by Arunabha Sengupta
His wizardry with the willow has resulted in plenty of poetic plaudits. One could hardly restrain the lines from matching the exquisite flow of his batsmanship when he got going.
Hence, instead of repeating all that, I will limit my article to one solitary stroke that has, for me, demarcated him from all other stalwarts of this and other generations.
Styled in the Hyderabadi gharana of wristy genius, VVS Laxman stepped into the large shoes of Mohammad Azharuddin. After shuttling up and down the order for a few years, but soon outgrew the illustrious footwear.
While possessing every bit of the silky elegance on the onside, he was distinctly more assured than Azhar through the covers and could play the same ball to mid wicket or extra cover based on the whims of his will and wrists. At the same time, on faster wickets, he outshone the earlier artist almost as the sun outshines pretentious street lamps.
A significant reason for his success overseas was the way he dealt with the short ball. Bar a madcap period in the mid-1990s which saw a sledgehammer carting them past square-leg, Azhar generally negotiated the short balls on fast wickets with a simultaneous jump-duck or a cross-batted swipe, more reliant on luck and wager than timing and placement. Laxman, on the other hand, did have an impeccable pull shot which kept fastest bowlers from pitching too short too often.
While the pull embodied exuberant energy in case of Tendulkar, rationed use of elegant efficiency in case of Dravid, occasional bludgeon in Sehwag, shut-eyed waft at self-preservation in Ganguly, in Laxman’s case curiously it was an extension of the exquisite artistry in all his other shots. Timing and wristwork all the way.
When Laxman essayed a pull shot off the fastest bowlers, there was none of the savagery associated with a hammer blow by a Mathew Hayden or the arrogant ferocity of a Ricky Ponting. The body moved into position with the customary lazy elegance and the stroke was as wristy as his flick through the mid wicket – and as effective and devoid of risk.
In the 2010 Mohali Test against the Aussies when he famously won it for India by one wicket, the transcendental brilliance of the stroke was in evidence. Ben Hilfenhaus pitched short. Laxman went back and rolled those wizard wrists over the ball, placing it with impeccable precision between the two deep fielders, the patrolmen guarding deep midwicket and deep square-leg almost running into each other. Artistry and efficiency in the face of utmost pressure.
Poetic yet potent offerings in the face of peril. Some compared his rescue acts to symphonies conducted with ambulance sirens in the background. However, I don’t think that it was strange. The most poignant of art, we must remember, comes from the dark pits of distress.
We often saw this same very, very special soul struggling for self expression when the going is smooth and there were lots of runs on the board. On these occasions, he dropped his paintbrush for the more austere workman’s tools and sometimes looked like the proverbial fish out of water. But when stakes were raised to tipping point and the opposition placed demanding challenges for his creative batter’s mind, he was often motivated into mystical brilliance, a sight fit for gods.
Laxman, with all his genius, knew the limitations which kept him from clearing the fence too often. Even when six were needed with the last man in, there was never a desperate attempt to aim for the stands. Unlimited in versatile artistry, he was fully aware of the boundaries of his calibre which limited his over-boundaries to five in all test matches. In fact, the only occasions when Laxman looked ungainly at the wicket are when he tried cross-batted cow-shots in IPL.
However, genius is rare. Let me recount one of these rare occasions which stick to the memory. There are strokes that a cricket lover cannot forget. The straight drive of Tendulkar, Brian Lara threading the leg side with a vertical bat, two legs off the ground.
And that moment of mesmerising magic by Laxman.
It was a short innings of 32, made from 30 balls, a miniature masterpiece if there ever was one, on the fast and furious Bloemfontein wicket against Pollock, Hayward, Ntini, Klusener and Kallis.
In the 9th over, with India at 20 for one, Pollock ran in and bounced. Laxman, with a seeming eternity in his hands, swivelled, languid and lissome, and dismissed the ball off his face. The effort was minimal, the fuss non-existent, the batsman’s eyes hardly followed the ball once it had been removed from his presence. The red cherry sailed all the way, over the boundary board behind square leg and into the crowd. A short ball on a fiery wicket by one of the best fast men in business almost lovingly caressed away for a six! A contradiction in terms?
But it is precisely this distinction that made Laxman the very special magician that he was, a conjurer who could brighten the drabbest of days with a wave of his willow wand, an artist who carved masterpieces on the canvas of a green oval with silken brushes of his bat.
VVS Laxman was born on 1 Nov 1974