The Triumph Of Simplicity

Mahendra Singh Dhoni’s story is a fairy tale of fame, glamour and money. SHANTANU GUHA RAY visits his hometown Ranchi to unearth clues to his iconic status

PARAMJIT SINGH, the portly owner of a small sports shop at Ranchi’s cacophonous Sujata Chowk, where backfiring trucks, belching lorries and slow-paced cycle rickshaws create the town’s worst traffic snarl, is an unlikely mentor for Indian cricket’s biggest star. But in the unlikely, even astonishing, success of Mahendra Singh Dhoni, Singh plays a catalytic role. In the mid-90s, when Dhoni was barely 15, Singh spent weeks pursuing Ludhiana-based Beat All Sports (BAS) for an annual supply of bats and specialised cricket gear (it costs Rs 15,000-20,000) for his protégé. Eventually, the owners, Sumi and Ramesh Kohli, relented and agreed to a yearly supply of eight bats and other gear.

That’s what got India captain and Ranchi homeboy Dhoni started. “It was a godsend. You can’t play the game without the equipment,” Dhoni told TEHELKA last week, relaxing at his elder sister’s home in Ranchi after the tumultuous tour of Australia and the big win down under. Dhoni’s supernova like success has meant that Singh’s Prime Sports now sells 80 bats a month: he calls it the Dhoni effect.

Trailblazing Dhoni has, in fact, transformed Ranchi, a traditional hockey town — it’s produced top international hockey players, Sylvanus Dung Dung and Michael Kindo, to name a couple — into a burgeoning cricket centre. A decade ago, there were two coaching centres for cricket; now there are 50.

And Ranchi is basking in the success of its prodigious son. When he arrived on home turf after beating the Aussies, state Sports Minister Bandhu Tirkey was on the tarmac to receive him, virtually pushing everybody else out of the frame to be photographed with him. A young Jet Airways attendant at Ranchi’s Birsa Munda airport asked, almost rhetorically: “Why don’t they rename it MS Dhoni airport?” Has Ranchi’s favourite son succeeded in pushing its legendary freedom fighter into oblivion? “Birsa Munda is history, Dhoni is the future,” the attendant explained proudly.

Wherever he goes, the mob follows. The day after his arrival, Dhoni went to eat at Madhuban, a highway dhaba. The owners cleared the place and barricaded the area, but the crowd that collected clogged NH33. Eventually riot police had to be requisitioned. “The magic of Dhoni is such that he would fade even a Shah Rukh Khan here”, says Supriya Singh, a student. In one enticing story, the Big B himself cancelled his shoot at RK Studios in Mumbai and sought an appointment with Dhoni, who was shooting an ad next door.

Not that the crowds don’t throng his home when he is not there. Young students use their pocket money to buy garlands and worship — in the absence of the man himself — his bikes. If that is reminiscent of the Ramayana’s Bharat and his worship of his divine brother’s sandals, it is true that cricket remains the only pan-Indian religion and 27-year-old Dhoni is its latest anointed deity.

THE WONDER is not that Dhoni has ascended to the status of a deity. The wonder is that he’s a god with his feet firmly planted on the ground. In fact, that could be his seed mantra, the hidden pearl at the heart that is propelling his fairytale.

Even though his gifts have airlifted him into a golden firmament where he sits and dines with the social A-list of the country, a silverlimned world that can make the best breathlessly giddy — Shah Rukh Khan, Preity Zinta, Vijay Mallya — Dhoni never seems to have a dizzy moment. He walks with ease through his new glamoured world because he seems to know who he is. Slowly it is becoming evident that the virtues of a grounded, simple upbringing — humility, pragmatism, self-reliance, philosophic calm, a workman’s ethic, a clear sense of responsibility, and the ability to grab the slimmest opportunity — may actually be the key factors in his spectacular success.

Typically his advisors and brand managers — victims of the cliché — feel he is too low profile. His website, planned more than a year ago, is still under construction. Both Google and Yahoo searches about his career yield abysmal results. And if you think Wikipedia will help, click away in vain. He may be the skipper of the Blue Billion Express, he may have topped last month’s Indian Premier League auction with a staggering $ 1.5 million (Rs 6 crore) — but there isn’t a single profile of his.

