Sports

Sixer Sidhu Goes Sileb

Krishna Prasad travels to Patiala to talk to the Indian opener and his friends about his retirement

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Sixer Sidhu Goes Sileb
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THERE is no doubt in Navjot Singh Sidhu's hometown. 'Sherry' must have been really, really provoked to do what he did, the way he did—without letting his closest friend know, without letting even his wife know. Friend Bunny Sandhu heard of the stunning decision, like much of India, from the next day's newspapers, and Sidhu's wife, Navjot, came to know of his retirement a whole week later.

In fact, Sidhu's wife, the city's top gynaecologist, was away in the US and was due to join her husband after the second Test and then proceed with him to Holland at the end of the series. "She was really looking forward to it," says Vandana Chahal, a friend. "It was the first time since they got married that she was going to be with him on tour."

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For his part, Sidhu told Outlook that his hand was forced by circumstances that had been brewing for over a year. So much so that Sandhu confirms that the opener was close to announcing retirement when he was dropped from the Delhi World Cup match against Sri Lanka and told to go along with the story that he was unfit. But he changed his mind because he felt it would affect the team's morale and the country's image during such a prestigious tournament.

So, what exactly was the final straw that made the Sikh—'Patiala's coolest one', as close friend Bunny Chahal calls him—do something unprecedented in 64 years of Indian cricket? Sidhu hasn't told any of his friends. "I can't comment on that," he says when asked to confirm whether the dressing room incident, described in Outlook last week, caused the break. "I've given my word to the board and I'm a man of my word." But he confirms he spoke to R. Mohan, cricket correspondent of The Hindu, who quoted Sidhu as saying, "The captain dropped me, then laughed, that f***er."

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That, and a nasty sardarji joke, probably decided the issue. Did he use the f-word? "Sidhu's very comfortable in English, but when angry he can get very vocal in Punjabi," says R.S. Sandhu, who Sidhu regards as something of a father-figure.

What is clear is that it was a snap decision. "I have known him for 25 years and I must say that I, too, was surprised. I saw this dimension to his personality only now," admits Bunny Sandhu who used to open the batting with Sidhu for the local Yadvindra Public School and whose sister is married to Sidhu's brother-in-law. "Cricket for him was like worship—as sacred as praying at the gurudwara. But the humiliations were piling up so high, he felt he wouldn't have been able to do justice to his country or career if he played in that frame of mind. He quit in the interests of the nation."

 For one who wore his love for the country on his sleeve—Sidhu considers his 90-plus against Pakistan in Bangalore in the World Cup three months ago as his most satisfying knock because it united a whole country—the decision to desert his already beleaguered team mid-tour was painful for more reasons than one.

Sidhu owed much of his cricketing abilities to his late father, Bhagwant Singh, a former Punjab advocate-general and Congressman, who taught him the basics of batting at their posh Yadvindra Colony residence. As he told a friend: "I was attached to my father through cricket. Each time I went out to bat, anywhere in the world, against any opposition, I felt he was somewhere there in that stadium, watching every stroke, guiding me, chiding me. Leaving a game I have loved and played at the highest level, now and like this, is like suddenly losing touch with him. I feel I'm getting disconnected from my father."

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AS for his much written about lack of fitness and ability to get run out and run others out, Sidhu's friends insist these could never have been the issue. When he returned, he told one of them: "I could have batted on one leg if it was necessary. I could sustain the repeated blows they were delivering to my self-respect by dropping me at the slightest pretext. But when they began to strike at my self-esteem, I could take it no longer. A man should never fall in his own esteem, never begin to lose confidence in his own abilities. I remembered what my father used to say, 'To tolerate injustice is as much a sin as committing it'."

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 And there are few takers for the "Shirker Sidhu" theory—that bent double under his success and afraid of failure, he decided to skip England where he had had problems playing the moving ball. There are even fewer takers for the theory that Sidhu hates being dropped. Patiala's cricket gurus like Mahesh Inder Singh 'Tipoo' and Talwinder Singh say Sidhu was a regular in local sides and they had never had to encounter the opener's feelings after being dropped.

But at the international level, Sidhu had become used to getting the sack now and then. The opener, they feel, couldn't have taken umbrage at being told he was not in the side when he was padded up and all ready to go out and bat at Old Trafford. "He has been dropped more times than even Mohinder Amarnath. Still, he performed. But he was never allowed to reach his optimum level," says Patiala cricketer Inderjit Puri who's played alongside Sidhu in the local Hot Weather Tournament where teams ranged against 'Sixer Sidhu' usually keep four balls in store because he hits them out of the ground so often.

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Sidhu remains enormously popular here, in spite of a decision which has bought him overwhelming sympathy but which he may one day regret. Almost nobody has anything to say against him. However, always known to be a bit of a loner, he has not come out to the nets at the Dhruv Pandove Stadium since his return, preferring instead to play in the indoor cement pitch in his house.

Few have seen him in public either: he has been spending all his time with his two children Karan, 6, and Rabia, 2, and their three dogs. But that, according to the city grapevine, was only to be expected. Even though he has everything any 32-year-old could want—money, status, success—Sidhu remains an island. "He has just two close friends, and that is no thanks to him. Left to himself, he wouldn't even have tried," says a socialite.

Undeterred, Sidhu is reading and re-reading Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead and Mohammed Ali's The Greatest and listening to his favourite classical and semi-classical music. "I love Howard Roark," he says of Rand's architect protagonist. "I love the way he breaks every barrier in front of him to achieve his aims."

In many ways, Sidhu shares his humility with other small-townsmen in the team. But while J. Srinath (Mysore) and Sunil Joshi (Gadag) have jumped out of their small ponds, Sidhu almost unnaturally seems to revel in the anonymity Patiala provides. Within hours of landing in Delhi, he was headed home. It's unlikely he stepped out that night. But if he had, he could have vent his ire at those in the team who had ganged up against him. Capital cinema near his house was playing an appropriately titled Hendi movie, Mafia. Truly, there's no place like home.

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