It is a rare thing — an engaging autobiography by a cricketer. We often learn only of the joy of victory, or of the dejection of defeat. Banalities come aplenty, and the intellect is only modestly challenged. That is a shame, for cricket is a sport designed for self-reflection. It stretches out time, and aids introspection.
Sanjay Manjrekar challenges that assumption in Imperfect. “Thinkers by nature don’t usually make good cricketers because a lot of cricket is about letting instincts take over. It pays not to ponder too much,” he writes. Manjrekar should know. His Prufrockian disposition is reflected in TS Eliot’s verse…
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse
The tinkering and the struggle eventually consumed Manjrekar the cricketer. His self-reflexive ways, though, came in handy for Imperfect. The result is a challenging account of the man we often see on television screens now. It helps that he possesses a much-devalued skill in Indian cricket circles — Manjrekar can write. This is how he stays relevant. Manjrekar readily admits that his need to stay visible drives him in his current occupation — media commitments. At one point, he writes, “I never loved the game for the pure joy of hitting a ball. If cricket was not a popular sport in India, there was no chance I would have played it. It was my ticket to fame.”
His presence and popularity remain intact; the man who brought cutting-edge analysis to cricket coverage in the early noughties is still celebrated. He changed the assumption, as is his wont, that cricketers are hired by networks to share their playing experience alone. It is a shame that his commentary has subsequently slipped from those lofty standards. As has been the case with Indian commentators since the turn of the decade, Manjrekar too has conceded ground to the thick-skinned cricketer. In Imperfect, he warns of the dangers of a commentator’s proximity with players and the obsession with the punditry of former players. Yet, his recent contributions to cricket coverage have suggested that Manjrekar is aware of the boundaries which cannot be crossed. Notably, there is no mention in the book of his temporary ouster from the Star Sports commentary panel in 2013 for merely offering his honest analysis.
Understandably, the former batsman remains proud of the difference he brought about in cricket commentary at a time when many chose to speak from a pedestal. Some credit should be apportioned to Manjrekar’s desire to step out of his bubble. He knew that the world of cricket limited one’s awareness; “When I quit cricket, I desperately started seeking out people who were not cricketers,” he writes.
Manjrekar’s father, Vijay Manjrekar, led a difficult life after cricket, and his son, like most children, sought a different path for himself. The book comes alive when he writes about his difficult relationship with his illustrious father. Vijay Manjrekar’s violent rage marked him out. In contrast, Manjrekar calmed down after quitting professional cricket, surrounding himself with cinema and music.
The cricketing years, though, took a toll. Playing in a team that rarely won, and his personal struggles left Manjrekar weary. Not feeling at home in the Indian side rankled him; self-serving agendas within the group restricted camaraderie among players. However, Manjrekar holds fond memories of his time with the Mumbai team. His disenchantment with his playing days was overcome to an extent when he received support and love from India’s cricketing royalty.
The time spent with them meant cricket followed him even when he wanted to be done with it. While Manjrekar contends that his surname never bore heavily upon him, it is rather difficult to imagine his life without cricket. Much before he became a professional, the boy was enmeshed in Mumbai’s cricketing fraternity and his career path was set out for him. It is to Manjrekar’s credit that he embraced the challenge before giving up on it.
Yet, his desire for public life keeps him in cricket’s company. It could be argued that the more Manjrekar sought to distance himself from the sport, the more he slipped into it. The batsman’s post-playing career might just be a job, but it keeps him in touch with the mores and habits he wished to leave behind.
Now, Manjrekar saves his most critical self for his singing. Indeed, one cannot fathom how he would do as a commentator if he constantly put himself under pressure to speak only the best lines. It would be a train wreck. Fortunately for him, Manjrekar has neatly classified his media work as a job to be done. It is unlikely to become his obsession.
Yet, one wishes the refreshing honesty, apparent throughout the book, will find its way back into his commentary. Manjrekar’s current professional status may not allow him to reveal everything that has transpired behind the scenes in recent years. But, perhaps, he is saving those stories for another book. One certainly hopes so.
Priyansh is a Delhi-based sports writer