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The willing passengers

Such is the orthodoxy of an Indian team that even if there are only 14 members in a touring party, a couple of them at least end up not playing a game.

Debashish Mohanty and Rahul Sanghvi had resigned themselves to such a role before coach Anshuman Gaekwad decided to play Santa Claus and gave them a break in the third and final one-dayer against Zimbabwe recently.

Sanghvi did not bowl his 10 overs - he was too expensive - but Mohanty did, and was the most impressive. For a variety of reasons, their tour was made.

Both Mohanty and Sanghvi are good touring cricketers. They kept themselves involved with the cricket in the middle, and never for a second let their head drop in frustration. Sanghvi perhaps realises he is due to be replaced with Sunil Joshi, and that might be the end of his flirtation with top-class cricket. Mohanty, even if he is better placed, is unlikely to become a regular starter in the team for a long, long time to come.

But they deserved a cheer for their spirits. They always kept looking for signals from the middle, were willing message carriers for their coach, and generally were so involved that unlike the coach and the doctor, they positioned themselves around the boundary ropes and followed every single action in the middle with interest.

Sanghvi, with his glasses on, is quite often mistaken for Sachin Tendulkar. And perhaps unconsciously, he has adopted Tendulkar's mannerisms also -- funnily enough, causing even his team mates, at times to mistake him for 'Tendlya'.

Mohanty is a lovable youngster. Uncorrupted, a simple soul, Mohanty believes his presence in the middle usually brings good tidings for the team. "Abhi jaata hoon aur wicket gira kar aata hoon (I will just go in and a wicket would fall )," says Mohanty whenever a stand in the middle gets ticklish.

On the first day, Zimbabwe were 120 for three but the obdurate Gavin Rennie was unshakeable when Mohanty went in as substitute for Javagal Srinath. The first ball that went to him was a chance at covers, quite far from him actually, which he dived to pluck to his right. He took his catch and came out smiling, as Srinath returned in the very next over.

Similarly on the third day, Zimbabwe were 138 for no loss when Mohanty went in. Immediately, India broke through with Craig Wishart's wicket. Surely these are coincidences, but the simple naiveie of Mohanty is infectious. He believes he is the team's lucky charm -- and that belief is reinforced with each fresh coincidence.

On Saturday, he walked into the press tent looking worried. "It is already 3 o'clock. I have 10,000 Zimbabwean dollars. What am I going to do with it?", was his worry. Accentuated by the fact that given the state of the economy there, even 100 dollars goes a very long way.

The team was due to leave for home early on Monday morning. Sure, he could have got it changed in the airport, but the lad had no clue about how to go about it. So desperate was he that one suspected he would have parted with his money at half the price.

India duly lost on Saturday and the next day we found him in Flea Market. Or rather, he found us, tapping us on the shoulders by way of announcing his presence. "I managed my money," said Mohanty, as triumphant as if he has taken five wickets. "Azharbhai has got it arranged through somebody."

Ajay Jadeja, another passenger for the Test, is a different case study. He usually sits out in Tests and is simply superb with his anecdotes, whenever he drops by the press box. He wants to know how you are managing your stories, wants to see if he could use the Internet, and offers good insight on cricketing matters.

Why don't you get a chance in Tests, Ajay, is it because you are not good against fast bowling? "The irony is I play matches only on supposedly green wickets," he smiles.

While talking about openers, Jadeja can't help remarking: " Take Vikram Rahore. He was unlucky to have opened most of his Tests abroad. If he was playing at home, even he could have established himself."

But why could Ajay himself not do so after he had such a wonderful series against New Zealand at home in 1995? "Well, I had the chance but I blew it in England in 1996," says Jadeja.

In a way, the duty of a susbtitute is tougher than a playing cricketer. You are there, not worrying about yourself but about others. On the opening day, Sanghvi is walking up to the coach, going, "Sir, there are no shin guards." Gaekwad asks him to go in and ask Saurav Ganguly - who usually wears it and hence keeps it with him - for its whereabout.

"It seems Ganguly has forgotten them," says Sanghvi. "Is it alright if I go to the Zimbabwe team and ask for their shin guards?"

Gaekwad is speechless. He asks Sanghvi to give it another try. Half an hour later, Sanghvi emerges. Still no luck. "Okay, go and get it from them," says Gaekwad.

Sanghvi runs away, a happy errand boy, and his coach can't help but smile as he looks after the willing passenger.

These are the men who toil away for their mates, but go unrecognised. They bowl and field balls for the others in the nets, act as masseurs when the need arises, fetch energades and drinks, and are willing substitute fielders. Trust me, there is hardly a minute's break for them.

Perhaps it would not be a bad idea if instead of discriminating between the playing eleven and the substitutes in the matter of team sponsorship money, an even distribution is arranged for all.