When SRT woke India up

Eighty five years from now whichever one of us is alive can tell the martians (who will no doubt arrive) about a cricketing god called SRT. The Martians may be far superior to anyone else in playing the game (as they will be in anything else) but we can proudly stare them in the eye and say: The boy woulda creamed ya.

I always wished SRT's voice never cracked. There were days when I hoped India would get themselves in a deep hole, so that he could do the impossible. Hours and hours of class were spent figuring out how much he had to score in his next series to get the average towards 60. Televisions were shut when he got out, irrespective if whether India were winning, losing or drawing.

If there's one image I cannot forget about him, it's that morning. Groggy eyed, I tiptoed to the television room, immediately turned down the volume and tried to find out the score in Auckland. The Indian run-chase had just begun and SRT, opening for the first time in a one-dayer, was simply flying. Suddenly it felt like I was back in bed again, drifting into a dream, seeing the boy smash a quite unbelievable 49-ball 82.

There were several more accomplished innings - and I remember crying after that 136 in Chennai went in vain - but for boyish exuberance, for for an innings of unbridled expression, for a mad adrenalin-fueled excitement, we'll never forget Auckland. In cricketing terms it was the day when "India awoke to life and freedom".