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By:

Waleed Hussain

4 March 2025 at 2:34:30 pm

Will Sarfaraz Make the Most of This Second Chance?

Sarfaraz Khan has been recalled to India’s Test squad for the Sri Lanka series, replacing the injured Sai Sudharsan. In the grand tradition of Indian cricket, opportunity has arrived not through sustained brilliance or careful planning, but because someone’s toe decided it had better things to do. One man’s stress reaction is another man’s second chance. How very democratic. For those who have followed Sarfaraz’s career with the weary patience of a Mumbai local train passenger, this feels...

Will Sarfaraz Make the Most of This Second Chance?

Sarfaraz Khan has been recalled to India’s Test squad for the Sri Lanka series, replacing the injured Sai Sudharsan. In the grand tradition of Indian cricket, opportunity has arrived not through sustained brilliance or careful planning, but because someone’s toe decided it had better things to do. One man’s stress reaction is another man’s second chance. How very democratic. For those who have followed Sarfaraz’s career with the weary patience of a Mumbai local train passenger, this feels familiar. He is the domestic run machine who averages something ridiculous in first-class cricket—north of 64, the kind of number that should guarantee selection until the end of time, or at least until the next shiny prospect emerges from the under-19 conveyor belt. He scored a century and three fifties in his first six Tests. He looked the part. Then, as is customary, the part was reassigned. Two years of exile followed. Not the dramatic kind involving public statements and bitter Instagram stories, but the quieter variety: keep scoring, keep waiting, keep watching others get the nod. He lost 17 kilograms. He reinvented himself in white-ball cricket. He even found a temporary home at Chennai Super Kings, that noted rehabilitation clinic for careers that had been left out in the rain. The runs kept coming. The phone stayed silent. Until a toe injury intervened, as toes occasionally do when the universe feels sentimental. Now he is back, leaner, hungrier, and almost certainly aware that second chances in Indian cricket are like limited-edition sneakers: highly prized, quickly gone, and often worn by someone else the following week. The question is not whether he deserves this opportunity. Domestic averages and first-class pedigree have already settled that debate in his favour several times over. The question is whether he can convert it before the selectors remember there are other talented middle-order batters who also look good in training kit. Sri Lanka, at least, offers a stage that suits him. Turning tracks, spin, the sort of conditions where a player who treats slow bowling with the casual contempt of a man who has faced far worse on the maidans of Mumbai can flourish. Sarfaraz has always looked more comfortable when the ball is not flying past his nose at 140 clicks. Galle and Colombo should feel like home, or at least like a well-lit practice pitch with slightly better catering. Yet one senses the usual caveats hovering. He may not even play. Devdutt Padikkal is also in the squad and has been hovering with the quiet menace of a man who knows the middle order is a musical chairs game played with fewer chairs than people. Even if Sarfaraz does get a game, two Tests is a short window. One soft dismissal and the narrative writes itself: “promising but ultimately unable to seize the moment.” Indian cricket loves a redemption arc almost as much as it loves abandoning one halfway through. There is dry humour in the fitness transformation. Losing 17 kilograms is impressive. It also feels like the modern tax on talent. Once upon a time, a player could score heavily and look like a man who enjoyed his mother’s cooking. Now the same player must look like he has been living on grilled chicken and regret. Sarfaraz has paid the tax. Whether the selectors notice the improved agility more than they notice the next injury elsewhere remains to be seen. Indian cricket is a system that simultaneously worships domestic performance and treats it as optional reading. It celebrates the long wait, the grind, the character-building years of Ranji Trophy anonymity, then acts surprised when the player who endured all of that still needs an injury to someone else to get another look. Sarfaraz has done everything asked of him short of inventing a new batting stroke or solving climate change. He has scored the runs, shed the weight, waited his turn, and posted the appropriately motivational Instagram quote about fighting even when he does not fit in. The system has responded by giving him a replacement role on a two-match tour. Progress, of a sort. Will he make the most of it? The honest answer is that we do not know, and neither does he. Form is temporary, selection is fickle, and the middle order is crowded with people who also believe this is their moment. What can be said with confidence is that if he fails, it will be treated as confirmation of earlier doubts. If he succeeds, it will be treated as proof that the system works after all. The middle path—solid, unspectacular contributions that keep him in the conversation—is the least glamorous and therefore the most likely to be undervalued. Sarfaraz Khan is 28. He has already lived several careers: child prodigy, domestic colossus, brief international hopeful, forgotten man, fitness project, IPL revivalist, and now, once more, national squad member. The second chance has arrived courtesy of someone else’s misfortune. In Indian cricket, that is often as good as it gets. Whether he turns it into something lasting depends less on talent—he has that—than on the rarest of commodities in this ecosystem: sustained opportunity. The runs are there. The hunger is there. The leaner frame is there. The only missing ingredient is the one thing no player can manufacture alone: the willingness of the system to keep the door open long enough for him to walk through it and stay. History suggests caution. Hope, being the stubborn creature that it is, suggests otherwise. For Sarfaraz’s sake, and for the sake of every domestic accumulator still waiting for the phone to ring, one hopes the latter is correct this time. (The writer is a senior journalist based in Mumbai.)

