Nobody knows Dhoni better than Chittu. This is coming from the man himself. After having waited for him enough times at the MCA stadium, I had eventually given up the ghost and resigned to my fate. Then one day, I thought it better to ask Dhoni himself about how he would have gone about the task of discovering the real Mahi.
Following a dramatic pause, he said, ‘Ek hi aadmi hai . . . Chittu . . . Lekin woh tujhe milega nahi. (There’s only one man for the job . . . Chittu . . . But he won’t meet you . . .),’ and then walked away, mouthing something about finding Chittu naamumkin (impossible).
A couple of days later, I got a call from an unknown number and the man on the other side introduced himself as Chittu. He said I should come over to Ranchi the very next day. Taken aback, I only got my head around the identity of the caller once I heard the words, ‘Mahi ne kaha hai ki aap aaoge. (Mahi had said that you would come.)’
Flight tickets were booked on the fly and though I couldn’t make it as swiftly as Chittu wanted me to, I was in Ranchi the day after.
It would be unfair to say that the Dhoni–Ranchi relationship is one-sided. A lot of why and how Dhoni is the way he is can be traced back to where he comes from, like with most people. ‘Our Groundwork Takes You Sky High’ is the sign that welcomes you into Ranchi. They couldn’t have picked a more apt slogan for the city or its beloved son. It explains both what the city represents and the meteoric rise of Dhoni. There’s an understated yet ambitious air to the city. It remains largely middle class but the real estate is booming with state-of-the-art residential complexes mushrooming on all sides. But still the market area, or Main Road as it’s more eloquently referred to there, carries a rather bourgeois feel to it. Though not aggressively advertised, there is enough tourism potential there—it’s called the city of waterfalls—to attract visitors in search of the real-India experience.
It is a city, locals believe, that is urbanizing at a rapid pace. Ranchi is a highly cosmopolitan agglomeration—teeming with the educated classes from across the country who came in search of better opportunities post-independence, and migrators from its hinterlands who came in search of jobs, especially after it became the capital of Jharkhand in 2000. It has transformed over the years from being a forest inhabited by tribes to being the administrative headquarters for the British and then to an industrial town with major companies like Bharat Heavy Electricals Limited (BHEL), MECON, Steel Authority of India Limited (SAIL), etc., located there. A considerable change in land use has occurred during the last four decades. Ranchi has been handpicked to become one of the 100 smart cities by the government’s Smart City India Mission. This is information I get from a friend who has called Ranchi home for most parts of her life, and is extremely touchy about all things Ranchi.
Chittu has already booked a room for me—or informed the hotel staff—before I land and it’s a four-minute car ride from the airport. Hotel Green Acres, like every other place in Ranchi, has its own Mahi memory, and I’m told about it as I check in.
‘He used to often come here to our rooftop restaurant with his friends early on. At times, he would even be kind enough to pose for pictures with the staff. Obviously, he doesn’t get time to do that very often these days,’ the receptionist tells me. The Green Acres’ big attraction, apart from its well-kempt rooms, is the food—the South Indian food in particular. The hotel itself represents the changing face of Ranchi. It now boasts of its own gourmet patisserie, aptly named Sugar High, which is run by the owner’s daughter. There’s a Mahi connection here too, of course. Chandrakant Raipat, the owner, went to school with the man himself.
His daughter, Vandita Raipat, who finished her studies in Bangalore and worked briefly in Mumbai before shifting back to her roots to start Sugar High, has her own Dhoni story. It’s about the time when she and her friends were cycling around MECON Colony and blocked his car, refusing to budge until he came out and gave them autographs. ‘He did eventually step out; he was smiling and gladly posed for pictures with us,’ she says. She doesn’t sound a tad embarrassed about it. It’s Mahi, after all. The people of Ranchi have a legitimate claim on him.
In less than an hour after I check in, Chittu is on his way to meet me. His first look at me is rather incredulous. ‘I expected someone much older to be writing a book on Mahi,’ he tells me. I could see he was also expecting someone a lot more conventional-looking. Chittu is diminutive, stout and wears thick glasses. The first thought in my head was how perfectly the casting director for Dhoni—The Untold Story nailed the Chittu character.
