From meek lambs to growling tigers, the transformation has been as astonishing as it has been sudden. India’s cricketers are no longer the submissive, almost apologetic unit of the past. Armed with an aggro that owes its origin to the man they call the Bengal Tiger — among other things — they have made sure that they will never ever lose a game again in the dressing room because they are neither intimidated nor awestruck by the might and reputation of the opposition.

Sourav Ganguly can justifiably take credit for India shedding decades of being gracious in defeat. Perhaps realising early in his cricketing life that nice men almost always end up on the wrong side of the result, the Kolkatan practised, and preached, a bold new approach that revolved around getting under the opposition’s skin.
The evolution of Indo-Australia rivalries from one-sided routs to one of the more fascinating contests in world cricket received the final push in 2001, when Steve Waugh’s men came a calling looking to conquer the Final Frontier. It was a watershed year in Indo-Aussie cricketing history. Things have never really been the same again.

For long now, through a combination of their remarkable skills, a self-righteousness that is a direct by-product of a sense of superiority, and by virtue of being vocal and in the face, Australia have assumed the mantle of torch-bearers, setting the standards other times have striven to emulate. Such is the depth the Aussie system throws up and so intense is the battle for places in the national side that for more than a decade now, Australia’s lofty perch at the top of the tree has rarely been consistently threatened.

Year of change
The aura of invincibility surrounding the Aussies grew with every success; sporadic defeats didn’t offer the rest of the world anything more than a fleeting ray of hope. Then, 2001 happened. It hasn’t quite changed the cricketing landscape irrevocably, but what it most certainly has done is change the fabric of Indo-Australian rivalry.

Riding a wave of success and having stacked up a remarkable run of 15 successive Test wins, Australia came to India under the older Waugh primed to score their first series win in India in 33 years. A three-day win in Mumbai put them on course to break a long duck before Eden Gardens, VVS Laxman, Rahul Dravid and Harbhajan Singh happened. The series turned on its head, the rivalry assumed a proportion that not even the Ashes can match, and never mind what the Englishmen would like to believe!

Ganguly’s contribution as one of the major batsmen in the team was no more than modest. He had a highest total of 48 — in the second innings at the Eden — and was subjected to a barrage of hostilities by the Aussies. It was their way of showing that they respected the Indian, but not that Ganguly cared, actually.

The first signs that Australia were beginning to feel the heat came when Waugh accused Ganguly of showing him lack of respect by making him wait at the toss. It was rich, coming from the acknowledged masters of mental disintegration! So what if Ganguly didn’t make runs by the hundreds? He had driven home the first big punch, and the rest then took over as 0-1 and a follow-on at the Eden eventually gave way to a wondrous 2-1 scoreline, punctuated by Laxman’s epic 281, Harbhajan’s hat-trick and 32 wickets, by Dravid’s phlegmatic presence and Sachin Tendulkar’s mature guiding hand.

It really was a once-in-a-lifetime series, but that series will forever be remembered — with fondness or otherwise, depending on which side of the fence you are — as the turning point in a rivalry that really hadn’t been one beyond on paper. Dravid’s run-in with Michael Slater in the Mumbai Test was further proof that unqualified respect for the opposition wasn’t going to be underlying mantra. The bold new India was beginning to take shape.

At the first hint of their hegemony being threatened, the Aussies close ranks and bear down on the opposition. They assess individuals, size them up, identify potential soft targets and move in for the kill. Suddenly, the only softness they found in the Indian camp was in the hands. The resolve was hard, the nerve stronger than ever before. Especially against the Aussies, India would never lose a Test in the mind — Nagpur in 2004 was an exception, and mainly for non-cricketing reasons — and that was as great a Ganguly contribution as leading the team to a record 21 Test wins in 49 games at the helm.

Blurring lines

There is the danger today that, with ambitious young men taking over in droves, the lines between gamesmanship and hostile behaviour could get blurred. As fortunate as the Indians are to still have such statesmen as Tendulkar, Dravid, Laxman and Anil Kumble to guide and shepherd them, the likes of S Sreesanth must realise that aggression must be harnessed and channelised for it not to backfire. It’s one thing getting under the skin of the opposition, it is quite another to show genuine disrespect to human beings and behave with a petulance that does little justice to the ‘gentleman’s game’ tag eternally associated with cricket.

Saying that, young lads such as Dinesh Kaarthick, Robin Uthappa, Rudra Pratap Singh and Rohit Sharma have all shown the right attitudes, unafraid to stand up to the World champions but staying well within the limits of acceptable behaviour. Sreesanth’s antics are the exception. His on-field histrionics — off the field, he is among the nicest of guys — are a window to his burning desire to excel. All Sreesanth has to do is cast his eye around the dressing room, and he will realise that champion cricketers are made of sterner stuff.

Sreesanth could well become the face of Indian cricket if he can rein his sometimes unruly behaviour in without losing innate aggression. Mahendra Singh Dhoni knows he has a fight on his hands, just as he knows that attitudinally, he will inherit perhaps the best Indian squad ever. Game for a scrap, hungry for success.