The Sound of Shubman

Pristine.

In 2010, Delhi hosted the Commonwealth Games. One chilly Sunday that October, India played Pakistan in a hockey match. The stands were packed, and before you could breathe, India were 3-1 up. Usually, stadium DJs in India play stuff like the Chak De title-track, or some other remix of standard-issue Bolly-patriotic fare. At 3-1, the DJ played Joker and The Thief by Wolfmother, followed by Thunderstruck by AC/DC. I am not sure if everyone at the ground knew those tracks, but their energy sent the stands into absolute pandemonium. I chest-bumped at least 10 people I had never met before and since. Against an incredible Pakistan team, India won 7-4; they could’ve scored ten. Thunderstruck was followed by Fear of The Dark and Smells Like Teen Spirit.

Sound is safety. I feel at peace when I wake up to rustling leaves and chirping sparrows. While pouring boiling water from my electric kettle into a coffee mug, I like it to land with a percussive but muffled whoosh. Boiling water has character; the last thing I’d want is for my first cup of coffee in the morning to be lifeless.

I look for such signals in my surroundings. Decibel levels in traffic have become an incredible turn-off over the years. I look forward to the sound of rain, and the sea breeze that precedes it here in Chennai. Last week, I wrote about my trip to the Ferozeshah Kotla Stadium in Delhi for a Test match against Australia. It was an otherwise forgettable experience, but for the feeling of hearing a few thousand fans transfer their energy onto a handful of athletes. Fans travel to stadiums for the sound, honestly. The sound of a good crowd is, unfortunately, not fully translated through television just yet. For that, you need to be seated amongst the action. Watch them breathe with the match situation. If commentary boxes weren’t filled with celebrity ex-cricketers, broadcasters would be tempted to release a feed with just the sound of the crowd forming the backdrop for the cricket. No critical analysis to sully the scenery.

There is a distinct family of sounds on the other side of the grass too.

When a batter hits the pitch too many times in their load-up, they look tentative. At least, that’s how it registers with me, even though Rahul Dravid and Cheteshwar Pujara have a solid case against that thought. Fielders emote with sound too. Most times, the chirpier they are, the better they’re feeling. Even if the scorecard might show a game in the balance, verbose energy from the fielding team can make conditions hostile for batters. With certain captains and teams, you feel two more balls whizzing past the bat’s edge would send decibel levels to mars. The soundtrack from the current series can also be categorised as a similar array of oohs and aahs from fielders and bowlers. 

Batters have rarely got any joy. Shubman Gill was in the mood for some today. The first track from his playlist of hits came early in the day. He drove Mitchell Starc for a four through covers. Everything about him was calm and still, as if the shot was just an extension of the arms. Minimal movement of the torso, not a muscle out of balance. Symmetric perfection. But close your eyes, and that shot acquires another dimension. It is a statement, short and decisive. I am here.

https://www.bcci.tv/videos/5559561/4-x-2-shubman-gills-confident-day-3-start?tagNames=2023

I have always wondered if the sound of athletes doing their thing can imitate their personalities. For example, doesn’t Roger Federer sound so different from Nadal? There is a layer of calmness even to the sound of Federer’s cross-court forehand, whereas you can hear a boxer’s punch in Nadal’s.

Sanath Jayasuriya could sound like an expletive or a firework, depending on the medium of psychological warfare of your preference. Watching Tendulkar and Lara at their peak was akin to falling in love - the bat making all kinds of shapes, taking you to places you didn’t know existed. Warne did the same with a ball. He had it on a string, making it dance and swerve and bounce like someone directing a ballet dancer. Ambrose and Walsh made you hear what discomfort sounds like.

Gill scored 128 today. He could’ve scored 5, and they would’ve still been aesthetic and soothing. He rarely scores angry or ugly runs. The ball seems magnetically attracted to the centre of his bat. Ever so often, cricketers come along who can make it to the highlights package even in an unremarkable match. Mark Waugh and VVS Laxman were like that. Harmanpreet Kaur is fiercely in that category.

There is a physical explanation for this, of course. When the mechanics of a batter’s backlift and extension are fluid, and the ball connects with the bat at its meatiest part, the sound will be good. But that good can lie anywhere on the frequency spectrum.

There is a safety to Shubman Gill’s hue of good. When he’s on the crease, I feel like leaning back on my chair and closing my eyes. It could be a drive, pull, or forward defence. I don’t care as much for where the ball is going as I do for the visceral experience it creates within me.

The sound of Shubman Gill's batting feels like someone massaging my senses while yoga music is played through surround speakers at just the right volume. I have long believed that someone should record it on vinyl and sell it outside Abbey Road Studios. The Beatles and Pink Floyd will get a run for their money.