Dear MS, I Still Love To See You Play, But....

MS Dhoni [Source: @Cricketwithme15

@Pandeyshruti252/x.com]

Dear MS,

I still love to see you play, but...today, on your birthday, my heart aches with a thousand emotions that I have carried for twenty years.

I didn't know you existed when you were grinding it out in the domestic circuit. You were just another name buried in scorecards that I never bothered to read.

But in August 2004, during that Kenya triangular series, I stumbled upon something magical.

MS Dhoni for India A in 2004 [Source: @RandomCricketP1/x.com]

There was this long-haired young wicket-keeper swinging his bat like he was painting masterpieces. 326 runs in six innings. Back-to-back centuries. That helicopter shot that defied every coaching manual ever written.

I called my friends, trembling with excitement: "There's this new destructive batter from Ranchi, who's going to change everything."

They laughed at my naivety. "Another overhyped domestic player," they said.

If only they knew what storm was coming.

December 23, 2004. Chattogram - Your international debut.

Run out for a duck. My world collapsed.

Then 12 against Bangladesh, then 7* and then 3 against Pakistan.

Four matches, 22 runs. The dream felt like it was dying.

Every cricket pundit lined up to bury you. "Terrible technique", they declared. "He swings across the line. Self-taught keeping won't work at international level. Send him back to domestic cricket."

I sat in my room, staring at the picture of you from the Kenya series that I had printed out, wondering if I had backed the wrong horse.

My friends were merciless: "This is your future superstar?

He can't even get double digits!"

I stayed silent, but inside, I was breaking.

April 5, 2005. Vishakhapatman

You walked out at number 3 against Pakistan. Just three days earlier in Kochi, you had managed only 3 runs against the same attack.

MS Dhoni during his 148 vs Pakistan [Source: @ShuhidAufridi/x.com]

What happened next changed my life and my cricketing beliefs forever.

148 not out, 123 balls of pure magic, pure destruction.

I sat there crying - actual tears streaming down my face. Not tears of joy, but tears of vindication. Of knowing that my faith wasn't misplaced.

"See!" I screamed at whoever was near me. "See what he can do!"

For the first time, they had no words.

Jaipur, October 2005. 183* vs Sri Lanka

By now, I wasn't just supporting you. I was evangelising. Every conversation became about MS Dhoni. Every cricket discussion had me defending your unconventional methods.

"He's going to be special," I told everyone. "Just wait and see what he will achieve."

2007 ODI World Cup. Group Stage exit.

Your effigies burned in the streets. The same fans who were starting to believe turned into a mob.

My friends were brutal: "Is this what your Dhoni delivers when it matters?"

I didn't argue back. I couldn't. The pain was too real.

But deep inside, I whispered to myself: "He will be back. Champions always come back."

September 2007. You were named the T20I captain of India for the inaugural World Cup.

"A second-string team", they called it. "Dhoni's boys against the world."

Even I had doubts. The pressure was crushing. One tournament to prove everything.

But something in my heart said: "This is his moment."

MS Dhoni with 2007 T20 World Cup Trophy [Source: @TrendsDhoni/x.com]

September 24, 2007. Johannesburg. T20 World Cup Final vs Pakistan. Last Over. Joginder Sharma, Misbah's scoop, Sreesanth's catch.

WE WERE WORLD CHAMPIONS.

I cried again. But this time, I called everyone I knew.

"My captain did it! MS Dhoni led India to a World Cup!"

"Team effort", they said. "Yuvraj won it. Gambhir won it."

I didn't care anymore. I knew the truth. Great teams need great captains, and you were ours.

After this, when you became the ODI captain, the real test began. 

Australia 2008. You dropped senior players for poor fielding. The cricket world went mad.

"How dare he sideline experience?"

I stood by you: "If it gets results, it's right."

We won the CB Series. India's first bilateral ODI series victory in Australia.

Suddenly, your methods didn't seem so crazy.

Being from Bengal, I lived surrounded by Sourav Ganguly's legacy.

"Dhoni is good," they would say, "But Dada took us to a World Cup final. Let's see Dhoni do that."

I would nod patiently: "Just wait. You'll see."

2008 IPL auction. CSK bought you for the highest price.

I was naturally a Mumbai Indians fan because of Sachin. But when I heard about CSK's faith in you, my heart shifted. 

You didn't win that first year. But I made a poster of the entire CSK team and hung it on my bedroom wall.

My friends and relatives laughed: "They didn't even win anything!"

I didn't explain or argue. Love does not need trophies to justify itself.

2010 CSK's Maiden IPL title.

That helmet punch after a crucial win against PBKS. The raw emotion. The relief. The joy. I felt like we had conquered the world together.

April 2, 2011. World Cup Final. Wankhede Stadium.

274 to chase. 114 for 3. The ghosts of 28 years were circling.

Then you walked out, ahead of an in-form Yuvraj Singh. The world judged, the world said: "Stupid move."

Every ball felt like an eternity. Every run was a step toward redemption.

That six off Kulasekara. The way it sailed into the Mumbai night, carrying our dreams with it.

I did not just cry. I sobbed like a child.

