Ravi Ashwin: The unjust denial of an exemplary career!

Raju Korti
Unlike some of his contemporaries who appear to believe that cricket is played more with brawns, Ravichandran Ashwin is a cerebral cricketer. His cricketing journey will go down in the cricketing annals as an extraordinary tale of talent, resilience, and unfulfilled potential. With 537 Test wickets, an astonishing economy rate, and a batting average that consistently outshines some top-order batsmen, Ashwin’s contributions to Indian cricket cannot be overstated. Yet, despite his stellar performances, he has been persistently sidelined, overlooked, and denied the respect and recognition he deserves -- both in terms of selection and leadership opportunities. His sudden and somewhat baffling decision to retire in the midst of the ongoing Border-Gavaskar Trophy, raises questions about the treatment of one of India’s most prolific cricketers. 

Ashwin’s career is a testament to consistency. Not only has he been a match-winner with the ball, but his performances as a batsman, particularly as a lower-order enforcer, are also remarkable. He averages 25.8 with the bat and 23.9 with the ball over 106 Tests - numbers that place him in the rarefied company of all-time greats like Jacques Kallis and Shane Warne. Yet, Ashwin has found himself regularly dropped from the playing XI on overseas tours, with notable exclusions in countries like England, despite his proven track record in subcontinental conditions.

One glaring example is his exclusion during India's 2021 tour of England. While Ashwin boasts a solid bowling average of 28 in England, he was omitted from the playing XI in the Test series. Meanwhile, Ravi Jadeja, who averages 43.5 with the ball in England, continued to feature in the lineup without question. Ashwin’s exclusion had nothing to do with form - his performances in India and abroad had been consistently impressive -- but rather a matter of bias, mismanagement, and, perhaps, a lack of faith in his ability. If the team's management trusted Ashwin in all conditions, the question arises: Why wasn’t he given the chance when India was most in need of him?

For those who question Ashwin’s place in the pantheon of cricketing greats, one only needs to look at his ability to influence Test series outcomes. By January 2017, Ashwin was already recognised as the highest impact Test cricketer of all time, having won 7 Man of the Series awards in just 14 series. This statistic alone -- which dwarfs the achievements of other greats like Wasim Akram, Shane Warne, and Muttiah Muralitharan -- cements his status as one of the most impactful cricketers to have played the game. 

But impact in cricket is not just about numbers. It’s about altering the course of a series. Ashwin’s performances in crucial moments, both with the ball and the bat, have often turned matches in India’s favour. In fact, during the memorable 2020-21 Border-Gavaskar Trophy, it was Ashwin’s 5-wicket haul in Melbourne that kept India’s hopes alive when the team was reeling. It is this ability to make a difference when it matters most that defines Ashwin as one of the greatest match-winners in cricket history. 

While Ashwin’s on-field contributions are undeniable, his treatment off the field raises further questions about the culture within Indian cricket. Ashwin, a seasoned campaigner, has often been denied leadership opportunities. Despite his vast experience, he was never even considered for the vice-captaincy, a position that many felt would have been ideal for someone with his tactical acumen, composure, and understanding of the game. 

Former cricketer Sunil Gavaskar has rightly expressed his disappointment over Ashwin not being recognised for his leadership skills. “Ashwin would have made a fine captain for India,” Gavaskar remarked, adding that the BCCI and the selection committee failed to acknowledge his leadership potential. In a team that has seen frequent leadership changes and the elevation of players with far fewer credentials, Ashwin’s leadership credentials have been unjustly overlooked. 

The announcement of Ashwin’s retirement during the ongoing Border-Gavaskar Trophy is more than just a personal decision; it is a reflection of the discontent that has brewed over years of unfair treatment. The timing of his retirement is telling. He would have been a key figure in the ongoing series, in Sydney particularly, given the conditions which have historically been conducive to his style of bowling. 

Ashwin’s sudden exit is not just about the personal frustration of a player; it is an indictment of the broader system. How can a cricketer of his calibre be left out of crucial matches, treated with disdain, and never given the respect he deserves? When you contrast his exclusion with the continuous selection of players like Virat Kohli, whose performances in recent years have been inconsistent at best, it becomes clear that something is amiss. Kohli, despite a batting average of 32 in the last five years, continued to receive selections without scrutiny, while Ashwin — with a bowling average of 20.89 and batting average of 21.09 — found himself relegated to the bench. 

