Desicritics Author: Rahil

Laxman Deserves A Better Deal

Rahil — Sat, 1 Dec 2007 18:51:41 EST

1-0 down, Australia eying their first series win in the sub-continent after long years. 2nd test match, India made to follow-on, a series defeat staring in the eye. When all was lost and the much touted home record almost mauled by the Aussies one man stood up and changed the course of a dying river.

Vangipurappu Venkata Sai Laxman played the most elegant and arguably the finest innings in the history of test cricket. The stylish batsman from Hyderabad, who is often compared with Azhar for his use of wrists with sublime panache, suddenly became a star batsman in the already star-studded batting line-up.

Since his epic effort at Eden Gardens Laxman has played many a vital knock in the test arena, resurrecting the team from hopeless situations it found itself in, invariably down 4-5 wickets. He might not have scored a couple of dozen centuries but his silent contributions, often batting with the lower order, are enough matter to warrant an unquestionable place for him in the side.

Why then is a player of Laxman’s caliber put under the scanner every second match? What good is a selection committee that is more apt at putting pressure on players, through the media, than evincing confidence in them? Aren’t India’s selection policies flawed? But then that is Indian cricket off the field for everyone, one only needs to reconcile to its vagaries for it is a never-ending, disgraceful saga.

(Note: This piece was written before Laxman's magnificent century at the Eden Gardens against Pakistan on Saturday, it just didn't go up on time)

India-Pakistan Encounters - Tale Of Diminishing Zeal?

Rahil — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 15:59:36 EST

'Shabaash, Shabaash Wasim bhai', Moin Khan's routine words ring in my ears, the last ball Miandad six still haunts many Indians, memories of Basit Ali's dogged nonchalant, bubblegum-chewing resistance refuse to die away. Sidhu's aggressive bat-waving strut, Sachin directing Saqlain to the pavilion, Balaji's effortless sixes, all have given credence to the great cricketing rivalry between the two neighbors.

Lately, there has been a lot of talk about how the cricketing rivalry between the two arch-rivals has lost fervor and is just another competition in the sport. And as suggested by some experts (in the media too) it's the overdose that's killing. While unarguably the tension and animosity have subsided in the last 4-5 years, thanks to the regular meetings of the two sides, but much is being made out of the overdose.

The current series is the 4th in as many years, and if one recalls each one of the earlier series generated great interest among cricket lovers, the honors were shared evenly by the two sides. Since the last series a lot has happened and a lot has changed. The two teams have seen the despairing lows of the World cup and then an uncharacteristic revival of sorts at the T-20 world cup. After the T-20 final, where both the teams gave the fans an almost-perfect match for a world cup final, one would've imagined a rekindling of interest, if at all there was a fall.

So, what is this talk of diminishing interest? Let's face it, fans have moved on! From looking at success in an Indo-Pak game as the be-all and end-all to enjoying the game, backing their team hard and beyond a point not fretting over the eventual winner. A case in point - the T-20 world cup final, after an enthralling battle the winner hardly mattered. Think for yourselves, when Joginder Sharma was bowling the last over, did you not think even if Pakistan wins I don't mind for both the teams have played out of their skins.

So, if fans no longer shoot their TV sets, suffer from heart attacks or vehemently hate players from the other side and look at them as aliens, it doesn't mean that interest in the battle on the pitch is dwindling. They've only grown to be appreciative watchers of the game. This welcome change seems to have mushroomed on both sides of the border. It only augurs well for the game. Cricket will never solve the Kashmir issue but at least frequent meetings are reducing the animosity like nothing else.

Agreed the just concluded ODI series failed to generate enthusiasm but the only palpable reason for that is a very lackluster Pakistani side. Pakistan came to India with series defeats in both tests and ODIs against the South Africans behind them and were naturally suffering from a low morale, it was very evident. While there were shades of the old Pakistani zing but the gargantuan abyss was only too prominent. A closely-knit and fighting Pakistani team would've meant the series would not just have gone down to the wire but also shut the cynics up.

While cricket between the two nations is definitely not fighting a battle for survival, it sure is struggling to make an 'Ashes' like place in the hearts of die-hard aficionados.

