Sanjay Manjrekar as a cricketer promised a lot but could not deliver as per his potential. His autobiography, Imperfect, though surpasses all expectations. Written with honesty that is rare among celebrity authors, Manjrekar analyses himself as a person and his cricket career with an unsparing eye.
As a result, he rises above his celebrity status and humanises the game and its stars in a manner that was last perhaps seen in Sunil Gavaskar’s autobiography Sunny Days. It’s no coincidence perhaps that Manjrekar, like Gavaskar before him, was known for his textbook batting technique.
Manjrekar made his debut in 1987 against West Indies and played for India as a middle order batsman for almost a decade till 1996. He scored over 2,000 runs with a respectable average of over 37. He faded as a cricketer as the one-day games gained in popularity and test cricket—the puritan’s delight—was increasingly being seen as boring.
It’s no secret that Manjrekar’s game was more suited to the longer version than the slam bang 50-over games. The glamour of a one-day performance overshadowed the more patient stay on the crease as demanded by the test cricket. No wonder, Manjrekar was overwhelmed by doubts over his technique—which was his strength—and the urge to adapt his batting to the more popular one-day game.
Manjrekar goes back into time to understand his cricket. He delves into his relationship with his father, Vijay Manjrekar—one of the Indian greats who played his cricket in the 1950s. He starts the chapter on his father without resorting to any frills: “I had no relationship with my father to speak of. The overpowering emotion that I felt towards him was fear.”
He does not hold back while saying that his father was a “troubled man” after his retirement. This was perhaps the reason the son played as he did and retired from the game with a clean cut. After retirement Manjrekar did not play cricket at all, even for a benefit match.
The way he was cautious while dealing with his father mirrored in his game too—the criticism that he faced during his playing days from the cricket-loving Indian public was that he was too cautious while playing. That he did not free himself from his internal demons about his technique is what Manjrekar himself admits in the book. The doubts held sway over him and he succumbed to them in a joyless effort to conquer them.
This self-doubting cricketer is in stark contrast to the sure-footed man when it came to decisions about life. His decision to retire, for example, was extremely clear-headed. This clarity, Manjrekar claims, extends where it concerns his family.
“I am proud of the one quality in me that I know my wife, Madhavi, values a lot—because she is quite indecisive—is my clarity of thought and confidence in making decisions, especially the big, life-altering ones.”
Manjrekar, unlike when he his talking about himself, is quite appreciative of his opponents, Pakistan’s Imran Khan and West Indian Desmond Haynes especially. And while he remembers their advice to him and their words with nostalgia, he says, “There is no regret, nothing that I miss terribly from my playing days that makes me sad.”
It seems Manjrekar freed himself from doubts he faced while playing the game that made him famous. The gay abandon and risk-taking ability that his game lacked is now in full evidence in his new career as a commentator. Every individual, as he says, lives a uniquely different life.