When I saw, heard of, and read about the exploits of Mohammed “Miya Magic” Siraj at a cricket stadium in Sri Lanka, I remembered a part in one of Iqbal’s famous couplets.
Koi andaza kar sakta hai uske zor-e-bazu ka (Can anyone imagine the power of his arms).
That power was on full display on Sunday when the Hyderabadi seamer, turning himself into a tornado, destroyed the Sri Lankan batting order. It never recovered from the brutalization it received from Siraj.
If Shoaib Akhtar is known as Rawalpindi Express, let us call Siraj Hyderabad Hurricane. His bowling appeared to have got a magic touch, an unbelievable force that gave no time to batters to settle down.
Wish I was a cricket writer and could have plucked more adjectives and phrases from my hat to describe this man’s superlative performance that rain-soaked Sunday.
It is none other than Hyderabad MP Asaduddin Owaisi who summed up the City’s collective jubilation so succinctly: Kaisa daala apna Siraj, hai, hai. True, few had seen such a lethal attack from a bowler in initial overs of a match.
Dear Siraj, your historic city is famous for biryani. But hey, my wife cooks the best biryani this side of the Vindhyas. Come home man. We will serve you biryani and more.
I want to hug you. For, after a long long time, I watched a little cricket yesterday and really enjoyed it. I used to be a huge cricket fan in my adolescent days. Remember listening to Suresh Surraiya’s commentary on a radio set, hiding under a quilt on freezing winter nights even as India played abroad. Now I think my faith in cricket has been restored.
As you sent one batter after another to the pavilion, their heads hanging low, my heart as an Indian puffed. Like Anand Mahindra, I too felt sad for the Sri Lankan side though it gave me satisfaction that the Indian squad does have some players who carry fire in their bellies.
Of course, it was hunger to overdo and outperform yourself that made you bowl with the precision that proved fatal for the batters.
That you are resilience personified was proved when, despite your father’s death, you kept your cool and played the game during a tour in Australia. And I read somewhere that yours is a rags-to-riches story. Your father was an auto-rickshaw driver but dreamed big to see you become a famous cricketer. As you became the main architect of India’s victory in the finals of Asia Cup, earning you wide acclaim from cricket lovers everywhere, your father must be smiling from wherever he is.
Keep it up. And yes, accept my invitation. Unlike Anand Mahindra, I cannot gift you an SUV. But we can certainly host you over dinner.
Come home for biryani.
Senior journalist Wajihuddin of Mumbai has invited Siraj for biryani dinner. Not a cricket enthusiast, the scribe who has broken bread with a host high and mighty in the country tempts Hyderabadi batter with a great supper.
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