An Unfailing Affair

Rahil — Mon, 5 Nov 2007 02:20:12 EST

Early one morning, a first in a long time, Mother’s words reverberated in my ears, ‘Betaji, do you remember what the Sun looks like in the morning?’ Well, I had almost forgotten. Yellow. Circular. In the face. How it replenished early-risers with energy. Quickly brushing away diversionary thoughts that promised to bring back childhood nightmares, I focused on ways of reaching the Delhi bus stand. A favor from an unsuspecting, over-friendly neighbor got me to the border of Delhi.

As if the squeals made by birds were not enough, there were unruly, hoarse sounds emanating from the makeshift bus stand. ‘India Gate, Lal Qila, ISBT’, one of them promised, all at once. Pretending this to be my first ride, on one of Delhi’s deadliest machines, I innocently sought confirmation about ISBT. Once on the bus I found my way to a safe corner to catch up on lost sleep. But the driver had other plans. For the next one hour the driver chose to treat his passengers to a fresh-out-of-the-studio Punjabi song. ‘Mitaraan di chatri ton ud gayee’. The song played some 15 times. I got off the bus mincing harsh words against the driver. But the impact was profound I was now humming the communicable tune.

I made it in time for the bus to Rishikesh. My tryst with Gangaji was now imminent. This wasn’t the first though, I had learned from a family album of an earlier visit to Rishikesh and Haridwar. But in many ways it was the first. The magic that the word ‘Ganga’ had come to create was indescribable. It almost rushed a gust of fresh air, even in Delhi pollution, in me. The enormity of life and the smallness of our being, often, dawned on me, at the thought of the river. Rapt.

On the way to Rishikesh is the holy city of Haridwar. Just before the bus entered Haridwar, Gangaji started making momentary appearances, enthralling passengers. Looking around I saw people bowing their heads in reverence, in that one moment the greatness of the river, trickling down the Himalayas, was reinforced on me.

The distance between Haridwar and Rishikesh is all of 16 kms, travel time does not suggest that though. Once inside the city, and heading for Tehri Garhwal, I found Gangaji flowing in all Her splendor, enjoying an expanse that befits Her eminence. Just then the aroma of the place, as I had perceived, hit me. ‘I have arrived!’

‘A room with a view’, described the guy on the other side of the desk. Behind him was placed a big Lord Ganesh idol garlanded with fresh flowers. Any attempts at negotiating the room tariff were met with a disinterested look. Soon I parked myself in the ‘room with a view’. Gangaji took a curvaceous bend right in front of my room. She ran amok. Lying down in my room, quite a distance, from where She streamed, I could hear Her talk.

As evening took control I found myself at the Parmarth Ashram, on the banks of Gangaji. Swarms of people sat on the stairway. It was a splendid evening with dark yet to prevail completely. Gangaji, embellished with Diyas perched on big leaves, was now glowing with all Her splendor. Chants of mantras were now wet in the air. I made way to the bottom of the stairway and rolled up my trousers to submerge in the river. It was icy cold. While I sat there in absolute awe of the panorama in front of my eyes I couldn’t think of a more riveting moment in my life.

I moved along the banks of the river for sometime to find solitude and observe Gangaji more intently. Depositing my self rather comfortably on a rock, I swung my eyes across the landscape to register Her mood and urgency, yet again. The expanse that Gangaji occupied at this place was much more than what She managed elsewhere. Perhaps, because of which the fury in Her movement was absent but the pace remained. She streamed with sheer elegance; a smooth demeanor on the surface deceived the current underneath.

My chin firmly placed on my knees, I felt at home. Calm. Motionless. Pensive. Soon the town would go to sleep but Gangaji will not stop till She reaches Her destination thousands of miles away. Through those thousands of miles She wears various forms, appearances, moods but is revered in the same manner.

We are a lucky people, I think to myself, for we have been bestowed with wonders by a dozen. And what is life without wonders? At this thought I craved to converse with someone, to exchange views, to know more.

I looked around.

An astute figure was sitting some distance from me. With muted footsteps I closed on him. Draped in a saffron robe, a white thread ran across his chest. The austere look on his face deterred me from waking him out of meditation. That moment was beautiful and divine. A deep desire ran inside me to capture that moment so it could serve as a mnemonic to the setting on the banks of Gangaji. My camera was ready. But clicking without permission would be blasphemy. I sat close to him, observing his motionless body. Waiting!

Everything about this man seemed so immaculate. His erect body, studied breathing, braided tress, elegant beard which looked like an expanded V, and the constant slight movements of the lips. One moment he looked like a King sitting on his throne and the other an ordinary courtier. Calm on his face, that was easily traceable, posed many a question to me. Most of which were unanswerable!

