Thanks for the Dadagiri

If Indian cricket is Bollywood, Sachin Tendulkar is its Amitabh Bachchan, who refuses to age or wane and M S Dhoni, its SRK – the urbane, glib-talking heartthrob.

I bet he’s not going to like this but Sourav Ganguly has been its Mithun Chakraborty.

Daily chores over, rickshaw-pullers, labourers, coolies and small shopkeepers throng dingy theatres in nondescript towns where Mithun badmouths baddies before battering them thrice a day. Script, storyline, cinematography, music – everything else is secondary. Week after week, they cheer every blow Mithun lands on the villain and whistle every time he shakes a leg with a buxom beauty.

Ganguly has been as much a hero of the hoi polloi, the messiah of the mass, who could identify with his brand of leadership. Indeed, few knew better how to involve, incite and ignite public minds.

And the touch of Bollywood is too unmistakable in his comeback as well. Pushed to the brink of the precipice by a gora villain, the post-interval session sees the hero clawing his way up to punish the baddie and settle score.

In many ways, Ganguly reflected the ambition and aspiration of a nation which, bankrolled by a burgeoning economy, dreamt of entering the big league, demanding equal respect.

Fans shared his wholesome hatred for prevailing norms, which suggested cricket is played between two sides but won only by Australia. And when he took his shirt off in Lord’s hallowed balcony and hurled a mouthful back to Flintoff, it was virtually a collective catharsis for a nation which had stopped turning the other cheek.

Indeed, if Dhoni & Co are speaking an aggressive language on the field, it was Ganguly who had laid down its grammar.

And as the man walked into sunset with a trail of eulogies and effigies, bouquets and brickbats behind him, few acknowledged his contribution.

It’s not the 18000-plus runs he scored, mostly through the off-side of which he was the God. Neither is the fact that he taught how to win Tests abroad. Nor is it about instilling aggression in teammates.

Most importantly, Ganguly restored faith in public mind and upheld its integrity, thus helping cricket survive a potential disaster, a splitting of the game and its followers.

Ganguly inherited the team at a time when Indian cricket was struggling to shed the match-fixing slur. Every dropped catch set the tongue wagging, every dismissal was dissected in hushed tones and every outcome was seen through a veil of suspicion. It was clearly cricket’s darkest hour.

To his credit, Ganguly established the integrity of the game and a secular India embraced cricket as its religion.

In between his fairytale Test debut and Bradmanesque exit, Ganguly was never the best batsman around, neither statistically nor aesthetically. And still Ganguly on song ranked among the most beautiful scenes in cricket.

Few incurred so much hatred, and fewer got the love that came his way. Much more than just a cricketer, Ganguly was a character, whose exit leaves the game poorer.

Tendulkar’s greatness doesn’t trigger debate, Dravid’s persona doesn’t strain friendship and Kumble is a genuine sweetheart.

In contrast, 16 years of ceaseless scrutiny has yielded precious little and jury is still out on whether Ganguly is the saint or the Satan.