Bharat’s Jetson Cities, Light-years Away from Nature

Updated: Jan 20, 2025

Jetson Cities

One thing is for certain: our Bharatiya cities, the big metros and towns, are fast becoming like the ‘Jetson’ cities. For those who are unaware of Jetson cities, these were first shown in the famous Hanna-Barbera cartoon series, the Jetsons, set in the 2100s, where cities are air-tight glass globules tethered to the ground, and the only way to get in and out are the flying cars. Yes, we, the city-dwellers, aspire to tall skyscrapers, spectacular bridges, world-class tunnels, swooshing metro trains, and we are building Jetson-like flying cars. A few HD drone images here and there, during the day and at night and around twilight, and we are content that our cities have become the cynosure of our own eyes. We want our cities to be brightly lit, with neon signs, laser shows, and large billboard videos. We would then fulfil our inner desire to have a city on par with Tokyo, New York, and Shanghai.


Our buildings, designed for the next 30 years, are well air-conditioned, shielding occupants from a soupy dust bowl of brown smog, soot, particulate matter, and fine dust. It is said that most new home buyers invest at least 10% of their property’s price in enhancing the interiors, soundproofing their homes, using air purifiers and conditioners, and disconnecting from the outside world for that much-needed solace. Indeed, large builders promote their projects as close to nature amidst tranquillity. However, there is always another builder eager to get one plot of land ahead of yours to enjoy that nature. To be truthful, access to nature now comes at a premium - even the skies.


Let’s assume the working-age population is occupied in the leisure of our Jetson cities, but how many of their young school and college-going kids have seen the long arm of the Milky Way galaxy from their cities? How many have witnessed a comet zooming by? How many know about endemic plants with medicinal properties? When did they last see a chirping house sparrow? How many know that the nearest sewage drain was once a freshwater stream? When did they last find their suburban beach prettier than the resort beaches of Maldives?


The intent to ask these questions is simple: Bharat is currently at a crossroads. Pundits are enthusiastic about a cultural renaissance on the horizon. Corporate leaders, on the other hand, want us to invest hundreds of hours each week to pay our dues to the growth of the national GDP. But no one asks, if a cultural renaissance is to occur, who will generate the new understandings and insights of nature that arise typically during such a period of human advancement? No one is actually asking, for whom are we building the nation if there is no time for children, or worse, if there is no time or intent to have children. In the process of growing rich, we are about to become old. By 2047, 65% of the population under the age of 35 will grow beyond 35 all at once, and we’d have an enormous population in advanced ages with a tapering young population, a graph that looks like a banyan tree. Unfortunately, that young population will have no access to the knowledge that nature has to offer, neither flora and fauna nor the seas and the skies.


Our urbane lifestyles need tempering. Such tempering can occur only if we ensure the revival of natural sciences during this period of cultural renaissance and nation-building. Let’s not rely solely on the educational system. With Indian Knowledge Systems, constructive changes are underway, and academic curricula are poised to improve for the greater good. However, true knowledge arises only when parents and grandparents introduce children to nature. Genuine understanding also develops from extracurricular activities in schools and colleges that encourage kids to observe, journal, and act on their discoveries. On the positive side, our country’s forest cover is increasing, as announced by the government. However, efforts must be made to ensure that every school or college, whether in Mumbai, Vijayawada, Gorakhpur, Ratlam, Thrissur, Bhuj, Faridabad, Imphal, Manali, Cuttack, or Ajmer, guarantees that their students are well aware of the endemic nature of their surroundings and are regularly observing and recording data on whatever interests them. Let kids observe rivers and understand the volume of water that flows through them. Let children learn about the decline of house sparrows in their cities and what steps should be taken to revive their populations. Let them study the bees in their nearby groves and recognise the vital role these bees play in nature.


Of course, you need to learn AI, robotics, fintech, the next generation of management courses, and all the engineering bells and whistles. However, we must not leave the next generation with inadequate comprehension and skills for understanding nature. We must ensure that nature conservation is not merely lip service or a tool for politicised green activists. This can be achieved if natural sciences are given the respect they deserve at the school, undergraduate, and postgraduate levels.


Indeed, I am a plebeian, and you might feel that you, too, could write a rant about the plight of our urban lives. Urban development and municipal experts have many solutions to propose, but few are willing to take action. However, that is not the issue I wish to highlight. I aim to illustrate a much larger concern—that Indian city dwellers are disoriented and devoid of nature, lacking a guiding star to lead them toward a brighter future. Our cities of Mumbai, Delhi, Bengaluru, Ahmedabad, Kolkata, and Chennai have taken on characteristics reminiscent of Jetson-like cities. We show little regard for the Nagar Devata, Gram Devata, and Van Devata, who have protected the cities, towns, and forests that once surrounded us. We wait for formal governance to clean up our beaches, rivers, and ponds without making sufficient efforts to prevent pollution in the first place.


For those striving to grasp spirituality not through the Puranas and Aadi-Granth but through new-age podcasts, I recommend watching Vinay Varanasi’s podcast on Bhagavan Vishnu’s Dashavatar. If it is clear that Bhagavan Vishnu does not tolerate disregard for Bhudevi or Mother Earth, why do we, the devotees of Bhagavan Vishnu, continue to pollute our Mother Earth—her air, soil, waters, and sounds? Or have we taken Elon Musk's words at face value, assuming our next destination is Mars after destroying Earth, only to ruin Mars later, even worse than its current clinically sterile state? If that is the case, then bear with me when I say this: these Jetson cities stand on precarious pillars of ego, victimhood, apathy, and consumerism, waiting to be toppled either by the true harbingers of order or by false prophets. Therefore, teach the next generations to observe nature, appreciate our coexistence with other species, and venerate the forces of nature. By doing so, we humans will be good, at least for the next thousand years. If not, prepare for a bleak future by the end of this century.


(The author is a Space and Emerging Technology Fellow at the Centre for Security, Strategy and Technology, Observer Research Foundation, Mumbai. Views personal.)

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