn. And so even as he spoke easily with journalists, his finest conversations were his internal dialogues, which on request he would articulate. After his brilliant match-winning innings in Adelaide 2003, he said: "you can't concentrate for 10 hours, you switch on and off, you push yourself, your mind wanders, you bring it back, you steel yourself. That's the real beauty, when you win the battle against yourself. And he wanted to win, and if he took defeat manfully he also did so painfully. On the night after India had exited the 2007 World Cup under his captaincy, on the phone he sounded as if he was dying. I liked him for this and for his willingness to discuss his own and sufficient imperfections. Because he wouldn't flinch from honesty and you could challenge him on his thinking as captain or get him to laugh at his own unhurriedness. Because he understood talent is only lent to you for a while and that only ceaseless industry can allow for its consistent expression. Because he has a strong sense of himself, for even as kind bloggers would call him "unsung" he'd say, no, enough has been sung about me. Who he was more than just a cricketer and it was evident in our last meeting in October last year. He had been invited to a discussion on the sporting mind to inaugurate the Bangalore launch of Olympic shooting gold medallist Abhinav Bindra's autobiography. "No speech, right" he insisted, for that would mean a month's dutiful hard labour for him. No, I promised. Only a discussion. Except on launch day, in the evening, he took me aside. "I'd like to make a short speech, is that OK? And so he did, a charming, generous introduction about Bindra and his virtues and the challenge of the Olympics. He is 10 years older than the shooter and far more celebrated, but this was not his moment, he wanted the shooter to have the sun and being in the shadows anyway held no fear for him. It was not Dravid at his best, it was simply just Dravid being himself.

[kabira]

>Sharad Pawar's condolence to Dravid condolences?? LOL

[Spiderguy252]

Here's something I penned down... http://thebackfoot.wordpress.com/2012/03/10/the-wall-decommissions/

[Crookbond]

gUo5C0PXsRM

[SLICKR392]

>Sharad Pawar's condolence to Dravid condolences?? LOL

I copy pasted the whole thing from Planetcricket :facepalm:

[flamy]

Gun thread.

[Raghav_12]

One from his wife: http://www.espncricinfo.com/magazine/content/story/556979.html

