Indian tour a test of character

In the past, the greatest gain for English and Australian Test cricketers on tour in India used to be the raw material that they acquired for the books some of them published soon afterwards. Snakes on the streets; umpires who begged an Indian (usually royal) batsman's forgiveness while reluctantly lifting their fingers after the umpteenth desperate appeal; cockroaches, scorpions and worse in the soup; the Delhi belly; BO ('Bombay odour'); smog; treacherous pitches and violent crowds - all these made for the most exciting concoction that their highly civilized readers from the developed world were expected to lap up with smug condescension.

Every touring team had a couple of entertainers who befriended the crowds in a visible, laugh-raising style. Tony Greig once went down on his knees in supplication before India's spin wizards and the roaring spectators who egged them on, much to the distraction of the former and the delight of the latter. Derek Randall, the clown prince of the English team in the 70s, did cartwheels and somersaults between deliveries to divert audience attention from the sometimes-boring proceedings in the middle.

All that changed when improved television coverage showed the world the wonderful, often appreciative, crowds that thronged Indian grounds, and the much-improved standards of umpiring and playing conditions. Television really exposed many of these one-sided, highly creative accounts of the travails of touring the subcontinent as the works of fiction that they were.

Even in the bad old days of subcontinent-bashing by the western media - as opposed to the presentday scenario of sugarcoated versions of reportage for consumption here and suitably modified stories for the entertainment of those "back home," there were some English and Australian cricketers who genuinely used the opportunity to further their cricket education. Some of them learned to bat better on slow tracks that aided spin, some to bowl better, and some others even tried to like the natives.

Every touring team had a couple of entertainers who befriended the crowds in a visible, laugh-raising style. Tony Greig once went down on his knees in supplication before India's spin wizards and the roaring spectators who egged them on, much to the distraction of the former and the delight of the latter. Derek Randall, the clown prince of the English team in the 70s, did cartwheels and somersaults between deliveries to divert audience attention from the sometimes-boring proceedings in the middle.

In recent years, visiting batsmen have begun to play spin with increasing authority, even on the dusty tracks of Indian Test grounds. Those who succeed in this aspect of their game go back the richer for it, with a more complete mastery of the nuances of cricket. The need to perform under pressure in front of vast crowds, at incredible noise levels, and in conditions completely different from home, serves to separate the men from the boys.

The more sensitive tourists also learn to appreciate the tapestry of linguistic and cultural variety here, as well as the resilience of the Indian spirit in harsher living conditions than they have ever encountered before. If a battle-scarred veteran like Steve Waugh is moved enough by the plight of some of his most unfortunate fellows to make a lifetime commitment to their cause, a deeply religious man like Matthew Hayden can draw spiritual sustenance from the cheerful contentment of India's underprivileged.

There is no denying the rigours of an Indian tour, though. Coming from a privileged Western background, a young cricketer can easily allow the relative harshness and unfamiliarity of the Indian experience to affect his game adversely. While in the past this often led to Test-playing nations underrating the importance of series in India, some visiting captains have in recent years had the honesty and courage to admit that success in the subcontinent is an essential prerequisite before a team can be labelled world-class.