Karateka who packs a different punch

One is occidental, the other is oriental. One is a national obsession, the other an imported martial art from Japan. One is a skill-based team sport and the other a game of a kick-here-and-a-punch-there. In the first, distance of the body is sacrosanct. The second is a purely contact sport. In rules, karate and cricket are poles apart.

There is nothing to suggest that if you excel in the first, you will benefit in the other. So how did Ajinkya Rahane make the transition from a kareteka to a cricketer? An interesting story emerges if you delve into his past. Martial arts defined Rahane’s identity in his formative years. It could be said that karate cured a slight shortcoming in his personality.

Madhukar Rahane, his father, recalls a shy and submissive Ajinkya who would “hide in the bedroom at the sight of visitors”. “I admitted him to a karate class so that he could develop an outward personality,” Rahane Sr says.

Not only did Ajinkya go on to acquire a black belt, but the initiation to martial arts also helped him generate tremendous power behind his shots. Often it’s the outsiders who notice the flash of talent in you rather than the people you grow up with. It was Ajinkya’s neighbours who spotted the cricketer in him. A short and spindly Ajinkya was smashing bowlers thrice his age while playing in his compound.

The father wasted no time. The boy was taken to Khaatu sir in Dombivli, a town 50 km away from Mumbai. Khaatu sir tried a small game of motivation. He pulled out a photograph of two batsmen. Ajinkya was asked to recognise them. “To my surprise,” Madhukar laughs off, “he not only identified them, he also said he wanted to play with them.”

The two batsmen on the picture were Sachin Tendulkar and Vinod Kambli in their teens.
Says Rahane Sr, “I was not ready to dream that big 16 years ago. But my boy had an innocent confidence about him. Somewhere, he was ready.”

Madhukar Rahane belongs to a farmers’ family. He is a native of Chandanapuri, close to Shirdi. A diploma civil engineer by profession, he moved to Mumbai in the late 1970s to pursue his studies. He would bunk classes to watch kids play at the Azad Maidan where his engineering college was located. That was his only exposure to cricket.

After completing his studies, he landed a government job in the city. His modest income never allowed him to move out of Dombivli.

Ajinkya’s early days mirrored the family’s struggle. He was playing Mumbai’s junior tournaments and club cricket at the same time. He would pull his cricket kit amidst a sea of people and change three stations on his way to the maidans of Mumbai.

Lack of infrastructure in Dombivli prompted Madhukar to move to Mulund, still a suburb, but his son had to travel a slightly lesser distance now.

All this while, the big scores didn’t stop coming. Ajinkya was being talked about as a serious talent in the city’s cricket circles.

But his frail constitution seemed to have become a bottleneck. His father remembers a comment during an age-group match, which hit him hard.

Ajinkya had just padded up. A parent of a boy who was also playing the match remarked, ‘God knows how these parents are. The bat is taller than the boy. Why don’t these parents care about their kid’s health?’” Madhukar says.

“Ajinkya played a match-winning knock,” he recalls. “After the match, that parent apologised for using harsh words.”

But ‘Ajju’, as they fondly call him, was getting tougher by the day. In a certain game, a bouncer had knocked off a tooth and blood stained his whites. His father rushed home only to see his boy knocking a ball at his compound. Ajinkya dismissed it “as a small thing”.

From Khattu sir to Arvind Kadam to Sanjay Patil to Praveen Amre, he was nurtured by the right minds who may have made minor changes in his stance and backlift but didn’t tinker with his game.

Interestingly, Ajinkya’s debut for Mumbai almost coincided with Amre’s first assignment as coach of Mumbai’s Ranji team. Amre had watched the boy only in the capacity of a junior selection committee chairman.

“The first thing I noticed in him was his ball sense and middling,” Amre says. “His technique was so natural that I didn’t have to tinker with it much except making a few subtle changes here and there. Since Mumbai had a settled opening pair in Wasim Jaffer and Sahil Kukreja, I asked him to bat one-drop.”

“But his shy and silent nature was worrying me. I was unsure how he was going to deal with the tough world outside. I allowed him to talk more, engaged him in team activities to open up, but I knew for a fact that he was very strong within. Slowly, with time, he shed inhibitions. Some brilliant knocks also added to his confidence.”

Life has changed for the better in the in the Rahane household in Mulund. Lok Nisarg, where the  Rahanes have moved in for better facilities, is a two-bedroom flat. It’s located at an unusually serene corner at Vaishali Nagar, with a small hill nearby giving it a ‘close to nature’ feel.

Inside his 10/8ft bedroom, mostly crammed with his cricket belongings, hangs a blue poster. It’s a collage of his photos. A message on it reads: “In this world, people will always throw stones in the path of your success. It depends what you make from them — a wall or a bridge.”

Ajinkya’s mother  Sujata Rahane says, “He is very fond of paneer and poha cooked by me. But owing to restrictions on diet, he has cut down on paneer (cottage cheese).”

Ajinkya’s mother is the force behind his motivation. “No one knows how much Sujata has sacrificed for him. She would wake up at 4 in the morning, prepare his food, and get him ready for his long travel. She would clean his dirty clothes and provide the right nourishment when he would return from his karate classes,” says Madhukar, his voice in knots.

“Regardless of where he is, Ajinkya calls his mother at least once in a day. He can figure out if she is in trouble, such is the connect.”

He lightens the mood and shares a funny story. Once a kabaddi and kho-kho player, Madhukar found his new love for cricket through radio commentary in the late 1970s. His teacher, in a certain context, asked him to name a spinner. Kapil Dev was his answer. He was advised to stick to kabaddi and kho-kho  He couldn’t resist a laugh when Ajinkya received a scholarship award from Kapil in New Delhi few years back.

After years of wait, Ajinkya was finally rewarded with his India cap. Shikhar Dhawan’s injury created an opportunity that may have taken longer to come his way.

“I realised his restlessness,” Amre says. “Frustration naturally gets to you, but luckily I was around to help him handle it better. I gave him the example of Mike Hussey who had to wait equally long for his Baggy Green. I told him if he could give me that kind of commitment, his time would come.”

A Test cap from Harbhajan Singh may have dispelled the self-doubt. Now, Ajinkya knows that what rests on his head is not just a blue cap but the legacy of Mumbai’s great batting lineage. It’s been a road less-travelled and an arduous one at that. But the wait could be worth it.

The writer works with ESPN-Star Sports