The retirement of VVS Laxman has left an aching void in the hearts of cricket’s romantics. In the T20-dominated present, the art of batsmanship seems lost beneath a flood of brute force. The modern game often glorifies power—the sixes that clear the boundary in the blink of an eye—and dismisses subtlety in favour of spectacle. For those who cherish the quieter beauties of cricket, this age can feel disheartening. There are no more Mohammad Yousufs, no Laxmans, Azharuddins, or Zaheer Abbases—masters who painted their masterpieces stroke by stroke on the canvas of Test cricket. Yet, even in these times, the game still finds a way to produce a few poets with the bat. And none embodies that artistry better today than Hashim Amla.
Amla stands as a living homage to cricket’s most delicate traditions, a reminder that elegance and grace still have a place in the game of power and pace. Like a painter wielding his brush, Amla’s bat creates not chaos but serenity, describing cricket in its purest, most beautiful form. He offers the kind of pleasure that only a few in history have provided—a batsman whose every movement seems to suspend time. Watching Amla bat is to experience an unbroken symphony, each stroke an immaculate note, soothing to the soul of the purist.
Wristwork as Poetry: A Legacy in Motion
Amla is perhaps the greatest exponent of wristwork in the modern game. His wrists operate with a finesse that evokes memories of Azharuddin, Yousuf, and Zaheer Abbas—masters of timing and placement. His ability to play the ball late, with a whisper of touch rather than a shout of power, is a purist’s delight. His strokes carry no violence, no arrogance; instead, they demoralize bowlers with quiet elegance. Whether piercing the covers from the back foot or delicately manoeuvring the ball past gully with a late cut, Amla paints the field with subtlety, each shot a quiet act of rebellion against the aggression so dominant today.
The beauty of Amla’s batting lies not only in his precision but in his minimalism. He moves just enough—no more, no less. His off-drives, crafted with soft hands and upright posture, are strokes to savour, not devour. The occasional flicks to fine leg, seemingly executed without effort, speak of an almost spiritual control. In these moments, Amla channels the essence of the greats—he embodies a flavour of Azhar, a hint of Yousuf, and a glimpse of Zaheer. Indeed, there is something monumental about Amla, something Taj Mahal-like—a structure of permanence in a fleeting world.
Evolution of a Craftsman: From Uncertainty to Mastery
Like many great artists, Amla did not emerge fully formed. His debut was met with scepticism. His wide stance, restless bat, and fidgety movements raised doubts about his ability to survive at the highest level. Critics questioned whether his technique could withstand the scrutiny of international cricket. But Amla, much like a sculptor refining his craft, worked tirelessly on his game. Importantly, he did so without abandoning his essence. The wide stance remains, the bat still swings in the air, but the nervous movements have softened. What emerged from this evolution was a player who retained the elegance of his roots while eliminating unnecessary noise.
Amla’s transformation is a testament to his discipline and artistry. His ability to play the ball late, especially against express pace and quality spin, speaks to a rare talent. He makes batting look effortless, though it is anything but. His presence at the crease exudes calm, a quiet assurance that the game is under control. Every stroke seems inevitable, as if predetermined by some higher force, and rarely does he indulge in anything ugly or extravagant. The longer he bats, the more inevitable his success feels—a reflection of mastery rather than luck.
The Torchbearer of Elegance
In an era increasingly intoxicated by brute strength, Amla offers a reminder of what cricket can still be—a stage for artistry, not just spectacle. His bat carries the legacy of Laxman, keeping alive a style that feels endangered but not extinct. Laxman may have retired, but in Amla, the spirit of effortless elegance lives on. His magic lies not just in the runs he scores but in the way he scores them—each stroke a tribute to cricket’s most cherished ideals.
The world of cricket may never again see the likes of Laxman, Azhar, or Yousuf in abundance, but Amla stands as proof that the flame of artistry still flickers. His batting demands applause not for its brute force but for its beauty. It is time to savour every moment he occupies the crease, for each inning is a fleeting masterpiece, a gift to those who still believe that cricket is not just a game but an art form.
The romantics of the game have lost Laxman, but in Hashim Amla, they have found a worthy successor—a maestro who continues to compose symphonies on the field, one elegant stroke at a time.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
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