Dear Cheteshwar Pujara,

When the news of your international retirement brokeit didn’t just feel like the end of a career, it felt like the end of an era. Suddenly, every fan who ever defended ‘proper Test cricket’ at a noisy chai stall or in a WhatsApp group felt a lump in their throat. Because you weren’t just a batter; you were our last standing argument. In a world obsessed with sixes, strike-rates and viral reels, you made the forward defence look like an act of rebellion. You reminded us that batting could still be about patience, stubbornness and a straight bat held like a sword. And yes, sometimes it frustrated us, but deep down, we loved you for it.

Your 92 at Bengaluru against Australia in 2017 wasn’t just a knock, it was a marathon that made bowlers lose the will to appeal. That 2021 Sydney and Brisbane epic? You didn’t just score runs; you wore bruises like medals. Every body blow was a reminder that Test cricket is still a contest of heartbeats, not just highlight reels. And whenever we thought India might collapse, you stood there, unmoving, unbothered, like a man who’d been told his train is late and has decided to just sip his chai slowly.

Fans used to joke that watching you bat was like watching paint dry. But here’s the thing: that paint was the foundation of India’s greatest Test wins abroad. Without you, those glorious finishes, the Pant fireworks, the Kohli punches, the Ashwin defiance, might never have been possible. You were the quiet engineer building the stage while others danced on it. And you never complained. No chest-thumping, no headlines, no fuss. Just runs, grit and the occasional glare that could melt a fast bowler’s ego.

Today, cricket will move on, as it always does. New heroes will come, new formats will dazzle, and the world will keep spinning at T20 speed. But somewhere in Rajkot, there’s a kid shadow-batting in his living room, playing the most solid forward defence his mother has ever seen. And we know exactly who he’s pretending to be.

So thank you, Cheteshwar. For every hour you made bowlers suffer. For every scar you earned on behalf of your team. For every Indian who once said, ‘Relax, Pujara’s still batting, we’re fine.’ You weren’t just the Wall 2.0. You were the patience we didn’t know we needed.

With deepest respect and admiration,

The Read