The apathy towards cricket ran deep in Jharkhand, with even parents of school-going children never expecting schools’ sports coaches to groom their sons as cricketers.
Thus, with the sporting fraternity focused almost entirely on hockey, it was quite natural for Keshav Ranjan Banerjee, the cricket coach at the DAV Jawahar Vidya Mandir school in Ranchi’s Samli neighbourhood, to not expect any cricketing wonders from among his students. He, in fact, rarely discussed the game in the class. No one will respond, a waste of time, he often told himself.
Worse, he had standard instructions from the school principal, a die-hard hockey enthusiast, that the boys should be encouraged to play hockey. If they rebelled, football could be considered. If that did not work either, the school – argued the principal – would push for badminton, volleyball, or even basketball.
Banerjee, who wanted to push cricket, did not argue. “I am a soft- spoken person. Even if I do not like what I am being told to do, I will rarely argue. And in small towns, teachers do not have the guts to disagree with the principal,’ says Banerjee.
The principal, in fact, was happy that Banerjee did not argue.
“I distinctly remember that our principal had a peculiar theory. For him sport was not serious and he would tell me that he was certain that the boys would, sooner or later drop out of sports to pursue higher studies,” says Benerjee. “It is more a fitness issue,” the principal would tell Banerjee.
Banerjee was not happy; because he could not find talent, he could not nurture talent. He would read stories in the newspapers about coaches grooming their prodigies. He knew of Ramakant Achrekar, the man who had shaped Sachin Tendulkar; of Desh Prem Azad, who had groomed Kapil Dev; and of Madhav Mantri, the former Test wicketkeeper who was Sunil Gavaskar’s uncle and had mentored the Little Master. “When will I groom a Test cricketer?” Banerjee wondered.
On the verge of giving up all coaching dreams, Banerjee had a flicker of hope – a young, frail student named Mahendra Singh Dhoni. The unassuming boy came from a humble background and when Banerjee spotted him playing football, he instantly liked his reflexes under the bar. Every evening Banerjee would tell his wife Maya: “I have seen a boy at practice. he is a very interesting character. In fact, he is very, very different from the rest. I like his dedication. But do you know my frustration? That bloody fellow is also a footballer. Wish he was a cricketer with that same dedication.”
Maya laughed and returned to the kitchen. Such conversations had become routine for her. But – strangely – when she returned from the kitchen, she found Banerjee had put on some music. He was happy, very happy.
Why, wondered Maya?
She did not know then that her husband’s coaching ambitions had been resurrected by a genuine find.
Banerjee would watch the 14-year-old Dhoni every day, taking notes on the boy’s action in a small pocket-sized diary. Why did he do it? “I had a feeling one day he would come to me for help and I would make him a star,” says Banerjee. The coach was confident of Dhoni’s talent and cricketing potential. The only hitch was that the boy was still hooked to football.
When he joined school, Dhoni was an average but focused student who is said to have avoided girls. While high marks were not routine for him, Dhoni would at times score nearly 75 per cent in subjects such as English, History and Geography and feel a sense of accomplishment. He was considered a good student by teachers both inside and outside the classroom. However, there were times when Dhoni was admonished for his poor marks in Mathematics and Science, and his reaction was to take the feedback and improve in the next round of exams. His critics, usually the class teacher, would – expectedly – fall silent.
However, much to Banerjee’s chagrin, Dhoni did not opt for cricket, preferring football because he had the unusually fast reflexes that a good goalkeeper needs. Naturally, he was the first choice for his school team. Sometimes, the school principal would personally come to the ground to see his favourite charge beneath the bar. “His spot jump to tip the ball over the bar was brilliant. Sometimes it would be a simple yet superb nudge. Often, he would acrobatically jump parallel to the ground and fist the ball over. And his diving was just out of the world, outstretched hands palming off what looked like a sure-shot goal going into a corner,” remembers an excited Banerjee.
There were others too who appreciated Dhoni’s football skills. M.K. Bhadra, another teacher who routinely visited the football ground to see Dhoni play, always encouraged him to take up a career in sports. “He was average boy in class, so we left him there and did not badger him for marks. His class teacher had a different theory but my point of view was simple. If he is extraordinary in the field, let him focus there,” says Bhadra.