An hour had passed and Gangaji was now peaceful and radiant. There was hardly anyone near us, the temple lights were dimming and the tintinnabulation seemed distant and dying. ‘It is a little late for you to be here’, he said, while I was surveying the surroundings. I looked straight into his eyes. The austerity was now complete. ‘Is it time for you to go home?’, I inquired. ‘I am already home, Gangaji’s course is my home’.

After much hesitation I sought permission to photograph him meditating alongside Gangaji.

A small smile appeared on his face.

‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘It’s perhaps the most pristine moment I’ve ever experienced’, I replied almost apologetically.

His lips expanded to form a wide smile. ‘Why don’t you take your own photograph?’

That question baffled me. He continued, ‘jaisee drishti, vaisee srishti’ or, as is our vision, the world becomes that.

‘There is goodness in you, reason why you see goodness in me’

‘It’s a simple world out there but we choose to make it complex!’

'I don’t like to preach but I encourage people to see the beauty within and outside and then paint them on one canvas. Your beauty becomes my beauty and mine yours. Together we make this srishti beautiful.'

Words, all of which still amaze me for their simplicity and depth.

In the course of my talk with Baba, a word that I still associate him with, I discovered that he was from Nepal and had made Rishikesh his home many years ago. He had a tale of his own which he chose to leave behind.

‘Gangaji gravitated me!’ he said smiling cherubically.

He told me about his trip to the source of Gangaji. Temples that spoke of Gangaji’s history, the union of Bhagirathi and Alaknanda, the piety of saints who lived in the most trying conditions near the Gaumukh glacier were all vivid in his mind and descriptive in words.

‘Ganga maiyya (mother) has taught me so much, I couldn’t ask for anymore, emotions, love, anger, fury, calm, discontentment, ecstasy she handles all with such panache and manages to enchant every one and spread an air of goodness around.’

We sat there for a long time celebrating our respective affairs with Gangaji. It seemed like a never ending night, which was not to be. Baba soon bade farewell, without a promise to meet again. He left me with a few words to live by, ‘every day I shall seek life and never end the search for the unknown.’

Gangaji was now bracing up for another sunrise, meandering, hitting the ghats with renewed fervor.

I quietly moved on. Seeking life.

Does Match-Fixing Still Plague Sub-Continental Cricket?

Rahil — Thu, 1 Nov 2007 09:07:25 EDT

Randomly voyaging through videos on youtube I landed on a video which showed the Pakistani team being felicitated, after their successful tour to India back in 2005. At the event Omar Sharif, the legendary Pakistani comedian, ribbed present and former Pakistani cricketers (Indian too). In the end he had a sane message for all cricket fans, that to trust the players and not rake up the match-fixing doubts every time the team lost a match. A noble thought and perhaps something that needs to be shoved down many a throat.

While I have always been one to quash doubts of rash friends every time they pointed out the probability of a match being fixed, I had an exception the other day. Pakistan vs. South Africa. I joined the match late in the second innings at the office gym; aware that this was the decider I half-heartedly went about dumbbelling my biceps while keeping a close eye on the match. The equation read 35 runs off 56 balls, with Afridi and Misbah at the crease, piece of chocolate cake. After the drubbing that Pakistan received at the hands of SA in the test series I really wanted Pakistan to win the one day series.

What happened over the course of next 20 minutes awakened the cynic in me after long. The equation changed from a comfortable one to being out-of-reach. The batsmen chose to defend when they should have opted for singles, worth mentioning here that the bowling was ordinary and lacked any sting whatsoever. Misbah even ‘well-left’ a couple of deliveries. And as the self-created pressure began to mount, he played an expansive shot and holed out to the cover fielder. The reasons for playing a shot like that are best known to Misbah, for it was an utter disregard of team requirements. Required rate was just under 4 then.

Gifted with a license is Shahid Afridi, license to play the way he deems fit irrespective of the match situation, he didn’t do any harm to that privilege by recklessly swinging at balls when all he should have done was keep the ball on the ground. After one swing too many he too got out playing a Misbah like shot only this time it was a spectacular catch. All this while the required run-rate was hovering between 4 and 5, a very achievable task with recognized batsmen at the crease. Perhaps, Misbah and Afridi wanted to finish off in style, by plundering the South African bowlers. Surely they knew victory would not just have sealed the series for them but made history of sorts, it would’ve been their first ODI series win against SA. Yet, they played the way they did.

