How stormy seas helped Harbhajan Singh get career back on track

As the world's leading cricket sides head in the direction of the Cape of Good Hope, they could do worse than remember an old African proverb: Smooth seas do not make skilful sailors. The history of the game is replete with examples of men who braved the storms to come back even stronger, just as there are cautionary tales of those that sank when confronted by turbulent waves. For every Imran Khan, there's a Lawrence Rowe, and for every Andrew Symonds and monkey/teri-ma-ki, there's a Harbhajan Singh.

The Sydney Test of 2008 will long be remembered for the drama on and off the pitch, but in the days to come, people may also chart the drastically different career paths of the main protagonists. At the time, Symonds was the leading all-rounder in the world, a peerless one-day player who had managed to get a grip in the five-day version as well. Harbhajan, in sharp contrast, was the one-time prodigy and destroyer of Steve Waugh's dream who had fallen on hard times.

In the two years leading up to the now-infamous pat on Brett Lee's backside, Harbhajan had been pushed to the periphery of Indian cricket. His relationship with Greg Chappell was strained and the indefatigable Anil Kumble had long since wrested back his place as Indian spin's primus inter pares. When given the opportunities, Harbhajan hadn't exactly helped himself. He had taken 36 wickets in 12 Tests, but they had cost 50.16 apiece and his one-day form (43 wickets from 44 games, at 40.37) was scarcely better.

In Australia, he was outbowled by Brad Hogg, with even Virender Sehwag's part-time off-spin looking more threatening as India won in Perth. Harbhajan's contribution to that triumph involved running on to the field with the flag, and little else, and it was hard to escape that feeling that the fracas had actually done him a favour. The racism allegation and the blatant jingoism it unleashed on both sides in its aftermath deflected attention away from the sheer ordinariness of his bowling.

Few men, though, have been as good as Harbhajan when it comes to clinging on to the life-raft. After a promising debut in 1998, the next couple of years had seen him in the headlines for all the wrong reasons. Like Shane Warne, he too was sent packing from a national academy, though it wasn't the absence of baked beans from the menu that had made him tear up the diet chart. But for Sourav Ganguly's stubborn insistence, he would never have played in that famous 2001 series, and 32 wickets later, the captain had every reason to smile.

He was next buffeted by the waves down under, in 2003. On the eve of the Adelaide Test, I spoke to him, and he insisted that he would be fit to play, despite a horribly mis-shapen index finger and a pasting at the hands of Matthew Hayden in Brisbane. But when we turned up at the ground the next morning, Harbhajan was already on his way for surgery. Kumble, having endured two years of frustration in the younger man's shadow, wasn't about to let go of his chance. His Indian summer lasted nearly five seasons and though Harbhajan returned with a bagful of wickets against Australia at home less than a year later, his career graph gradually went the way of AIG shares.

And then Sydney happened. Smarting from what he saw as a lack of resolute support from his cricket board, Symonds lapsed back into Cardiff ways, falling off the wagon once too often. These days, he can be found in the Twenty20 leagues and nowhere else. The conquistador of the Wanderers against Pakistan, World Cup 2003 and the Ashes centurion MCG, 2006 are mere memories now, thanks largely to so-called banter that couldn't be kept in check.

Harbhajan, singed by how close he came to the flame, went the other way. Since Sydney, his single-mindedness of purpose has been one of the prime reasons for India's surge up both the Test and one-day charts. Kumble's retirement has caused nothing like the disruption Warne's did, with Harbhajan patently eager to fill the breach. In his last 15 Tests, he has 75 wickets at 28.38, while his last 31 one-day outings have fetched him 35 wickets at 29.08.

The numbers alone don't tell the story though. At his lowest ebb in the days and months before Sydney, Harbhajan had been reduced to a stock bowler, someone who speared in his off-breaks with next to no variety or guile. In this fourth avatar, he has been far more adventurous, giving the ball much more air and using the crease far more intelligently. The doosra hasn't been overdone and there's a real zip to the off-breaks. He remains as aggressive and vocal as ever, but as his post-match comments in Colombo showed, there's a new mellowness that keeps him well short of the white line.

After what happened in Sydney, he will perhaps never be respected as Kumble was but there's a lot to be said in favour of a young man who has shouldered the family burden ever since his father passed away in his teens. No one doubts his commitment on the field, and off it, he's one of Sachin Tendulkar's closest friends in the side. There are increasing signs that the elder statesman's influence has helped the hothead to mature as a player. Both played their part as India won only their fourth final [from 21] this decade. Tendulkar's 133-ball 138 was his 44th century, and it earned him a 59th man-of-the-match award. The only competition came from Harbhajan, who picked up a five-for in placid, batsmen-friendly conditions.

Imran came back from a stress fracture of the shin to be man of the series in the six-nation Nehru Cup in 1989. He was almost 37 then, and nearly 40 by the time he finally laid his hands on a World Cup. Rowe, who says that there was no shot he couldn't play, made his sixth century at the Gabba when he was 26 years old. He would make only one more, as his career tailed away with deteriorating eyesight and a grass allergy. Like Symonds, he sought smoother seas and lost his spirit when he couldn't find them. Harbhajan, like Imran, keeps thrashing away, no matter how deep the water around him. There's something to be said for that.