Amongst our friends, during our college and univ days, the chief criteria for judging a guy' worth were i) whether he could converse in English - even more whether he could think in English - and ii)whether he played cricket! This apparent elitism was nothing but a product of our self-assigned snobbishness. It was our way of trying to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were. And so it came to pass that cricket, and all it stood for, became a high point in our lives.
Into this world of fanatics, a young Oxford and Sussex player, and a Nawab to boot, stormed in with his elan and accomplishments in those early years of the 60s. The Nawab of Pataudi, much like his late father in 1946, was picked to play for India! The buzz around this happening was unbelievable, more so when, after appearing in only three or four tests, captaincy was thrust upon him in the midst of the West Indies tour of 1962.
At the "ripe old age" of 21 years, Pataudi with his immense promise of talent(despite a horrific car accident which made him blind in one eye at the age of 20) and his enigmatic persona with an aura of royalty around him, became the cynosure of all eyes. Not surprisingly, therefore, our band of friends made it a point to watch every test match at the Eden, during Pataudi's heydays,
i.e. the decade of the 60s. Only, 1969 onwards did I watch Pat and his team at the Feroze Shah Kotla having moved to North India by then.
I had been watching test cricket from 1956 when Ian Johnson's Australians stopped over in India on their way back home after an "ashes" battle in England (which they lost) to play a 3-test series. It was the familiar story of those days. We lost the rubber 2-0 after being bundled out on a turning track at the Eden Gardens by the Australian opening batsman Jim Burke!
In the rest of the decade we actually went to the test matches to watch all the greats from the visiting sides! Though we did have some Indian heroes, we were well programmed to expect only token competitiveness from them. A draw against other teams was a much coveted result. Those were the years when the likes of Ray Lindwall, Bill Johnston, Ron Archer, Roy Gilchrist, Wesley Hall, Ian MacKiff, Alan Davidson and Fazal Mahmood, etc, annihilated India with their raw pace, steep bounce and canny swing. And who can forget the epic innings of 256 by Rohan Kanhai in 57-58? Or the fantastic ability of the peerless Gary Sobers, whether batting, bowling or fielding? Or the glimpses of the greats Neil Harvey, Collie Smith or Hanif Mohammad?
Then came the 60s. In this scenario now entered the Nawab, a stripling 21, leading men rather long in the tooth in a cricketing perspective. The transformation was quick and palpable. Suddenly, The Indians started to field instead of merely escorting the ball to the boundary every time the batsman hit the ball into the gaps! The Nawab himself was breathtaking in his pursuit, pick-up and throw while fielding. No surprise then that soon there were the likes of "Panther" Borde, Abbas Ali Baig, Russi Surti and the "Tiger" himself patrolling the covers and the onside. Who can forget the phenomenal Eknath Solkar at short leg; or the sharp Venkat, Abid Ali and Wadekar in the leg trap? India had metamorphosed into a fielding unit that could give today's Australia or South Africa a run for their money! This was the Tiger's foremost contribution. Incidentally it was the nature of his fielding that had won him the sobriquet of tiger during his stint with Sussex.
This one-eyed wonder had, by now, completely captured our imagination. Although I did not get to see a really big innings from him at the Eden, it is difficult to erase from the mind the image of Pataudi repeatedly dancing down the track to loft Tony Lock over the straight field. This was heady stuff; never before seen in test cricket! I remember that in a later test at Feroze Shah Kotla in the same series Pat scored an unbeaten double hundred. This was such a rare occurrence in Indian cricket those days! Only Vinoo Mankad (twice) and Polly Umrigar had managed the feat against New Zealand in 1955. I remember I was glued to the radio as Pat approached the landmark. When he hit a four to jump from 199 to 203 it felt as though we were listening to a bit of history being made. It was exhilarating! The whole stadium must have erupted! However, my joy was somewhat spoilt by the fact that, at that historic moment, the Maharaja of Vizianagram was on air. Old Vizzy, as the potentate was more familiarly known, had gone into patriotic raptures congratulating practically everybody in the Pataudi lineage, failing completely to describe the action on the cricket ground!
