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Journalism of Courage
In this match of excesses, Anil Kumble does not have the numbers. On the brink of India’s first Test victory on Pakistani soil, he does not have the flamboyance to contain the occasion. Look for him when — if! — India are wrapping up their celebrations, he will probably be at a distance, capturing the moment on film.
A haul of six wickets and more on an unexceptional track is the bare minimum expected of the Karnataka leggie. But it’s in unexceptional circumstances that character reveals itself.
Match-winning performances in situations of extreme adversity are difficult enough. Yet, they go eulogized. Brilliance while wielding every possible advantage is equally rewarding, the favourable configuration brings overwhelming results that keep statisticians in business and enthusiasts in raucous applause.
But it tests a sportsperson’s character when he must sally forth in indifferent conditions, his quiver holding restraint and endurance. Kumble’s eight wickets in Multan thus far (six in the second innings) are testimony to an uncommon resolve.
His second innings six for 71 speak of a remarkable hold on reality. This Multan track offered Kumble nothing. ‘‘It is a placid track,’’ he said at the end of play. ‘‘What we have achieved is thanks to the huge score (put up by the batsmen). It put enormous pressure on the opposition. There are still no cracks.’’
Think about it.
This is the second consecutive match against Pakistan in which Kumble has removed both openers, in which he has claimed the first two wickets of an innings. It has been the leggie’s burden that he has gone about his job so unobtrusively that his accomplishments seamlessly melt into the match summary.
Critics love to deride Kumble’s place among great spinners. He doesn’t turn the ball much, they say, once a batsmen gets a measure of him, he can be played away like a medium pacer. His epitaphs have been composed more times than can be coherently counted. Yet, he has repeatedly struck back.Perspective is his greatest tool, and he has come back each time in a manner commensurate with circumstance. Take just three matches. In 1999, at Ferozeshah Kotla, he brought India right back into the series with a 10 for 74.
In Antigua 2002, with whispers audible that it was time for Kumble to stop traveling with the team, that his guile was too transparent on away tracks, he bandaged a broken jaw, and bowled just enough to leave everyone guessing what could have been in that hopelessly arid fixture.
In Multan today, he paid respects to an unresponsive pitch by living within himself, by eschewing any variations and exertions beyond the track’s tolerance.
Actually, take a fourth as well. In Port of Spain that 2002, he was omitted from the playing eleven at the last minute. Stories of his sulks were drifting back to the subcontinent.
The victory celebrations in Trinidad were a little damp for many supporters of Indian cricket, one of its most dedicated sons had been snubbed, after all.
Today, Kumble says in his treasured piles of photographs, the favourite must be one he took when India won that April day. To seek the provenance of his dedication, perhaps that’s the Test we must return to find out why he’s special, to understand what returns him again and again to quiet heroism.