The first thing he does is pull out his phone and insist that I see the McDowell’s Soda No. 1 ‘Yaari Hai’ ad that Dhoni had shot with Chittu and Chottu-bhaiya (Paramjit Singh), who was a former clubmate of Dhoni and got him his first sponsor before he became the elder brother of Mahi’s inner circle. It’s a tastefully shot video that manages to indulge in nostalgia without seeming corny at any point. It used to be on TV till a couple of years ago and the full version is up on YouTube. The camaraderie and intimacy between the three friends is evident in every scene—whether it is Dhoni making fun of Chittu’s chai or getting the better of him in an impromptu game of cricket. Dhoni’s megastardom isn’t compromised, as his friends use a selfie with him as a bait to get a discount from the caterer. Overall, it achieves its purpose perfectly, to depict that the more things change, the more they stay the same. The script, Chittu reveals, was written by Dhoni himself.
The final scene is a touching exchange between the two schoolmates as Chittu speaks wistfully about the good old days and the fun they used to have, to which Dhoni, showing some rare emotion, puts his arms around the two and says, ‘Kuch nahi badla, yaar. (Nothing has changed, mate.)’ There’s also a scene where Dhoni picks on Chittu’s slightly generous midriff.
‘See how he doesn’t let go of that one opportunity he has to make fun of me and my weight. He didn’t tell me about it before the shooting began,’ he says with a smile and emotion in his voice. As I look up, I also find a glint of a tear or two welling up behind the spectacles. I assume Chittu gets emotional every time he sees the ad.
Being very close to a big-time celebrity in India leaves you in a dangerous state of suspended disbelief. It’s a weird drug that few can handle, mainly because you can never be in control of its effects. There are the highs, of course, of getting to rub shoulders with and enjoying a personal relationship with someone who a billion others would give anything to catch a glimpse of. It’s also an addictive high but one you are totally dependent on your celebrity friend for providing. You are only important till he or she is. And there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s also always the overriding fear that the friendship itself could get eclipsed at any point.
Chittu, to his credit, acknowledges the fickleness and responsibilities of being a celebrity confidant. He’s tried to keep his personal life divorced from the Dhoni phenomenon that unwittingly engulfs most other facets and faculties of his life. Our chats are repeatedly interrupted by calls from Sakshi who is seeking Chittu’s expert opinion on some home matter. The Dhonis are in the process of shifting to their new house in Harmu when I am in Ranchi. And it’s the best friend who is the decision-maker when the man is not around. Wherever he goes, he’s known as ‘Chittu-bhai, Mahi ka dost’. He loses his cool briefly when the security guard at the JSCA stadium asks him to move his car from the VIP parking spot, but he doesn’t have to throw any names around. The ground incharge is fortunately at hand and he steps in to explain that the guard is a new appointee and therefore not aware of Chittu’s identity. But Chittu doesn’t impose his celebrity influence over anyone. ‘Rehne dijiye, naya hoga. (Let it be, he must be new.)’ He then pats the guard on the back.
We don’t hang around the hotel for too long. Chittu can’t afford to. He’s a busy man when in Ranchi. MECON Colony will be our first stop, he tells me as we get into his car. It’s a Santro. And before I ask, he tells: ‘Mahi gave this to me a few years ago. Before this he had given me a Scorpio, the mos
t expensive car I’ve ever owned. He also had bought me my first bike.’ He adds, ‘That’s why Mahi is special and greater than all other famous cricketers in the world. He doesn’t believe in leaving anyone behind. He might have become the biggest celebrity in the country right now. But woh iss cheez mein manta hai ki sabko saath leke aage chalna hai. (But he believes in taking everybody forward.)’ It’s true at many levels, I realize. Though Dhoni has been associated with Rhiti Sports, the sports management company run by Arun Pandey, for years now, he also lets Chittu and a former Jharkhand teammate, Mihir Diwakar, handle his other, newer clients.
And it doesn’t take me too long to realize what Dhoni had meant when he talked about his friend’s elusiveness.
