Ducking the Bouncers

I once asked Shobhaa De, all decked up as is her wont for the release of one of her umpteen books, ‘‘Aren’t you a better story writer than a story teller?’’ She gushed and then gurgled something to the effect of having a bad throat. I knew I had her stumped by a mile. But to put her at ease I bought her book and went up to the dais to have her autograph. I don’t think I would feel the need to put Javed Miandad in the same bracket as Shobhaa De. He is no literary figure, for starters. And all his stories and anecdotes revolve around ‘‘I’’, and are meant purely for a feudalistic male-oriented society. Honestly, I wish Javed had not fallen into the trap. There is a possibility of all his greatness as a player coming to nought for the generation whose only source of information about Javed Miandad would be his book. How the mighty can be petty! That is how they become noticeable. In poor light, if I may add.

Javed rose to fame from a very average and petty (read humble) background. Having climbed the peak, it appears Javed has been unable to shed his upbringing. Which is sad. If you are born human, there is no room for any complex — inferiority or superiority. In his story, Javed has taken all the pains in the world to be superior. And finished up a loser. I feel hurt because my hero was a king with a bat but he has turned out to be a pauper with a pen. Never mind the ghosted grammar. The fact that Tony Greig has written a foreword to his book means little as Javed never stops harping about the advantages of being white-skinned.

In one breath, the man talks about his Pakistani pride and the ridicule of his nation’s cricket understanding. But seriously, Javed takes the cake when he complains about umpiring in West Indies, Australia, New Zealand and, of course, India. We have heard of the pot calling the kettle black, haven’t we? He doesn’t talk of cricket with or against India. His version is ‘Wars with India’, a very poor reflection indeed of the mind of a giant sportsman who is expected to mend fences, not crack them. Javed has had a lighthearted go at Dilip Doshi, once again in poor taste. Hitting below the belt is certainly not cricket.

In his over-zealousness to protect his own rearing, Javed has completely forgotten the meaning of self-esteem, which need not come with an Oxbridge education. But education, any education which involves going to school or university, does help. Sadly, on this count, many an outstanding Pakistani cricketer has come a cropper. Almost a patent laughing stock of his equally ignorant colleagues. My mate in Northampton Mushtaq Mohammed has fed me so many gaffes from the Pakistani dressing room, it is not real. The poker-faced Javed Burki was the biggest mickey-taker of all time in Pakistan cricket. Just as well, Miandad didn’t play alongside Burki.

On a more positive note, it is awfully kind of Miandad to offer unsolicited, albeit sane, advice to India’s cricket administrators to prepare fast wickets to unearth fast bowlers. Yet again the tiny dynamite is slightly off the mark. Pray tell me are all the wickets in Pakistan fast and bouncy? Is it the bowler or the wicket who generates pace? In a similar tone, I have often argued with reference to the spinners, is it the bowler or the track who turns the ball?

Fast bowling is an aggressive attitude. And along with wrist spin (leg break or chinamen), the hardest job in cricket. For which we Indians are temperamentally ill-equipped. Fast bowling is all about explosive energy and enormous will to take charge and dominate. Yes, had we Indians all these qualities then that last-ball six off ‘‘poor Chetan Sharma’’ could well have been a different tale and robbed the cricket world of great drama.

To be fair to Javed Miandad, there is a lot of substance in his story. Except that it is in quite chaotic order. More off-the-cuff variety. Well, it is reasonably clear that Javed has not done sufficient research on Miandad. Maybe his ghost Saad Shafqat has been just that. And no more. And yet if Saad Shafqat derives more mileage by simply scratching the exterior of Miandad and not getting to the bottom of a phenomenal Pakistani, it would be a travesty of sorts.

For me, Javed Miandad is not merely a great batsman. He is a sum total of lasting human excellence, unparalleled competition and forever an irritant opponent who would get under your skin to create a comfort zone for himself. He is a fairly complicated character really, worth writing a paper for a doctorate degree. Tell me how many Pakistanis would be willing to take that arduous journey? Perhaps the only one I can think of is the inimitable snob called Omar Qureishi. A fine cricket person and a great scholar. But a lovely snob all the same. However, I am not too sure if age is Omar’s ally. Or his brute British mental make-up would allow him the liberty of dwelling on Miandad J.