How I will always remember Sehwag

As Sehwag retired, the Internets buzzed with lots of pictures with quotes, some of which were probably actually said by Sehwag, others good old urban legends that tend to float in the meme-sphere these days. I've read about his triples in Multan and Chennai, his monumental double in Galle, his 293 at the Brabourne and even his 195 when he holed out trying to hit a six in Melbourne. I don't want to comment on those. I can't add to all the adulation that's been forthcoming and I sincerely doubt that I'll be able to better anything that's been mentioned about those innings.

Instead, I'll focus on the first place that my mind's eye took me to when I thought about Sehwag's career. For no particular reason, my brain has latched onto four deliveries from a fairly nondescript day during a series that I think all of us have forgotten. Why it made such an impact on me, I don't know. The series in question was the second Test between India and South Africa at that most gorgeous of cricket grounds - the Eden Gardens. This was the second of a hastily arranged two-Test series (yes, two-Test series - why do we have them anyway?) that India and South Africa ended up sharing and we all went home happy and probably never gave it a second thought. And yet, as I think back to that time six years later, there were two events on that day that made more of an impression on me than I realised at the time.

It happened during India's first innings when Sehwag was joined at the batting crease by his idol and the person that you cannot help comparing him to, no matter how much your better senses warn you against this odious act. And yet, I couldn't help myself then and I cannot help myself now. The casual observer cannot not be blamed for not being able to tell one from the other. The same stocky build, the bottom-handed grip and the swagger that only utmost confidence in your ability can bring. Sehwag was slightly taller and somewhat more upright as he took stance, of course, but we won't get into the technicalities of the thing. It was like watching Sachin and that other Sachin at both ends of the cricketing pitch - some sort of 90's schoolboy fantasy.

They both went on to make centuries and India ended up winning that Test by an innings and some change, and Sachin and Sehwag had a mammoth double-century stand. In the middle of this stand, Wayne Parnell was bowling from one end and there was one spell in particular that, to me, summed up why Sehwag was, in fact, his own person, and not the other Sachin. I'll focus on four deliveries in particular in that spell. These may have been delivered in different overs and I can't exactly remember; I am older than I'd like to think.

Ball one: Wayne Parnell is bowling left-arm seam round the wicket with your typical Test match field - no inside-out field business of modern captains. Anyway, so he bowls at Sachin at good pace and the ball pitches in that arc where cricket coaches of all ages would tell you that you get onto the front foot, toes of your left foot pointing in the direction that you want to send the ball to, transfer the weight forward, try not to leave a gap between your bat and pad and caress the ball gently. No need to use your power, just use the pace of the ball and use your wrists to coax it gently into its rightful place (in your mind, anyway) beyond the boundary ropes. And that is exactly what Sachin did. It is as gorgeous a cover drive as you could hope to see, right out of the MCC coaching manual. The left elbow cannot be more straight if it's been chiseled out of stone.

Ball Two: Similar sort of line, but slightly shorter length - probably good length. Sachin decides to stay on the back foot and shoulders arms to let the ball sail harmlessly through to the wicketkeeper.

Ball Three: Probably the next over, Sehwag is on strike. Parnell bowls the exact same line and length as Ball One. However, in this instance, there is no transference of weight, there is no goading the ball to go anywhere. Viru plants his feet exactly where they were in his stance, extends his arms through the ball and smacks the living daylights out of the thing. He orders the ball to go beyond the boundary, and it does. There is no poetry here, this is carnage. Parnell looks like a lost lamb.

Ball Four: Again, Sehwag is on strike and he faces a similar ball to Ball Two. It is as goodish as good length deliveries go and the MCC manual would advise one to gently tap it back to the bowler or let it go, the way Sachin had. But there is one minor detail - Sehwag probably hasn't read the MCC manual and he doesn't give a damn. He does not make any attempt to cover the line of the ball. Instead, he plants his feet (again), extends his arms (again), gets on his toes slightly and gives it the full humpty. He doesn't bother keeping it down. It flies at the height of about 1.5 Morne Morkels, takes a bounce and thuds into the boundary.

To me, these four balls summed it all up. Wright Thompson wrote this fantastic piece about the perception of cricket to an American and tried to delve into the phenomenon that is Sachin. Of course, Sehwag got a significant mention. He said it aptly - Sachin is the son of a poet and Sehwag, the son of someone who sold wheat and rice. Sachin batted like it was an art form. Sehwag batted like it was a necessity. He only cared about getting the ball from point A to point B, conventional wisdom be damned. Of course, I say this in the best way possible. Watching Sehwag bat was nothing short of ecstasy.

And that is how I will always remember Sehwag. Metaphorically tearing down every cricketing manual, page by page. Making bowlers seem helpless. There will be others with a better technique, with a more proper way of making contact with a cricket ball. There will be others who score more runs than him, make more centuries. But trying to capture the essence of Sehwag in numbers does the man a grave injustice. He was all about the junoon you felt (there is no word in the English vocabulary to capture that sentiment) while watching him bat. Carelessness, madness, arrogance, passion. He got bums on seats and eyeballs glued to the TV screen. Isn't that what it's all about? Thanks for the memories, Viru!