Pataudi was a hero several times over for us youngsters. His electric fielding, his innovative stroke-play and his bold captaincy tickled the cricket ribs in us. We worshipped his in-born stylish mien. And his aura of royal sophistication was simply awesome! All in all, a heady mixture which turned us into instant, life-long fans of his. I believe, that Pataudi was responsible to convert the Indian cricket team from being the subject of derisive laughter to one which could hold its head high and look the the opponents squarely in the eye.
The people of Kolkata (then Calcutta) just loved him. Later on, this love was reinforced many times over when Tiger began wooing the Bengali girl Sharmila Tagore, a celebrity in her own right, firstly as a member of the great Tagore family and secondly as a film star of repute, introduced to the industry by no less than Satyajit Ray. What was thrilling for us was that, during match days, we did manage to catch glimpses of their courtship once in a while in and around the entertainment hub of the city!
But life was not always a bed of roses for the young nawab.The terrible crash that took away the sight from one eye must have been a crushing blow for the 20 year old cricket prodigy who had the world at his feet with his prodigious talent and promise.
Certainly, all his fans were crushed. But not for him to despair. Reportedly, he told himself that though he may have lost the use of one eye he had not lost his objective! Soon he was back playing cricket and the rest, to use a cliche, is history. His determination to be back proved to be phenomenal, mind-boggling! When asked at some point of time as to how he overcame, when batting, the double vision he suffered for a while, he calmly said that he had learnt to play the inside line of the two deliveries that he saw at a time!!
A highly accomplished cricketer,a popular & well-connected individual and a mature personality honed by the early loss of his father and a sudden induction into the India captaincy (the youngest at 21), should have made him a natural for running the business of cricket in India. But, no. The BCCI had no use for a man like him. Is it because he was above all pettiness; all shenanigans? Is it because he always played with a straight bat? I shall leave it to the readers to decide.
I was much taken to the brand of humour that Pataudi often displayed - pithy, snappy and tongue-in-the-cheek. He lived up to the Shakespearean adage that " brevity is the soul of wit". Despite being an erudite and highly gifted person, the Tiger chose to be self-effacing, and amazingly so. On the limited occasions that he appeared on TV or radio he remained the picture of mature dignity, once in a while coming out with his classic one-liners. Who can forget his pronouncement from the TV commentary box as India threw away a match from a winning position - "snatching defeat from the jaws of victory!" A lot of people say this nowadays but it is the Tiger himself, and nobody else, who is the author of this gem!
Tiger Pataudi is no more. In mourning for him, which I do deeply, I fervently hope that people do not debase the legend by resorting to statistics in remembering him. That would be a deep insult to a great cricketer, who did a lot for the game which nobody in India had done before and who, at the end of the day was a true pioneer and path-finder.
RIP, Pat.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Mumbai re-lived in capital city - almost!
Delhi, 9th September, 2011.
There is a common belief that bad things happen if one gets off on the wrong side of the bed! Well,it is irrelevant to me since I have been getting off on the same side of the bed for several decades - what being happily tied in wedlock and what not! Is it the right side? Is it the wrong side? Who cares? However, yesterday, for a fleeting moment, the thought did cross my mind that there may be something in that belief, after all!
The day dawned with copious amount of rainwater being precipitated from the heavens on to the hapless and unsuspecting people of Delhi. City rain, and its accompanying greyness, has always caste a pall of gloom on my mood. Yesterday was no exception! Added to this was the thought that I would have to make an early start(i.e. 07.30 hrs.), drive 13 kms in the rain and set foot on a squelchy, muddy car park of the Institute - thus spoiling both my Hush Puppies and the Institute's floor with equal facility! The gloom in my mood knew no bounds!
When trouble comes, it pours! This adage proved prophetic, for, no sooner was I informed on arrival at the Institute that there would be no class, the rain intensified and became a veritable cascade! A double whammy, if ever there was one! This was at a little after 8.30 am.
