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The Indian challenge

Mahesh Bhupathi.

Every year around this time, just past New Year's hairpin bend, the city's discerning, sports loving public replaces its dancing shoes discreetly with tennis ones, and steps on to the SDAT Nungambakkam courts to catch some of the world's best sporting action live, at the Chennai Open.

Getting sporty, however, doesn't imply that they won't dress up for the occasion.

Prakash Amritraj.

Women preen and pout under the floodlights, sitting absolutely erect and applauding more self-consciously than the Queen of England, in the vain hope that the noodle strap will, by some miracle, remain on that bony shoulder. The men seem stranger: clearly, some of them haven't worn those cream or beige shorts in a year, which explains why they are now trying to suck in their breath instead of focussing on the sport in the true tradition of couch potatoes. A couple of youngish looking chaps are, most inexplicably, wearing a blazer and a tie; perhaps they sincerely believe they should dress sharp at all times, even if they are choking in the humidity.

Whoever it was that said, "Death is, but a metaphor in sport", hadn't overdressed before watching it, obviously — but to be fair, sport might appear a little irrelevant, as your vision blurs and you keel over.

The tennis here can be exhilarating, actually; except it's a little masochistic for the Indian fan (as opposed to the Indian fan). Not that it should bother us much, for patriotism is too often the boorish excuse cited to exercise those vocal chords.

Even so, as a society, we have tolerated mediocrity — indeed, celebrated it — for far too long; and not surprisingly, only about half- a-dozen Indian players have managed to break into the ranks of the elite since the time of the classy Ramanathan Krishnan. That's a grim judgment, certainly; but the proof is out there and in your face.

Strictly mathematical

Harsh Mankad.

Krishnan's son, Ramesh, himself one of India's finest tennis players, is at the stadium today. He believes there is no secret to performing well. "It's strictly mathematical, isn't it?" he reasons. "Our players are struggling today to make it to the qualifying rounds of Grand Slams. I remember one year in the early 1980s when four of us made it to the singles main draw of Wimbledon. Obviously today, there are more countries, which means, you have more competition. But you need to be prepared enough."

It's always the usual story; if only we could cut out the self-righteousness for a second, we would realise that the potential in a billion people is ultimately worth very little, if the talent doesn't convert itself into tangible results.

Things aren't looking any different at the moment. Out on Centre Court, an ageing Leander Paes is receiving a hiding from a young kid from Chinese Taipei. Paes is arguably India's greatest doubles exponent, but the Davis Cup star has not played a singles match in ages; he looks rusty and has already lost the first set in next to no time.

Little has gone right for the Indians, so far. Prakash Amritraj had some great volleys during his first round match but lost against a much higher-ranked opponent. Only Harsh Mankad played well and made it to the main draw.

For a Monday evening, the SDAT Nungambakkam stadium is pretty crowded. Granted, this is the biggest event of its kind in South Asia, but the past few editions haven't exactly recorded massive audiences or anything.

Mahavir Jain, a city-based businessman, is here just to enjoy the tennis. He says he's more of a cricket fan; he doesn't miss too many Test matches at Chepauk.

Leander Paes.

"I came here thrice last year. Again, this year, I'm thinking of coming on three or four days. I just want the game to be good, I don't mind if Paes loses," he says, nodding in the direction of the player. With almost superhuman resilience, the Indian has managed to take the second set into a tie-break. "Of course, I'd love it if an Indian player were to win. I think Paes and Mahesh Bhupathi should have stuck to playing doubles together; they were such a source of pride to us." We break off for a second as Paes lunges for a heartbreakingly beautiful crosscourt volley, and gasp in awe at his unquestionable skills.

Paes approaches the net one last time to finish off a weak return, but loses the match one point later, after he hits one long. At the post-match press conference, Paes doesn't appear as concerned about losing the match as he is about the recent devastation caused by the tsunami waves — and rightly so, too.

"You kidding me?" he laughs incredulously, eyes wide open, when someone asks if losses like these still hurt. "I've survived three disasters in my life, including 9/11, when I was in the basement of one of the towers 15 hours before it happened. I'm just glad to be alive.

"As one privileged to be a national icon, I believe it's my duty to do whatever little I can to help these people," he says — and you really do believe him; he's that kind of guy.

And, that's why it hurts to see men like Paes lose; for it only reinforces the counter-myth that nice guys don't necessarily finish first.

Some facts