Rahul Dravid's retirement My husband, the perfectionist While he was very particular about how he approached the game, he had the great ability to leave cricket on the field once the day was done Vijeeta Dravid March 12, 2012 I've been married to Rahul for almost nine years now and we have always been very private people. So I'm sure he will be astonished to find that I have written at length about him. This is not meant to be a song of praise for him on his retirement; that is up to the rest of the world. I am his wife, not a fan, and the reason I am writing this is to give you an insight into the role cricket has played in his life, and to take that in for myself at the end of his 16-year international career. Just after we got married, I remember him saying to me that he hoped to play for "the next three or four years", and that he would need me there to support him in that time. Now that he has retired, I think: "Not bad. We've done far better than the three or four years we thought about in May 2003." The last 12 months were special for us for more reasons than the runs or centuries Rahul has scored. After the 2010-11 tour of South Africa, our older son, Samit, suddenly developed a huge interest in cricket. When he watched Rahul score his centuries in England last year, it was as if in the last year of his career, Rahul had found his best audience. I was with the boys at Old Trafford when Rahul played his first (and last) Twenty20 international and then also travelled to every match of the one-day series. After the last ODI, we went into the Lord's dressing room and showed Samit and Anvay their baba's name on the honours board. It was a huge thrill for the boys to see Rahul play live in front of so many people, to see him at his "work", which kept him away from them for months. Cricket has been the centre of Rahul's world and his approach to every season and series has been consistent in all the time we have been married. Methodical, thoughtful and very, very organised. When I travelled with him for the first time, in Australia in 2003-04, I began to notice how he would prepare for games - the importance of routines, and his obsession with shadow practice at odd hours of day or night. I found that weird. Once, I actually thought he was sleepwalking! Now I know that with Rahul's cricket, nothing is casual, unconscious or accidental. Before he went on tour, I would pack all his other bags, but his cricket kit was sacred - I did not touch it; only he handled it. I know if I packed only two sets of informal clothes, he would rotate them through an entire tour if he had to and not think about it. He has used one type of moisturising cream for 20 years because his skin gets dry. Nothing else. He doesn't care for gadgets, and barely registers brands - of watches, cologne or cars. But if the weight of his bat was off by a gram, he would notice it in an instant and get the problem fixed. Cricket has been his priority and everyone around him knows that. On match days Rahul wanted his space and his silence. He didn't like being rushed, not for the bus, not to the crease. All he said he needed was ten minutes to himself, to get what I call his "internal milieu" settled, before he could go about a match day. When we began to travel with the kids - and he loved having them around during a series, even when they were babies - we made sure we got two rooms. The day before every game, the boys were told that their father had to be left alone for a while, and Rahul would go into his room for his meditation and visualisation exercises. On the morning of the game, he would get up and do another session of meditation before leaving for the ground. I have tried meditation myself and I know that the zone he gets into as quickly as he does - it takes lots of years of training to get there. It is part of the complete equilibrium he tries to achieve before getting into a series. Like all players, Rahul has his superstitions. He doesn't try a new bat out for a series, and puts his right thigh pad on first. Last year before the Lord's Test, he made sure to sit in the same space Tillakaratne Dilshan had occupied in the visitors' dressing room when he scored nearly a double-hundred earlier in the season. Rahul scored his first hundred at Lord's in that game. If I packed only two sets of informal clothes, he would rotate them through an entire tour if he had to and not think about it. He doesn't care for gadgets, and barely registers brands - of watches, cologne or cars. But if the weight of his bat was off by a gram, he would notice it in an instant and get the problem fixed Once the game is on, at the end of every day he has this fantastic ability to switch off. He may be thinking about it, his batting may bother him, he will be itching to go back and try again, but he can compartmentalise his life very well. He won't order room service or brood indoors, he would rather go out, find something to do - go to a movie or watch a musical, which he loves. He will walk out to the sea to wind down or go to bookstores, or find something else