One of the first things Chittu tells me is that he doesn’t do interviews. He keeps a lower profile than even Dhoni in Ranchi. His phone is forever buzzing, but he answers only those numbers that he can recognize. He keeps two phones. One is a private number that only a few—I’m in the illustrious list now—have access to. He tells me how privileged I am—not once but on quite a few occasions. Then a quick reminder: ‘I’m meeting you only because Mahi has asked me to. Or I just don’t talk to anyone.’
MECON Colony
Dhoni didn’t just put Ranchi on the map. He also put MECON Colony on the silver screen and on every television set across the country.
We enter the colony gate with Chittu throwing a customary nod to the security guard. This is after Chittu has shown me Sanjay Tea Stall—located a few metres from the colony gate—which is where the Mahi army would convene on a daily basis once the cricket was over; it has now become one of the many selfie points in Doranda when tourists come here on an M.S. Dhoni tour. It’s a modest shop that sells your usual fare of samosas and other basic savouries, along with those customary jeera biscuits that are so characteristic of these shops.
The MECON residential complex in Ranchi, some 5.2 km from the airport in the busy suburb of Doranda, is over sixty years old now and, according to Chittu, hasn’t changed much since the time his family moved here. It’s a gated community with its evident class hierarchy like most government-owned colonies around the country. The size, wear and tear and overall aesthetics of the many residences give away the financial status of their respective residents.
Chittu takes me on a guided tour of the colony, beginning from the places the two childhood friends used to hang out. Finally, he parks outside the MECON stadium. It’s around 6 p.m. and the guard has locked the gate. Chittu flexes his influence and the guard obliges. As we walk in, Chittu takes a whiff of the summer air and smiles. Perhaps it’s his way of saying, nothing’s changed at all. He immediately starts pointing out the various Mahi landmarks.
‘Mahi’s family used to stay somewhere in M Block before and then they moved into N Block overlooking the stadium. That was his building, and two blocks behind it was mine,’ says Chittu, pointing to his right. He then points straight ahead, beyond the boundary wall at the far end at a clutch of dull-coloured buildings, amidst which the one in white stands out even from a distance. ‘That was our school. So we were very lucky that we hardly had to walk five minutes to get there. Behind the school was where Mahi’s dad’s office used to be. To the left is the pump room where his father would often come to do his work while we would be playing. Duty yahan tha, ghar wahan, aur school wahan peeche. (His workplace was there, the house there, and the school behind.)’
It’s at this DAV school that Chittu met Mahi while they were still tots. They were polar opposites, but hit it off immediately.
‘He was a unique kid. Ekdum shaant always. (Always quiet.) I never saw him do kids’ stuff, playing pranks or being cranky or throwing tantrums. Aisa nahi, ki ekdum jhat-pat kuch kar raha hai. (He never did anything out of the blue.) No badmaashi (mischief) either. He was in his own world mostly, almost too sorted to be a child,’ says Chittu, adding that even at that young age, what was apparent about Dhoni was a keen sense of knowing what to do, when to do it, and giving it all his focus and energy.
‘Very dedicated to his work. If he decided that he had to do something, woh karna hi hai (he would definitely do it). He wouldn’t study through the year. He would study while the monsoons were on and we couldn’t play out much. He wouldn’t revise much even when it was exam time. I never saw him mugging up like we used to. It is a first-class brain. Mahi’s dad used to come up with this popular dialogue during exam time. “Whoever has studied all year long, doesn’t need to study at the last minute. And whoever hasn’t studied all year, usko bhi last-minute studies ki zaroorat nahi hai (he too doesn’t have to study at the last minute).”’ Wise advice indeed, something you can almost imagine Dhoni using with his bowlers (think S. Sreesanth) often during his captaincy.
The upbringing in both households had a mixture of freedom and discipline. Mahi and Chittu had a curfew to contend with and be back home by 6.30 p.m. regardless of whether they were done playing or not. The adults worked really hard to keep the household going and they expected the kids to do their bit in terms of cultivating self-discipline when it came to school matters.
‘After playtime, come back home, wash up and then sit down to study. Everything was fixed for us. Get up early, go to school, play and then study. That’s why you’ll never see Mahi ever being late to any place. That discipline is so deeply engrained in him,’ says Chittu.