In a world of desperate image-building, it’s important that Dhoni doesn’t care. The core value he brings to the job is level-headedness — the clear sense of reality that helps a small town boy prioritise life. This means he has the ability to treat cricket as a game, not as religion. This means it makes him unafraid to take his chances, to run the impossible risk and win the impossible gambit. Take his reaction to the win in Australia. While his young teammates sprang around the pitch in jubilation, Dhoni stood, almost unsmiling, at their exuberance. It was a while before he actually smiled. You could see the man was in touch with the clear notion that three bad balls and it could all have been just tears and recrimination.

It’s not surprising that Dhoni got the captaincy by default. India had crashed out of the World Cup, Dravid had decided to step down and Dhoni was both the vice captain of the one day squad and the captain for the Twenty20. Even those achievements hadn’t come easy: Dhoni is that rara avis among Indian cricketers, a man who’s risen to the top on the strength of sheer, raw talent. No special background, no fabulous training, no godfather. Three strikes that if, against you, could easily break your career well before it can take off. In Dhoni’s case, these three strikes are part of what have made him.

His family background is vintage middle India: his father worked as an electrician with public sector engineering firm Mecon until his retirement and his mother was a housewife. His elder brother got a job in Almora in Uttarakhand (until Dhoni Inc recently absorbed him for a project) and his sister is a schoolteacher in Ranchi.

He didn’t even come first to cricket: he played football in school, becoming a goalkeeper. But Keshab Ranjam Bannerjee, cricket coach at the DAV school in Ranchi’s Samli neighbourhood, mentored his metamorphosis from goalkeeper to wicketkeeper — and helped hone his talent for massacring bowling attacks in the local leagues. He remembers Dhoni’s effervescent energy: he would pad up the moment his side was ready to bat. He narrates an incident that effectively illustrates Dhoni’s commitment to rise to the occasion. In a school match, Bannerjee asked Dhoni to open the innings with teammate Shabbir Husain. Then shockingly he told the other boys not to pad — because Dhoni and Husain had to carry the day. He says Dhoni just smiled. That day Dhoni faced 150 balls, cracked six sixes and 26 boundaries for his 213, while Husain scored 117 off 116 balls. “They scored 378 that day. Don’t talk to me about that Sachin- Kambli story. They scored over 600 in three days, right? That’s a joke. Why does no one know this story? It’s because reporters just did not care to find out.”

Adds MK Bhadra, another teacher: “He was an ordinary boy in class who was extraordinary in the field. He would save some of the best shots at the goal with ease. Once he got injured and had to change his diving stance. Watch him carefully, you will see he still dives cautiously.”

YET WHEN he finally burst into first class cricket, in 1999-2000, it was his shoulder- length hair and swashbuckling personality that caught the eye. Despite scintillating performances, he wasn’t a serious contender for national selection until 2005. But then soon enough his cavalier disregard for bowling reputations made him a sensation. He hammered 148 in Vishakhapatnam against Pakistan in April 2005, and 183 not out in Jaipur against Sri Lanka in October 2005, when he broke Adam Gilchrist’s record for the highest score by a wicketkeeper in one day internationals.

True to type, he’s done it all with no formal training. He’s never been to a cricket coaching school, never had a coach of his own. After his inclusion in the national team, just before the 2005 Pakistan tour, his school coach came to give him some help. He soaked tennis balls in water overnight to harden them, shortened the pitch and bowled hard at him — to teach him how to handle world class bowlers like Shoaib Akhtar.

Rarely in Indian cricket has a young lad, without a regional godfather, made it into the national squad. Paramjit Singh says the fact that he never had any kind of godfather was evident when he had to travel to play a match for an East Zone-West Zone match in Agartala in 1999. No one told him how to get there. “We heard it from a regional selector who casually told us to take him to Kolkata, from where he was to catch a flight. He was very keen because Sachin Tendulkar was playing for West Zone. The selectors did not talk about money and how he would travel. He raised some funds and booked a Sumo. We travelled overnight and eventually reached Dum Dum airport in Kolkata, only to be told the flight had left ten minutes before. He was distraught. Those were difficult days. Sometimes, when we talk of his formative years, we talk about that match,” Singh reminisces.