Dhoni enjoyed the freedom on the field – he was the first player to reach the football field and the last to leave. He was in love with the game. Cheered on by his classmates, he would save some of the best shots with consummate ease. The teachers encouraged him to watch video tapes of legendary goalkeepers such as Lev Yasin, Peter Shilton and Dino Zoff. A patient learner, Dhoni watched the videos and tried hard to integrate their styles. It seemed to Bhadra that Dhoni was eager to dive at the slightest opportunity, but after he was injured once, he had to change his stance. “Watch him carefully, you will see he still dives cautiously,” laughs Bhadra.
But Banerjee had other ideas. He wanted Dhoni to shift to cricket. But loved football and showed no interest in shifting. Sensing Banerjee’s desperation, Bhadra – who would routinely have a cup of tea with Banerjee after school hours – told him to give up on Dhoni.
“I would tell Keshab that he was chasing a wild goose. Dhoni was immersed in football and loved every moment of the 90-minute game.” But Banerjee disagreed. He would take occasional breaks from his coaching classes and visit the football ground to see Dhoni and his boys during practice and in action against local schools. it was during one of these visits that Banerjee spotted a tiny ray of hope.
He noticed a negative trait – the football coach argued it was totally insignificant – in Dhoni’s game. Whenever he tried to pluck the ball off the head of a marauding forward inside the box, Dhoni would prefer to fist the ball away. Not just once or twice, he would do it routinely. He would either punch or palm the ball, but not grip it. It seemed he was not ready to take any chances inside the box and wanted to keep the ball away from the danger zone. But what was wrong with his grip, wondered Banerjee.
Banerjee asked around and was told by a few players that Dhoni’s grip on the ball was not very good. Still confused, he would often ask himself whether Dhoni was struggling with the grip or with the size of the ball. Would it work if he pushed him into wicketkeeping instead? “In fact, it was then that I realised I had already made up my mind. I headed for Dhoni’s class the next morning,” says Banerjee.
He does not remember the day of the week, but recalls walking into Dhoni’s class as the English teacher was reading W. Somerset Maugham’s Of Human Bondage. The class was interrupted and Dhoni called was out. “You will do better if you shift to cricket. Why not try out wicketkeeping? i am confident you will do well. And do not worry. i will back you to the hilt. And do not think it is a joke,” Banerjee told Dhoni.
Dhoni was transfixed. “Yeh to khel hi doosra hain. Dost kya bolenge (This is a different game altogether, what will my friends say?),” was his first, rather innocent, reaction. Banerjee wanted to keep the discussion simple. It was all about keeping, either under the bar or behind the wickets, he explained. The coach was by now doubly determined to persuade the lad to quit the football team. “You must have faith in me, I am telling you this is the best opportunity anyone in the school will get. There will be no trials. Just walk into the team.” Banerjee was confident he had accomplished what he had set out to do.
Dhoni was confused. He wasn’t clear whether he should accept the offer. Leaving the football team was an option he hated from the core of his heart. If he was out of the football team, he would lose the school colours, which meant a lot to him. And he was also not clear about the new role.
Dhoni surprised Banerjee by letting the coach know that he wanted to practise with him alone. Why alone? “He probably wanted to avoid jeers from his footballer friends. After all, no one wants a footballer to become a cricketer, especially if you were a regular member of the school team. Worse, seeking cricket over football would have meant losing whatever little stardom you had in the school,” laughs Banerjee.
Banerjee did not want Dhoni to regret the shift. He assured Dhoni of special attention, but the boy would have to give his best to the new sport. Banerjee made it clear to his prospective student that this was not a temporary arrangement but the start of a new life, a new career.
“I am ready, sir, but kindly guide me. This is a new game for me. I need your confidence in me,’ was Dhoni’s quick reply.
The practice sessions started immediately. Away from the eye of other students – some of whom had already mocked at Dhoni for making what they called the biggest blunder of his life – and teachers, Banerjee organised a series of special training sessions. Dhoni was at practice every day without fail, and trained with Banerjee for almost two hours daily. After a week of such sessions Banerjee was convinced that his student had an issue with the size of the ball and not with the grip. Dhoni was keeping wickets brilliantly. “He was good, very good,” says Banerjee.
Banerjee would get students from neighbouring schools to practise with Dhoni. He would also show him video tapes of some of the world’s finest wicketkeepers. “I could not afford to have him turn back on cricket,” recounts Banerjee.
Still, Banerjee remained worried. What if Dhoni had a change of heart and walked out of the team tomorrow? Banerjee would sit down with his new student after every practice session, reminding him to take his new role seriously. Often they would hear the crowds cheering the football team playing nearby and Dhoni would look at his former teammates, who would seem to be enjoying their game and getting enough support from spectators. Which was not the case with the school’s cricket team. Banerjee realized football was still not compeletely off Dhoni’s mind.
