What mistake all of us make when we are talking about a

Hear the thoughtful words of Ravichandran Ashwin, master of guile and wisdom upon the cricket field: “What mistake all of us make when we are talking about a particular cricketer is that we say they are trying too much, the control is not there, there is no patience. These are cliched terms.” In this declaration lies not only the voice of a player defending his craft, but the voice of a sage correcting the careless judgments of the crowd. For too often, men are quick to speak, yet slow to understand the depth of labor, struggle, and skill hidden beneath the surface of performance.

When Ashwin speaks of cricketers, he does not speak of them as mere athletes, but as craftsmen of patience and courage. To watch them from afar is easy; to pass judgment is easier still. The crowd, the commentators, the critics—each one leans upon the familiar phrases: “too eager,” “no control,” “lacking patience.” Yet these words, repeated without thought, become empty, stripped of true meaning. They are clichés, tools of the lazy observer who sees only the outcome and not the battle within the soul of the player.

Consider the bowler who strives for a wicket. To the outsider, he may seem reckless, “trying too much.” But within his heart rages a storm of calculation—the pitch, the batsman’s form, the field placements, the rhythms of pressure. What appears to be chaos is often the courageous testing of limits. To reduce such effort to a cliché is to dishonor the art itself. Ashwin calls us to look deeper, to abandon shallow words and seek instead the truth of intention and struggle.

History gives us many such examples of the misjudged. Recall the great Galileo Galilei, who gazed at the stars and spoke truths that others dismissed with clichés of their own: “dreamer,” “madman,” “heretic.” Yet in his striving lay the seeds of modern science. Or think of Sachin Tendulkar, who, even in his youth, was judged harshly when he failed. Critics cried “no patience,” yet in time he would prove himself the master of patience, carrying the hopes of a billion souls upon his shoulders with calm endurance. In both science and sport, clichés hide truth from those unwilling to look deeper.

Ashwin’s warning is not against judgment itself, but against careless judgment. Words have power, and when they are used thoughtlessly, they obscure rather than illuminate. To say a player “lacks patience” without understanding the context is to blind oneself to the finer struggles of the game. True wisdom demands observation, empathy, and respect for the complexity of another’s craft. Only then may words be worthy of the struggle they describe.

The lesson here is profound: let us be slow to speak in clichés, and quick to seek deeper understanding. Whether in sport, in art, in leadership, or in life, resist the temptation of easy labels. For every man and woman you see striving is engaged in battles unseen—against fear, against fatigue, against uncertainty. Shallow words dishonor their effort; thoughtful words honor it.

Practically, this means choosing our speech carefully. When we see someone falter, let us ask: what might they be attempting? What unseen difficulty do they face? Let us replace tired phrases with honest reflection, turning from judgment to understanding. And in our own lives, let us not be discouraged by the clichés of others, but remember that the truth of our effort cannot always be captured by shallow tongues.

Thus the words of Ravichandran Ashwin stand as both defense and counsel: “These are cliched terms.” He calls us to see beyond the lazy judgments, to honor the complexity of effort, and to resist the temptation of easy speech. For wisdom is not found in the repetition of empty phrases, but in the patient search for truth beneath the surface. And if we learn this, we will not only speak better of others, but live with deeper respect for the struggles of all who strive.