Who is pradeep mathew

Moreover, cricket is not only balls bowled or shots played and runs scored, but what happens when these things occur - a sport of entireties and ancillaries. The depiction of the game's ardency is particularly superb; the habits of those who populate the novel are much the same as of those who read this publication. Faultless and intricate in construction, Chinaman nonetheless misses an ineffable something of the game. Without being able to point to definite error, the depiction of cricket, like a reproduction made from a master's canvas, feels a little off.

It seems a pastiche at times, a mimicry of those who love the game, with the detailing exact and the effect meaningless. Perhaps here is the distinction between cricket fiction where a novelist puts the game to use, and a devotee - an obsessive, fanatic, tragic - using the novel as a vehicle for cricket.

What to do, though, with a novelist hijacking cricket for his own ends, one not worshipping at the game's altar with his art? Well, read him for a start. Whatever quibbles about Chinaman as a book of cricket, it's a cavorting read. Sensible notion, unlikely to be done. How about moving onto another book? Let's leave Testkill not to mention Ted Dexter's golf murder mystery, Deadly Putter until it turns up at a jumble sale. There's plenty of others for the meantime. The Great Lankan Opening Batsman once claimed that just because he could hit a ball with a bat it didn't make him better than anyone else.

Was he being falsely modest or genuinely humble? Like many of our local umpires and selectors over the years, I will give him the benefit of the doubt. But there is some truth to what he says.

Does Sri Lanka need more schoolteachers, more soldiers, or more wicketkeepers? What's more useful to society?

A middle order batsman or a bank manager? A specialist gully fieldsman or a civil engineer? A left-arm spinner or a plumber? I have been told by members of my own family that there is no use or value in sports. I only agree with the first part. I may be drunk, but I am not stupid. Wije on his friend Ari: "I cannot help that his testicles reside in his wife's handbag.

What is most remarkable about this novel, though, is how fact and fiction are manipulated. Real personalities parley with invented ones. Karunatilaka goes so far as to create an online identity for Pradeep Mathew, and with his fictional creation, the curmudgeonly WG, he allows memory to be distilled through the filters of age and arrack, illustrating what the best fiction always does: show that there is never just one truth, one reality.

In this, I am reminded of another recent debut novel, Miguel Syjuco's Ilustrado , which also plays with fact and fiction, and uses the pretext of a quest to say larger things about a country, the Philippines. In the case of Chinaman , the country is Sri Lanka, and Karuntilaka's vision goes beyond the constant sun, Geoffrey Bawa homes and rambutans. This is a nation where "men have nowhere to be" and Buddhists carry firearms.

It is also a place where every once in a while a left-arm spinner "will bowl a ball that will bring an entire nation to its feet". This may not be the Great Sri Lankan novel, as Karunatilaka's publishers loudly proclaim.

But it is a great novel, and it is most certainly Sri Lankan. Tishani Doshi is a poet, novelist and dancer. Her debut novel The Pleasure Seekers is published by Bloomsbury. The first test of the New Zealand tour to Sri Lanka was known as the Kuruppu test, due to the aforementioned wicketkeeper batsman spending every minute of it on the field. The match was as dreary as Kuruppu's unbeaten , the first double century by a Sri Lankan, quite possibly the dullest innings ever.

Stretched over soggy minutes, it remains the slowest double century in history. Kuruppu was dropped on 31, 70, , and and scooped most of his runs from pushing into the covers with his bottom hand. Then the Kiwis got in on the action with Hadlee and Jeff Crowe adding two equally yawn-worthy centuries as the match lurched to a non-climax. Days later, a car bomb at the Colombo central bus station killed and wounded The LTTE had struck at the heart of Colombo for neither the first nor the last time, as New Zealand cricket would find out again five years later.

In , the exploding motorbike that disposed of Navy chief Clancy Kobbekaduwa in front of the touring team's hotel, landed body parts quite literally at the feet of the horrified Kiwis. Gavin Larsen, another medium pacer who could bat a bit, almost trod on a severed hand.

That tragedy splintered the New Zealand team, with five players and manager Wally Lees returning home and Sri Lanka trouncing a weakened Kiwi outfit.

As soon as the death count of Colombo's then biggest tragedy hit the headlines, the New Zealanders had their bags packed. It was the coaxing of the Minister that convinced them to play a second test in Asgiriya. Three reasons: the Minister was instrumental in the construction of this stadium in the hills and guaranteed a closed event with tight security; the Minister was also instrumental in NZ dairy exporter Anchor's near monopoly of the local milk powder market; the Minister had a smirk that was difficult to refuse.

The second test was closed to the public and only selected members of the press were invited. I then worked for the Sun , a short-lived tabloid that made up in free tickets what it lacked in print quality. I received an invitation to cover the match and I took my friend Ari along as my photographer. We were body-searched and stripped of our alcohol. Our stand was populated by the press and the players' guests.

The pavilion was filled with politicians and VIPs, the stands around the players' dressing rooms were empty, and the rest of the stadium was bare. These were the days before multiple cricket channels. Even school games and club matches attracted half-full stadiums. To see a test match in a cricket-starved nation played before an empty stadium was farcical.

As was the notion that the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam would want to assassinate curly-haired medium pacers from Waipukarau.

The Asgiriya pitch was not expecting call-up for international duties that year and had been hosting U matting encounters between Trinity and St Anthony's. The surface had only three days' preparation, a fact kept from the already nervous New Zealanders. The press box had a lone fax machine, a few typewriters, and three dust-ridden overhead fans. There was a bar that served warm beer and a bird's eye view of the pitch.

The commentary boxes upstairs sent rumbles across the ceiling. The usual suspects spread themselves across empty chairs and absorbed the action. That due to the prevalent situation in the country, our match reports would have to be approved by the government censor. Called this not for their fame or infamy, but because neither Ari nor I knew who was who. The first session proved a fascinating contest. Accurate bowling by the two Ratnayakes matched by cautious defence by Franklin and Jones.

Pradeep Mathew came on just before lunch and made Jones jump in the way of a darter.