Nudging the hundredth run of his innings, Karun Nair did not forget the figure that mattered more to him. After waving his bat at the audience — a poster scribbled, ‘Karun the Vidarbha Rock’, fluttered in the mild breeze — he raised nine fingers towards the dressing room, stressing that this was his ninth hundred of the season. Five in the Ranji Trophy; four in the Vijay Hazare. Or was it directed towards the selectors sitting in the adjoining box? Conspiracy theorists swung into (mis)interpretation mode.
“It was actually meant for the side-armers. I had told them about getting my ninth hundred,” he explains. A pause and mischief kicks in: “But you could take it whichever way you want,” says Karun, chuckling in the joy of an unbeaten 132 that has effectively sealed the Ranji Trophy for Vidarbha. The hosts have progressed to 249/4, the lead stretched to 286 at stumps on Day Four.
Whoever the intended recipients of his celebrations were, his broad willow has already ferried the message of resurgence in the currency of runs and centuries. In every domestic tournament this season, he has compiled a mountain of runs — 255 runs at 42.50 with a strike rate of 177 in six SMAT outings, 779 at 389.50 in eight Vijay Hazare Trophy knocks and 860 runs at 57.40 in 16 Ranji Trophy excursions.
The latest was arguably the most endearing of them all. For several reasons; because it was etched in the final, the conditions were arduous, the bowlers incisive in bursts, and the last act leaves a lasting impression in memory. Even after the season ends and fresher memories consign the past to oblivion, posterity (maybe even the selectors) would associate the edition with Karun. The season of Karun Nair, it shall be remembered. Like it was the season of Mayank Agarwal six domestic seasons ago.
Whether the body of work facilitates a Test comeback — the dream that fuels him — is uncertain, he wouldn’t repent that he had fought as hard as he could. “I’m not the person to make those decisions,” he says with disturbing modesty.
The final was the crescendo. He was crushed that a run out ended his first innings at 86, he threw his bat in a rare show of emotion. “The hundred was there,” he says, sighing. But in the second coming, he was resolved to reach three figures (his second in a Ranji final, the other a monstrous 328), extend his team’s supremacy and extinguish the flickering embers of Kerala’s fightback. “Few people gets the opportunity to bat in a final, so I look to make the best of it,” he says, almost degrading an average of 135 in Ranji finals.
The 132 not out captured all the virtues that had resuscitated his crashing career. Out of Karnataka, of the national selectors’ mind, his triple hundred against England reduced to an academic trivia, Karun was on the verge of becoming a forgotten man in Indian cricket. “It was easy to give up, but I decided to fight,” he summed up his comeback mantra before the final.
His fight raged on for almost the entire Saturday. The day was only 15 balls old when he strode in, his team reeling at 7/2, the surface prone to wanton mood-swings, and Kerala bowling with fire and energy. His fight is hard to quantify, because he leaves no footprint of it. He did not crumple his shirt; the trousers, crisp and white, left no trace of the red pit he was batting on. Unless you watch him, you wouldn’t realise the battles he waged.
It’s because he carries a sense of peace and control into the middle. He resisted tempters outside the off-stump from Nidheesh, akin to the one that deceived Dhruv Shorey. When once he did, and the ball moved away, his soft hands and the clockwise tilt of the bat face at the last second ensured the edge dropped fast and flew along the ground. His defensive robustness led to Jalaj Saxena’s withdrawal from the attack. Occasionally, he played and missed. But unlike batsmen of inferior temper, he did not brood on those aberrations.
He realised the folly of looking to survive. The lead was still meagre, and he quickly essayed a pair of punchy cover drives to reduce the mounting pressure. “It was difficult, but we were just looking to survive and score as many runs as possible, and to not think too far ahead,” he says.
Feeling of impregnability
The shots were not manufactured, but when the bowlers erred, ever so slightly, he latched on. Slowly, he drilled into Kerala bowlers a feeling of impregnability. Akshay Chandran spilled an unputdownable catch at slip, Jalaj grazed the shoulder of his bat with a spitter, but Karun batted as though nothing untoward had happened. That no matter how much the deck or bowlers allied, he would remain unshakeable at the crease, batting as long as a triumph was assured. When Jalaj tried to land the ball on the same area he had the ball spit, he reverse swept, picking the ball almost from his front pad, in line with the off-stump.
His was a masterclass on blunting spinners on a semi-turner. He defended with incredibly low hands, read the flight adeptly, moved late but decisively. He did not sweep or step out for the sake of it, but only when those measures were required. He relied more on clips off his legs, taps through the off-side, and glides behind square-leg as old-fashioned spin virtuosos dealt spin.
He chose moments to counterattack. Without any hints, he jinked down the track and smeared Aditya Sarwate for consecutive sixes either side of the sight-screen. He resumed his grinding ways, as though he became a different person altogether. Even after the hundred, the trophy almost sealed, he batted on, as though he wanted to score every run that could be scored, every run that could take him closer to regaining the lost paradise. The message of resurgence has already been delivered.
Vidarbha's batter Karun Nair celebrates his century during the fourth day of the Ranji Trophy 2024-25 final cricket match between Kerala and Vidarbha, at Vidarbha Cricket Association (VCA) Stadium, in Nagpur, Saturday, March 1, 2025. (PTI Photo) 
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