It is tragic that Ashwin’s departure from international cricket has not been marked by the celebrations it rightfully deserves. A player of his stature, who has had such an indelible impact on Indian cricket, deserved a farewell match, a tribute befitting his status, and an acknowledgment of his contribution to Indian cricket’s success over the years. Yet, what he received instead was indifference and neglect.

Ravichandran Ashwin’s career, though still ongoing, has been marred by consistent underappreciation. He has been denied the platform to lead, the space to express his full potential, and the recognition that other cricketers, regardless of form, have enjoyed. In a country that reveres its cricketing heroes, Ashwin’s journey stands as a tragic reminder of how a legend can be overlooked, even as his records and performances continue to speak volumes. 

As Ashwin walks away from the game -- perhaps earlier than he should have -- Indian cricket has lost not only a match-winner but a leader, a thinker, and one of its greatest servants. This is a loss that should haunt Indian cricket for years to come. It’s high time that Ashwin’s contributions were recognised not just as a cricketer, but as a leader, a tactician, and a national treasure. And if there is one thing his retirement has done, it’s to highlight the glaring failures of the system that failed him. 

All work and no recreation make for dud employees

Raju Korti
In today's fast-paced world, where cut-throatism is the order of the day, the concept of work-life balance has become more critical than ever. A healthy work-life balance ensures not only the physical and mental well-being of employees but also enhances productivity and job satisfaction. The idea is to create a harmonious blend where work does not overshadow personal life, allowing individuals to recharge and bring their best selves to both their professional and personal endeavours.  

The ongoing debate about India's work culture, particularly the suggested 70-hour work-week, has been reignited by two prominent figures from Shark Tank India. Their heated exchange on the subject with diametrically opposite perceptions has caught the attention of many, further fuelling the conversation about work-life balance and productivity in India.

One perspective suggests that focusing on the number of hours worked is misleading and emphasizes the importance of dedication and effort rather than merely tracking time. This viewpoint highlights that extraordinary achievements come from a strong work ethic and the willingness to put in the necessary effort, rather than simply counting hours. The success of hybrid work models, which have reportedly increased productivity by 30%, is cited as evidence that work-life "harmony" is more effective than rigidly sticking to fixed hours.

On the other hand, another perspective strongly disagrees, arguing that the situation for founders and regular employees is vastly different. Founders, who have significant financial stakes in their businesses, might be more willing to put in long hours, but this is not feasible for regular employees. It is pointed out that while founders and high stakeholders may afford to work around the clock due to their financial gains, regular employees do not share the same financial benefits. The idea of long work hours being a norm for employees is criticized, particularly due to the severe physical and mental health consequences that can result from such pressure. I am inclined towards this view.

Concrete examples support this viewpoint, emphasizing the different realities for founders and employees. For instance, a company's valuation and the stakes owned by founders may justify their long working hours, but this rationale does not apply to regular employees such as accountants, who do not share the same financial upside. This perspective argues for a balanced work schedule to ensure overall well-being, warning that excessive work hours can lead to serious physical and mental health issues.

The debate traces back to controversial comments about India's work productivity by Infosys founder Narayan Murthy, where he suggested that to improve productivity and compete globally, India’s youth should commit to working extra hours, reminiscent of post-war efforts in countries like Japan and Germany. This suggestion to return to a 6-day workweek and extend work hours sparked nationwide discussions.

Both perspectives agree that the work culture in India needs to evolve, but their approaches differ significantly. One side advocates for reasonable work limits for employees, emphasizing their overall well-being, while the other believes that extraordinary achievements come from dedication and extra effort, not just clocking in long hours.

While the drive and dedication to achieve extraordinary goals are commendable, the importance of a balanced work schedule cannot be overstated. Employees' well-being is paramount, and a balanced approach is necessary to maintain physical and mental health, ensuring sustained productivity and job satisfaction. The argument for reasonable work hours, particularly for regular employees, resonates with the broader need for a healthier work culture that prioritizes overall well-being.