The winning six in 2011 World Cup [Source: @CricketopiaCom/x.com]

The next day, my friend - the same one who had mocked you after 2007 - called me.

"Sach mein Dhoni ko man na hoga" (We really have to accept Dhoni's greatness now).

I felt like my elder brother had just won the World Cup for India. The pride was so strong.

But even in triumph, the whispers started.

"Ganguly's team won the World Cup, not Dhoni's."

It stung because I knew how much effort you had put into building that team. How you had nurtured Kohli, backed Raina, and trusted Yuvraj when others doubted.

But you never complained. Never took individual credit. Always "the team won."

That's when I realised you weren't just a great cricketer. You were a great human being.

2013. Champions Trophy. England

You answered every critic with that trophy. A team built entirely under your leadership. Your vision. Your methods.

By then, people started believing: "Anhoni ko honi kar de, woh hai Mahendra Singh Dhoni."

You made the impossible possible so often that we forgot that it was supposed to be impossible.

Last-over wins became routine. Impossible chases became expected. Pressure situations became your playground.

You weren't just our captain. You were our magician.

What hurt after this golden period was not the opposition's sledging you or the media criticism.

It was watching some of your own teammates whisper about who deserved credit for those victories.

They forgot their humility. How you always said "team effort" for wins but took personal responsibility for losses.

Standing alone at press conferences after defeats: "As captain, the responsibility is mine."

That grace in victory and dignity in defeat made their petty jealousies even more painful to watch.

December 30, 2014. Melbourne. Test retirement via a BCCI press release.

No drama. No farewell speech. Just citing the strain of playing all formats.

My heart broke, but I understood. You wanted to give everything to the formats where you could contribute the most.

January 4, 2017. Stepping down for limited-overs captaincy.

Another graceful exit. Another selfless decision. Pure class.

2018. CSK's comeback after two years away.

The challenges. The doubts. The age questions.

But you led them to another IPL title. The ultimate fairy tale.

That victory felt like validation. Not just for the team, but for everyone who believed in second chances, in the power of never giving up.

2019. "Dhoni hai to mumkin hai" had become our national slogan by then.

Even at 38, you were carrying our World Cup dreams on your shoulders.

That run-out, that direct hit from Martin Guptill, that expression from Richard Kettleborough, snapped something inside me.

The cruellest irony. You who had given us the greatest finish in cricket history, departing with a heartbreaking run-out.

I saw you crying on the field. We all did.

You had arrived in international cricket with a run-out and were leaving the same way, but we did not know then.

August 15, 2020. Independence Day.

"Consider me retired from 19.29 hrs."

Even in farewell, your timing was perfect. Independence Day for your independence from international cricket.

My phone buzzed with that Instagram post. I stared at it for ten minutes, unable to process what I was reading.

Fifteen years of magic. Over in three lines.

Your presence in the IPL has been bittersweet since then. 

Watching you still create moments of magic, but also seeing time catch up with the man who once seemed immortal.

MS Dhonin in IPL 2024 [Source: @cricbuzz/x.com]

Every match feels precious now. Every run a gift.

The criticism from new cricket fans cut deep. They see the 44-year-old struggling with strike rotation, not the legend who redefined finishing.

They troll you for your current limitations, forgetting you have already given us everything.

New cricket experts, some of your ex-teammates now, are analysing your decline.

They never understood that you didn't succeed despite your unorthodox methods; you succeeded because of them.

You rewrote the textbook. Made your own rules. Proved that cricket is not about looking good, it's about getting results.

People ask why I still defend you when your powers have clearly waned. 

They don't understand that love is not conditional on current form. 

You could bat number 11 and score ducks for the next five years, and I would still get tears in my eyes watching you walk out.

Because you gave the greatest gift a sportsman can give a fan - the belief that miracles are possible.

You taught me that heroes don't always come with perfect techniques or pedigreed backgrounds. Sometimes they emerge from railway stations in Kharagpur with long hair and impossible dreams.

I know your time is ending on the field, Mahi. I can see it in your eyes.

The fire still burns, but the body is tired. The mind is willing, but the reflexes have slowed.

When you decide to go, do it your way. One last surprise. One final masterstroke.

"Finish It Off In Style!" as Ravi Shastri said when you hit that winning six in 2011.

Let the curtain fall on your terms, in your time, with your dignity intact.

This letter is emotional, biased, completely one-sided.

I am not pretending to be neutral. While writing this, I am not a journalist or a cricket expert.

I am just a fan who spotted a diamond in the dust twenty years ago and watched it become the crown jewel of Indian cricket.

You are my Captain Cool forever.

No statistics, no criticism, no expert opinion can change that.

You made a believer out of a skeptical world.

You made legends out of ordinary moments.

MS Dhoni [Source: @mufaddal_vohra/x.com]

Happy Birthday, Mahi.

Thank you for twenty years of believing in miracles.

With boundless love and endless faith,

A fan who discovered you in Nairobi and will love you till eternity.

And as Harsha Bhogle said: "Ap pal do pal ke shayar nahi, Ap har ek paal ke shayar ho."

🚁💙💛

"Some stories never end. They just transform into legends. You are ours."

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