Chittu claims to be hot-headed and someone who even now doesn’t think twice before getting into a scuffle. ‘I was the ultimate badmaash, very short-tempered and would keep getting into fights. Even now when Mahi sees me getting angsty with someone, he’ll mockingly warn that guy, saying, “Achcha hai. He’s running short of enemies at the moment.” Despite hanging out with such a cool guy, I have never been able to change that side of me,’ he rues.
Dhoni’s innate steadfastness would be raised to new levels when it came to sport, says Chittu. It didn’t matter what sport he was involved in. It would reveal a new side to Dhoni—one where he would allow himself to show emotion and, at times, even lose his cool. Chittu recalls being Mahi’s doubles partner in badminton and the responsibility that came with the role. ‘You had to play seriously. That was the only time I would see him get angry. If even for a single point, he felt or got the feeling that I wasn’t being as serious as he was, all hell would break loose. “Khelna hai toh seriously khelo, nahi toh chale jao. (If you want to play, play seriously; otherwise, go away.)” That was the first warning. The next time he would just shout, “Bhaag jaao yahan se, tum-mein seriousness nahi hai. (Get lost from here, you are not serious.)”’
Chittu says that the single-mindedness which Dhoni brought to the task at hand in childhood is evident even today when his friend is busy on the iPad playing one of his beloved shooting games or football. ‘He’s fully into it, with 100 per cent concentration. But he’s still listening to everyone. If anyone thinks even for a second that he’s fully fixated on the game and isn’t paying attention to what they’ve said, then they will be in for a shock,’ he says with that same awe with which he describes most of Mahi’s characteristics.
The MECON stadium is where Mahi and Chittu spent their evenings playing football, and on the odd occasion, some cricket. This was also the only Ranji Trophy venue in Ranchi before the Dhoni phenomenon occurred. And even though cricket was an afterthought most of the time back then, the future India captain would not miss a single ball of the action whenever Bihar was playing a match at the MECON stadium. Sitting on the terrace of N171—his first residence there—the two boys would soak in the Ranji action all day long. It is an envious position to be in—having a first-class ground across the road from you, especially in India. The boy literally grew up with high-level cricket at his doorstep. For most cricketers who make it to the top, especially from the hinterland, the first first-class match they witness is often the maiden one they get to play in.
As Chittu recalls, Dhoni was never a mute spectator—the stump microphone has over the years revealed that he just can
’t stop talking when a match is on—even back then. He was constantly formulating theories and passing judgements on those playing.
‘Bihar used to have a fast bowler called D.J. Singh, and Mahi was always amazed at how quick he bowled. He would keep talking about his pace. Honestly, I wasn’t someone who loved discussing cricket for too long, but Mahi would keep at it. It’s funny that these days he bashes up bowlers who are much, much quicker than that fellow he used to rave about,’ says Chittu with a smile.
Amazingly, it was right here at the MECON stadium that Dhoni made his first-class debut when he was eighteen. He played against Assam and scored an unbeaten 68. When you think of it, it must have been akin to playing your first big-ticket match at the same building compound or gully you learnt to play the sport in. In early 2015, while the World Cup was on Down Under, it was announced that the MECON stadium would be renamed the MECON-MSD stadium in a year’s time. But here I am in May 2017, and it still reads MECON stadium, in bold-blue letters. It lacks the MSD touch, quite literally. When asked about it, Chittu just shakes his head, his brows furrowing, but for once he holds back. It’s at this precise moment that Umakanta Jena, Jena-da to the locals, joins us.
Umakanta Jena, now well into his sixties, has been the curator at MECON stadium for nearly two decades and was one of the early witnesses to the rise of Dhoni. He’s heavily tanned and carries all the signs of long hours spent under the unforgiving Ranchi sun.
And he, like Chittu, is displeased, almost anguished, at the fact that the man who brought MECON and Ranchi such glory does not have his name up there yet. ‘Despite all that he’s done for the city, the locality and the country, they’re yet to give him any recognition. It’s been over a year since they publicly announced the renaming of the stadium. But you see, nothing has happened yet,’ says Jena-da before recounting his own version of the snub Dhoni received from the ‘elitist’ MECON team selectors, one that they’ve never gotten over even if the man himself has moved on.
The Dhoni Touch Page 3