Schoolboy Dhoni’s encounters with books were unremarkable, but it mattered little to his friends and teachers. As his schoolmate Subhash Yadav explains, “He was quiet in class, but explosive on the field.” Apart from his sporting brilliance, it was his sweet temperament that endeared him to most. Says Gautam Kumar, another close friend and next door neighbour, “That he has not changed even a bit is evident from what he does in Ranchi. This week, he has met the teachers, attended all the government functions, discussed the need for a cricket academy, pledged support to charity, and also applied for admission in St. Xavier’s College because he didn’t finish his graduation. There’s no glamour in all of this.”

It was this, the absence of any obvious glamour and his personable mien, that may have first nudged Dhoni into the captaincy sweepstakes. Helping things along perhaps was the lack of any godfather. Ganguly had Jagmohan Dalmiya, Dravid had Sharad Pawar, Azharuddin had Raj Singh Dungarpur. However, after the World Cup debacle, nobody really wanted the captain’s cap. India’s one-day fortunes had hit the nadir. Tendulkar, the selectors’ first choice, had indicated his unwillingness. Some of those with important mentors may well have been afraid to pick up this particular gauntlet, at this particular time. So there was a TINA factor — there was no alternative. Dhoni may well have been the sacrificial lamb, the good boy sent to the guillotine. What is clear is that he got the job by default.

And with the ethic of a root man, he turned it into history.

WHAT MAKES Dhoni so special? Commentators laud his uber cool attitude even when everything is crashing around his team. This much-vaunted coolness under

	‘When he played football, he was one of the finest goalkeepers in school. When he took to cricket, he was superb both with the bat and the gloves. He was the only student I had who was really impatient; he just wanted to see big runs on the board’ KR BANERJEE, COACH Dhoni’s coach was single-handedly instrumental in shaping the cricketer’s batting prowess
	‘I still remember that night. Dhoni had to go to Agartala for a East Zone match. We had little money. We hired a Sumo and travelled all night but missed the flight. That match against West Zone was his first chance to play against the legendary Tendulkar’ PARAMJIT SINGH, FRIEND Dhoni’s friend painstakingly pursued BAS bat makers to give free supply to the cricketer during his formative years
	‘We would sit with him and chat for hours. But he would never ask about his future. He wanted to know about his game and how well he would play. Even the beggars love him here. Wish we could sit and chat for hours again. I know it’s impossible now’ MANOJ PANDA, PRIEST For many years, Panda helped Dhoni with his offerings at the Deorhi Mata temple that lies 54 km north of Ranchi

pressure he has possessed since childhood. “He was like that in school games as well,” says Subhas Yadav.

Stocky, muscular Mahi (or Mahia as his friends and family call him) has always possessed an ability to not buckle under pressure. It’s a strength that comes from his spartan origins, and his grounding in reality. Those who have nothing to fall back upon learn early to take it on the chin and keep going. He knows his certitudes. He is still the boy from Ranchi who looks forward to coming home after every trip. Unashamed of his background, he handles defeat and victory with equanimity. Neighbour Manju Khandelwal recollects an incident about the boy next door. She’d asked if she could take his picture; flustered, she kept flubbing it until Dhoni gently showed her that the lens cap was still on. “He will never change, even if he becomes the richest cricketer in the world… he calls me mother,” she says warmly.

His family home in Ranchi is a simple government quarter, the only sign of luxury being his three motorcycles, including a new Harley Davidson. Even these have to be kept on the road because there’s no space to garage them. His father Paan Singh explains that he came to Ranchi as a poor man. “I worked on daily wages, and eventually joined Mecon at a low rank. We led simple lives and ate frugal meals. I got this quarter only after Mahi started making a name in cricket and joined the Indian cricket team. Once, no one bothered about me. Today, the general manager of Mecon visits my home with sweets and flowers every time India wins. When I visit Mecon, officers greet me with flowers. I am grateful to them because they have allowed me to stay in their quarters,” he says. His simple maxim for Mahi: “Keep your feet on the ground. Then you are closer to God.”

It’s a value the earthy Indian captain has internalised as the cornerstone of his sporting ethic. He simply plays the game on its merits, taking what seem like risky decisions with apparent ease. Great captains would have baulked at giving the untested Joginder Sharma the last over to bowl in the Twenty20 final in South Africa, with the World Cup on the line. Few would have summoned Praveen Kumar to open the bowling in the final in Australia.

