Thank you, Rahul ‘Jammy’ Dravid

Thank you, Rahul 'Jammy' Dravid was originally written in 2012, just after Rahul Dravid’s retirement. A personal tribute revisits the memories, innings, and quiet grit that made him unforgettable—not just as a cricketer, but as a presence. Less a biography and more a series of emotions from the eyes of a fan who grew up alongside the man.

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I don’t exactly know when I became your fan.

It’s not like you stood out like he did at Sharjah (and made me discover adrenaline in the process). I do, however, remember being sorry for you and cursing you in equal measure in my first game at the Chepauk. When we had to clap for that innings. Your century, while commendable since it was your first, just didn’t have the urgency needed. Jadeja and Mongia did try to make it count.

But I digress.

I was wondering when I first became your fan. But my mom—just like moms always seem to, in their own uncanny way—had the answer to that question. “World cuppukku munnadi adichane adhudhaanda” (the one he hit before the World Cup, that’s the one). Ah, right. The New Zealand tour when 123 of 123 balls came in a losing cause. But I knew you could cut it that day. Hilarious, isn’t it? Armchair pundit at the age of nine (cue: M.S.Bhaskar and Azharuddin).

Cometh the World Cup, cometh the showman. When Sadagopan Ramesh went out early and you, donning the wicketkeeper gloves for this World Cup for the first time, went out and played that 145 (which got glossed over by that 183). I still remember the run-out like it was yesterday. We did not get past the Super 6 stage, but you still were the highest run-getter in the tournament. I was furious when they gave Man of the Tournament to Zulu. I didn’t understand “contributing to the team’s cause” or “how far the team went” or “impact.” But even now, if it played out the same way again, I’d give the award to you. Because you made your impact. On me.

Then came that Singapore century, lost to a possessed Ricardo Powell. I barely remembered your knock. I was just angry—at Powell, at our so-called bowlers, at everything. That was my baptism into Indian cricket: “Always expect a century from the other side when we bowled.”

But I digress. Again.

This is about you. About the man who made many bowling attacks look like ours, over a 15-year career.

Hyderabad. Again, New Zealand. Again, an early dismissal. But, this time you had company. Just like in Taunton, your 153 was overshadowed by that 186. Surreal déjà vu.

Then came the match-fixing years. The gloom. The ban. But cricket was still cricket, and the Australians were on a 15-match unbeaten streak. India, led by a new, edgy captain, was in rebuild mode. First match: a mood-killer. Second test: drifting the same way… until you walked in. With 50 runs yet to score to wipe off the deficit and to set a target, you stepped up. With the man who loved Australia more than any other team at the other end, no one expected fireworks. But boy, did I not expect what you got, how you got it, and the way you got it all. Unforgettable.

And then came Chennai, where cricket becomes magical. You didn’t dominate, but you held firm. You were the man who held one end while we watched magic slowly unfold once again in Chennai. I watched you become magical, in my eyes. Australia never dared to enforce the follow-on again on us. Ever.

And then: West Indies. Another keeper. And you… you bowled, haha. You kept wickets for Ratra while he bowled. I had never seen any team that bowled all its 11 players. Cricinfo tells me that that was only the third instance when such an instance happened and one that hadn’t been seen for 21 years. But I guess it was because cricket loved me as much as I loved cricket that I got to see all kinds of players and teams and records.

Damn it. I digressed. AGAIN. I guess I didn’t learn that single-mindedness from you. Shame.

Nottingham (rock back and cut)
Leeds (rock back and flick through the midwicket)
Oval (which I avidly followed with a notepad beside me to see how many balls you left for every single run)
Adelaide (that Ajit Agarkar freak show)
Rawalpindi (Oh! the agony and ecstasy of the lbw)
Kolkata (which I had to watch on a television in the Thiruvannamalai bus stand egging us on to win the match, never knowing when the bus would start, only to realise that the conductor and the driver were standing right beside me).

Places became memories.

Then the captaincy. The lean patch. You had to sit out after 93 matches (or was it 94?). Missed the century. Your back and your mind both seemed ready to kill you. Some even dared to whisper the “O” word…that you were old. But you reminded them. You reminded us all when you put bat to the ball, bowler to the sword, and seam to the wear. 2011 came, we won the World Cup, and we went to England with a newfound swagger.

However, only one person knew how to play test cricket, and the result is this photograph that has since gone viral.

While I like the thought/essence behind that photo, that, to me, belittles what you have accomplished. Achievements. Not that of you being the 2nd highest run getter. Not that of you being the one with the most outfield catches. Probably the one where girls still swear by you as the ideal man they would like to get married to, haha. But definitely the one where you have faced the most balls in test cricket. Balls. You had them by the truckloads. More than any other cricketer that played in the same timeframe as you.

I don’t know what to say now. Teary-eyed? Maybe. Nostalgic? Absolutely. Farewell? Pointless. You’ll never leave the game. And I’ll never stop watching it, still grumbling that I miss you.

Congratulations? I don’t know. On what? A wonderful career? On retiring on your own terms? Bowing out at the top because how can one be sure that it was the top? Making peace with being consistently overshadowed by other individuals in a team sport?

Maybe all I can do is thank you. It does sound much better than the other options.

So, thank you, Jammy.

For the Bradman lecture.

And for the indelible memories that will stand the test of time (with the aid of Cricinfo).