"Is he an old man?" Navjot Singh Sidhu, former cricketer and in-demand commentator, asked the ESPN-Star Sports functionary who had been waiting with me for over half-an-hour at the lobby of The Oberoi for the sardar from Patiala to descend from his seventh floor room.

Why was he enquiring about my age? Because he wanted to know if I was old enough for him to apologise for the delay. It took him another half-hour to make an appearance — perhaps because he was told that I belong to the same age bracket as him (18 to 44).

We met at Taipan, the rooftop Chinese restaurant at The Oberoi. Sidhu was immaculately dressed in a dark-grey suit, a maroon turban and, as always, a tie to match. He is a shade darker than he appears on television, with grey hair encroaching on his dense beard. Heads turned when he entered. The staff surrounded him, while he threw a robust "Ki haal hai?" ("How are you?") at each one of them. I think I heard the hostess reply "Changa ji" ("I am fine").

Though he comes from the land of butter chicken and the Patiala peg, Sidhu is a teetotaller. "I grew up shooting wild boar, quail and partridge in my village, Kakadwal. But I gave it all up after I took to meditation," he explained ordering a fresh lime for himself, while I settled for a tomato juice.

Sidhu behind the scenes is much like Sidhu on camera — a performer. I opened the conversation by asking about his foray into spiritualism and meditation. Over the next few minutes, I learnt that he discovered it in the toilet of his house in Patiala. A friend, who had lost her mother, was passing through and left a book by Swami Muktananda in Sidhu's bathroom. Within two hours, Sidhu had devoured the book and this changed his life forever.

For one, he got a grip on a temper that resulted in long-drawn legal battle on manslaughter charges in a Punjab court. Sidhu also claims that, in his time, he could match the Aussies when it came to sledging. "I used to hit back. I am the one who called Shane Warne a pumpkin," I was informed.

More important, he discovered his talent for speaking. When he played for India, nobody had heard Sidhu's voice — he was never the Indian captain so he didn't get the chance to wax philosophical about his team's performance after every match, and seldom were the occasions that he walked to the dais to collect the "Man of the Match" cheque and get emotional about his performance. But it was during the triangular series in Sri Lanka in 2001 that Sidhu caught the attention of cricket fans with his "Sidhuisms". A visit to the Net will take you to no less than 88 websites from where you can download his gems (my favourite: he is like a one-legged man in a bum-kicking contest.)

Still, how could he say: "There are a lot of crows in the field, but the fairest one of them is sitting next to me" about his fellow commentator Martin Crowe? "I also said that he was like an Indian autorickshaw which eats a lot of petrol but never crosses the speed of 25," Sidhu's eyes were gleaming now.

More assessment of cricketing talent was to follow: "Ashish Nehra's backlift is like an octopus falling from a tree," and "Sourav Ganguly getting out was like a nervous breakdown in slow motion."

But all his lines don't get approval from the ESPN-Star Sports production team. For instance, the team extracted a promise from him that he wouldn't say on screen that an optimist is one who thinks bullshit is fertiliser.

Also, Sunil Gavaskar has had Sidhu on the mat on more occasions than one. Not only has he failed to live up to Gavaskar's challenge to compose a joke on oohs and aahs after doing one on ifs and buts, Sunny also proved him wrong on television by showing that you can smile and whistle at the same time. "It's not possible. When you smile, your lips get stretched and when you whistle, the lips are circular," he said putting on a live demonstration for my benefit. The mushrooms in my soup made a much better sight.

It is also common knowledge that the purists can't bear his commentary. "Who cares? I just can't say that the ball is swinging in or swinging out. I have to provide entertainment," he said, adding, "You might have a heart of gold, but so does a hard-boiled egg."

The enlightenment visits Sidhu every morning after meditation and he jots it down on a writing pad — he has a collection of five such pads now. He also draws inspiration from his father who was the attorney general of Punjab. "He used to say that what you can say in 40 sentences, you should be able to say in one," he said adding: "You know I often say, ‘If it ain't broke, break it'; actually, my father used to say that."

The cricketing world's stroke-less wonder started his career in 1983 against the then mighty West Indies amidst rumours that his father had pulled strings to get him included in the national team. To my surprise, he readily admitted this when I asked. "But it was for the under-19 team. I had scored well against the West Indies in the first class matches and those innings found me a place in the team," he said. (Malcolm Marshall, the tormentor of the Indian side during that series, remains the toughest bowler Sidhu has ever faced.)

Digging into our food — an assortment of spinach, beancurd, mushrooms and sesame along with noodles and rice — Sidhu said that he did not enjoy his career in Test cricket till 1985 when his father died. "After that I really worked hard on my cricket; till then I was just another guy doing the usual things," he said.

I don't know if the post-1985 hard work showed on his batting, but it definitely showed on his fielding towards the last years of his career. Sidhu gives credit to his son, Karan, for the transformation. "He used to tease me: I will pay your laundry bill but don't come back from the field with spotless white trousers. For heaven's sake, please dive on the field. I soon started practicing on the lawns of our house at Patiala on the morning dew. They started calling me Jonty Singh," he said.

Unwilling to be drawn into any conversation on the sting operation carried out by Manoj Prabhakar with Tehelka, Sidhu was in good spirits and ready to talk about everything else. The Punjabi expletives, woven seamlessly into the speech, were getting more frequent and graphic in description. It was time to talk about the money he has made in life.

I wasn't surprised when Sidhu said that he was making more money as a commentator than he did as a cricketer and that he gets ten times more fan mail now. He has done advertisements for Britannia and ESPN-Star Sports and is in the process of doing one for Maggi noodles. "I was also offered to do a commercial for Tide washing powder. But I said no. It doesn't fit my image," he said. I also learnt that Sidhu does not have an agent and deals with endorsement requests himself: "I don't believe in agents. They take away all the money."

Sidhu is also fond of good clothes. His suits are Hugo Boss and his ties Xenia which he buys whenever he is travelling abroad. "I am an ambassador for my community. I have to be dressed well. If worn well, a turban can make even a lallu look good," he said.

We now got talking — inevitably — about India's chances at the World Cup beginning in South Africa next month. According to Sidhu, India could be the dark horse, though he thinks India's batting looks suspect. Still, he is betting on players like Virender Sehwag and Harbhajan Singh to save the day for India. "They have the right combination of ignorance and confidence to achieve success," he said.

"You see, they don't think about what happened in the previous ball," he elaborated. He is also piqued at Sachin Tendulkar being pushed down the batting order: "It is like using a trumpet for a horn."

Both of us declined dessert because my guest had to leave for Patiala. I asked him if he had enjoyed the meal. Yes, he said, but added that it was slightly heavy. Don't worry, I told him, Chinese food is like sex — after a while you are hungry for more. He didn't note it down on one of his pads, but the next time you hear Sidhu say something like this on TV, you know where it came from.