SEHWAG's sudden rise demonstrates it is possible for a player to capture the imagination of the nation through one terrific effort. Before the murderous hundred in Sri Lanka, Sehwag was just another promising player, someone on the fringe trying to break through to the top. The 6th fastest century changed that, he became the latest wonder - and enthusiastic persons drew parallels with the reigning God of Indian cricket, Bhishmpitamah Tendulkar.
While newspapers/networks went wild, by running all kinds of reports and digging up trivia about him (roll number in class, details of bus taken to school) only Chandu Borde remained unimpressed. "What is so special?" he asked. That the selectors were not swayed unduly was confirmed when the five wise men did not pick Sehwag in the Test squad. Well played, lad, the selectors said, but here is your ticket back home. Go back to Najafgarh, East Delhi, rejoin ONGC, wait for the wickets to dry once the South West monsoon retreats and cricket resumes on dried tracks.
The point here is not what happened to Sehwag but our attitude, there are two basic issues here. One, we get taken in easily by the promise of youth, any sign of an emerging star is an exciting proposition. This is how Indian cricket works, this is how the Bombay film industry works. One punishing hundred and a person is compared to Ganguly/Dravid/Sachin. One technically sound innings and comparisons are promptly made with the incomparable SMG. One box office smash (Tusshar Kapoor, in whatever film he starred in) and hopes are raised about a new superstar.
While hailing new talent, we invariably, and hopelessly, go over the top. Reactions to success and failure are extreme, in either case reason is a casualty. Achievements are inflated and the status of performers magnified so outrageously that undue expectations are built up --and when these are unrealised, as they must, a severe backlash of disappointment results.
An explanation exists for such behaviour. As a nation, Indians are starved for success, there are not enough inspirational role models around. So, if heroes don't exist they must be fabricated because how long can one prostrate himself before the Bachchan and the Khans, the Tendulkar and the Ganguly? The army of Miss World's have limited shelf life, they fade away quicker than newspaper headlines. The only durable icons are sportsmen and film stars -if the system does not throw up fresh Gods, someone must manufacture them.
Creating a star at the drop of a hat is an Indian obsession, at the first hint of anything significant all stops are pulled out to let the hype flow. Normally this special treatment is reserved for batsmen; bowlers, in comparison, are given step motherly treatment. Laxman and Harbhajan, for instance, contributed equally in destroying Australia, but Laxman walked away with disproportionate glory. He became the bigger star, hence commands more media attention and gets a higher price for endorsements.
Such pro-batsmen discrimination is not new, this inequality is an established feature. Cricket's hierarchy is fixed: Sachin, Lara, Jayasuriya, Steve Waugh are greater stars than McGrath, Murali, Wasim, Donald. The only real exception to this social order is Shane Warne (Kapil and Imran also, earlier) but his megastar status is due more to a colourful lifestyle (covering a wide spectrum from phone sex to love for pizzas) and forceful personality than magical bowling.
To an extent, the second rate status of bowlers is reflected in our response to Nehra. Despite making a significant impact on the last two tours, he is not a celebrity and remains an ordinary foot soldier, a loyal but unheralded jawan. Nehra is not surrounded by publicity, we have not been informed about his childhood and there are no queues of sponsors wanting him to endorse colas.
All this when he worked more than most batsmen, and overcame a serious foot injury by undergoing surgery in England, which he paid for himself. Despite this physical pain and the trauma of bowling on unresponsive pitches, Nehra did not lose hope. Instead he bent his back, pushed weights in the gym and angled the ball across the right handers to induce mistakes.
Sehwag and Nehra may receive dissimilar treatment but they share many things. Both are gifted players, both represent the new breed of Indian cricketers climbing to the top without an army supporting them. Neither went through top coaches or collages, they came up on their own steam without Godfathers who pushed the right buttons at the right time. They are part of India which dreams of cricket in the night and spends all day trying to fulfill that dream.
This hypnotic hold over the youth is Indian cricket's greatest strength. Cricket sucks youngsters into the game, makes them slog like slaves, forces them to strive for excellence. All over the world, sports bodies attract talent by offering them juicy lollipops. But in India there is no such problem; we are a country, as Suresh Kalmadi ji says repeatedly, of cricket and more country.
Given this scenario, the cricket Board has to do nothing, it is not required to move the smallest muscle. There is no junior programme to speak of, no cohesive coaching scheme, no facilities for training, practically no development activity - yet the Sehwags and Nehras roll of the conveyor belt. And millions like them rise before sunrise, without setting an alarm, to catch the early morning bus to train before school starts.
Cricket is a batsman's game but the selectors hold a brief for the oppressed/suppressed/depressed bowlers. When it comes to picking players for Tests, Sehwag is pushed aside on the ground his technique is suspect. When it comes to one-dayers, Das is not considered good enough for some equally mysterious reason.
But, unlike batsmen, bowlers are rarely slotted into such watertight categories. Minor mercy, isn't this?
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