Very, very special memoir

281 and Beyond 
 

VVS Laxman with R Kaushik
 

Westland Sport, Rs 699, 309 pages







Cricket and statistics are inextricably linked. Any sport for that matter is about numbers, but this marriage is all the more rigid in the case of cricket. And that is why certain numbers just stick to certain cricketers — milestones etched in 24-carat gold that sometimes go on to define entire careers. With Chris Gayle, it will forever be 333; for Anil Kumble 10/74; for Brian Lara 400 not out, or perhaps 501, with another asterisk against the great Trinidadian’s name. And in the case of VVS Laxman, that rarefied figure will always be 281.

Mr Laxman did some tremendous things with the bat throughout his semi-legendary career — think the 167 against Australia in Sydney, the 73 against the same opposition in Mohali, a most improbable 107 versus Pakistan in a long-forgotten one-day game versus Pakistan in Lahore — but the 281 that rattled and stunned the formidable quartet of Warne, McGrath, Gillespie and Kasprowicz in Kolkata 18 years ago this week will perennially be recalled with immense fondness, a walloping batting ballet that was the definitive denouement of Aussie supremacy in the new millennium.

It is little surprise, then, that Mr Laxman’s autobiography, co-authored by cricket writer R Kaushik, is called 281 and Beyond. How far he went after the exploits of Eden Gardens 2001 is still disputed — his style sometimes delivered little substance in subsequent years, and there is a valid, underlying argument that Mr Laxman’s career perhaps did not scale the heights his talent once so evidently promised. His status as an ordinary limited-overs players and a Test average of 45 — not middling by any standards — naturally denies him a spot among India’s batting royalty: Tendulkar, Dravid, Gavaskar, Kohli, Sehwag et al.

But what Mr Laxman lacked in consistency and reliability, he made up for in manner of performance. An old-school stylist in the Mohammad Azharuddin mould — the fellow Hyderabadi was also his hero growing up — Mr Laxman’s shtick and artistry warmed the purists’ hearts like nothing else. Giving the charge to the spinner and whipping him through mid-wicket, or dancing down and dispatching him inside-out through cover are the kind of Laxman hallmarks that still trigger the most sublime imagery even after all these years.

281 and beyond is a special book on a few counts: it presents Mr Laxman, mostly reticent during his playing days, and insufficiently articulate as a broadcaster, in a new light. He is refreshingly eloquent and manages to recall every little detail of his life, right from the moment he had to choose between cricket and medicine as a 17-year-old to how he was feeling the morning he decided to announce his imminent retirement from the game. Mr Kaushik’s writing, smooth and infused with some exquisite sentences, makes this all the more readable.

Somewhat ironically, the best parts in 281 and Beyond feature Mr Laxman’s days as an ODI player, a format that his velvety skills never quite mastered. Talking about his infamous struggles in the field (he was a terrific catcher, though), Mr Laxman writes: “I would be the first to acknowledge that I wasn’t the fastest man on the park, or the most naturally athletic… I also agree that I wasn’t the quickest between the wickets. My body structure and various knee and back injuries played their part, but those are not excuses, merely an acceptance of the reality.”

Mr Laxman may have belatedly accepted his embarrassing dearth of athleticism, but his exclusion from the squad for the 2003 World Cup, where India made the final, clearly left him a broken man. In hindsight, there is little denying that Mr Laxman was cut a rough deal. Dinesh Mongia, the man who took his place, obviously offered skipper Sourav Ganguly an additional bowling option at the time, but was devoid of the match-winning qualities that Mr Laxman — only 28 at the time — possessed in such abundance. Moreover, the two games that sealed his fate — nine and 20 against New Zealand away in late 2002 —  also saw the entire Indian batting line-up floundered.

Despite the acrimony, Mr Laxman appears as someone unwilling to hold a grudge. Towards the end of the book are moving, beautifully crafted passages about each of his famed batting companions: Sehwag, Dravid, Tendulkar and Ganguly, teammates that he should have been with on that plane to South Africa in 2003. Of the time when Sehwag — still just four ODIs into his international career — boasted about how he would become the first Indian to notch up a triple century in Test cricket, Mr Laxman concedes: “My jaw dropped and I stared at him in astonishment. This guy wasn’t anywhere close to Test selection, and here he was, making the most outrageous of claims”.

And while 281 and Beyond may not be anything like Sehwag’s bellicose batsmanship, it does have one very Sehwag trait: it is brutally honest. And that, coupled with the cuts and flicks that helped Mr Laxman become so famous, make it such a rare delight.