‘Abzolutely’ Cheeka

Kris Srikkanth did a breezy television interview during Tuesday’s game between the Chennai Super Kings and the Kolkata Knight Riders in Kolkata. A caption came on the screen. It told us that Srikkanth, who everybody calls ‘Cheeka’, played for India from 1981-92.

Two things struck me. Srikkanth, who seemed a part of the Indian team forever in our childhood, actually had an international career spanning only 11 years. I realised once again what sportsmen mean when they say they have short careers. The Bheeshma Pitamah of Indian cricket, Sunil Gavaskar, was out in the spotlight just 16 years. This year I completed 15 years in journalism. I’m not even at the halfway point of my career. Now I know why sportsmen are in a hurry to make the most of their fame.

The other thing that struck me was Srikkanth’s hair. It is thick and black and appeared even more lustrous in the glow of the Eden Gardens floodlights. The man is fifty. How does he have such a magnificent mane? Gavaskar, a greater batsman but less fortunate in matters trichological (guess what that is), would not mind exchanging a few of his Test hundreds for the fertility of his opening partner’s scalp. If Srikkanth’s youthful hair is not owed to some hairdye, it’s a miracle of genes, rasam and Maltova. (‘You become a Maltova mum!’ Remember the jingle?)

No one dislikes Srikkanth. Not even Joel Garner and Michael Holding, who felt the sambar-like heat of his Slazenger bat in the 1983 World Cup final. He laughs easily, always a sign of a person without malice. He is spontaneous and childlike.

It is nice to see Srikkanth smiling again because a few years ago things were not going too well for him. Business trouble. An exuberant man had begun to appear care-worn. In 2004, I sat near him on a flight from London to Mumbai. The ICC Champions Trophy was on and we were returning after watching India lose to Pakistan at Edgbaston. I heard Srikkanth talking on the phone to someone. He was making some kind of a pitch to a pitchee who evidently was not Indian and did not know cricket. “I played cricket for India and am still reasonably well-known in the country,” Srikkanth told him. While it was not tragic, it was somewhat sad.

Life is rosy again for a man who once swept, if memory serves me right, Wasim Akram. As chief selector of the Indian team, Srikkanth earns about Rs 40 lakh a year. He is also a brand ambassador of the Chennai Super Kings. That further swells the purse. Naturally, his hair looks, to say it as he would, “abzolutely fantastic.”

Kris Srikkanth did a breezy television interview during Tuesday’s game between the Chennai Super Kings and the Kolkata Knight Riders in Kolkata. A caption came on the screen. It told us that Srikkanth, who everybody calls ‘Cheeka’, played for India from 1981-92.

Two things struck me. Srikkanth, who seemed a part of the Indian team forever in our childhood, actually had an international career spanning only 11 years. I realised once again what sportsmen mean when they say they have short careers. The Bheeshma Pitamah of Indian cricket, Sunil Gavaskar, was out in the spotlight just 16 years. This year I completed 15 years in journalism. I’m not even at the halfway point of my career. Now I know why sportsmen are in a hurry to make the most of their fame.

The other thing that struck me was Srikkanth’s hair. It is thick and black and appeared even more lustrous in the glow of the Eden Gardens floodlights. The man is fifty. How does he have such a magnificent mane? Gavaskar, a greater batsman but less fortunate in matters trichological (guess what that is), would not mind exchanging a few of his Test hundreds for the fertility of his opening partner’s scalp. If Srikkanth’s youthful hair is not owed to some hairdye, it’s a miracle of genes, rasam and Maltova. (‘You become a Maltova mum!’ Remember the jingle?)

No one dislikes Srikkanth. Not even Joel Garner and Michael Holding, who felt the sambar-like heat of his Slazenger bat in the 1983 World Cup final. He laughs easily, always a sign of a person without malice. He is spontaneous and childlike.

It is nice to see Srikkanth smiling again because a few years ago things were not going too well for him. Business trouble. An exuberant man had begun to appear care-worn. In 2004, I sat near him on a flight from London to Mumbai. The ICC Champions Trophy was on and we were returning after watching India lose to Pakistan at Edgbaston. I heard Srikkanth talking on the phone to someone. He was making some kind of a pitch to a pitchee who evidently was not Indian and did not know cricket. “I played cricket for India and am still reasonably well-known in the country,” Srikkanth told him. While it was not tragic, it was somewhat sad.

Life is rosy again for a man who once swept, if memory serves me right, Wasim Akram. As chief selector of the Indian team, Srikkanth earns about Rs 40 lakh a year. He is also a brand ambassador of the Chennai Super Kings. That further swells the purse. Naturally, his hair looks, to say it as he would, “abzolutely fantastic.”

IPL 2010Kris SrikkanthT20