to do. He has dealt with all that goes on in cricket because he can separate the game and the rest of his life and put things in perspective. No matter what was happening in his cricket, at home he is husband, father, family man. He has never said, "Oh I've had a bad day." He wouldn't speak about his work unless asked. Other than dropped catches. Only once, I remember, he returned from a Test and said, "I got a bit angry today. I lost my temper. Shouldn't have done that." He wouldn't say more. Many months later, Viru [sehwag] told me that he'd actually thrown a chair after a defeat to England in Mumbai. He'd thrown the chair, Viru said, not because the team had lost but because they had lost very badly. One of Rahul's great strengths is his ability - and he has had it all along - to accept reality. He believes you cannot complain about anything because there is no end to complaining. And he knows there is no end to improving either. He always looks within, to gain, to learn and to keep working at his cricket. In the last few years he worked doubly hard to make sure he played the game in his best physical condition in the toughest phase of his career physically. He tried to understand his body and work on his limitations - he was able to hold off shoulder surgery despite a problem in his rotator cuff because he found ways to keep it strong. When I was pregnant with Samit, we spent two months in South Africa to work in a sports centre that focused on strengthening Rahul's shoulder. Because he sweats profusely, he has even had sweat analysis done, to see how that affects his batting. He found that Pat Cash had a similar problem. To get fit, he went on very difficult protein diets for three months at a stretch, giving up rice, chapatis and dessert altogether - even though he has a sweet tooth. He wanted his batting and his cricket to benefit from his peak fitness, even heading into his late 30s. He has been to see a specialist in eye co-ordination techniques, for eye exercises for the muscles of his eyes. If there was a problem, he always tried to find answers. Outside cricket, Rahul is a man of no fuss. If he's on a diet, he will eat whatever is served, as long as it fits the diet. Even if the same food keeps turning up on his plate for days in a row, he will eat it without complaint. If he drops a catch, though, it bothers him enough to talk about it on the phone when we speak in the evening; during matches, it is the only part of cricket that he will talk about without me asking him about it. In 2009 he lost his old, faded India cap, when it was stolen from a ground. He was very, very upset about it. It was dear to him and he was extremely proud to wear it. People always ask me the reason for Rahul being a "normal" person, despite the fame and the celebrity circus. I think it all began with his middle-class upbringing, of being taught to believe in fundamental values like humility and perspective. He has also had some very old, solid friendships that have kept him rooted. He is fond of reading, as many know, and has a great sense of and interest in history of all kinds - of the game he plays and also of the lives of some of the world's greatest men. When he started his cricket career, he had a coach, Keki Tarapore, who probably taught him to be a good human being along with being a good cricketer. All of this has given Rahul a deep understanding of what exactly was important about his being in cricket and what was not. It can only come from a real love for the game. When I began to understand the kind of politics there are in the game, he only said one thing: that this game has given me so much in life that I will never be bitter. There is so much to be thankful for, no matter what else happens, that never goes away. Rahul Dravid celebrates with son Samit and wife Vijeta,South Africa v India, 1st Test, Johannesburg, 4th day, December 18, 2006 Dravid with Vijeeta and Samit after the victory in the Johannesburg Test in 2006 Ž© AFP Enlarge Cricket has made Rahul who he is, and I can say that he was able to get the absolute maximum out of his abilities as an international cricketer. What next for him? I know he likes his routine and he's in a good zone when he is in his routine, so we will have to create one at home for him. Getting the groceries could be part of that. A cup of tea in the morning for his wife would be a lovely bonus, I would think, particularly now that he doesn't have to take off for the gym or for training at the KSCA at the crack of dawn. More seriously, though, I think he will spend time relaxing and reading to let it all sink in a bit. He has loved music and wants to learn how to play the guitar. Then perhaps he would like to find something that fills in at least some of the place that cricket occupied in his life, something challenging and cerebral. Rahul has lived his dream and he thinks it's time to move on. Retirement will mean a big shift in his life, of not have training or team-mates around him, or the chance to compete against the best. The family, though, is delighted to have him back.

