There was a sense of inevitability when I saw a missed call and an sms from Rahul Dravid late Wednesday night. We’ve known each other since he made his international debut in 1996, but have hardly been ‘telephone buddies’ so to speak. The timing of the call also betrayed some urgency.

I texted Dravid back asking if he was okay to take a call now or the following morning. He called almost immediately. “I am retiring from international cricket on Friday. Thought I would share this with some people who have been on this journey with me for a long while before the official announcement is made,” he said. “But you don’t announce it before I do!” he joked. It was touching. Not many players are given to such sensibilities. Professional relationships, especially between the media and a star cricketer in India, are often under duress because of the peculiar demands made on the respective stakeholders. As a rule, Dravid had kept his distance from the media, but clearly he is not bereft of sentiment.

I asked him if he had a buy-in from his family – parents, wife etc – in the decision. He replied that the decision had been reached only after he had spoken to all those who mattered. “Will you miss the game very much?” I asked him. “It’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember so one has to readjust. But life must move on,” he said.

Ever since he scored 95 on debut in 1996, Dravid marked himself out as an exceptional batsman. There were a few early hiccups — more with adjusting to the demands of the limited overs format – but once he had settled in, as it were, in international cricket, there was no looking back. The runs came consistently, and everywhere, with the serenity of a river that runs deep and long and never dries up.

His singular contribution to Indian cricket is not merely what the scorebooks say, but what they don’t: of the selflessness which made him agree to keep wickets in ODIs when the team needed better balance, of opening the innings in Tests when there was a crisis, of steering clear of power-play (and other things that prima donnas do) to keep the sanctity of the dressing room even when things were not rolling kindly for him. Why, he gave up the captaincy immediately after winning a test series in England in 2007.

By common reckoning among peers, former players and experts, Dravid is amongst the great batsmen of all time, worthy of being considered along with Hobbs, Hutton, the three Ws, Kanhai, May, Cowdrey, Merchant, Hazare, Gavaskar, Miandad — to name a handful from the distant past.
In the current era, debate about who is the best batsman has largely centred around Tendulkar, Brian Lara and Ricky Ponting but I think this debate is incomplete if Dravid (Kallis and Sangakara too) are not included.

And so life moves on, though for those who follow Indian cricket passionately, it won’t be the same again after Dravid’s gone. I don’t mean to sound mushy: every player must retire at some stage, and as good, if not better players come along in time. But there are some who leave an indelible impression – on the sport as well as the minds of fans — which cannot be erased.

They stay long enough, and do so many wonderful things that they come to occupy considerable mind-space, in fact become part of your own identity. Rahul Dravid was one such.
Well played sir!