Characteristically, when the winning team was feted in Delhi’s Ferozeshah Kotla Stadium, he seemed almost stern. When asked, he simply explained that cricket was really a game and that he hoped that people and administrators would treat it as such, and be as able to handle defeat as victory. As importantly, he never appeared awkward in the presence of the political leaders and BCCI heavyweights gathered at the venue. He acted as the captain of India, not as a flunkey of powerbrokers.

It’s this ability to see future defeats in the aftermath of a big win, to see that he represents a nation and not a few influential administrators, that reveals Dhoni’s pragmatism and maturity. In Indian cricket, the captaincy is no easy job: it’s hard to get, is often thankless and the pressure is legendary. Dhoni comes as a breath of fresh air in comparison to his two predecessors who represented opposite ends of the leadership spectrum.

In Dhoni’s ability to walk the middle ground lies the essential metaphor of his personality: character is fortune. Saurav Ganguly wore the cloak of captaincy with the arrogance of a Caesar, the mantle falling easily on his stylish shoulders. Rahul Dravid, on the other hand, wore the coveted badge almost like a crown of thorns, as if acting out a middle class mindset in which success or failure are the only parameters that define ability. Dhoni brings sound realism to the proceedings, pitching the game as the only important thing. In his worldview, playing is more important than winning, and winning is more important than verbal duels.

Look at the difference on the field. Saurav celebrated his win by taking off his T-shirt and waving it like a victory banner; Dhoni celebrates his win by giving his T-shirt away to a child. In that self-effacing but confident gesture resides his trump card, his belief in himself.

Dhoni says he owes his strength to his mother Devki Devi. It was she, rather than his father, who encouraged him to play cricket. He calls her after every match. In that visceral connect, the loop of wild celebrity and quiet realism is firmly closed. Movingly, she still seeks modest rewards. When she could not see him properly on the small television the family had at home, she asked for a big one to be fixed on the wall. While he is away, she spends hours praying to Krishna for his success.

Apart from his bikes, Dhoni has just one fetish — the number seven. Born on the seventh of July, 1981, he takes his lucky number very seriously. His cricket T-shirt has the number 7, and he wears a diamond locket with the number as well. He even delayed his return to Ranchi so that he could come back on March 7. And his favourite rides all have the number 007.

Generosity is one of the great root virtues in life, and Dhoni has already been displaying it in excess. He is a free-handed benefactor to his hometown, both in time and money. The Missionaries of Charity love his large-heartedness, as do the doctors who run the country’s biggest mental asylum in the heart of the town. Revealingly, when the state government offered him Rs 5 lakh, he returned it, asking that it be spent on Ranchi’s roads. Every visit he makes to the ancient Deorhi Temple in Tamar in Ranchi district makes the temple richer by a few thousands and the beggars on its steps by a few hundreds. “He has been coming to the temple for years. He wanted to know if by propitiating the gods one could know the future. We told him it was possible. But he didn’t want to know his future, he only wanted to know how he could improve his game, how he could make a mark,” says Manoj Panda, a priest.

THOUGH HE doesn’t mind the adulation, he hasn’t been hugely affected by it. That his innocence is still alive can be seen in a recent incident when he went to inaugurate a bike store, without realising the owners had not taken permission from his brand managers, Gameplan of Kolkata. The gullible Dhoni inaugurated another store the next week, again without the knowledge of his managers.

An even more telling illustration of simplicity is a recent incident of him requesting an old school teacher for help in getting admission into a college. “He wanted to complete his graduation. I was shocked when I saw him lower his window and ask this favour,” says the teacher. The next day his application was filled in and forwarded by the state’s sports director.

Contrast this with a recent report in the Economic Times describing him as the chief executive officer of the Men-in-Blue. It calculated that he had overtaken Mukesh Ambani, the boss of India’s largest private sector company, in annual compensation. Dhoni’s reaction when his friends showed him the clipping was to merely give a bemused smile.

“He is like the Bachchan of the 70s, raw, fresh and ready to learn but with a statement of his own,” says P. Balakrishnan ‘Balki’, the creative head of Lowe India who, given a chance, would cast him in his next movie. BCCI vice president Lalit Modi laughs at the comparison and simply adds: “Indian cricket is in a safe pair of hands.”

A root man’s solid, steady hands.