By Rachit Raj

In the last few years, we have seen a number of sports biopics being made in the Hindi Film Industry. From M.S. Dhoni: The Untold Story, Mary Kom, and 83 amongst others. We already have a biopic on Mithali Raj and Jhulan Goswami. As a sports fan, I am always excited about these films, but more often than not, I find myself disappointed by the time the film reaches its rousing final act.

As I watched Kaun Pravin Tambe?, I was left wondering why a film on a forty-one-year-old leg-spinner from Mumbai was working for me better than most of the aforementioned films. The truth was deeper than a terrific performance by Shreyas Talpade (who now has the distinct pleasure of starring in two fine films about a bowler in a batting-crazy country). It lies in how writer Kiran Yadnyopavit and director Jayprasad Desai maneuver the story with an appreciable understanding of what needs to be the core of a sports biopic.

Pravin Tambe’s story is a deeply Indian affair. Not just that, it is rooted in Mumbai and its culture to not have time for anyone who does not nod to a fast, relentless life. Tambe, then, appears as a poet in a world of capitalism – a believer, dreamer, in a world where a selection of a player is more about long-term investment than raw talent. It is a story of a late-bloomer in a country where success is expected to come at a specific age frame.

For a sports film, there are very few scenes of actual cricket matches here. The film is more concerned with setting the social surroundings of the protagonist. We meet and understand Pravin the man – in family and society – before we are allowed a glimpse of Pravin the cricketer. This is a rare exception and one that makes a significant difference. This is not just a sports film, but a film that understands the often-ignored relationship between sports and socialism.

Interestingly, Shreyas Talpade’s Hindi-film debut Iqbal shared this quality too. Much like that film where the titular Iqbal bounced off a rich brat on nets, forcing the head coach (a memorable Girish Karnad) to let Iqbal go, there is a scene in Kaun Pravin Tambe? where Pravin is forced to confront his nemesis Rajat Sanyal (Parambrata Chatterjee) in a bar where Pravin works as a waiter. That entire sequence is reflective of a man who is forced to balance his dreams and his financial situation. Pravin is not just a cricketer, but a husband, a father, who needs to make sure his family’s needs are met.

Talpade is heartbroken to see an already privileged journalist celebrating the “success” of a book that has not sold well, while he is struggling to get into the list of probable players for the Ranji Trophy, despite countless impressive performances. Two men – one a bully, the other bullied – who are on opposite spectrums of life just because one was born in a world of sociological advantage.

The film does not delve into this, but Pravin Tambe’s story is also of a Dalit man blooming in his forties, an aspect of his identity that is crucial to his dwindling chances, and a man born in an “upper-caste” family, like Sanyal, seeing Tambe as nothing more than a gully-cricketer. Tambe is at a disadvantage in a deeply biased, unforgiving sociological structure, where all he has is his talent and determination.

This is also important given how the story unfolds towards his eventual success. In another era, Tambe would have been lost in oblivion. But his late bloom coincided with the advent of the Indian Premier League, which had scouts from every team looking out for unrecognized talent that they could have at a low price. Rajasthan Royals – a team once led by the Late Shane Warne – and one that carried the image of having limited resources, became Tambe’s first home under the mentorship of none other than Rahul Dravid.

Everything that matters in the film is deeply sociological. Tambe’s passion is rendered fruitless because of his arrogant obsession to be a medium pacer when his true grit lay in leg spin; his determination finds steel in a harsh life of a person who has limited means, unlike Sanyal whose fear of a longer struggle forced him to opt for a simpler path as a sports journalist.

Kaun Pravin Tambe? is a film that recognizes that the true beauty of an underdog story lies in the relationship between their socio-cultural dynamics, and their passion for something. These juxtaposing aspects of a persons’ life, and how one reacts to their relationship are what separates an underdog achiever from someone who gives up on their dreams. Tambe was never an international-level spinner. His aspirations were limited too, somber than that of Iqbal. All he wanted to do was play Ranji Trophy for Mumbai. As it turns out, he took an IPL hattrick that included three batters who have all played international cricket.

The film, like the man himself, is an ode to a cricketing culture, and the spirit of Mumbai that asks one to never give up. The story of Pravin Tambe is rooted not in that hattrick or a video call with Dravid, but in the chawls of Mumbai, the bustling truth of the city, and the rarely-spoken about tournaments that nurture talents like Tambe to keep believing.

The same is true for the film, which finds the most beautiful moments in its domestic spaces. Whether it is a frustrated wife (Anjali Patil) or his coach preparing bhindi, and arbitrarily throwing a line that becomes the most quotable dialogue of the film. A lot of Kaun Pravin Tambe? is about the nonchalance of life, and it is in that nonchalance that the beauty of cricket and cricketers emerges, not just as players but as a product of a very visible social background.

[Read more of the author’s work on his blog]