Virat Kohli
Flickr photo by NAPARAZZI shared under a Creative Commons (BY-SA 2.0) license.

Virat Kohli and the overwhelming pain of loss

Ahmer Naqvi·
International
·1 Comment·

Greatness often shrouds itself in failure – and Virat Kohli is no exception to life’s intrinsic irony…

One of the most consistent features of subcontinental people, aka desis, is the lament for the loss of power and prestige. In many ways, this lament has lasted for several centuries, ever since the British came in to colonise the whole region. Central to this lamenting is the belief that the loss of power was caused by a ruling elite that had become too indulgent in the pleasures of life. An elite that had become careless, and even effete, as it celebrated wine and poetry more than the rigours of ruling.

The celebrated writer Munshi Premchand captured this sentiment in his story, Shatranj Ke Khilari (The Chess Players), which also happened to be translated into the only Hindi-language film acclaimed director Satyajit Ray ever made. The plot of the story revolves around two noblemen who remain so involved in their passion for playing chess that they end up ignoring the upheavals going on in their personal lives.

I have never been one to endorse this view fully. While there is little doubt that empires on their downturn are marked by self-indulgent, out-of-touch elites, I don’t like the idea of blaming the arts for a political downfall. But there are times I wonder whether the idea of lamenting itself is one that all desis enjoy too much to let go.

Much of these thoughts come after reflecting on the art form known as the Ghazal. The ghazal is “a form of amatory poem or ode, originating in Arabic poetry. A ghazal may be understood as a poetic expression of both the pain of loss or separation and the beauty of love in spite of that pain”. Now, it is too much for an uncultured idiot like me to try and explain the multitudes of meaning and relevance that the ghazal has, particularly in South Asia. But what I wish for you to take away is the celebration of pain – the celebration of a love that necessarily causes heartbreak.

Given that most South Asians have their life partners chosen for them according to all kinds of considerations except love, the idea of choosing someone to love is both liberating as well as, in most cases, practically impossible. Perhaps that is why you see countless trucks and buses with ‘Sanam Bewafa’ (disloyal lover) written on them. Perhaps that is why you can find similarities between the superb poetry of Mirza Ghalib and the Instagram posts of One Side Lover. Each of these examples represents desis celebrating the exquisite pain that only a broken heart can provide.

I am the furthest thing from any sort of expert on sub-continental music (I can’t play any instrument nor do I understand the meticulous and detailed knowledge of Indian classical music) but I also feel that the birth of modern Pakistani pop music – which can be traced to somewhere around the early 80s – saw the sentiment behind the ghazal translate into pop music. These songs lacked the rules that ghazals follow, but they captured the same emotional aesthetic. Think of the songs by Vital Signs, or Sajjad Ali, or even early Junoon. Atif Aslam is perhaps the epitome of this trend, as his decidedly untrained voice manages to reflect the sweet pain that desis crave. The point of all this is to emphasise just how much the subcontinent loves to celebrate the valiant hero, the doomed affair, the star-crossed lovers.

For Virat Kohli, the idea of being a valiant hero must be a relatively recent one. A superstar during the golden age of Indian cricket, Kohli has picked up countless accolades. Always marked out as a child prodigy, he captained India to the U19 World Cup in 2008, and just three years later picked up the senior version of the title too – one that had eluded most of the players who had ushered in this golden age. He soon established himself as a premier batsman in all three formats, and tasted considerable success in each.

Sure, there were some disappointments. Kohli’s leadership of the star-studded IPL franchise – Royal Challengers Bangalore – had failed to yield a championship, despite superlative efforts from him. Similarly, while the Indian Test side did superbly at home, he was part of a team that didn’t always tour so well. But even here, Kohli often managed to stand out, particularly in tours to Australia where he rose above his team many times.

In fact, the very first time that Virat Kohli had to face major doubts was after the 2014 tour to England. Suddenly, Kohli didn’t just look human, he looked downright terrible. Pundits and fans alike claimed that the batsman had padded up his runs on flat pitches, and the first sign of actually testing conditions had shown him up to be the bully he was.

Cricket is a sport that remains in thrall of Victorian-era morals, and while Test cricket retains infinite charms, its loudest proponents often include the type of people who constantly gripe about the modern era. Kohli, with his tattoos and potty-mouth and supercharged theatrics seemed to represent the anti-thesis of all that such types admired. The fact that he was shown up in the ultimate format in the very country that gave birth to the sport seemed to represent some sort of cosmic justice.

Thus, over the past four years as Kohli continued to redefine modern cricket, many detractors gleefully pointed to his excruciating 2014 tour as proof that he was ultimately a phoney. When Kohli returned to England for the ongoing 2018 series, questions over how well or poorly he would do dominated the discussions.