One day, sitting on a wooden bench on the edge of the cricket field, Banerjee told Dhoni the story of Sourav Ganguly – the classy Indian left-hander who had also hoped to become a footballer before he shifted allegiance to cricket. Banerjee pointed out that people often have to make career-changing choices, but once they make the eventual choice, they stick to it. “You need to do the same with cricket, Mahi. This is a great game and those who play it are heroes in India. You will also become one if you stick to it. Cricket has taken india to great heights, football hasn’t. You are in the right place. Do not even think of walking out.”
As they talked, Banerjee noticed that Dhoni kept glancing at a Kawasaki Bajaj advertisement in which a motorbike morphed into a cheetah on the prowl. Banerjee pointed out to an attentive Dhoni that the advertisement was all about speed. “I told him he had to be attentive behind the stumps, stand in an awkward position for long hours, and be swift with stumpings, brilliant with catches and, above all, maintain a blistering pace when batting. I told Dhoni that he would have to transform himself from an average player into a powerful man-machine. Only then would he be noticed,” recounts Banerjee.
Those initial days of constant practice were troublesome because although Dhoni was at ease with pace bowlers, he grappled with spinners, whose bowling necessitated his standing up to the stumps. He was often irritated and reluctant to keep wickets to spinners, but Banerjee helped him gain confidence, telling him that in a game of cricket only the wicketkeeper has an unchanging role. “And he improved overnight. Once he came up to me and asked if the school authorities could organise floodlights so that he could practise after dark,” says Banerjee, who had at that point laughed off Dhoni’s request.
Dhoni was not happy with the response. He wanted to practise, practise and practise even more to attain perfection. His teachers noticed that he had become a little disruptive in class, often encouraging his classmates to toss paper balls that he could catch in awkward positions. At times it was extremely annoying for his teachers, who routinely complained to Banerjee, but the short-distance catching practice in the classroom helped the aspiring wicketkeeper understand how to handle spinners on the field. “Where I slipped, his classmates helped. The paper balls and catching practice worked wonders with Mahi,” says Banerjee, who would often watch from outside the classroom.
Dhoni’s metamorphosis from goalkeeper to wicketkeeper was soon complete. Now it was time to shape him as a batsman and teach him how to massacre bowlers. “I didn’t have to try much; actually, i did nothing to groom his batting. It seemed he practised batting with someone so that he could impress me,’ says Banerjee.
Dhoni’s batting ability improved with every session. His average in school matches was over 50 and centuries – especially in matches against other schools – were completed with relative ease. The bowlers would have a nightmarish experience. He would often hit the ball out of the school. In most cases, the ball was lost and the game called off because of lack of spare balls.
Dhoni was brimming with effervescent energy; he would pad up the moment his side was ready to bat, surprising – among others – the opening pair of the opposition bowlers who would routinely wonder why he was all ready and padded up right at the start. It seemed to many that Dhoni actually wanted to open the innings but could not muster enough courage to convey this desire to the coach.
His teammates were also surprised at Dhoni’s relentless pacing up and down in the dressing room. “I would repeatedly tell him to relax because he was not the opener.” But Dhoni would would look agitated. “Sir, i must play from start to finish and you must help me shape up as an opener. Otherwise there is no fun. It is very irritating to pad up and then wait for long,” Dhoni eventually told a shocked Banerjee.
Dhoni’s blistering pace began during his schooldays and stayed with him. During a Bengal-Jharkhand match at the Eden Gardens (Kolkata), Dhoni impressed the then Indian skipper Sourav Ganguly, who was leading Bengal, from the moment he stepped onto the field. Dhoni hit bowler Laxmi Ratan Shukla all around the field. Thrice the ball had to be retrieved from outside the stadium. Shukla, already a star in Bengal, was obviously not happy with the hammering. He tried to bring variety to his deliveries but nothing worked.
Such was Dhoni’s firepower that Shukla eventually lost his temper and became somewhat abusive. The umpires noticed. At first they tried to ignore the slugfest, but eventually they had to intervene. Dhoni continued with his big hits and every time the ball went soaring over the ropes, Shukla would swear at the batsman.
Finally Ganguly walked up to his bowler and curtly told Shukla to mend his ways: “What is this nonsense? Instead of losing your cool, learn a thing or two from the way he is batting. With your erratic bowling and this ridiculous attitude, you will go nowhere, but if this player can retain even half his touch, he will rule for many years.” Prophetic words.
