The popularity of cricket manifests itself in many ways; one of them is to join the book-writing bandwagon. There are serious, well thought out and meticulously researched products, and then there are quickies with no discernible thumb-line....
Irrespective of the fortunes of the national team, cricket will always continue to command attention. Such is the passion it generates in India, never mind that only a handful of nations play it at the highest level, that no matter what, other sports will always compete for secondary status.
The popularity of cricket manifests itself in many ways; one of them is to join the book-writing bandwagon. There are serious, well thought out and meticulously researched products, and then there are quickies with no discernible thumb-line.
Mukul Kesavan’s Men In White will most certainly not fall in the second category. Saying that, it doesn’t necessarily belong to the first category either, but only because it is a compilation of already-published essays.
The problem with a compilation of this nature is that some of the pieces will be dated, and therefore appear a tad incongruous in the larger scheme of things, but that is a mini obstacle Kesavan has hurdled over with consummate ease.
As such books perhaps have to be, this is a supremely opinionated collection. These are Kesavan’s musings as they should be, though at various places the author appears determined to ram his opinions down your throat. It doesn’t always make for a pleasant experience, but then again, you have the option of tut-tutting, shaking your head vigorously in non-affirmation and getting on with it.
Historian’s view This isn’t meant to be an educative book. It doesn’t only take you through the history of Indian cricket, its glorious highs and embarrassing lows, because that is not Kesavan’s objective. It is a historian’s (he does teach history at Jamia Millia) recollection of his initiation into a game that has grown beyond recognition in the last couple of decades; of his early days when, not unlike most of us, a young kid fancied himself as a champion cricketer in the making before reality sunk in.
It’s a stringing together of his fascinated admiration for the West Indies, his grudging acceptance of Australia’s current status in the cricketing world and his unmasked indifference towards all things English and South African.
Kesavan has a thing or three to say about the new regulations defining ‘chucking’, the role of the third umpire and the match referee, whom he unflatteringly refers to as a ‘sinecure-hunting carpetbagger’, as well as what he calls the wickedness of the International Cricket Council (ICC). There is no compulsion to toe his line of thought, and thank God for that!
To buttonhole deadline-harried daily reporters in the ‘expert zombies’ category is a licence only a feature writer can embrace.
Kesavan’s book can variously infuriate and entertain. Whether it really is ‘an indispensable book for cricket fans everywhere’— as the jacket proudly proclaims— is open to debate.
