The Selfish Patriot
The turbulent Sourav Ganguly may have been the least
gifted of the Fab Four but, in some ways, his quirks took him
the furthest. SURESH MENON assesses a complicated legacy
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Father's
pride: Ganguly with daughter Sana
Photo: Reuters |
WE DO NOT speak ill
of the dead or the recently retired; in fact we swing the other way and
call them ‘great’ without embarrassment. Ever since he announced
his retirement, Sourav Ganguly has been elevated to greatness, but the
fact is he gained by association. If Sachin Tendulkar had to be brought
down a couple of notches to fit him into the so-called ‘Fab Four’
group, then Ganguly had to be pushed up a couple to settle alongside Rahul
Dravid and VVS Laxman.
Ganguly was not a great player, but he
was a significant one in the context of
Indian cricket as its most successful Test
captain. Great players are not necessarily
significant, nor significant players necessarily
great. Barry Richards is an example
of the former while Arjuna Ranatunga is
an obvious example of the latter.
In the early 1990s, two players
emerged from contrasting backgrounds.
In Kolkata, Ganguly, born in
the lap of luxury (even the silver spoon
in his mouth was actually gold) began
to serve notice. Across the country in
Mumbai, born the same year, Vinod
Kambli lived in a slum, struggled for
existence and was beginning to discover
that cricket could be a way out of
the poverty. What they had in common
was the ability to bat left-handed.
At that stage, any self-respecting
sociologist would have told you who
would be the bigger success — Kambli
— arguing, “The slum boy has the
greater hunger, more desperation and
the crying need to climb out of his circumstances;
the rich lad is a spoilt brat,
too used to having everything drop into
his lap and will disappear very soon.â€
Yet, while Kambli is virtually forgotten
today (despite making double
centuries in successive Tests, he is best
known as Tendulkar’s school friend),
Ganguly, who made his Test debut three
seasons later, played over 100 Tests and
finished as one of the finest batsmen
ever in one-day cricket. And, surprisingly,
for one with a reputation for selfishness
and inability to see beyond the
tip of his Mercedes, a captain successful
both statistically and psychologically.
Such contradictions have been a
guiding force in Ganguly’s life. It is a
Ganguly trait to overturn comfortable,
preconceived notions of what ought to
be. He took the clichés of the sport and
reshaped them. If cricket was a gentleman’s
game, he delighted in, metaphorically,
drawing a false beard on its face or
tweaking its nose. If turning the other
cheek was expected of those who were
slapped, he was happy to show the
other cheek, but not the one on his face.