The Guitar Solo & the String Quartet

Attending practice sessions can be a visually and acoustically rewarding experience. Away from the prying eyes of the public and devoid of pressure induced muscle tightness, players, and even the best ones, can hit levels far greater than what they achieve on match days. A cricketer's career is born in public but talent - intrinsic and covert - is developed in the relative privacy of the practice nets, usually tucked away in a corner of the cathedral.

That nets are where a batsman turns musician to create complex musical patterns. The sound waveforms of leather on wood narrate a story by themselves. In form, out of form. Top-order or tailender. They tell all. Most sessions will have at least one performance that'll leave an imprint. Sometimes, if you're really lucky, like those at the Feroz Shah Kotla, you'll be privy to two contrasting, yet equally enchanting, musical acts.

The guitar solo

The thigh pad is strapped on, the abdominal protector is slipped into place. Before the gloves, pads and the helmet form the ensemble, there's some stiffness in the sides after the warmup that needs a quick rubdown from the Strength and Conditioning coach. It's the onset of winter in New Delhi but the sun clearly wishes to land a few more blows before it relents for a bit. Time to pick up the instrument and wait for the stage summon... Any minute now...

Virat Kohli strides out purposefully to the outdoor nets facility at the Feroz Shah Kotla. This is 'his' city, 'his' ground, 'his' stage. And he makes sure to remind you just that with his unwavering walk. To the uninformed viewer, this is just the mini gig before the actual concert. But he knows otherwise. He takes his designated position at the corner net and waits - head cocked to the side, eyes intently following the ball's trajectory.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Not a chord out of place. Nothing timid about the amplitude either. The perfect sound check. The audience, and it's a decent number for a private gig, is aroused. This is what they braved the sun and the security guards for. Suddenly, there's an instant bedlam for front-row seats.

And then the harmony builds. Just the kind that Barney Stinson describes of an ideal 'Get Psyched' mix - Start high, get higher. The first three notes are those of the cover drive, the square-cut and a straight drive, each more definitive than the previous. Then there's a loud CRACK! It is the pull. The purity of sound catches an unsuspecting Hardik Pandya in the adjoining net by surprise. For all his all-round qualities, his is a mere support act in this performance. Especially now, when it's time now for the guitar solo. All other sounds and instruments must be drowned out in one continuous and dramatic display of virtuosity.

Kohli pulls - both in front of square and behind. When he cuts fiercely, the ball escapes the confines of the net and into safety. There's a small ball-hunt squad deployed for its retrieval. The next Test is not for another 20 days so he can afford to throw a little caution to the winds now while with the limited-overs side. The straight drive note is hit again, that sends the batting coach Sanjay Bangar ducking for cover. It appears that even he, by now, is head banging to the rapid playing of scales and arpeggios. When another straight drive follows, a policeman, on guard duty, yelps but composes himself, quickly enough to avoid the wrath of a superior.

This is an artist at the peak of his prowess. He's a heady concoction of talent, swagger and nonchalance. And that is why they say he has them groupies swarming him wherever he goes. He finishes the sequence with a couple of whippy on-drives and after twenty minutes of electrified brilliance, walks off the stage just as dramatically as he arrived. The sudden hushed silence is filled only by some out-of-tune instruments in the distance.

The string quartet

While those present at the scene are still recovering from the after effects of that first performance, the day's final act arrives. Unlike the first, this is a collaborative effort headlined by a bearded man in his mid-twenties. On first sight, there is nothing disarmingly chic about Kane Williamson. He is the lead violinist in a string quartet also comprising Tom Latham, Ross Taylor and Corey Anderson. He will set the tone for how this evening winds down. And in stark contrast to the day's proceedings, he begins with a gentle caress of the ball, an early reassurance that there will be no brutality.

He lets the next couple go and you begin to wonder if its the same artist you'd heard so much about. And then just like that the music grows on you, disarming you without your knowledge. A drive there and a cut here. Not a note is hit in anger. Now, even the 'well-lefts' create a pattern amidst the soft thumping tones of the push drives. This is spa music - refreshingly enchanting.

Merely four balls later, just when your curiosity is piqued enough to expect a progression of scales, he abandons the centre stage and walks across to the other end, letting another performer take his place. But because by now you're drawn to his mystical personality, you watch, oblivious to the ongoing Corey Anderson interlude.

Williamson recharges himself in a meditative zone just by the bowling crease. Eyes half-closed, he begins a jamming session with his shadow. He leans into a languid drive and sees nothing amiss in his own reflection. You'll nod in appreciation despite the obvious absence of a ball. He then moves back and cuts thin air, head still and over the imaginary ball. You'll clap because the imagined tone is dulcet.

Then it's his turn again, back at the centre. He now recreates the last five minutes of rehearsal on centre stage, even against a bowler insistent on breaking this perfect geometry. Drive followed by the cut.

As the performance wears on, the interchange with the other quartet members is more rapid. The frequencies of his on-drives now merge seamlessly with the higher notes of his partner's pulls. Occasionally, his partner treads dangerously out of the rehearsed pattern but Williamson compensates from his end and ensures there is no jarring mismatch of tunes. In between, there is time for the duo to exchange notes and Williamson gently lets his partner know of that odd misplaced note, but not in a way so as to disparage him. He's in complete control of the performance.

When the show is complete, he walks back to that meditative square of his, casting a reflective glance at the now empty stage. His partners exchange pleasantries on a job well done. He takes off his gloves, helmet, arm guard and thigh guard - in that order, all the while replaying the created symphony in his head. And there's that hushed silence once more.