Excerpted with permission from Mahi, Shantanu Guha Ray, Roli Books.
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Thus, with the sporting fraternity focused almost entirely on hockey, it was quite natural for Keshav Ranjan Banerjee, the cricket coach at the DAV Jawahar Vidya Mandir school in Ranchi’s Samli neighbourhood, to not expect any cricketing wonders from among his students. He, in fact, rarely discussed the game in the class. No one will respond, a waste of time, he often told himself.
Worse, he had standard instructions from the school principal, a die-hard hockey enthusiast, that the boys should be encouraged to play hockey. If they rebelled, football could be considered. If that did not work either, the school – argued the principal – would push for badminton, volleyball, or even basketball.
Banerjee, who wanted to push cricket, did not argue. “I am a soft- spoken person. Even if I do not like what I am being told to do, I will rarely argue. And in small towns, teachers do not have the guts to disagree with the principal,’ says Banerjee.
The principal, in fact, was happy that Banerjee did not argue.
“I distinctly remember that our principal had a peculiar theory. For him sport was not serious and he would tell me that he was certain that the boys would, sooner or later drop out of sports to pursue higher studies,” says Benerjee. “It is more a fitness issue,” the principal would tell Banerjee.
Banerjee was not happy; because he could not find talent, he could not nurture talent. He would read stories in the newspapers about coaches grooming their prodigies. He knew of Ramakant Achrekar, the man who had shaped Sachin Tendulkar; of Desh Prem Azad, who had groomed Kapil Dev; and of Madhav Mantri, the former Test wicketkeeper who was Sunil Gavaskar’s uncle and had mentored the Little Master. “When will I groom a Test cricketer?” Banerjee wondered.
On the verge of giving up all coaching dreams, Banerjee had a flicker of hope – a young, frail student named Mahendra Singh Dhoni. The unassuming boy came from a humble background and when Banerjee spotted him playing football, he instantly liked his reflexes under the bar. Every evening Banerjee would tell his wife Maya: “I have seen a boy at practice. he is a very interesting character. In fact, he is very, very different from the rest. I like his dedication. But do you know my frustration? That bloody fellow is also a footballer. Wish he was a cricketer with that same dedication.”
Maya laughed and returned to the kitchen. Such conversations had become routine for her. But – strangely – when she returned from the kitchen, she found Banerjee had put on some music. He was happy, very happy.
Why, wondered Maya?
She did not know then that her husband’s coaching ambitions had been resurrected by a genuine find.
Banerjee would watch the 14-year-old Dhoni every day, taking notes on the boy’s action in a small pocket-sized diary. Why did he do it? “I had a feeling one day he would come to me for help and I would make him a star,” says Banerjee. The coach was confident of Dhoni’s talent and cricketing potential. The only hitch was that the boy was still hooked to football.
When he joined school, Dhoni was an average but focused student who is said to have avoided girls. While high marks were not routine for him, Dhoni would at times score nearly 75 per cent in subjects such as English, History and Geography and feel a sense of accomplishment. He was considered a good student by teachers both inside and outside the classroom. However, there were times when Dhoni was admonished for his poor marks in Mathematics and Science, and his reaction was to take the feedback and improve in the next round of exams. His critics, usually the class teacher, would – expectedly – fall silent.
However, much to Banerjee’s chagrin, Dhoni did not opt for cricket, preferring football because he had the unusually fast reflexes that a good goalkeeper needs. Naturally, he was the first choice for his school team. Sometimes, the school principal would personally come to the ground to see his favourite charge beneath the bar. “His spot jump to tip the ball over the bar was brilliant. Sometimes it would be a simple yet superb nudge. Often, he would acrobatically jump parallel to the ground and fist the ball over. And his diving was just out of the world, outstretched hands palming off what looked like a sure-shot goal going into a corner,” remembers an excited Banerjee.
There were others too who appreciated Dhoni’s football skills. M.K. Bhadra, another teacher who routinely visited the football ground to see Dhoni play, always encouraged him to take up a career in sports. “He was average boy in class, so we left him there and did not badger him for marks. His class teacher had a different theory but my point of view was simple. If he is extraordinary in the field, let him focus there,” says Bhadra.
Dhoni enjoyed the freedom on the field – he was the first player to reach the football field and the last to leave. He was in love with the game. Cheered on by his classmates, he would save some of the best shots with consummate ease. The teachers encouraged him to watch video tapes of legendary goalkeepers such as Lev Yasin, Peter Shilton and Dino Zoff. A patient learner, Dhoni watched the videos and tried hard to integrate their styles. It seemed to Bhadra that Dhoni was eager to dive at the slightest opportunity, but after he was injured once, he had to change his stance. “Watch him carefully, you will see he still dives cautiously,” laughs Bhadra.
