There was a time when any reference to Kapil Dev evoked the image of a toothy smile, slightly awkward but never out of place in the spotlight. Whether he was hitting an edgy straight six at the Adelaide Oval, bowling a batsman through the gate at the Eden Gardens, running backwards to take a catch at Lord’s, or describing the qualities of a shaving cream with token Punjabi thrown in, the smile was almost permanently pasted on his face.Then — when the match-fixing scandal broke out — the vision changed dramatically. Kapil became associated with teary eyes, a quivering voice, and relentless sobs, following his BBC interview after he had been accused of taking money to sell out the Indian team. Now, 21 years after the smile, and eight years after the bawl first became famous, we’re slightly confused about what image to remember one of India’s biggest icons by.It’s easy to fathom how enormous Kapil’s aura would have been had he played cricket in post-liberalisation India. He was a star when the sport did not lead to instant explosions of national pride and national shame, when heroes were not born and cremated overnight, and when the public frenzy rarely spilled on the streets armed with garlands or kerosene.Today, Kapil is the chairman of the Indian Cricket League. Whatever noble intentions the ICL gives for its existence — making Indian grassroots cricket stronger, creating bench strength — these are just some of the possible by-products of the league, not the reason behind its creation. At the end of the day, the ICL — started by Zee’s Subhash Chandra — is about making money. And, let’s face it, Kapil has not taken up the assignment for charity.The BCCI’s response — a dictatorial black-out of everything to do with the ICL — is what any monopoly does to crush a potential threat to its empire. It has decreed that a player associated with the ICL can never play for India in the future — a decision that the international players’ association is fighting tooth and nail to repeal.But the board exposes its arrogance the moment it tries to undermine Kapil’s credentials as a cricketer. It has stopped his pension, sacked him as chairman of the National Cricket Academy, and the latest act — having the former captain’s poster pulled down from the Mohali stadium — will leave the BCCI with no friends outside its corridors of power. After all, the IPL — created so quickly only to counter the ICL — had already done its job. The point had been made. Was there need for anything more?The hesitation to felicitate the 1983 World Cup team on their 25th anniversary, just because Kapil was the skipper, had anyway not shown the board in very graceful light. Kapil, unlike what many people think, is not a simpleton. His cricketing success came not just from his earthy instincts but from methodical planning. He knows what to say and how to conduct himself in a war of words and public posturing. With him suggesting that his memorabilia in the Mohali museum be returned, the attempt to erase him from public memory is leaving the board with egg on its face. India has the right to decide whether it wants to remember Kapil’s cross-batted pull, his leaping delivery stride, his disarming smile, his desperate howl, or some or all of the above. The board is trying to make us forget him, and that just can’t be done. More than anything, the whole episode is a stark portrayal of how high-handed India’s cricket administrators are. If they can behave in such an uncharitable manner with Kapil, what hope do his ICL recruits, the Ambati Rayudus and Shalabh Srivastavas of the world, have? Every kid who steps on the field with dreams of one day playing for India has to ensure he never rubs officials the wrong way. What if they get displeased? Runs and wickets are secondary. He must toe the line, or else.