[Nova]

Rahul Dravid - True Ambassador of the Gentleman's Game by Mario Monteiro http://www.daijiworld.com/news/news_disp.asp?n_id=131404

Mar 12: Cricket has always been known as a Gentleman's game. As we turn over the pages of history of this sport, we come across several names who have truly done justice to this name by their on-field and off-field mannerisms. That list of incredible cricketers had another addition this week, that of our very own Rahul Dravid. I do not wish to write about his cricketing prowess as that has already been done by cricketing experts and analysts. Instead, I would like to focus on how Rahul Sharad Dravid, with his quiet and unassuming ways could be the perfect role model to the modern youth. India has for long been a cricket crazy country. With more than a billion people following the sport religiously, our cricketers become heroes overnight with one or two brilliant performances. Nine out of ten children today, when asked for a role model, would definitely blurt out a cricketer's name. And the role model is one these young fans would imitate in their most formative years. Thus the choice of our first idol inadvertently ends up having a say in the people we grow up to be. In such a scenario, the cricketer, who in my opinion, qualifies as one of the most deserving role models is the man who announced his retirement this past week, Rahul Dravid. "Not often do we find a person as exceptional as his achievements was the tweet of former cricketer Sanjay Manjrekar when Dravid announced to the world that he had decided to hang his boots. This single sentence of Manjrekar easily sums up the essence of this entire article. Dravid was an amazing cricketer but he is an even better human being. His opponents feared his cricketing abilities, but respected him more. He always had a pursuit of excellence. He did not prefer to sit back on his past laurels but strived day in and day out to improve his game and technique. His levels of fitness even at the age of 39 serve as testimony to the hard work he put in. This quality is something that we definitely need to learn and imbibe. It is but natural that a certain level of complacency creeps in after an achievement. This is what we need to wary of as this can lead to a case of winning the battle but losing the war. His patience has been seen by the cricketing world over the last decade and a half in the way he used to just tire out bowlers who used to come charging at him. His dedication and determination deserve a word of mention too. We, the modern youth need to learn to be patient. Though in a world where everything happens thick and fast, patience is a virtue that we cannot afford to let die. Patience in turn will lead to determination and dedication to what we do. The quality of Dravid that I would rate the highest is his humility. Though a legend in his own right, he always kept his feet grounded. Success would indeed sit lightly on him. His external calmness and composure were a reflection of the inner humility. Being an international cricketing star did not stop him from being the photographer for his mother's PhD convocation ceremony. This humility of heart also enabled him to put team above self throughout his career. He was always ready to come out of his comfort zone and bear the additional burden of wicket-keeping when the team asked him to. Selfless actions and deeds like these earned him worldwide respect in the cricketing fraternity and established him as a true ambassador of the Gentleman s game. Little surprise then that he was chosen as the first non-Australian to deliver the prestigious Bradman Oration which he did so graciously on December 14th last year at the start of India's tour Down Under. Rahul Dravid, thank you for being what you have been to the Indian Cricket fan for the last sixteen years. Thanks for the many memorable innings you have played and almost single handedly taken the team from the jaws of defeat to the brink of victory. We are grateful. We are grateful even more for the wonderful qualities you possess and which inspire us. As the cricketing legend in you walks into the sunset, let the same simple qualities motivate and inspire all who have been growing up watching you. As another legend Sachin Tendulkar rightly said, there will never be another Rahul Dravid on the cricket pitch again. But India hopes and prays that the dignity and grace of Rahul Sharad Dravid, undoubtedly India's greatest No.3 batsman, descends into the billion die-hard fans of this cricket crazy nation. Thanks for the memories Rahul Dravid.

[Chandan]