With the tailenders at the crease Pakistan had their backs against the wall. And the chokers this time were in no mood to give up on the Biryani served on a silver platter, the tail was cleaned up in no time. Pakistan lost 6 wickets for 20 runs, when the pitch had no evil, bowling was no where close to being caustic, all the batsmen’s doing.

The on-field cameras liberally showed crowds in the stands, the disbelief was palpable. Shock was writ all over Pakistan coach’s face. A series win before the tour to India begins would have helped boost confidence levels. What begot this defeat? Reckless batting or burgeoning bank balances? Tough to make out; but raised eye brows? Aplenty!

Rahul Dravid - Cornering The Wall

Rahil — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 07:18:38 EDT

And the present now will soon be the past
The order is rapidly fading
The first one now will later be last
For the times, they are a changing

Words of significance? Dilip Vengsarkar’s pet these days.

Not too long ago Rahul Dravid was at the helm of affairs of Indian cricket. 45 days on, the same gentleman finds himself out of the Indian ODI team, 10,000+ ODI runs notwithstanding. The selection committee maintains Dravid has been 'rested' for the first two ODIs against Pakistan beginning next month. Even those who follow the game once in a while would know that 'rested' is a euphemism for dropped. Dravid’s exclusion comes on the back of a string of low scores in the last 8 ODIs. Reason enough?

Surely, one failed series is no indicator of a suddenly arrived old-age or the lack of class and hunger for runs, then what goes inside the minds of Vengsarkar and his men? Is it the Twenty20 triumph that has gone in to the selectors’ heads? Or, is it a genuine step towards building a team for the future? I suspect the former; it’s easy for the selectors to shrug off dismal performances of the past by blaming the seniors in the team. As one journo noted the prevailing attitude, if Zaheer fails to bowl line and length the seniors are to blame, if the team gets tonked for 300+ scores every time the seniors are to blame, if Yuvraj Singh drops a catch even then the seniors are too blame. (I hope our politicians aren’t yet aware of this.)

While there is no gainsaying the fact that Dravid, Tendulkar and Ganguly are at the fag end of their careers and sooner rather than later there will be a lot of hung boots, but does that warrant the treatment meted out to Dravid or the pressure thrust on the seniors? Indian cricket has been way too unpredictable on the field and its administrators equally autocratic off it, little surprise then the board is yet to find a suitable coach.

Rahul Dravid has always been known as the team man, who gave his all to Indian Cricket; when the time came to pay him back, Indian cricket turned its back on him, the least they could have done was to have faith in him. Sure enough the Bangalorean has a lot of cricket left in him and will make his way back into the team, but things like these leave a bad taste in the mouth.

The next time Sachin and Ganguly take stance, their minds will be pondering over what Mr. Vengsarkar has up his sleeve? Are we next?

Crowd Behaviour at Mumbai Wankhede Stadium - Disgraceful

Rahil — Sun, 21 Oct 2007 06:54:23 EDT

The Australians are headed back home after a heated tour of the Indian subcontinent. The one day series ended on a distasteful note with the ugly face of racism resurfacing, this time at the Wankhede in Mumbai. It is really unfortunate to see the Indian crowds behave the way they did at Vadodra and Mumbai, but what's more disappointing is the crowd behavior at Mumbai. One hasn't yet come out of the disgraceful affront of Sachin Tendulkar last year at the same venue, and now we have the Symonds incident.

Andrew Symonds was booed when he came in to bat, a ball later walked back to the pavilion and later at the post-match ceremony. Much of the jeering and racial gibberish was doled out by the seemingly educated sections of the crowd. Now, that puts a few things in perspective, one, Mumbai ain't no more the city that flaunts a compassionate spirit, two, a people that can boo its own home-grown hero can boo anyone. Perhaps, it's time to look at other cities which better display the Indian ethos and don't ridicule their own image.

While mindless Indian fans counter the treatment meted out to the Aussies as only just given their aggression and use of unkind words on the field by them, but does that give us a license to racially abuse a sportsperson or for that matter anyone? Such people and the likes of Sreesanth need to realize that the best way to stand up and be counted is performance on the field.

One can only wonder if such an incident were to happen with an Indian player in Australia what would have been the reaction of a billion people, effigies would have been burnt all around, uproar in the parliament, not to forget, 'headless chickens' on various new channels would have spent hours dissecting the racial abuse of a hapless Indian player and how the developed world is plagued with racism.

