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How do you offer someone any more prestige, when they have been bestowed upon with an entire country’s endless love already? In addition to taking Indian cricket to new heights and shattering records, Mahendra Singh Dhoni and Suresh Raina managed to define the childhood of an entire generation.
In most Indian households, including mine, an Indian cricket match is no less than an opportunity to cook a lavish meal and invite some friends over. My parents allowed me to skip school on match days–not their shining parenthood moment, but you get the drift. As we gorged on homemade biryani, we yelled at the television in hopes that the umpire will reverse his (apparently wrong) call. Since the mid-2000s, our most passionate screams were always reserved for when MS Dhoni and his on-pitch better half, Raina proved their worth on the ground, whether that be behind the bat, ball or the wicket.
As much as we love him, Dhoni had his ways of getting under our skin. It was almost frustrating to look at him in all his composure with undeterred focus as the opponent flung the ball beyond the boundary with zero contact with the grass. I remember asking my father as a tween, “Why is he just standing there like that?!” to which his propitious reply used to be, “Just you wait.” In the following moments, I would watch in wonderment as Dhoni’s victory plan played out.
When he assigned the last over in the all-important 2007 World Cup to Joginder Sharma against a dangerous Misbah-ul-Haq, I was ready to bid the Cup goodbye, switch off the TV set, and spend the rest of the day recuperating. Probably, the most-questioned man at the time, Dhoni always proved that his decisions are not based on whims, but on confident calculations. I watched the screen through the gaps between my fingers as the final over panned out, I gaped in amazement as the most exciting win unrolled. That day, the country learned two things — that we need to trust our captain, no matter what, and that the captain trusted his players, no matter what. The latter, however, proved far more important over the years.
‘Captain Cool’ sometimes made statements that stayed with me and many of my friends, too. Once, at a press conference, to a most-casual question, “Does frustration get you and your team anywhere?,” he replied, “Of course not.” A not-so-common answer but a fact as simple as this appeared believable to us only because Dhoni had said it. Something about that question flipped a switch in my mind, which later on helped me push through some extremely stress-inducing situations all through college. His idea of locking the fear in a box and refusing to move ahead with its burden motivates me to date.
In school, when we had had enough of ‘hand-cricket’, we used to spend our free periods discussing the best Indian players, and one name that remained fixed in that list was of Suresh Raina. We just knew that this man plays for the love of playing the sport, and nothing else — or, at least, that was something we felt as fans. In 2011, when he saved the day in various crucial matches during the World Cup, we would thank all the gods for his presence.
As kids, we would just be in awe. Sometimes, his outstanding performances would lack the glamour and appeal attached to 25-run overs and strike-rates of 170 which would leave us with a false sense of his contributions. Luckily, as we grew older, we were able to realise just how imperative his skills were for Team India.
Whenever I think of the final moments of the 2011 World Cup and the wicked sixer from MS Dhoni, a rather unconventional visual stands out in my mind. Instead of thinking about the real hoorah! moment, my mind wanders off to the instant when I had seen Raina jump up in celebration with sheer joy illuminating his face as the camera spanned to the players’ room. As excited as I was about the win, his unconstrained excitement put a fairly wide smile on my face.
Watching the two on-screen was like magic. Sometimes, the aroma of the pakodas kept in front would disappear as would the awareness of my surroundings. Some uncle in the back was sure to exclaim, “Come on yaar, Raina!,” just as the ball inched towards him at a god-almighty speed. Their mutual understanding was a thing of marvel. A call for two runs stood for what it meant, with neither of the two questioning it. As the required run-rate eased upon them, we would wait to see them loosen up and have a little bit of fun. The playfulness would sometimes overshadow our eagerness for the win and provide us with the little comfort we didn’t know we needed.
It is also a well-known fact that even if one does not support the Chennai Super Kings in the Indian Premier League, the respect for the powerhouse duo remains constant. In fact, it brings about fear in the fans of the other teams. The team I support could be down six wickets in the first five overs, but as soon as those men walk out on the field, something in me would make me automatically get up on my feet and chant their names. Luckily for us, we will still be able to do that for a little while longer, at least.
The announcement of their retirement hit me hard. These are the men that taught me how to pave the way to victory but also take defeat with pride. They taught me that leadership is not a gamble on your team members, it is rather a display of your faith in them. A partnership does not just mean working well together; they showed me that it is allowing the other to push the boundaries and believing that they will take you along. They set an example of how respect between you and your sport goes both ways and that discipline can offer you more accolades than a flashy attitude. One exemplary performance after another, these two set the bar high almost every time but took responsibility each time they didn’t reach the mark.
MS Dhoni and Suresh Raina are no less than superheroes I watched growing up. Their retirement feels unnatural, and there will never be a way in which I will be able to thank them enough — not just what they did for the sport, but also my childhood.
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