Did Dravid see the writing on 'The Wall' in England?

There’s a pocket-size spiral-bound notebook of mine that I shall treasure from now on. No, I’ll detach a page from it and frame it up. It contains the personalised autograph of Rahul Dravid. My already high respect for Dravid the cricketer, Dravid the gentleman, Dravid the caring family man and Dravid the good human being — all these aspects abide in him, don’t they? — has gone up even higher with the impeccable timing of his retirement from international cricket.

Even during his peak performances on the 2011 England tour, he appeared to be a man readying for the inevitable. Family moments seemed to matter most. How do I know?

I bumped into him in central London a day before the London Oval ODI. I was crossing a signal at the intersection at the Queensway tube station next to Hyde Park/Kensington Gardens and found a very familiar face at a distance. It was so familiar that my reflex was to assume that this must be one of my out-of-touch schoolmates. After a few moments though, during which I crossed over to his side, I realised this was indeed Dravid in flesh and blood, and in simple blue denims, sneakers and a tee. 

But, how could this guy possibly be Dravid, the star of the touring Indian team, yet with no hint of stardom or celebrity trappings? Overawed though I was, I mustered some courage to go up to him and dumbly sought confirmation. “Sorry, Sir, can I ask you something? Are you Mr Dravid?”

“Of course, who else could I be?” he replied softly, smilingly, amused at my query.

“How come you don’t have any security?”

“Why would I need that? I don’t think I need it here (in London).”

By now, I realised Dravid’s wife Vijeta was beside him with their two kids, equally amused. Pedestrians, including many Asians, threw curious glances at us (more because of my demeanour), and that was about it. It was not hard to grasp that Dravid was a having a free-and-easy day off in London. No security, no flashy cars. No airs of being the batsman who has faced the most number of deliveries in Test cricket and who holds the world record for catches. A simple family man. With a shoulder bag, containing a milk bottle for his infant kid in the side pouch, weighing on his back. Sauntering through the London streets, parks and shopping arcades.

Congratulating him on his terrific form in England, I heaped praise and said but for him, India would probably suffer much more. He accepted the compliments but in a kind of self-effacing manner, playing down his own contributions. I quickly begged for an autograph, and he readily obliged, asking for my name, with a look that said, ‘Oh my, how come even 40-plus Indians get overwhelmed like schoolboys at the sight of a cricketer?’ He just didn’t walk way. He paused, asked me questions, like what I do, and so on. (I didn’t tell him I’m a journalist deliberately - thought it might make him go away quickly.)

Assuming he might not know the nearby hotspots, I volunteered to show him around the Kensington Gardens where swans are a star attraction. “Your little son would love it,” I said, hoping Dravid would accept my invitation so that I could actually chat about cricket, and perhaps click a snap with Dravid and a swan in the frame (swansong and all that). As luck would have it, Dravid and his wife thanked me profusely, but said the whole family had had good fun there a short while back, and since weather was turning cold and overcast, have decided to head back to the hotel for the sake of their infant kid.

Like common folk, they waited at the bus stop for several minutes; didn’t even hire a cab. I stood at a distance and simply watched in utter disbelief: how could a great cricketer like Dravid be so simple, approachable and unassuming? Even when he was in terrific form, did he know that time is fast approaching for him to switch gears and slip into the role of a family man?  Is that why he told Michael Vaughan at a presentation ceremony that he is taking “one series at a time”?

Now that he does not have to be at the mercy of mindless international cricket schedules, perhaps Dravid and his family would welcome opportunities to enjoy a quiet life beyond the limelight and relentless media scrutiny.