Mumbai and its people have unfurled their ugly side. The Indian cricket board, ironically based in Mumbai, would do well to keep Mumbai off the cricketing calendar for sometime to come.

India's National Anthem: Jana Gana Mana - Care to Stand Up?

Rahil — Fri, 19 Oct 2007 02:53:04 EDT

Jaya hē jaya hē jaya hē, jaya jaya jaya jaya hē. Tears stream down one more time, my heart swells with pride. My association of long with the anthem at once comes back to mind, the greatness of my dharti gladdens my heart, and my being suddenly is a mirthful-privilege.

Growing up in a small town in Punjab, my first encounter with the Indian national anthem was in primary school. I did not understand the words, ‘It’s a poem, sunny boy’, maa affectionately elucidated, ‘written by one of the greatest poets our country has ever produced’. She continued, ‘He’s oozing his love for the motherland’. I was too young then but old enough to notice the twinkle in her eyes. So enchanted was I that I got her to write the whole poem for me, on a piece of paper, so I could memorize. For the next few years, the paper found solace in my school bag, my shirt pocket, and study books in exam days, eventually finding a house for itself on my room wall. It still resides there, moving only when its owner visits it in several months.

Later, in senior school it was a daily ritual at the morning assembly, sung by the music teacher and her band of young, passionate (somewhat shrill) teens who chronically looked towards her for help with the high and low notes. Every one loved it. A strength of 2,500 sang with them, filling the air with clouds of passion. Love for Jana Gana Mana was heartwarming and ubiquitous. But things don’t always stay the same.

Once out of school and amidst the ‘cool’ generation the opportunities to stand in honor of the anthem only dwindled. And the few opportunities that came were shameful acts of reluctance and disrespect. It’s a great hurt, for an ordinary patriot to see fellow citizens refuse to disseat when the anthem is played in cinema halls and drawing rooms. The obstinacy is quite known, so much so that in a recent movie moments before the national anthem was played the subtitles read, ‘The national anthem will now be played, you are supposed to stand up’

Yet, one saw people looking around to see if indeed they needed to stand up.

I have seen movies where the national anthem was played and a handful of people stood up while the rest looked bemusedly at them. Is it a matter of being ashamed of our own language, our culture, our history? It certainly seems so. While reluctance towards religious rituals is understandable, not because it is fashionable to call oneself an atheist these days, but because religion is a matter of personal choice and best kept in private considering we live in a multi- religious society. But why this indifference towards nationalism? Isn’t it supposed to bind a nation together? Isn’t the national anthem an evoker of nationalism?

Other than a game of cricket that unites this nation of a billion, which too is purely because of sporting reasons and not any other, nationalism is a species that has lost its essence and now borders on extinction.

It is only inane to question the obsession with things un-Indian for then we venture into the devil’s territory which vociferously proclaims freedom of choice. But we need not look anywhere else; citizens of the same countries we obsess ourselves with are perfect examples of patriotic conduct.

While endless surveys might suggest Indians as the happiest people on Earth, they will never quite be able to highlight us as nationalists like the Japanese. I am often reminded of the example cited by my principal in school, 'Japanese, when posed with the question, Buddha first or Japan, without a blink said Japan'

We go on in our lives, content with fat salaries, branded possessions, cricketing ecstasy, and foreign vacations, contributing little to the nation aside the forced taxes. Least that we can do is respect the national anthem, is that too much to ask for? Perhaps, yes from most!

Oh Gurudev, don't cry, for we deserve not such a poem!

When the Sensex Betrayed Sachin

Rahil — Sat, 13 Oct 2007 10:10:54 EDT

(Caveat: If you think Sachin should not be in the Indian team anymore, stop, don’t read any further!)

The economic reforms, political turmoil, interspersed cricketing glory, IT supremacy, and robust economic growth, India has seen quite a bit, changed even more, all this in the last two decades. Through this eventful journey if there was one hero that Indians, unanimously, came to love and respect it was, and to a certain extent still is, Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar.

Besides his on-field achievements, what has endeared us Indians to the Bombay Bomber has been his humility and statesman like qualities.

