C for Chappell, D for Dravid

Not long ago, the Indian cricket team believed that they had scaled dizzying heights, their altitude higher than Petronas Towers. Their quixotic coach Greg Chappell, pronounced daily breaking news, making complex pontifications on the malaise dogging Indian cricket, usually recommending surgery when perhaps a sprain reliever would have been more apposite. But that's another story altogether, isn't it?

Yesterday, as Munaf Patel tried a desperate Virender Sehwag scorcher through the covers, and rock-star hair-do Andrew Symonds lunged forward to gleefully scoop up the catch, life had come a full circle for our revered super-heroes, their brittle fallibilities as exposed as Mallika Sherawat in a swimming costume. But unlike the latter's magnanimous endowments; the insipid performance of the Indian team was no stunning revelation. It has been coming for a while.

In fact, if Brian Lara's red caps had not demonstrated some inexplicable mysterious experimentation during their strangely lackluster showing in the last match against India, Rahul Dravid's Army would have been summarily executed a few days ago. The fact that they got a miraculous comeback opportunity, then had the usually arrogant Aussies look palpably flustered, and reached 185 for 6, before their characteristic charitable propensities took over, reflects the real failure of coach Greg Chappell and Rahul Dravid.

The Indian team lacks the most critical ingredient necessary to be true champions -- mental toughness.

Twice during the Malaysia Tri-Series, India actually had the Baggy Green's in sufficient trouble, chasing relatively modest scores, with a resurrected Sachin Tendulkar in the batting line-up looking as exuberant as before. In the first instance, until kindly showers intervened, at 35 for 5, we were contemplating some dubious milestones.

In the second, and this I believe is our biggest drawback, we never believed that we could actually triumph over Australia. We had an additional batsman, the wicket played perfect (forget the commentator's usual crib), a paltry target (given recent run-chases in international cricket), and enough time for acclimatization to Malay food, late-night shopping and sultry weather.

But Chappell's Chaps floundered once again. The bad news is that it is becoming a frequent affliction, just like the common cold, and the timing could not be more inopportune; the World Cup countdown clock is furiously accelerating.

I feel more upset with Rahul Dravid than with Greg Chappell. Here is an extraordinary player, remarkably sharp, terribly talented, vastly experienced, and is perhaps India's ultimate bulwark; the list of eulogies for the Bangalore boy-man can be endless. But Dravid has allowed Chappell's domineering personality to dwarf his own, he has given an unconditional license to Chappell to run Indian cricket, and has usually appeared happy to be a Noddy. ' Yes, Greg, I agree with you whole-heartedly, always. Whatever.'

After 35 Test centuries and almost 11000 Test runs, 14000 ODI runs and 40 ODI centuries, Sachin Tendulkar does not need to learn batting techniques. And Anil Kumble can bowl deadly flippers even when sleepwalking, thank you! And Virender Sehwag can tonk balls above the sightscreen better than Marat Safin, in his usual pirate-style, a handkerchief on head to match Johnny Depp.

What Dravid needs to do is to get the motivation back, give the team an aggressive attitude, build teamwork, and dream big. Not the method, he needs the madness.

It may not be a bad idea if he summoned the services of a bespectacled former colleague currently watching Sania Mirza play forehand winners in Kolkata. But does Rahul have the courage of his own innermost convictions to bring back the man whose twirling of his shirt on the Lord's balcony is one of Indian cricket's most unforgettable moments?

And why not , as well, the man from the land of the famous Hyderabadi biryani?

But will Rahul use his Hutch connection? Your guess is as good as mine.