Only Dead Fish Swim With The Stream

Note: This is a story I wrote for Yentha.com watching Yuvraj Singh half-way through last World Cup. Many things have happened since then. He won the Cup. And, now battling a rare type of cancer.

Men come of age in different ways—some win wars, some win tournaments, and some others win hearts.

When Roy Emerson first won the Wimbledon in 1964, a wire intro said that the 21-year-old son of a rancher had attained maturity.

When Sachin Tendulkar scored his first Test hundred, against the English, and saved India from a defeat, we all said the lad had come of age.

When Rafael Nadal won the Wimbledon after rolling his way to glory in the historic Roland Garros clay and mud, the stringy-haired Mallorcan too attained maturity.

Talent is a huge responsibility. It is a two-edged sword—it will either help you conquer, or kill you.

Nothing makes one sadder than seeing talent unfulfilled. The destiny of Vinod Kambli, Andrea Jaeger (now a Dominican nun) or L Sivaramakrishnan makes one glum.

So much was written about Ambati Rayidu and Imran Nazir. Both young men did not end up where their talent should have taken them to.

Talent is like giving a million dollars to the wanderlust. He could burn all that away in a jiffy on trips, drinks and brawls.

Not that the bohemian is as useless and repulsive as used condoms, but surely the guy who toils hard warms the cockles of your heart.

Nothing more endearing than watching someone transforms from a reckless bohemian into a responsible chap who takes care of the groceries for home.

Taking up responsibilities and fulfilling one’s talent are signs of a man’s maturity. Signs of him coming of age.

Like Emerson, Tendulkar and Nadal did.

That’s why watching Yuvraj Singh bat in this World Cup is gratifying. He has always been the bohemian, a southpaw with a heady mix of arrogance and elegance—a rare breed of class and crass.

He has thrilled us with his raw talent—with his batsmanship that elevates us from boredom to bliss in a matter of a few strokes. He can leave the entire stadium spellbound with a flurry of shots that border on the surreal like Dali’s masterpieces—floating, hanging and suspended.

He can make the bowlers look like zoozoos—comic, idiotic apparitions of no significance.

Yet, he can disappoint all of us. Either by trying the impossible like all gladiators, or by letting the streaks of arrogance dominate his conduct.

A year ago, Yuvraj was the prodigal son of Indian cricket. There was no doubt about his talent, but his attitude and application were not in the zone.

A brilliant, alert fielder inside the ring, he began to move like a slow coach. There were signs of a paunch, and laziness.

A bad patch and injures made things worse. A sedate IPL, a pale shadow the T20 World Cup that India won where he blasted six sixes in an over from young Broad, added insult to those injuries.

Players like Yuvraj or Sehwag bank on their talent and confidence. He stretches out not watching the ball on to the face of the bat, but trusting their hand-eye coordination and a calculation that defies lesser batsmen’s sense of timing. He times the shot, the lovely arc of the bat meeting the ball somewhere on its journey unleashing it like a ballistic missile.

His adventures hinge on his confidence. Losing his place in the Test team was a huge blow to Yuvraj’s ego, and it was dented like a flimsy aluminum vessel.

His feet hesitated to leave the crease, his bat came down tentatively. The timing went awry.

But Yuvi kept the faith in his talent—and was inspired by the ‘special person’ he said he is playing this World Cup for. His father, Yograj, feels the special person is most likely the special person to Indian cricket. Yograj, who played his only Test for India in 1981 against New Zealand, says Sachin has always been a guardian angel for his son.

We know how Yuvi thanked Sachin for a century against the Sri Lankans for his advice on how to sort out Ajantha Mendis.

His approach to his batting during this tournament has impressed all. He has so far scored five half-centuries in six outings, with four man-of-the-matches, and picked up a clutch of wickets.

It is good for Indian cricket that he seems to have set aside that suicidal brashness, and has begun to bat more sensibly, making good use of his precocious talent.

Batting is often like a watch-maker’s job. You need concentration, precision and patience in good measure.

Yuvraj showed in his last outing against the Australians that he has come of age. If he had thrown away his wicket trying any flamboyant shot, the Australians would have crawled back into the match. Champion teams need just a foothold to creep back. But Yuvraj applied himself and cut all frills out and saw India home.

That’s maturity. That’s sensible batting. And, he gave vent to all those bottled up pressure with a Tarzan-like war cry after scoring the winning boundary.