Countless paeans have been written to glorify him, but what the Times Of India did more recently was a totally different, yet interesting, take on the master’s journey, ‘Sensex hits 15K, tracks Sachin - yet again’, comparing his career chart with the rise and fall (repeat) of the Bombay Stock Exchange (BSE) Sensex. Both, in their own way, have captured the imagination of millions of Indians.

Let’s dwell a little more on this relationship.

In the initial stages of the marathon, the Sensex walked shoulder to shoulder with the Bombay Bomber, though both were rather sluggish, the former wedged in the clutches of the 'closed' Indian economy and the latter trying to cement his place in the arena.

Fewer ODI matches and low-scoring games, in those days, meant Sachin piled up ODI runs at a slow pace while the Sensex was beginning to reap the benefits of the now famous and well-understood economic reforms of 1991. But the master’s brilliance didn’t take too long to come to the fore and in a few years time Sachin assumed the leader’s role comfortably leaving behind the Sensex that was now on the decline owing to the political instability in the country and uncertain economic policies.

The Sensex remained in awe of the maestro for the next 10 years; Sachin made merry, Sydney to Sharjah, Johannesburg to Port-of-Spain. Once the 10,000 runs barrier was broken any thoughts of a meeting of the two Indian obsessions were imaginary.

Then came year 2005, the Sensex started trekking on a different trajectory, one that put it back in business. Soon enough it leveled with Sachin, July this year, going on to assume, what now looks like an unassailable lead.

At Vadodara, Sachin stepped on the field for his 400th ODI match at age 34; if only time was on his side the Sensex with all its vagaries would’ve been a target in Sachin’s orbit. Nevertheless, the journey has been remarkable to say the least, while the stock market has had its fair share of blemishes, Sachin has managed to stay clear of them.

The recent brouhaha over his retirement and the outrageous media campaign to force him (along with Dravid and Ganguly) into retirement, though completely pointless as no one knows better about the right time than the legend himself, has certainly evoked thoughts of a looming vacuum that faces Indian cricket once the master hangs his boots. Runs will be scored, wickets will yet be taken, Indian team will still win matches and bring glory to the nation, but the sheer joy of the ball disappearing from the master’s willow, the undying cherubic smile, and the mischievous googlies will fade into memory.

One can only hope to marinate all that comes from the master in the coming days. While the Sensex strides on toward the 25,000 mark it will surely miss its companion of long!

Sreesanth, Indian Cricket's Enfant Terrible

Rahil — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 05:34:03 EDT

A week away from cricket is a sure one-off but sometimes a welcome change, for it helps you grow in the eyes of your family. For most fans and erstwhile aspirants it is unthinkable to let go an opportunity to see an international match in the thrilling environs of a stadium. Mine was a gargantuan sacrifice. So, while I journeyed the south of the Indian peninsula, testifying my sacrifice in the larger interest of my travel-hungry siblings, India played Australia at Bangalore.

It poured heavily in Bangalore. The match was abandoned. The guilt was now off me and I was able to enjoy the remaining part of our trip. While I trundled along the east coast, the Indian team headed towards the west of Bangalore to the coastal town of Kochi. And rains decided to chase them there too.

The rains stayed away on the day of the match this time. But everything else was the same, the intensity, Indian batting, Australian fielding, and last but not the least the verbal duels. Aussies need no introduction when it comes to sledging and neither does a certain Mr. Sreesanth.

Sreesanth and his theatrics were apparent yet again, this time in front of his home crowd. Not a good enough reason for his rather embarrassing and foolish display of aggression. Obviously the Kerala lad has made enough money, reason why he cares little about fee cuts and perhaps none about impending match bans.

His on-field behavior is no more seen in the same vein as it was when he danced Kathakali alongside an ever so garrulous and annoying Andre Nel, after hitting him for a six, which ironically was a slap for the excessive gutter dished out by Nel. Ever since, this enfant terrible of Indian cricket has been uncontrollable for almost everyone.

Surprisingly, there haven’t been too many people from the Indian cricketing fraternity who’ve chided the erratic fast bowler. Some one needs to knock some sense in to his head, a thin line between bravery and foolishness, between aggression and infantile behavior. Sreesanth knows none.

His supporters (not a surprise, all current players) put up a weak defense for him, citing his exceptional talent (yet to be seen) and ability to swing the ball (now, was that really on display in England?).

Considering the fact that his performances at best have been average, the Indian team could well do without this on-field embarrassment. As for Sreesanth he can look forward to displaying his theatrics in his first Malyalam movie!