But Banerjee had other ideas. He wanted Dhoni to shift to cricket. But loved football and showed no interest in shifting. Sensing Banerjee’s desperation, Bhadra – who would routinely have a cup of tea with Banerjee after school hours – told him to give up on Dhoni.
“I would tell Keshab that he was chasing a wild goose. Dhoni was immersed in football and loved every moment of the 90-minute game.” But Banerjee disagreed. He would take occasional breaks from his coaching classes and visit the football ground to see Dhoni and his boys during practice and in action against local schools. it was during one of these visits that Banerjee spotted a tiny ray of hope.
He noticed a negative trait – the football coach argued it was totally insignificant – in Dhoni’s game. Whenever he tried to pluck the ball off the head of a marauding forward inside the box, Dhoni would prefer to fist the ball away. Not just once or twice, he would do it routinely. He would either punch or palm the ball, but not grip it. It seemed he was not ready to take any chances inside the box and wanted to keep the ball away from the danger zone. But what was wrong with his grip, wondered Banerjee.
Banerjee asked around and was told by a few players that Dhoni’s grip on the ball was not very good. Still confused, he would often ask himself whether Dhoni was struggling with the grip or with the size of the ball. Would it work if he pushed him into wicketkeeping instead? “In fact, it was then that I realised I had already made up my mind. I headed for Dhoni’s class the next morning,” says Banerjee.
He does not remember the day of the week, but recalls walking into Dhoni’s class as the English teacher was reading W. Somerset Maugham’s Of Human Bondage. The class was interrupted and Dhoni called was out. “You will do better if you shift to cricket. Why not try out wicketkeeping? i am confident you will do well. And do not worry. i will back you to the hilt. And do not think it is a joke,” Banerjee told Dhoni.
Dhoni was transfixed. “Yeh to khel hi doosra hain. Dost kya bolenge (This is a different game altogether, what will my friends say?),” was his first, rather innocent, reaction. Banerjee wanted to keep the discussion simple. It was all about keeping, either under the bar or behind the wickets, he explained. The coach was by now doubly determined to persuade the lad to quit the football team. “You must have faith in me, I am telling you this is the best opportunity anyone in the school will get. There will be no trials. Just walk into the team.” Banerjee was confident he had accomplished what he had set out to do.
Dhoni was confused. He wasn’t clear whether he should accept the offer. Leaving the football team was an option he hated from the core of his heart. If he was out of the football team, he would lose the school colours, which meant a lot to him. And he was also not clear about the new role.
Dhoni surprised Banerjee by letting the coach know that he wanted to practise with him alone. Why alone? “He probably wanted to avoid jeers from his footballer friends. After all, no one wants a footballer to become a cricketer, especially if you were a regular member of the school team. Worse, seeking cricket over football would have meant losing whatever little stardom you had in the school,” laughs Banerjee.
Banerjee did not want Dhoni to regret the shift. He assured Dhoni of special attention, but the boy would have to give his best to the new sport. Banerjee made it clear to his prospective student that this was not a temporary arrangement but the start of a new life, a new career.
“I am ready, sir, but kindly guide me. This is a new game for me. I need your confidence in me,’ was Dhoni’s quick reply.
The practice sessions started immediately. Away from the eye of other students – some of whom had already mocked at Dhoni for making what they called the biggest blunder of his life – and teachers, Banerjee organised a series of special training sessions. Dhoni was at practice every day without fail, and trained with Banerjee for almost two hours daily. After a week of such sessions Banerjee was convinced that his student had an issue with the size of the ball and not with the grip. Dhoni was keeping wickets brilliantly. “He was good, very good,” says Banerjee.
Banerjee would get students from neighbouring schools to practise with Dhoni. He would also show him video tapes of some of the world’s finest wicketkeepers. “I could not afford to have him turn back on cricket,” recounts Banerjee.
Still, Banerjee remained worried. What if Dhoni had a change of heart and walked out of the team tomorrow? Banerjee would sit down with his new student after every practice session, reminding him to take his new role seriously. Often they would hear the crowds cheering the football team playing nearby and Dhoni would look at his former teammates, who would seem to be enjoying their game and getting enough support from spectators. Which was not the case with the school’s cricket team. Banerjee realized football was still not compeletely off Dhoni’s mind.