I can say with conviction that my view will remain unchanged even if I become a founder-owner of some outfit, the chances of which are next to nil. 

Uddhav: At political crossroad and the risk of irrelevance

Raju Korti
Uddhav Thackeray’s Shiv Sena (UBT) finds itself at a precarious crossroads, teetering between ideological confusion and political isolation ahead of the crucial Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) polls, expected in mid-2025. Guided by confidante Sanjay Raut, Uddhav’s departure from Bal Thackeray’s core Hindutva ideology to align with the Maha Vikas Aghadi (MVA) was seen as both a strategic and ideological gamble. While this alliance propped him up as Maharashtra’s Chief Minister in 2019, the subsequent electoral drubbing and the party’s internal rebellion have pushed Uddhav into an existential battle to retain relevance. 

A symbolic visual generated through AI

The recent setbacks – most notably in the 2024 Maharashtra assembly polls, where Eknath Shinde’s faction reaffirmed its dominance – have forced the Uddhav-led Sena to perform an ideological U-turn. After distancing itself from Hindutva for the sake of its MVA alliance, the party is now attempting to reclaim its lost voter base by invoking its old, aggressive Hindutva stance. Symbolic moves, such as Aditya Thackeray’s ‘maha aarti’ at the Hanuman Temple in Dadar and public criticism of atrocities on Hindus in Bangladesh, underscore this tactical pivot. 

Milind Narvekar’s provocative post referencing the 1992 Babri Masjid demolition and Bal Thackeray’s infamous quote (“I am proud of those who did it”) further signals a shift back to the Sena’s foundational ideology. However, this abrupt reversion to Hindutva has alienated key allies. The Samajwadi Party’s withdrawal from the MVA, citing discomfort with the Sena’s stance, reflects the deep fault lines within the alliance. 

Uddhav Thackeray’s political maneuvering now risks leaving him isolated on all fronts. The BJP, which once considered the undivided Shiv Sena its “natural ally,” remains unforgiving of Uddhav’s betrayal in 2019. His relentless attacks on the BJP since breaking away have ensured that any reconciliation remains improbable. BJP leaders continue to lampoon him as a “non-performing CM” who rarely stepped out during COVID-19, communicating instead through Facebook. This enduring image, combined with his policy somersaults, makes Uddhav politically toxic for the BJP. 

Within the MVA, the cracks are deepening. Sharad Pawar’s NCP faction is likely wary of Uddhav’s renewed Hindutva rhetoric, which risks alienating the Muslim vote bank crucial for the alliance. The Congress, too, may find it difficult to justify its alignment with a party seemingly resurrecting its old communal agenda. Uddhav’s pivot back to Hindutva, therefore, puts the entire alliance in jeopardy. 

The ideological confusion within Uddhav’s camp is not new. Discontent among Shiv Sena leaders has simmered since 2019, when Uddhav allied with the Congress and NCP. Many senior leaders and cadres remained uneasy with the shift, given the Shiv Sena’s long-standing Hindutva ethos. The subsequent rebellion led by Eknath Shinde in 2022, where 41 of 63 MLAs defected, reflected the deep ideological divide within the party. 

The November 2024 assembly election results further exposed the erosion of Uddhav’s core voter base. In Mumbai, his stronghold, the party won only 10 of the 24 seats it contested. Even in traditional bastions like Worli, held by Aditya Thackeray, the leads were marginal. The BJP’s accusation that the Uddhav faction relied on minority votes has struck a chord with disillusioned Sena loyalists. Recognizing this vulnerability, Uddhav’s shift back to Hindutva appears to be an attempt to consolidate his base ahead of the BMC elections. 

The BMC elections are critical for Uddhav Thackeray’s political survival. The undivided Shiv Sena controlled Mumbai’s cash-rich civic body for 25 years, and losing control in 2022 was a significant blow. In 2017, the Shiv Sena and BJP were neck-and-neck, with 84 and 82 seats, respectively. Since the split, the BJP has emerged stronger in Mumbai, while Uddhav’s faction has struggled to retain its traditional support. 

