Why Australia should care about a blind Indian cricketer Varun Jain Varun Jain is a clever slow bowler with a guile that is often termed "subcontinental." He takes vital wickets for his Sydney club, Enfield, and you might think his is the type of talent the Australian XI could have done with against Pakistan in the Middle East. It's not very likely, however, that the Indian-born 27-year-old would get a Fawad Ahmed-style call-up, because Varun is blind, having lost his sight six years ago after mishandled medical treatment in Sydney hospitals. While Ahmed benefited from a special act of parliament enabling him to assume Australian citizenship in 2013, Varun is facing an uncertain and worrying future. Cricket can help build cultural bridges, and cricket can tear them down. On the eve of an Indian Test and one-day tour of Australia, we might reflect on the strengthening of ties between the two countries since the late 1990s. Before 1996, Australia had toured India just seven times in 40 years, and not at all in the decade prior. In the ensuing 18 years, Australia has undertaken seven combined Test-and-one-day tours of India, plus another five limited-overs-only visits. It has been a two-way bridge. In the half-century from 1947-48, India toured Australia six times. They are about to come here for their fifth Test series in the 15 years since 1999-2000. The relationship is, on the surface, flourishing. As recent developments at the International Cricket Council show, India and Australia are mutually dependent. Each needs the other, and the future series planned between the nations shows that the trend is intensifying. Australian players, coaches and managers were prime movers in the foundation of the Indian Premier League. Their involvement grows heavier by the year. Whatever else this means for the future of cricket, there is no gainsaying the tightness of the India-Australia bond. Yet we are sure, also, to see a reopening of the wounds that inflict every Indian-Australian contest. Leave aside the onfield rivalry, which hit a nadir in 2007-08 but has been keen, emotional and often spiteful throughout history. What we will see is a minority of Australian spectators unleashing disgusting verbal abuse upon Indian players and fans. We will see provocative comments alleging anti-Indian racism in Australian sport and society, and reference will be made to acts of violence against Indian students in Australia. While the Indian tour will underscore the growing closeness between the nations, the friction between cultures will also be in the foreground. Meetings of cultures go deeper than what happens in Test grounds, which brings us back to Varun Jain. Varun came from the town of Zira, in the Punjab, to Australia in October 2007 on a student visa to study community welfare at Ultimo TAFE. He hoped to take his skills back home to help the underprivileged. In 2008, suffering from fevers, he was prescribed Panadol by his Sydney GP and sent away. Eventually he collapsed and was taken to hospital. He was given a lumbar puncture but then, against the normal procedure to keep him for two days, he was released within two hours. "They said I was okay," he says, "but two days later I collapsed unconscious. I did not wake up for two months. When I woke up, I couldn't see anything. After passing out the second time, he was taken to a second hospital. His father, Varinder, came from India and sat by Varun's bedside. "He was only thinking about how he would get my body back to India," Varun says. Two months later, Varun woke up, with no sight in one eye and about five per cent in the other. He spent another month in hospital and was diagnosed, too late, with tuberculous meningitis. "When you can see clearly, and then you can't see at all, that's..." He tails off. His usual big smile fades. Varun returned to Zira for two years. But, as anyone who has spent any time in India knows, it is a difficult place for a blind person. "I felt like a prisoner," Varun says. There are small streets with crazy traffic and a lot of accidents. I was kept in the house because it was too dangerous for me to go outside on my own. I became very depressed. His father worked day and night in his hardware supplies business, and his illiterate mother could not safely take him out. Varun was in a wheelchair for seven months before he had the confidence to walk. I had no hope of independence. Life was hell. With his visa in Australia still current until 2010, Varun came back to commence legal action, which was settled by a substantial payout in his favour. Now on a bridging visa, he has a job in promotions with Lycamobile. He has a flat in Westmead, and has become a popular and charismatic participant in blind cricket, which he took up last year. I played in India, like everybody, but since I came to blind cricket it has been like learning from the beginning. I'm not good at batting, but my bowling is okay. Varun has become a successful, independent young man and a contributor to his community in Sydney's west. The story behind his application to stay here as a permanent resident does not fit Australian laws neatly, and his case has been put before the federal minister for immigration. The country where Varun lost his sight remains the place where he invests his hope. Culture is a many-layered, complicated thing that lives in individuals. For Australia and India, cricket is a microcosm of growing economic ties that will strengthen further in coming decades. Cricket can also solve cultural differences, one cricketer at a time. When Varun Jain lines up at the bowling crease for Enfield, the umpire says to the batsman, "Are you ready?" The batsman says "Yes." The wicketkeeper says "Varun" three times before he sends down the ball, its bell tinkling. Varun.... Varun... Howzat!!!