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Journalism of Courage
As a dense fog of complexity envelops the board during the Candidates game between Ian Nepomniachtchi and Hikaru Nakamura, the faces of the two men in charge of marshalling the 32 wooden pieces betray their inner thoughts.
Here’s Ian Nepomniachtchi, planting his palm on the side of his face, seemingly struck by how he’s allowed the game to get so complicated. He mutters to himself. Scowls at his pieces. He wears the desperation of a man sitting on a ticking explosive trying to guess which wire to disconnect. He looks skywards, as if beseeching Caissa, the goddess of chess, for inspiration. He plants both palms on his temple as if trying to block his thoughts from leaking out. He lowers his head to stare at the board from a different angle, hoping for a fresh perspective. Now, he buries his head into his folded arms, seemingly taking a nap.
And then, it’s the turn of his opponent, Hikaru Nakamura, to put on a performance. He’s spent just five minutes blitzing his first 22 moves while his opponent is down an hour on the clock already. But Nakamura’s opening prep — the lines he learnt this morning — finally gives way. It’s time to think about his next move carefully. He swings his head from one side to another. His face scrunches. He’s put in all that meticulous opening prep, and yet, his opponent is not floored. He holds his head with both hands, looking like a man who’s gambled away his house. He throws accusatory glances at his pieces as if they have been up to some tomfoolery in his absence from the board.
Even though the Round 7 game of the Candidates peters out in a draw, it produces gripping theatre that is rare in the impassive art form that is chess. There are a handful of players — Vidit Gujrathi and Magnus Carlsen being the others — who tend to wear their hearts on their sleeves when they compete, bleeding emotions as they play.
Before he left for the Candidates, Vidit had told The Indian Express how he had taken efforts to not let his body language sag during games. His sports psychologist had told him to steer clear of the classic head-in-hands pose. At the Candidates, though, results have been unkind on Vidit. He has found himself in time trouble over and over again, and every once in a while his visage betrays the pressure he is feeling within. The palms cradle the head. On the day, while playing against Nijat Abasov, he’s in control of his emotions.
A few feet away from the expressive Nepo, Nakamura and Vidit sit India’s Praggnanandhaa and Gukesh. Gukesh is in a winning position against Alireza Firouzja. Praggnanandhaa is holding his own effortlessly against Fabiano Caruana, the World No. 2 who is among the favourites to win the event. But if you looked at both players, you wouldn’t be able to decipher the situation of the game. The Indian teenagers have expressions that haven’t changed since the game started hours ago.
However, with the finish line in sight, Gukesh lets go of his advantage and loses to Firouzja under time pressure. It’s a brutal, psyche-bruising defeat. In another sport, equipment has been destroyed for much less; walls have been punched; abuse has been screamed. What does Gukesh do? He covers his face with his palm as that mask of un-emotion slips, if only for a few minutes. Then, despite his own heartbreak, he remembers his manners and extends his hand to congratulate the winner. He resumes mourning. Then, he composes himself, fills out his scoresheet, signs it, folds it neatly. Then, he arranges the pieces on the board in their starting order before eventually walking away.
It’s a rare display of emotion from the 17-year-old. At a recent dinner hosted by Viswanathan Anand at his home for India’s Candidates contenders, Gukesh bragged about his acting skills under pressure on the board. He pointed to the game against Parham Maghsoodloo in the final round of the Prague Masters 2024 where he’s losing and knows it. But his opponent doesn’t.
“He (Gukesh) looked so calm. I was looking at him, he’s dead lost. Parham was thinking about his next move, so I understood he’s missing (the winning move). But there’s no reason for Parham to be unhappy. But Gukesh takes a sip of water, goes to the restroom and comes back. He’s walking casually. Then sits at the board, relaxed. No panic at all. And when Parham misses the move, we were both laughing at each other,” said Praggnanandhaa in a video of that dinner posted online by Chess.com.
Pragg himself is equally emotionless in games, even if opponents claim that they’ve found a little giveaway in his demeanor when he’s winning.
“Little Pragg, he had this thing at some point — there was a meme about it too — where he would drink a sip of water when he would have a winning position.I played one match against him where I lost a couple of games. It was very unpleasant. You already know you’re about to lose and at that moment, he takes a sip of water,” GM Anish Giri once said in an interview.
Ask Pragg’s long-time coach RB Ramesh if the teenager consciously focuses on aspects like body language during games in his training, and Ramesh says: “We don’t waste time on such things.”
For many, though, it’s a part of the process.
Just watch a clip of young Magnus Carlsen facing Garry Kasparov for the first time at a 2004 tournament in Reykjavík for a lesson on body language. The baby-faced Carlsen at this stage is a promising up and comer in the sport, but not yet a grandmaster. Facing him is Kasparov, the World No 1 armed with menacing intensity. The Russian makes Carlsen wait at the board, arriving late. So the boy wearing a hoodie for the biggest game of his career to that point wanders off to look at other games in the playing hall.
Kasparov eventually strides in, throwing glowering, drill sergeant looks that would make a lesser man shrink. Carlsen simply takes his spot across the Russian and moves his pawn to d4. At various points during the game, Kasparov does Kasparov things. He widens his eyes. He shakes his head. He bangs his pieces. He dusts off something invisible off the board. He broods his moves.
These are acts meant for the opponent’s consumption.
Viswanathan Anand, who played many games of significance against Kasparov recently spoke of the effect Kasparov’s body language could have on players. He played a rapid game against the Russian in Geneva, where Kasparov did some of the same things he tried against Carlsen.
“I got the full monty. He also had this Nepo habit of grimacing when you made a move he wasn’t sure about. He’d really make it obvious to you. You’d always think: is he gaslighting? Is he trying to mess with my head. After he grimaced at a move I made, I would often think, ‘I hope I haven’t embarrassed myself.’
“At some point, when he was deep in his calculation, his fingers would come out and he’d look like he was counting. He’d remove his watch when he came closer to a win and take off his jacket. But that was one of the advantages Vladimir Kramnik had against Kasparov, he was totally unaffected by all this showboating. Kramnik just didn’t give Kasparov the measure of respect that we did,” Anand recollected during commentary at the Candidates.
So, how does the 13-year-old Carlsen react to Kasparov’s playbook of intimidation?
As Kasparov puts on an act, Carlsen peers at him with mild curiosity, but gives away nothing. At some point, he turns in his chair and starts checking out other games. So what if it’s against the greatest player in the sport. He walks off to look at other games, leaving the glowering Russian by himself. Playing against one of the greatest players ever, Carlsen is not intimidated. He’s not questioning himself. He’s just bored.