The Sena’s move back to Hindutva is a calculated gamble to regain lost ground in Mumbai, where it won four of six Lok Sabha seats earlier this year. However, its underwhelming performance in assembly segments within these constituencies highlights a shrinking support base. The party’s reliance on minority votes in certain wards, coupled with its ambiguous stance on issues like the Uniform Civil Code, has alienated both its core supporters and its allies. 

Uddhav Thackeray’s current predicament is the result of his failure to balance ideological coherence with political pragmatism. By abandoning its secular stance, the Shiv Sena (UBT) risks further fragmenting the MVA while failing to outflank the BJP on the Hindutva front. For the BJP, which has successfully claimed the Hindutva mantle, Uddhav’s attempts to return to his roots are seen as both opportunistic and inadequate. 

The Shiv Sena’s historical strength lay in its ability to blend regional pride with Hindutva. However, Uddhav’s zigzagging between secularism and Hindutva has eroded the party’s identity. The risk now is that Uddhav Thackeray may find himself reduced to a political persona non grata -- isolated from the MVA, rejected by the BJP, and distrusted by his own cadres. 

With the BMC polls looming, Uddhav faces an uphill battle to regain credibility and relevance. The Shiv Sena (UBT) must reconcile its ideological contradictions and rebuild its base from scratch. Failure to do so may leave Uddhav Thackeray neither here nor there -- a leader without a party, an ideology, or a political home.

Bashar Assad with Syria as the dark theater!

Raju Korti
Dictators have always intrigued me as a subject for writing, and Bashar al-Assad, one in the long line of such crackpots, offers a compelling case. Their peculiar mix of charisma and cruelty, their rule etched in bold strokes of despotism, eccentric whims, and bizarre idiosyncrasies, create an irresistible narrative. They stride across the world stage like actors in a gripping tragedy, their vivid personas concealing the dark shadows they cast. Each one is a study in the corrupting allure of absolute power, showing how it distorts the human psyche into something both fearsome and strangely captivating.

Bashar al-Assad: Suited and booted!

I recall while on duty, an old Reuters story quoting Bashar al-Assad, defiant as ever, claiming he wouldn’t share the fate of Muammar Gaddafi or Hosni Mubarak. It was, of course, a bold claim. Like a moth declaring itself flame-proof. It drives me to review this trio -- Mubarak, Gaddafi, and Assad -- through the cracked lens of history.

Mubarak, Egypt's perennial patriarch, ruled for 30 years, presiding over a regime that mixed repression with an occasional nod to democracy, like a chef garnishing stale soup. But when the Arab Spring rolled through, his grip loosened. His people toppled him, and the once-mighty Pharaoh found himself behind bars, exchanging his throne for a prison cot.

Gaddafi, meanwhile, was Libya’s self-styled revolutionary King of Kings, reigning with a mix of absurdity and terror. I particularly recall his swag, flanked by two gun-toting lady bodyguards as also his theatrical speeches. But his eccentricities masked brutality, and his end came in a culvert, captured and killed by those he once ruled with an iron fist. And then there's Assad, the reluctant eye doctor turned dictator.

Unlike his counterparts, Assad clung on, his power supported by allies who viewed geopolitics as chess and Syrians as pawns. Assad turned Syria into a dystopian spectacle, proving that sometimes history isn’t just a cycle but a slow, grinding spiral. The fate of these leaders -- whether jail, death, or dogged survival -- reads like entries in dark humour. They follow a pattern: rise to power, suppress dissent, rule like gods, and then tumble spectacularly.

Stalin, the original paranoia czar, ended up felled not by revolt but by a cerebral hemorrhage. He left behind a legacy of purges and purgatory. Idi Amin, Uganda’s mercurial tyrant, fled to Saudi Arabia, living out his days in strange comfort -- a man whose culinary tastes reportedly included his enemies. Ceaușescu of Romania? He was yanked from his palace and promptly executed; his god-like self-image shattered by a firing squad.

