Straight bat

The bat cost papa 165 bucks. It was my first and it had taken me almost a year of convincing. He was keen that I buy something that cost less than 100 and tried hard to convince me that the one he chose was quite good.

I knew enough about bats to disagree with him. Also the Sunsridges Kashmir willow, Rs. 165 bat was already a compromise for me. I had my eye on a Sansperils Greenlands English willow model that cost a little over Rs.1000/-. Needless to say that was not to be mine.

Disappointed I checked the bat again.

The grain though not as straight as English Willow was better than the other Kashmir Willows I had seen. Almost parallel grains, thin brown lines, I thought about darkening them with a pencil once I got home and then pass it off as an English willow to my friends. I knew that the likes of Gyani would not be convinced but Dilip, Rakesh and Sandeep would mistake it for English Willow.

The surface was white, a lot like English Willow. That would clinch it. It was light but the handle a bit thin, not a cause for worry though and could be easily fixed with a couple of additional grips. After all Clive Lloyd put as many as 6 grips on his bat. In my mind I was as big as the 6'5" tall West Indian giant, especially when I was on the cricket pitch.

I took it to nets the next day. "It's not English Willow", it was Unmish carelessly spinning his Beat All Sports English Willow by the handle. I pretended not to hear him. "Good grain though", Ajay the College going senior said, giving me the affirmation I needed.

Gyani bowled, it hit the middle of my new willow. A sharp shock ran through my hands and I heard a dreadfully hollow sound. My new prized possession was a dud. The ball limply hit the side of the net, not quite the result I expected.

I checked the grain to see the point of impact. maybe I had mis-hit it but I knew that I had middled it alright. A red circle right in the centre of the meat of the bat confirmed that I indeed had. Fuck this 165 buck bat, what else could one expect. The dreams that I had of swatting the cricket ball all over the ground were just dreams.

“You need to beat a bat for sometime before it starts stroking well”. It was Gurcharan sir. Something I knew already but I was expecting my special bat to start stroking right from the first ball I faced with it. “And put some linseed oil on it and leave it out in the sun”, he added.

Mummy was nice enough to give me 20 bucks for linseed oil. Taking papas total investment up to Rs.185. I carefully applied it all over the bats with Mukuls painting brush ( a notional cost of another Rs.10) and left it in the balcony.

It’s surface was a bit yellowed when I picked it up the next evening before making my way to the playing field.

“Anshuman, we need to make 60 in 8 overs. Why don’t you take my bat instead”, Gyani told me as I walked in to bat. I appreciated his faith in my batting capabilities but hated him for the lack of the same in my bat. The hollow sound upon first impact was yet again heart breaking. The bat was no good for my trademark fluent drives, all it was capable of supporting were steers to Thirdman and flicks to Long Leg. I changed bats after a little while with Gyani.

Back at home it stuck me that the Linseed oil needs to percolate into the grain. That’s why guys make holes with a compass on the surface of the bat. And if that meant that the smooth surface and the straight grain be compromised then so be it.

“You’ll spoil it, you don’t know what you are doing”, Papa was visibly upset but I was not to be deterred. After nearly an hour the surface of the bat was pock marked like someone with small pox. I had taken particular delight (out of the frustration that resulted from the fact that it was not what I expected it to be) in jabbing it with my compass and divider (after the compass needle broke) and had ripped of the SS sticker off the face of the bat in frustration. I applied a few more coats of Lin Seed oil and put it out to dry and resolved that I would not touch it for an arbidly arrived at period of 3 days.

After 3 days I started beating the bat against a cricket ball put inside a sock and suspended from the parking ceiling. The stroke got better gradually but was not quite rocket like that Unmish’s bat produced.

Confident that the bat was super duper after sometime, I took it again for nets. The stroke was better and I played some good drives. I was facing Rahul Sanghvi, he used to bowl Chinamen then and Gurcharan sir had not quite been able to beat him into getting into the classical left arm orthodox spinners routine that he bowls so beautifully for Delhi now. The ball was well flighted, I stepped out to play an on drive and was shocked at the sound my SS bat made. I looked down to see that the handle had broken.

I almost cried on my way home. Papa was sympathetic when I was all set to hear how irresponsible I was and how careless I was with my things. I gave the bat at the sports shop for a new handle to be fitted. I asked for a thicker handle.

I got it back in a week’s time. Gradually the bat got better – the Linseed oil and the beating with the cricket ball in a sock helped. I got more careful in my approach and tried not to hit every ball for a four and when I did try the bat sweetly responded to cause a sensation that I can still feel when I think of it – the sensation that runs through your arm when you know you have middled the ball perfectly.