(A cautionary tale in hubris and hairline management).
—

Giving advice to M.S. Dhoni is like trying to teach a calculator how to count.

Worse. It’s like handing Google Maps directions to Mount Everest—as if the mountain has lost its way.

And yet, like clueless motivational speakers with a Wi-Fi connection and no cricketing credentials beyond gully cricket under streetlights, people try. They post reels titled: “What Dhoni should have done in that over.”
Oh, really? Should he also have taken your cousin Rahul’s fantasy league picks seriously?

—

Let’s Be Clear: Dhoni Is Not One of Us

You don’t advise a man who finishes World Cups with a straight bat and a goddamn helicopter follow-through.
You study him.
You marvel at him.
You maybe name your firstborn after him, if you’re brave and your wife is distracted.

Dhoni isn’t a cricketer. He’s a human masterclass in calm.
He’s what would happen if Zen Buddhism, street-smart Jat instinct, and battlefield strategy had a baby and handed it a bat.

But no—go ahead, Ajay from Indore. Tell him how to rotate strike better.
—

The Man Has an Inner Voice Louder Than Twitter

You know what Dhoni does when you give him advice?

He blinks.
Quietly.
Like a jungle cat deciding whether you’re worth his attention or just another chirping squirrel in a forest full of opinions.

Then he proceeds to do exactly what he was going to do anyway, which—spoiler alert—works.

It’s the Dhoni Algorithm:

Wait.

Observe.

Do absolutely nothing flashy.

Win.

Make it look like everyone else panicked for no reason.
—

“But He’s Retired!”

Ah, sweet summer child.

Dhoni may not wear blue anymore, but the man’s still captaining reality. Ranchi’s power grid obeys him. Chennai’s humidity is on his payroll. Even the toss, that rebellious little coin, has a Dhoni bias.

He hasn’t exited the game. He’s just gone full wizard mode. Moves silently, tweets never, thinks like a monk who owns a drone.

You want to give that man advice?

You, who fumble your own life decisions every time there’s a Buy 1 Get 1 Free offer?
—

You Don’t Advise the Monk Who Built the Temple

Here’s how it works:
You don’t give advice to Thala.
You let him be.
You let him walk out of the shadows, behind the stumps, unbothered, hair possibly dyed but spirit untamed.

And if you ever feel the urge to DM him with your thoughts on match strategy, drink a glass of water, take a deep breath, and delete the app.
For your own sake.
—

Final Word: Know Thy Place

Giving advice to Dhoni is not just stupid.
It’s spiritually incorrect.

You want to contribute?
Get a tattoo of No. 7.
Whistle Podu.
Protect your wicket in real life.
And stop acting like you wouldn’t have run yourself out trying to take a quick single while tying your shoelace.

Let the legend legend.

In silence.

Because the best way to honour a master is not to interrupt his art with your commentary.
—