The Hindu : Sport : When once is good enough

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Friday, Dec 02, 2005

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When once is good enough

On that day, Viswanath was in an exalted state as he composed an innings of infallible majesty, writes Nirmal Shekar

And then we left the ground, a touch dizzy, almost in a state of trance, and talked about it through the evening and night. What about that exquisite square-drive that appeared to redefine batting perfection? Or, that breathtakingly improbable flick off the hips which mocked at a fiendishly quick delivery? And, then, that majestic straight drive that saw the ball race to the sightscreen in the blink of an eye?

And so we talked and talked and talked. Were they real? Or was it all a cricketing version of a P.C. Sorcar magic show? Were they merely cognitive illusions? Was I dreaming on that January afternoon at Chepauk? Were we all dreaming? Or, maybe we were transported collectively to another plane of reality which is no reality at all?

And so we talked through the evening and night. Thirty years on, we are still talking about it, still talking about that innings.

In the entire history of Test cricket, few innings falling short of the three figure mark might have given as much cause for celebration as did Gundappa Viswanath's unbeaten 97 at Chepauk against Andy Roberts and Co. on January 11, 1975.

Innings of a lifetime

It was truly an innings of a lifetime — not so much from the point of view of its gifted little creator as from the viewpoints of those lucky enough to have witnessed it from the stands at Chepauk.

Such blinding brilliance, such astonishing creativity, such daring and such compelling evidence of genius! We saw it once, and once is enough...once in an entire lifetime.

No replays. No viewing the electrifying bits and pieces of the great magic show from eight different angles. Wherever you were in the stadium, however limited your view, there was no mistaking that cameo for anything but what it was — a masterpiece from a virtuoso conductor of batting orchestra.

The great Andy Roberts was breathing fire on a bouncy track. The Indian batting, predictably, was quickly down on its knees, seven gone with just 76 on the board. Karsan Ghavri hung around a bit, lasted 40 minutes, a defiant Bishen Bedi stayed in the middle for 43 and, believe it or not, the peerless B.S. Chandrasekhar faced the barrage manfully for quite a while, taking 38 minutes for a solitary run.

All the time, at the other end, the great little man composed, rather than played, an innings of infallible majesty even as we shook our heads in open-mouthed wonderment from time to time. The line between the possible and the impossible moved a little on that unforgettable day. And it has never been stretched that far since, not even when the incomparable Sachin Tendulkar was at his best — which, in Chepauk, he almost always is — in these parts.

Roberts, Boyce, Julien and Holder — not a bad attack on a fast-bowler friendly pitch. Yet, with those patented square cuts and glorious flicks, the little master reduced them to an awe-struck brand of helplessness.

Pure instinct

These days, coaches forever talk about the value of "thinking players". Little do they know that conscious thought is actually a rude interference when it comes to an innings such as Vishy's. For, this was pure instinct, a creation unsullied by thought, purely a work of nature, of natural talent.

On that day, Viswanath was in an exalted state that the psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls a "flow state". Perhaps that's what Van Gogh was in when he painted Sunflowers, perhaps that is the elusive state Michaelangelo was in when he created David.

Those of us who watched that innings were halfway there too, so absorbed in the flow that we were suddenly self-forgetful. Truly extraordinary sporting action does that to you, although today we mostly go through a dumbed down form of that rare, life-enhancing experience with all the hype and the replays on TV.

This is an age where, thanks to 24/7 television, everybody has seen everything everywhere, especially when it comes to popular international sports. And everything has been seen at least 12 times, thanks to all the replays.

Vishy's magic show was seen but once, at least by this writer. But that once is enough to relate to anyone the true meaning of that sublime experience. It was an afternoon when high art and pure entertainment coalesced to produce something genuinely transcendental.

That day, the many became one — the performer and the performance, the viewer and the action viewed, the hunter and the hunted. It was an almost mystical unifying experience never again gone through by anyone in Chepauk.

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