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When Anand finally got the crown in 2000, in Tehran, the chess world was in the middle of a schism: Russian Vladimir Kramnik was named classical champion by a rival body to FIDE. It didn't matter to the Indian grandmaster's fans back home, though. In a country historically short on individual sporting success, Anand's achievement was especially prized because it came in a sport that requires brains, not brawn. He was the ideal champion for an India that was making its name in the world as a supplier of whip-smart computer engineers. His endorsement deal with NIIT, which operates hundreds of computer schools across the country, made perfect sense.
The euphoria only grew when Anand beat Kramnik in 2007 to become champion of the reunified chess world. (Kramnik recently described his conqueror as "a colossal talent, one of the greatest in the whole history of chess.") He would defend the title twice — against Kramnik and Bulgarian Veselin Topalov, both of whom are five years his junior — before coming up against Gelfand, who's a year older. "I told Boris, 'Finally, I get to be the younger man,' " he says. (Challengers typically play one another in a tournament format, with the winner getting to take on the world champion in a final match.)
Anand dismisses my suggestion that their combined age, 85, may have mellowed the quality of play. If the match against Gelfand seemed cautious, he says, it was because his opponent had answers for Anand's stratagems. "Those who complain are being disrespectful of Boris," he says. "They're not giving him enough credit for being incredibly well prepared."
Indeed, Gelfand came very close to dethroning the king when he won Game 7. "I had thought that I'd blown it," Anand says. "I wondered what it would feel like to lose the title." During a sleepless night, he wondered whether those who said he was too old were right. "It crossed my mind," he admits. He was still gloomy in the morning, when he met his team of "seconds" — four grandmasters who were helping him prepare for the match. They too had spent a sleepless night brainstorming strategies for the next game. "I realized I had a responsibility to them," Anand says. "I had to go into the next game with confidence."
It worked. Anand beat Gelfand in just 17 moves, the fastest win in championship history. The Lightning Kid was back. From that point on, Anand never doubted he'd win. Four drawn games followed, and the rapid-fire tiebreaker series played to his advantage. Anand won the second game and tied the three others to keep his crown.
In India, the victory led to another outburst of chest-thumping headlines. Anand remains a rare exception to the country's poor sporting record. Only one Indian has ever won an individual Olympic gold, in air-rifle shooting, and the country added none at the London Games. Anand's success, on the other hand, has led to a chess explosion: India now has 26 grandmasters, not many compared with Russia (214) and Ukraine (79) but still impressive, considering there were none before Anand. In his home state of Tamil Nadu, chess has been added to the school curriculum. On my flight to Chennai to meet Anand, the passenger in the next seat tells me he hopes both his infant sons will become chess players, because "Anand has shown that it's a way to success."
There may be more success yet. The win against Gelfand, Anand says, "comes as a shot in the arm." He admits that his game was lacking in the two years leading to the championship match but believes he can return to his best. "Everyone's allowed a low period, but I feel I still have a lot to give," he says. Rather than retire as champ, he envisions eventually being defeated by a young challenger and then easing up on his tournament schedule until he feels he is no longer able to compete. "But that's the long way off," he adds, anticipating my question. "A really long way."
The message to Carlsen, Aronian and the rest of the young cohort is clear: the champion's still very much indahouse.