One day, sitting on a wooden bench on the edge of the cricket field, Banerjee told Dhoni the story of Sourav Ganguly – the classy Indian left-hander who had also hoped to become a footballer before he shifted allegiance to cricket. Banerjee pointed out that people often have to make career-changing choices, but once they make the eventual choice, they stick to it. “You need to do the same with cricket, Mahi. This is a great game and those who play it are heroes in India. You will also become one if you stick to it. Cricket has taken india to great heights, football hasn’t. You are in the right place. Do not even think of walking out.”
As they talked, Banerjee noticed that Dhoni kept glancing at a Kawasaki Bajaj advertisement in which a motorbike morphed into a cheetah on the prowl. Banerjee pointed out to an attentive Dhoni that the advertisement was all about speed. “I told him he had to be attentive behind the stumps, stand in an awkward position for long hours, and be swift with stumpings, brilliant with catches and, above all, maintain a blistering pace when batting. I told Dhoni that he would have to transform himself from an average player into a powerful man-machine. Only then would he be noticed,” recounts Banerjee.
Those initial days of constant practice were troublesome because although Dhoni was at ease with pace bowlers, he grappled with spinners, whose bowling necessitated his standing up to the stumps. He was often irritated and reluctant to keep wickets to spinners, but Banerjee helped him gain confidence, telling him that in a game of cricket only the wicketkeeper has an unchanging role. “And he improved overnight. Once he came up to me and asked if the school authorities could organise floodlights so that he could practise after dark,” says Banerjee, who had at that point laughed off Dhoni’s request.
Dhoni was not happy with the response. He wanted to practise, practise and practise even more to attain perfection. His teachers noticed that he had become a little disruptive in class, often encouraging his classmates to toss paper balls that he could catch in awkward positions. At times it was extremely annoying for his teachers, who routinely complained to Banerjee, but the short-distance catching practice in the classroom helped the aspiring wicketkeeper understand how to handle spinners on the field. “Where I slipped, his classmates helped. The paper balls and catching practice worked wonders with Mahi,” says Banerjee, who would often watch from outside the classroom.
Dhoni’s metamorphosis from goalkeeper to wicketkeeper was soon complete. Now it was time to shape him as a batsman and teach him how to massacre bowlers. “I didn’t have to try much; actually, i did nothing to groom his batting. It seemed he practised batting with someone so that he could impress me,’ says Banerjee.
Dhoni’s batting ability improved with every session. His average in school matches was over 50 and centuries – especially in matches against other schools – were completed with relative ease. The bowlers would have a nightmarish experience. He would often hit the ball out of the school. In most cases, the ball was lost and the game called off because of lack of spare balls.
Dhoni was brimming with effervescent energy; he would pad up the moment his side was ready to bat, surprising – among others – the opening pair of the opposition bowlers who would routinely wonder why he was all ready and padded up right at the start. It seemed to many that Dhoni actually wanted to open the innings but could not muster enough courage to convey this desire to the coach.
His teammates were also surprised at Dhoni’s relentless pacing up and down in the dressing room. “I would repeatedly tell him to relax because he was not the opener.” But Dhoni would would look agitated. “Sir, i must play from start to finish and you must help me shape up as an opener. Otherwise there is no fun. It is very irritating to pad up and then wait for long,” Dhoni eventually told a shocked Banerjee.
Dhoni’s blistering pace began during his schooldays and stayed with him. During a Bengal-Jharkhand match at the Eden Gardens (Kolkata), Dhoni impressed the then Indian skipper Sourav Ganguly, who was leading Bengal, from the moment he stepped onto the field. Dhoni hit bowler Laxmi Ratan Shukla all around the field. Thrice the ball had to be retrieved from outside the stadium. Shukla, already a star in Bengal, was obviously not happy with the hammering. He tried to bring variety to his deliveries but nothing worked.
Such was Dhoni’s firepower that Shukla eventually lost his temper and became somewhat abusive. The umpires noticed. At first they tried to ignore the slugfest, but eventually they had to intervene. Dhoni continued with his big hits and every time the ball went soaring over the ropes, Shukla would swear at the batsman.
Finally Ganguly walked up to his bowler and curtly told Shukla to mend his ways: “What is this nonsense? Instead of losing your cool, learn a thing or two from the way he is batting. With your erratic bowling and this ridiculous attitude, you will go nowhere, but if this player can retain even half his touch, he will rule for many years.” Prophetic words.
Excerpted with permission from Mahi, Shantanu Guha Ray, Roli Books.
