VVS- that artist dude next door

For a man as unhurried as he was at the batting crease, VVS Laxman left in a flash of lightning. From murmur to confirmation, the story of his exit traversed less than a day. Allowing little time for the cricket board to fathom the right response, leaving his family in shock and condemning cricket writers to turn over rapid copy on a figure they had grown accustomed to describing at leisure. 

In the breathless emotion that followed his departure, one word has dominated the discourse: 'Artist'. Admittedly, it captures the Hyderabadi well, as the shape and form of his batting was justifiably artistic. The magnificence of Laxman's presence at the crease has been captured with much eloquence by writers more gifted than this one, so to attempt another such tribute would be foolish.

I have though been compelled to wonder in these last few days how a 'sporting artist' must find definition. For those of us who watch sport from the outside, it is essentially about appreciating angles. The 'artist' journeys us into the unreal, the unfathomable. He is Diego Maradona with a football at his feet. He is John McEnroe with a racquet in his hand. He is Shane Warne with a cricket ball in his palm.

Think angles- think Laxman. An out-swinger starting off-stump must be caressed through point or cover. Laxman would find mid-wicket. A leg-break aimed at the base of the front pad isn't destined for the extra cover fence. Laxman would caress it politely towards that destination. Think angles- think McEnroe. How the wrist would flick the forehand across court with a feather touch. Think angles- think Maradona. How the precision pass would dissect the defense. Think angles- think Warne. How once the batsman lost sight of the ball it would turn violently to crash into stumps he felt were safely protected. Angles- Laxman- Artist.

But we digress. For a man of such blessed gifts, Laxman was an oddball really. Being a maverick of sorts is acceptable, almost expected, in 'sporting artist' territory. The 'artist' is well aware his gift is a wonder. It evokes awe and applause, forces grown men to squeal and allows him excesses and intemperance. The shackles of discipline or the borders of acceptable conduct are not for him. For the impossible angles he conjures on the sporting field, the 'artist' feels entitled to transport the same off it.

Laxman was a startling contrast to the stereotype. I remember asking him once if he regarded himself as an 'artist'- carrying the legacy forward of Jaisimha and Azhar. He replied, radiant smile never leaving his face, "Not at all. I am in the team to score runs. That is my job. I am a batsman". Laxman was oblivious to his dazzle. He was miracle angles on the field, right angles off it. He was an oddball.

Laxman was bestowed with an unreal practicality. He was able to divorce emotion from both his thought and decision making process. At 17 he knew a successful career in medicine was his for the taking. Cricket was a considered punt- taken after consultation within a family that was ingrained in academia. He set himself a five year limit to discover where the game would take him. Or else, there was medicine.

A conversation with Laxman, both on and off the record, was always a chat between equals. There was no aura to his presence, only candour. I remember interviewing Laxman when he completed a hundred Tests and asked if he ever felt upset at not being considered for India captaincy. His response was incredibly logical, "Look, if you see the guys who were my contemporaries- Sourav and Rahul, both were slightly senior to me. By the time they were done as captains, a new leader had to be groomed. So I could completely understand why I was never made captain". There was no space for bitterness, only a pragmatic recognition of the times he played in.

There were regrets as you would expect, but Laxman developed an uncanny ability to mask those. Not playing enough one-day cricket and a World Cup were on top of that list. "Anyone who is dropped expects to be given a reason why he was dropped. I was never given a reason", he told me once. Where was the need for a snub, he was arguing, when a conversation would have sufficed? Perhaps, I might have been convinced, had you only tried- Sourav, Rahul, John?

It is for this unflappable poise that Virender Sehwag likes calling Laxman "Sai Baba". In a disarming conversation once Laxman said how he found it difficult to explain to his son why he wasn't in any commercials on TV, when all his other 'uncles' were! I never spotted a trace of envy in his voice, even when he talked of how he willingly gave up the status of icon player for the Deccan Chargers; forsaking a massive amount of money so the franchise had more to spend on purchasing players. A couple of years later the same owners dumped him. When his new IPL home Kochi went under, I asked him, what now? He chuckled, "We all go into the auction, but no one will want me!" There was a near pious sarcasm to those words, no rancour even as he gazed correctly into the crystal ball.

When I scroll down the directory in my mobile phone, I find numbers for a stream of player agents; the bridge between us journalists and superstar cricketers. Except I don't have one for Laxman. Why? - Because he doesn't have one! If he calls you, the screen doesn't flash "private number calling" as is the case with most prominent Indian cricketers. He probably doesn't even know how to activate that service! On the morning of his retirement, I felt privileged to get a call from him- "Press conference at 4pm today Gaurav, I will be announcing my retirement. Thanks to you and your channel for all the support". My voice quivered in response, his was stoic.

I remember one other incident with fondness. While my crew was setting up for an interview at his Hyderabad apartment once, the power failed. So we waited and Laxman waited with us. A few minutes later, he casually strolled into the kitchen and served water to the entire crew in little steel glasses! There was no gimmickry, just what you would do when there were people sat in your living room!

In the ordinariness of VVS Laxman's world, cricket was just something he did. Beyond it, we were all just your every day people. As a man destined for medicine, he perhaps had no appetite for the joys of poetry. He could inspire it among the followers, but never succumbed to its seduction himself. That Laxman is still around of-course, and he is Very Very special. The artist may be gone, but the regular dude, well look him up if you are ever in Hyderabad!