For years, Indian cricket has claimed that domestic performances form the backbone of Test selection. It’s a comforting belief - one that rewards grit, long seasons on unforgiving pitches, and the ability to perform in front of sparse crowds where the pressure feels heavier than a packed stadium. But every now and then, a selection pattern emerges that forces you to question that belief entirely. Right now is one of those moments.
Sai Sudharsan’s presence in the XI is one such point of debate. In his brief Test career - 9 innings across 5 matches - he has managed 273 runs at an average slightly above 30. For a No. 3 batter, a role meant to anchor innings and weather storms, these numbers leave more questions than answers. Even his First-Class record, while respectable with 2562 runs at 39.41, does not immediately scream “automatic selection.”
And that’s where the discussion inevitably shifts to Karun Nair.
Nair’s story has always been unusual: a triple-centurion in Test cricket who, somehow, faded from the selectors’ radar faster than anyone expected. Yet his domestic résumé has only grown stronger. Over 201 Ranji innings, Nair has piled up more than 9200 runs at an average above 50 - numbers that represent both longevity and class. But what makes the situation even more striking is his recent form. Since returning from England, he has scored 602 runs in just 7 innings at an average north of 100, including two centuries and a commanding 233.
And then came the moment that stirred the cricket world.
After India’s chaotic batting collapse in Guwahati - a day when every batter looked uncertain - Nair posted a quiet but piercing message on X:
“Some conditions carry a feel you know by heart - and the silence of not being out there adds its own sting.”
It wasn’t an outburst. It wasn’t a complaint. It was simply the voice of a batter who knew exactly what those conditions demanded, watching from the outside as an opportunity slipped by. It felt honest, almost painfully so.
Yes, Nair struggled in England. Many have. But Indian cricket has always embraced the idea of horses for courses. Ashwin and Jadeja were once rotated for away conditions; at home, they were unquestioned certainties. The same philosophy could easily apply to Nair - dominant in domestic cricket, confident on Indian surfaces, and undeniably in form.
As India now edges dangerously close to another series defeat, the selection debate has shifted from a whisper to a roar. And somewhere in the middle of that noise sits a simple question:
If domestic cricket truly matters, why is Karun Nair still waiting?
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