Pol Pot, the Khmer Rouge leader responsible for one of the 20th century's most horrifying genocides, deserves a prominent (and infamous) spot in the Dictator's Almanac. Here's how we can integrate him into the satirical yet sobering narrative: Dictators may vary in their methods, but their outcomes rhyme like a tragic poem. Some, however, go above and beyond in their pursuit of infamy. The architect of Cambodia's "Year Zero," stands out for his macabre zeal in turning his country into a patent nightmare.

Pol Pot decided that education, intellect, and even wearing glasses were marks of treason against his agrarian utopia. He emptied cities, forced millions into labour camps, and turned the Cambodian countryside into a killing field. His vision for a "pure" society was so extreme that it made Orwell’s 1984 look like a sunny utopia. But how did his story end? Did he fall in a blaze of justice? Not quite.

After orchestrating the deaths of nearly a quarter of Cambodia's population, he lived out his final days in a jungle hut, betrayed by his own comrades, and reportedly dying of a heart attack. His reign, like his life, fizzled out -- not with the dramatic justice the world might have hoped for but with the quiet indignity of irrelevance. Pol Pot underscores the absurdity and tragedy of dictators who attempt to re-engineer society at the cost of millions of lives, often succumbing to their own paranoia or the inertia of their decrepit systems.

These leaders are stark reminders that history’s gravest horrors often come not from outright villains in capes but from misguided zealots with unchecked power. Yet dictators share more than just ignominious ends. They exhibit an uncanny ability to persist long past their expiry dates, fuelled by cults of personality and the wilful blindness of their enablers. Whether it’s Mubarak’s pseudo-democracy, Gaddafi’s "people’s socialism," or Assad’s "anti-terrorism" crusade, they frame oppression as salvation.  They believe they’re immune to history, forgetting that every dictator's shelf life is finite. As the world spins, new candidates join the hall of tyrants. North Korea’s Kim dynasty, Turkmenistan’s Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedow (and his love for golden statues), or Myanmar’s junta -- all continue the ancient tradition of megalomania.

Dictators are like recurring characters in the sitcom of geopolitics -- each one with their peculiarities, yet all bound by the same script: “Rise. Reign. Fall.” Assad might believe he can defy this arc, but history is undefeated. The moral of the story? Whether in jail cells, culverts, or gilded exile, despots always meet their epilogues. The world just waits, popcorn in hand, for the next act.

Revolutions without ruin: Can't change come without (self) destruction?

Raju Korti
The world has watched with bated breath as nations crumble under the weight of uprisings, the streets soaked in blood and the skies blackened by the smoke of destruction. In recent years, the contexts of Bangladesh and Syria have again reminded us of the steep price that uprisings demand. Why must revolutions always tread a path strewn with death and devastation? Can the voices of change not echo in harmony, rather than through the thunder of artillery and the cries of despair?

An AI-generated image of the Syrian uprising.

In Syria, what began as a demand for dignity and democratic rights spiraled into a decade-long civil war. Entire cities like Aleppo and Homs were reduced to rubble, their histories erased in a haze of bombs and bullets. The price? Over 500,000 lives lost, millions displaced, and a nation now grappling with the insurmountable task of rebuilding not just its infrastructure but also the fractured spirit of its people.

Similarly, in Bangladesh, recent protests for fair wages and humane working conditions among garment workers turned violent, leaving behind a trail of scorched factories, shattered livelihoods, and grieving families. It begs the question: could these calls for justice have been answered differently?

Go back into the past and take a look at the French Revolution for instance. While it ultimately led to the establishment of a republic and the end of feudalism, it was marked by a reign of terror, where thousands were executed, and the country was plunged into an unprecedented chaos. The physical and emotional scars left by this period took generations to heal.

History offers rare but inspiring examples of transitions achieved without massive loss of life or property. The fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 is one such instance. East Germans, driven by a desire for freedom, peacefully dismantled decades of division with their bare hands. Their chants for unity and democracy triumphed without a shot fired.

Similarly, in South Africa, Nelson Mandela and F.W. de Klerk led a peaceful transition from apartheid to democracy. Their negotiations and reconciliation efforts averted what could have been a catastrophic civil war. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission, though painful, allowed the nation to confront its dark past without letting it engulf the future in flames.

The Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia is a striking example of a relatively peaceful transition of power. In 1989, a series of non-violent protests led to the end of Communist rule in the country. The lack of widespread violence, allowed for a smoother transition and a quicker path to rebuilding and reconciliation. The key lies in the approach. Movements like those led by Martin Luther King Jr in the US and MK Gandhi in India have shown that it is possible to achieve significant change without resorting to violence and retaliation. 

These examples stand in stark contrast to more recent, tragic uprisings. They show that with visionary leadership, open dialogue, and collective will, nations can steer toward change without destruction.

The aftermath of violent uprisings lingers for decades. Rebuilding Aleppo’s souqs or the garment factories of Dhaka will take years, but the scars in the hearts of survivors may never heal. Children who have grown up in refugee camps or amid ruins lose not just their childhood but often their faith in humanity. Entire generations bear the burden of wars they never chose to fight.

Even when a cause is just, the destruction of lives and heritage begs the question: Is there truly victory in devastation?

For peaceful revolutions to succeed, a nation needs leaders with the courage to listen, even to dissenting voices. The people must recognize their power not just to topple regimes but to build bridges. International communities, too, play a crucial role—offering mediation and support rather than fueling conflicts.

As the dust settles over the ravaged cities of Syria and the ashes of burned factories in Bangladesh, let us reflect on what could have been. Let these tragedies serve as solemn reminders that uprisings born of justice should not pave their path with destruction.

Rebuilding a nation ravaged by conflict is an arduous task. The loss of property and lives leaves deep wounds that are difficult to heal. But by learning from history (which we rarely do!), we can hope for a future where uprisings do not have to be synonymous with destruction and bloodshed. The path to peace is challenging, but it is not impossible. I may sound utopian but the human spirit which banks on violence and destruction can also draw from courage and patience, which we are always short of in times of pelf and greed.  

True revolutions do not merely overthrow; they uplift. They rebuild. And above all, they do no harm. 

A Test Match with a shorter version mindset? No way!

Raju Korti
The just-concluded second BGT Test at Adelaide, ending in a three-day rout, should once again reignite the debate on whether Test cricket should be reduced to four days. The growing trend of shorter Test matches in the last many years, has led some to question the viability of the five-day format in today’s era of aggressive cricket. However, as a purist and a firm believer in Test cricket’s endurance-based charm, I argue that cutting down its duration would compromise the essence of the format.

Pic representational

The statistics paint a compelling picture. The frequency of Tests finishing early has risen significantly. In the last five years alone, 37 matches ended in three days, 71 in four days, and only a third stretched to the fifth day. Faster scoring rates, evolving player mindsets due to shorter formats, and increasingly bowler-friendly conditions have contributed to this shift. As a result, only extraordinary circumstances -- like pitches offering nothing to bowlers or significant weather interruptions -- allow matches to extend to a fifth day.

Supporters of four-day Tests often cite financial and scheduling benefits. Economically weaker cricket boards struggle to sustain the costs of an under-attended fifth day. Matches finishing early also lead to logistical headaches, as seen in the India-Afghanistan Test, where ticket refunds became necessary. Moreover, reducing the duration could tighten cricket’s packed calendar, making room for additional matches or giving players more recovery time. On paper, a four-day format could inject a sense of urgency, forcing teams to adopt riskier, more aggressive strategies. The promise of more decisive results might attract modern-day spectators, accustomed to the fast-paced thrills of T20 cricket. Yet, this very aggression undermines the beauty of Test cricket. Unlike its shorter counterparts, the charm of a Test lies in its ability to test endurance, adaptability, and patience. 

The format is not just about winning or losing; it’s about the journey -- the ebbs and flows, the resilience shown over five gruelling days, and the psychological battles fought session by session. Reducing the format to four days could have unintended consequences. Rain interruptions or slow over rates would push more games into drawn territory. Teams might prioritize quick, risk-heavy cricket, sacrificing the tactical depth that defines Test matches. A batter carrying their bat through the innings, or a bowler crafting a spell with meticulous precision over multiple sessions, would become rare feats. 