So perhaps that was why, as I saw India lose the eminently winnable first Test of the 2018 series England tour – a Test where the Indian captain Virat Kohli had stood head and shoulders above the rest – I couldn’t help but think of Tum Mil Gaye (When I met you), one of the most iconic songs by Vital Signs.

Tum mil gaye
Toa kya hua
Tum duur thay
Toa kya hua
Weeraniyan, kam na hui
Tanha tha mei, tanha raha

(When I met you, but what difference did it make
When you were away, what difference did it make
The loneliness didn’t abate
I was alone before, I remain alone now)

You see, Kohli had just made just under half the runs his team had put up in that match, and almost a quarter of the match total, but still ended up losing. He had, at the very first time of asking, made that elusive century in England. He had made it in a match where the next highest score was almost half of his (149 vs 80). He had top scored in both innings for his side. But even when he found that moment that was meant to vindicate him, he couldn’t achieve what he had truly wanted.

Tanha tha mein, tanha raha.

India were absolutely mauled in the second Test, but then won the third Test. Again, it was their captain at the forefront, scoring 97 and 103 to take his team to a heavy win. This gave them the chance to square the series, and the absolutely fantastic fourth Test was set up for just that, as India saw themselves in superb positions many times. The last such time was in the final innings, right before Kohli got out for a fifty after having setup the platform for a winning chase. For the umpteenth time in the series, the other batsmen failed and India lost the series.

Zindagi ek naya zakhm
bana di tum ne
Apnay haathon se mujhe,
aag laga di tum ne
Jaan-e-jaan maut nahi,
sharam toa aati hogi

(You made life a new wound
You set me on fire with your own hands
O beloved, you might not confront death
But confront your shame at least)

Over the years, Virat Kohli had gone from a slightly chubby, party loving, largely immature cricketer to a phenomenon. As an athlete, he eschewed the relatively lax fitness standards of his own sport and began to compare himself with tennis stars and track runners. As a batsman, he worked tirelessly at expanding his game to suit all conditions. As a captain, he tore down the spin-heavy, home-only ideology of his predecessor as Test captain (MS Dhoni) and then assumed a dictatorial bend (easily his biggest flaw) in moulding the team as per his own understanding. As a public personality, he went from being a stereotypical Delhi f*ckboi to a genuine role model, actively taking on progressive causes and seeking to create a public persona that was decidedly modern.

All these changes speak to his focus and commitment, and thus the runs he scored in this England tour were testament to his hard work. But then, after having moved heaven and earth to fix Indian cricket’s perennial problems their one ever-present strength let him down – their batting.

Array bewafa, kehte hain tujh ko
Aur sharmata, huun mein…

(O beloved, they call you unfaithful
And I am left filled with shame…)

As Virat Kohli repeatedly watched every batter save himself throw the initiative (and the series) away, would he have found himself humming these iconic lyrics?

Now it could be because I belong to a very melodramatic culture, or that my zodiac sign is Cancer, or that I love Pakistani music, or that I support the maddeningly infuriating Pakistani cricket team – but this idea of celebrating the exquisite pain of loss is one that I highly relate to. Tragedy, rather than success, seems to paint a veneer of purity to the act of loving something that you lose. The denial of resolution seems to imply that the end never mattered, only the journey did. It is glorious to taste victory, but to give up all of yourself in the face of defeat is transcendent.

Aashiqii sabr-talab aur tamannaa betaab
Dil kaa kyaa rang karuun khun-e jigar hone tak

Ham ne maanaa ke taghaaful na karoge lekin
Khaak ho jaayenge ham tumako Khabar hone tak

(Love needs patience but lust is restless
What colour should my heart be, till it bleeds to death

I know you will not ignore me, but
By the time you know of me, I would have turned to ash)

For those who followed cricket in the 90s, the recent phase of Kohli’s career has echoes of the first half of Sachin Tendulkar’s career, or the majority of Brian Lara’s. You watch a genius try and do everything in their mortal power to drag their teams to victory, only to find themselves constantly betrayed by them. You watch a fury that is driven by love, only to be doused by the apathy of the beloved. You watch someone carry the world on their shoulders, only for that world to collapse.

Saari dunya, ke ranj o gham de ker
Muskuranay ki baat kerte ho

(After giving me all the pain and suffering of this world
You speak to me of smiling)

Even if India go on to win the fifth Test and restore some pride, that won’t ever be enough for Virat Kohli. He sought to rewrite his team’s and his own destiny here, and came up short despite all his efforts. And yet, perhaps because he failed to win the series, for me he won just about everything else instead.