Muttiah Muralitharan’s 800th Test wicket celebration just turned 11. To this day, he remains the only one to have done so. And he is going to remain the only one in foreseeable future.
As we remember the legend 11 years after his colossal feat, Kshitish Pandey, currently a cinematographer based out of Mumbai, tells a story we all wish we were part of. The day he kept wickets for the spin wizard. This is his story, in his words.
First memory of that day, when I was 14, would be trying to get into the stadium. It was a big deal, trying to get in. Indore was hosting IPL for the first time. All the players who were part of the various cricket clubs in the city were allowed to go in for the practice sessions of the team.
There was a commotion, as there were many big names involved. Adam Gilchrist, Brendon McCullum, Rahul Dravid, the legend we’re talking about, it was some deal.
Holkar Stadium was the home ground for Kochi Tuskers Kerala for two games, against Kings XI Punjab and Rajasthan Royals.
The security was tight in anticipation of the rush. The guards and the police officials were reinforced. We managed our way because our coaches and committee members were inside. I used to play for the Cricket Club of Indore, which was headed by Mr. Sanjay Jagdale.
I had started as an all-rounder – a medium pacer and a middle-order batsman. But eventually, I became a wicketkeeper and opener for my team.
A clipping of Kshitish playing for his academy, Cricket Club of Indore. (SOURCE: Kshitish Pandey)
When we first heard about Indore hosting these games, we knew that the teams would need academy players to bowl or keep wickets while trailing. But we were not sure about being allowed inside. Three IPL teams were involved, and it was the first time our city was hosting a tournament of this magnitude. So, when we were allowed, it felt like the best thing that happened to us.
Some of these players had been my idols since I had started playing the game. They were, I would say, pretty much everyone’s idols, if they have watched them play.
Rahul Dravid!
I thought it was a dream when I first heard that I would be taking the field with the man. Unfortunately – and here is a spoiler alert – that did not happen. Due to a mishap with the players on the first day, we were not allowed in on the second, when the Royals were to train.
But nevertheless, the day I was allowed in, was and will remain surreal. Many great things happened that day.
The players were warming up when we arrived. We waited for them to finish. Only then were we to go in for the practice session.
On the ground, the first player I had the chance to interact with was none other than Brendon McCullum. And not long after that, Adam Gilchrist. We had been asked to carry our equipment depending on our skill was – apart from batting, of course. If someone was bowling, they needed a wicketkeeper, and the actual wicketkeeper was not there, we could go in. And I did.
As a ’keeper, trying to learn the sport that I so loved, to get to talk to these two legends and watch them on the same venue on the same day, I was as good as half dead. I remember picking both their brains, asking whatever came in my head, but mostly fanboying. I was 14.
The big test for me, as a ’keeper, came in the evening, when all the players were almost done with their drills. Two bowlers were gearing up for the single-wicket drill, the one they do to perfect their line and length. They were prepping up and looking around. I thought they had probably been looking for someone to keep wickets, more like throw the ball back to them. To my luck, they were.
Steve O’Keefe and Ramesh Powar were kind enough to let me do the honors of standing behind the wicket for them. We were practicing just next to the centre wicket, where the game was supposed to be played. I had a great view from that position. In their childhood, every cricket fan dreams of playing in an international stadium, with the floodlights on. It took me a good moment to register that.
To be honest to god, I could not catch all the deliveries. But then, they were international cricketers and I was just a kid living a dream on the day. It was, however, nice to have that experience at that age.
As I tried to focus on the balls coming towards me, I remember watching Muttiah Muralitharan approach us. He was coming after completing a catching session. It was not until he stood next to O’Keefe and Powar that I asked myself, ‘am I going to keep wickets for the great Muralitharan?’
Left: Murali bowling for RCB. Right: Vijay Sethupathi, who’ll play Murali’s role in the upcoming biopic ‘800’. (SOURCE: IANS)
I thought he had come in just to talk to O’Keefe and Powar, but then he began to do the pre-bowling stretches. The moment he took the ball and started spinning it in his hands, my heartbeat ran like a fast bowler. The other two had made way for the great to step up.
I can never forget the first ball he bowled. I guess he wanted me to steady up, which was why he bowled the normal off-cutter. I was able to collect in my gloves. ‘My cricket career is done, I can retire in peace now,” I told myself.
But that was to be the only delivery I would be comfortable facing. As he kept bowling, I realized what they said about being unable to pick his turn, was 100 percent true. He could spin the ball both ways with the same hand action and wrist rotation. All he depended upon was the bounce of the wicket, and that did not help that much.
I lost count of the number of times I got tricked that day. I did catch a few, but mostly I was bamboozled.
We had been told to look at the bowler’s hands to pick the turn. But even then, I could not judge where the ball was going to go. At times I would end up too far away in the opposite direction, standing and watching the ball go the other way. Everything I had heard about the mysterious Murali, I was experiencing the mystery firsthand.
There was one occasion when I judged the ball correctly. It was a doosra. I went the right way, but something weird happened: it turned and hit the stumps and hit me on the nose. I took some time after that and he was kind enough to come and ask me if I was okay.
‘Yes, of course, I want you to hit me on my nose. This is all perfect, can you do it one more time?’ I asked – silently, of course.
I saw it all that day. Murali’s doosra, the off-spin, the flipper, all of it from behind the stumps. He tried it all, perhaps because he was preparing for the game. He wanted to ensure his armory was set to breathe fire on the batters.
I would be lying if I say I caught all of them. I think no wicketkeepers he has bowled at could make that claim. Remember, this was after he had retired from international cricket. Had this been the Murali of 2003 or 2004, I am pretty sure I would not have been able to catch even one of those balls.
As soon as he was done with bowling, I got a chance to talk to him. I knew that I would not have much time as it was the end of their training session. I made sure I told him how big a fan I was, first up. He asked me, again, whether I was doing okay after the hit. I replied that I was, and that was it.
With that trademark infectious smile, which I think stays like a sticker on his face, he bid me farewell and started walking towards the dressing room.
I had a big wide smile on my face as I walked away from the pitch. I think some of the players I encountered on my way back knew how big a deal it had been for me. The ball hitting me on my nose was, I guess, a conversation starter. My experience of keeping wickets for the only bowler who had taken 800 Test wickets was the end of the talk. How could I even put something like that to words? I still cannot.
I remember one of my academy friends was also a wicketkeeper, a senior of mine in the Under-19 group. He had been asked to assist other players in a separate drill. The moment I broke this story to him, I could sense that he was envious. I mean, who would not be?
Every friend of mine only had one question to ask me for that day and the many to come. ‘Kya hua bhai, Muralitharan ko keeping ki tune!’ (What happened brother, you kept wickets for Muralitharan!)
As I reached home, my parents had a different question to ask first. ‘Did you get a photo?’
‘No, of course.’
Our phones had been collected before we had entered the ground. No one wanted to turn a training session into a photography contest.
Both my parents are cricket buffs. My mother had played for her university in Gwalior, while my father played at the inter-college level. I have clearly gotten it from them.
Me telling them that I had kept wickets for Muttiah Muralitharan only meant one thing, a big wide smile.