Gukesh’s understated winning moments: Restacking chess pieces, breaking into sobs, shutting a pen and the celebratory Roger Federer pose | Chess News

D Gukesh’s favourite actor is Vijay Sethupathi, the most methodical non-method actor in the Tamil film industry. In his finest sequences, he lets the emotions rip, without resorting to excessive theatrics. Gukesh’s celebrations were akin to his favourite actor’s on-screen demeanour. An outpouring of raw, unrehearsed flow of emotions, powerful yet not undramatic, heart-stirring yet not indelicate.
When glory arrived, that indefinable moment will float forever in his subconscious, his head dropping to the board, the hands folded like Gukesh was offering a prayer. He lifted his head, covered his face with his long digits, as though the light of greatness was too heavy on his eyes. A drop of tear trickled to the edge of his eyes, he wiped it with his index finger. Passers- flooded him with wishes. He might have regered little, living the most indescribable feeling in his life. Nothing would surpass it–not the second or the third or the zillionth.
He placed his right hand on the chest, lifted it to the lip, kissed the right thumb, and whispered a silent prayer. A nod to the Gods that might have helped him—he is known to be intensely god-fearing and often visits the Tirupathi Temple before big tournaments.

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The stewards reminder to sign the scoresheet snapped his reverie. A faint smile spread, he shook someone’s hand and then broke into uncontrollable sobs again. As though this was the moment when he finally reconciled with the grandness of his feat. That destiny-fulfilling instant, the timeless space when the purpose of life blinked in front of him. All great athletes have journeyed through this moment—Roger Federer, Usain Bolt, Lionel Messi, Mohammed Ali, Sachin Tendulkar.
It was like Federer’s first Wimbledon triumph, when he vanquished Mark Philippoussis in 2003. He slumped to his knees, thrust his arms in the air and sobbed in his chair.
The 18-year-old then did 18-year-old things. Rearrange the pieces on the board, with teary but naughty eyes, with the alacrity of a teenager getting the keys to a motorbike. He even shut the pen and put it back in its place. He repeated the chest-lip routine again, as when one leaves a shrine after one final darshan, rises from the chair that was now the throne, and flung the accreditation card over his chest. He heaved to the thunderous screams of those gathered in the room, some of them former world champions themselves, hoing his hand and bowing down to the room’s cacophonous ovation. He pulled his chair—the throne—tucked it neatly under the table, bowed to the board and trudged into the bowels of the room.
His reactions were moulded in the classical sporting ethos of Chennai. The celebrations are understated, often an afterthought even in their greatest sporting hour. His spiritual predecessor Vishy Anand embodied this spirit—Gukesh though was ten times more demonstrative. You don’t see Ravi Ashwin tearing into a send-off after ejecting Joe Root or Steve Smith or Kane Williamson. Murali Vijay exed only as the honey-soaked square drive or glue-drenched palms at the slips. Even Krishnamachari Srikkanth, for all his fireworks, was not a man who vented out his emotions on the field (though he couldn’t res the nicotine urge on the Lord’s balcony after winning the 1983 World Cup).
Srinivasa Venkataraghavan would pass a smirk even after getting his fifth wicket of the match, as though it is not such a big deal. For all the bone-twing, hip-shaking manoeuvres in Tamil movies, their sportsmen don’t recreate the sizzle on the field.

Gukesh is a reluctant dancer too (though he is not a total slacker). He tries his best—in a video shot and posted on X, dated September 17, 2024—when he attempts to jive to the song Manasilaayo (“Did you understand?”), from Rajinikanth starrer Vettaiyan. He is innocuously attired in a flowing crimson kurta and a veshti. He is still like a statue for much of the 29-second video. As though jogging, he keeps drumming his hands, he plants a step forward, then drags it back, thumps, then turns around, drops his shoulder like Lionel Messi before feigning a defender. Through all these, he wears a sheepish grin. But who cares about his moves on the floor, when he is getting it right on the board?

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