The argument for shorter Tests also overlooks a critical point: the issue isn’t the format but the pitches, scheduling, and player preparedness. Instead of altering the duration, governing bodies should focus on curating balanced pitches, ensuring adequate rest between series, and promoting the traditional values of Test cricket alongside its modern demands.

Cricket’s essence lies in its diversity of formats. Tests are its crown jewel, embodying endurance and strategy, while ODIs and T20s cater to instant gratification. Diluting the uniqueness of Tests by shaving off a day risks alienating its loyal fan base and diluting its identity. The debate over four versus five days isn’t just about numbers; it’s about what we value in the sport. 

While there’s no denying the evolving landscape of cricket, Test matches must retain their identity. The solution lies not in truncating the format but in addressing the broader structural issues that have led to shorter games. Let’s preserve the soul of Test cricket -- the format that separates cricket from every other sport.

Pink ball: Adaptability will be an issue!

Raju Korti
The pink ball has brought a fresh dimension to Test cricket, introducing day-night fixtures into a format traditionally played under sunlight. However, as India struggles after being bowled out for 180 on the opening day of the second Border-Gavaskar Trophy Test at Adelaide Oval, the question looms: are Indians bogged down by the unique challenges posed by the pink ball, particularly at a venue where Australia has never lost a day-night Test?

Test cricket's tradition of red balls and whites in daylight contrasts sharply with the vibrant world of limited-overs cricket, which uses white balls under floodlights. Enter the pink ball, designed to meet the visibility demands of day-night Test matches. Unlike the red ball, the pink ball offers better visibility under lights, and its seam presents distinct challenges to batsmen and bowlers alike. The sight screen colours—black for white balls and white for red and pink—underscore the game's reliance on contrast for precision.

The pink ball’s fluorescent coating ensures it remains visible under floodlights, addressing the issue of the white ball discolouring after 35 overs. Anecdotal evidence suggests the pink ball swings more under lights, benefitting fast-medium bowlers. Spinners also thrive as batsmen struggle to pick up the seam, complicating shot selection. The pink ball is harder to spot when coming flat off the bat, leading to potential fielding errors, especially square of the wicket.

India’s track record in pink-ball Tests is commendable, with three wins in four games. However, their sole loss, a heavy defeat at Adelaide in 2020, raises concerns about their adaptability under these unique conditions. Australia, by contrast, has made Adelaide Oval a fortress in day-night Tests, winning all seven matches played here since the format's inception. As I write this blog, that remains unchanged, unless the side resurrects itself the way it did in Perth defying all odds.

At Adelaide, the twilight session often turns into a graveyard shift for batsmen. The pink ball’s enhanced movement under lights poses a stiff challenge, as India experienced during their dramatic 36 all-out collapse in 2020. Captains like Steve Smith and Brendon McCullum have employed innovative tactics in day-night Tests, such as early declarations to allow their seamers to exploit the twilight advantage with a new ball.

The early overs with a new pink ball prove critical. As the ball ages, it becomes harder to spot and loses its effectiveness, testing bowlers' endurance and adaptability. Unlike Australia, India has limited exposure to the pink ball, especially overseas. The team will need to adjust quickly to Adelaide’s pitch, known for being a batting paradise during daylight but a bowler's ally at night.

Please also watch out for potential lapses in the field, particularly square of the wicket. Tactical innovations may also play a role, especially in managing twilight sessions. India's chances hinge on mitigating the pink ball’s challenges. Their batting unit caved in before they could counter Australia’s formidable seam attack during the night sessions. Moreover, fielding discipline and sharpness could make or break their game, given the visibility issues unique to the pink ball.

Adelaide’s history suggests a steep uphill battle, but India's recent success in day-night Tests offers hope. If they can leverage their experience and adapt to the conditions quickly, they may yet turn the tide in the Border-Gavaskar Trophy’s second Test.

The pink ball is not just a cricketing tool but a strategic disruptor, challenging conventions in Test cricket. For India, overcoming the psychological and physical hurdles it presents, especially in Australia’s fortress at Adelaide Oval, is paramount. Whether the team can rise to the occasion or falter under the floodlights remains to be seen -- but either way, this match is poised to be a thrilling spectacle of adaptation and strategy.