We are just two days away from the crucial, pressure-cooker match against Pakistan at Mohali. Home boy Yuvraj must have saved all his marbles for this game, like every player on either side for it is the match of the tournament so far.

Winning the World Cup is the icing on the cake for Yuvi, and a perfect gift for the ‘special person’.

But, more than winning any tournament, it is important that Yuvraj hasn’t let his enormous talent go waste in the tide of odds and obstacles.

Like Malcolm Muggeridge said: ‘Never forget that only dead fish swim with the stream.’

Glad that Yuvraj didn’t let himself swim with the stream like a dead fish.

The prodigal son has come home, coming of age.

Yuvraj’s Insurance Ad Shows Marketing’s Ugly Face

Timing is important both in cricket and life, and more so in advertising.

It is sad to hear that Yuvraj Singh has been diagnosed with stage one cancer, and he is undergoing chemotherapy at the Cancer Research Institute in Boston. But it is even sadder, if not shocking, to see a television commercial featuring him endorsing a life insurance product.

Any intelligent and smart marketing guy would push the ad now at any cost to drive home the point.

But it is nothing but insensitive, perhaps inhuman, to air the ad in which a fit and philosophical Yuvi talks about the unpredictabilities in life—that you don’t know when ‘life can bowl a googly at you’--while he is fighting cancer.

Those who watch the ad know for sure that they all need a life insurance cover because you hear from the horse’s mouth that a national hero who had played a significant role in winning the World Cup for India hardly a year ago is now fighting cancer.

The marketing brains of the national company have hit the nail exactly on its head by pushing the ad into the news bulletins today when all the channels had the Yuvi news item in the headlines and constantly scrolling across the screen.

Interestingly, the ad in which Yuvi endorsed an energy supplement has him replaced with Salman Khan—full of life and vigour. After a few minutes you see Yuvraj talking about the ebbs and flows of life.

One cannot but kick the walls of the bedroom in angst against the way consumerism has lost its sensitivity. Or, has consumerism ever had a heart?

Yuvi’s family, especially his parents, would not take it well to see their son, the personification of youthful vigour and zest not so long ago, now advising his fans across the nation to go for a life insurance cover.

It is not wrong, by no means. In fact, from a marketing point of view it can’t get closer to the bull’s eye to sell a product. The hero who endorses the product himself has been taken aback by the cruel surprise that life has thrown at him.

But the company would have done Yuvraj a great honour by not running the ad at a time when the precociously talented southpaw is undergoing chemotherapy. The tumour that he has been diagnosed with is reportedly not malignant and he might be back on the field carting those famous sixes. That’s another story, but to run the ad, using his unfortunate passage in life as a marketing tool is callous and pathetic.

It is not a brilliant ad campaign but a poor display of human values and ethics. Would a Yuvi smarting under the shocking events in his life approve of the ad running this time? He may not have a say since he has been paid to shoot it, but to run it on national channels talks volumes of our collective apathy and callousness. None of his parents has spoken to any media, and it is understandable, and that makes the timing of the ad even worse, and it leaves an ill-feeling towards the brand. It is just another example of the corporate world’s opportunistic character.

In other words, the marketing department of the insurance firm has done a rather foolish thing by airing the ad because it can be a boomerang and pull the brand value down.

Yuvraj’s last tweet, on Jan. 27, said he’s inspired by the legendary American cyclist Lance Armstrong’s story of surviving cancer and winning the Tour de France for a record seventh time.

The 30-year-old tweeted that he was reading autobiography “It's Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life”. “I’m sure it will motivate me and pull me throu(gh) this time! Livestrong Yuvstrong!" he tweeted. Another way of reading the tweet is to know how anxious Yuvraj is about the tumour and his comeback to active cricket.

The insurance company, which has many other business verticals, would have set an example of business with a human touch had it not run the commercial, at least on a day when the news about the player undergoing chemotherapy was flashed across the nation.

When the Social Media platforms are inundated with wishes and prayers for the player who is known for his fighting spirit, the business house that ran the commercial has in fact cut a sorry figure.

We live in a cut-throat world in which we come across nearly 5000 message a day, and to rise above all these to sell our brand we need to bury values and sensitivities. But then, for what?

Yuvi may come back and pick up the ball from anywhere outside the off-stump and send it into the sea of frenzied people at the midwicket, but to see him selling life insurance policy while he himself is fighting a tumour precariously tucked somewhere close to his heart is not palatable at all.