Sightlines blurred Sriram Dayanand The cricket helmet will never be a purveyor of epic imagery that its siblings the floppy hat and the traditional cap specialize in. Not for it the heart-stopping freeze frame of Richards cork-screwed, nostrils flared as he hooked at Thommo; his maroon cap blown off and suspended in mid-air. Nor the laconic cool of the bent brim of a floppy white, golden locks of Gower peeking out, back arched in a silken backfoot cover-drive. Anodyne by nature, functional at best it remains. The grill, conspiring with the shadow cast by the peak completes the obfuscation job. Except for the eyes. The eyes it has always accentuated. Especially your eyes, Rahul. Jumbo had the jaw. You, the eyes. For sixteen years, I have gazed into them; peered at them, focused on them and locked sight with them. And through those years, your eyes, in that half-squint of purposefulness have shone back at me from the shadow of your helmet, with its strap hanging. Shimmered back at me from above your sweat tinged cheekbones. That gaze nary a moment when it lost its forthrightness conveyed multitudes. And accompanied narratives that are entwined and will last for life. His jaw and your eyes, lingering visuals of an era that now comes to past. Dada had the blink; that confused blink of surprise, like he had stepped on a thumb-tack. Tendu, his look of impervious bubble-of-silence calm. Viru, a poker-faced bodhisattva, eyes half-closed in meditative nirvana. I have tried to pigeon-hole your gaze into a convenient bucket, but you have always eluded me. Impassive, people have said. Expressionless commentators painted it as. Very convenient. They probably loved that nickname too. Ball after ball, from atop the classical profile of your stance, your eyes focused on the approaching bowler and past him through the television screen locking with mine. And I could never look away from them. Till they triggered your limbs into a kaleidoscope of delicate angles as the ball arrived. You would be courteous, lifting your bat and letting it pass, watching it thoughtfully. Levitate momentarily, feet together, toes pointed downwards, shoulders rising and falling in gorgeous symmetry, dropping the ball down at your feet bat ending up horizontal, parallel to the pitch. Head bent, looking down at the still ball respectfully. Or arched back, lips pursed, as you caressed it to cover point; eyes squinting to confirm that it reached that precise spot. And then, they would be back. Shining through the television screen. Yes, sixteen years. It seems like yesterday, yet an eternity. And now the images flit across. This collage is expansive. So much has happened in these years. So much time spent looking into those eyes. Locking sight with them. They scorched themselves in Adelaide. On that day, they had laid bare more than you ever imagined. In the space of minutes during the post-match interview, your eyes had run through the gamut. It was an emotional day. Cathartic. For us too, you know. As I watched you in your sweaty whites struggling for words to describe the feeling, I just couldn't take my eyes off them. They flashed, flickered and glimmered as they cycled through pride, joy and satisfaction incessantly. They, more than anything, screamed out the gravitas of that moment. I had looked into them in awe that day, Rahul. And affection. Three years earlier, in Kolkata, you had startled. Fleetingly. It was during that match. And it was during your moment. Lax was trotting up to you, arms outstretched in a bear hug, when you ripped off your helmet and gesticulated emphatically towards your mates in the pavilion. Almost in anger. It was so not you. Your arms complied with you in that action almost awkwardly. But your eyes, your eyes. They were shooting out sparks. The lead-up had undeservedly focused on you and you were bristling. The frustration had built up. It seemed justified. The shellacking in Mumbai had led to it. Oh wait, Mumbai. The Don had passed away on the morning of the first day, hadn't he? As the two teams lined up to pay homage to the great man, the television camera panned slowly across them standing in silence, staring into space. I remember your eyes: they were shut. Head bowed. Later, you were to train your eyes in a stern glare at Slater. He was trying to get close to you, jawing at you in frustration at what he thought was a clean catch. You just stood your ground and looked him in the eye. Head still. Upright. Looked him down. Many have seen that look up close. Alan Donald too. And this moment at the Centurion in 2003. This time, in your blues. After that astonishing start to the chase, things had turned tense when Tendu was felled by a brute. On an edge, we were. But you calmed things down. Kept Yuvi calm too till he started stroking the ball delectably. As the target dwindled to a mere few I can still see it now. Like it was yesterday. Frozen, like a painting. The crowd in the backdrop was an impressionist's daubing of a million brush-strokes. You stood at the non-strikers end. Motionless, with your head turned towards the sea of screaming faces. It was a wall of sound, but it seemed like the sound had been muted for you. For me too. All I hear even now in that moment is silence. Your neck at an angle. And your eyes, half closed. And that look. Melancholy? Contemplative? No, it was more. But I still can't categorize it. You still elude. Moments...so many of them...too many. Lord's, Wanderers, Headingly, Rawalpindi I had flown to England last summer. Was somehow convinced that you would make the call there. I was braced for it to be the denouement. I owed myself one last look in the flesh, I told myself. Unfortunately, things turned sour. Went belly up in fact. All around you, as you stood amidst the ruins. Right through the tour, your eyes had almost a tired and perplexed look to them. As you wove one masterpiece after another. By its end, they had looked laden. Yes, there was Australia. But I thought I saw it in your eyes at the Oval itself. Three days ago, it was a time to celebrate and wish the King warmly on his sixtieth. Now, he used to have a thing with his eyes too, you know. Very different, but similar in what they did to me. And not since his adieu to cricket has a retirement created such turmoil. Irrational turmoil. But this is hardly the time to be selfish. Go well, Rahul. Happy trails, wherever you choose to ride off on to. As I close my eyes in gratitude, I see you at the crease. Between deliveries. Your hands making their final adjustments to the grip on the handle. Your eyes trained on a spot in space somewhere near extra cover. Sweat glistening below them on your cheekbones. Now that classical stance again. The clipped tapping of your bat commences. Your head rises as you look up to the bowler and your eyes focus on him. Then past him, through the television screen. Locking onto mine again. This is going to be hard. Very hard.

[Nova]

^ So much romance in those words. It's just poetry.

[Nova]

Just read the tribute from Mrs. Dravid (post #36).... it was wonderful. I love behind the scene stories which give some insight. :) Who would have thought that Dravid had once lost his temper and threw a chair!