It was only by 9.30 or so that the deluge seemed to be easing off. By 10.00 the rainfall had come down to a mild shower. That is when I made my first mistake. Armed with an umbrella I set off for the car park. Straight away I sensed that things were much worse than it had appeared from the dry safety of the Institute's lounge. The "ground reality" ensured that I was immediately in shoe-deep water. The umbrella did manage to protect my half-bald top for a while, but did little else to help. In no time my shirt was drenched; my trousers were drenched and, in trying to get into the car, finally my head too got drenched! And it was in this state that, with a sense of dubious achievement at having made it to the car, I drove off.
I do not know if you have ever been to Nebh Sarai in outer Delhi, a part of the substantial expanse of rural habitat that Delhi has. There is a stretch of road 1.7 kms long which bridges the Badarpur-Mehrauli Road with the Institute. This road is a road by name only. Actually, 0.7 kms of it, towards the institute, have been concretised and broadened. The remaining 1km is a motorist's nightmare of the worst order. It is narrow. It is used by an amazing mix of transport vehicles from trucks, RTVs, cars(big and small), two-wheelers, push carts, rickshaws, bullock-carts, cycle-carts, etc. You name it - it plies there! The road also has no surface worth its name. Moreover, there are several even narrower roads which converge on this from both sides. Given the rustic habits of the drivers (whether of urban or rural pedigree!), coupled with the total absence of traffic lights or policemen, the area is a potpourri of the chaotic and the insane!
My second mistake was to drive off, as I did. Immediately, as though on cue, the rain started to intensify again. The concretised part of the road was not a problem. But the moment I hit the infamous stretch, I realised that I was in trouble. The traffic had piled up - and there was water everywhere. Now, this situation was not really new to me as I had faced such hurdles in previous years too! Although, things did not look encouraging, I had every hope of safely , though slowly, negotiating the stretch like in previous occasions.
As I inched forward, I noticed that some cars were turning around in search of other routes - of which I had not the faintest idea. The rain also gathered a little more momentum by now so that I had to keep the windows up. Inching forward on half-clutch I advanced about 50 yards in 15 minutes! It was a regular waterway out there in front of me! Where was the road? The water level was at the hub-cap level as evident from the other cars. Another 25 yards - and the snail-march came to a halt. And there I stood for 20 mins or so, unwilling to switch off the engine, cocooned in the car with totally frosted windows affording no view, except through the wind shield, which was kept partially clear by the metronomic whoosh- whoosh of the wipers. And then, suddenly, my worst fears were realised! Water started entering the car!
As I heard the dreaded lapping of the water, I was momentarily transported to another point of time when I had read horror stories of the plight of motorists caught in the catastrophic flooding of Mumbai in 2005. Believe it or not I broke out in a cold sweat. I was petrified! My brain stopped functioning. I could not decide as to the right course of action. I was alone in a water tank and slowly drowning. An there was no chance of anyone coming to my rescue. At least this was the vision that arose in my mind. What was I to do?
Very soon, my feet were completely submerged in the water up to the ankles. The chilling sensation must have jolted me out of my near-panic state, for I suddenly decided to turn and head back to the institute, if I could! Some divine force must have taken over my body because I do not know till now just how I managed to turn the car around without any visibility of the surrounds because of the fogged windows on all sides. Also with every shift of gear from reverse to forward I was expecting the car to stall. It took me all of 10 minutes but turn it I did. I was bathed in sweat but at least I had managed to face the other way. With gritted teeth, and still driving on low gear and half-clutch I headed off and managed to regain the institute's car park in ten minutes. The time was 11am. After an hour' traumatic struggle I had returned to base having travelled not even 1km! The rain continued to come down in sheets.
A helpful person from the institute arrived with a mug and managed to decant the accumulated water from inside the car. I was ever so thankful that, through sheer blundering, I had managed to take a sensible decision of returning to the institute. I was grateful to squelch back to the dry safe haven, viz. the institute's building. A visit to the washroom, a cup of steaming hot tea and some magazines did restore a semblance of order in my mind. The most important part was that I was able to recover my poise soon enough.
The rain petered out slowly. At noon, I was told by the staff that word had come that the 'infamous stretch' was at last cleared of waterlogging and traffic jam. So, after an hour's recuperation in the college lounge, it was time for me to leave once again.
I was a trifle apprehensive about the car's refusal to start, but it did. So, with almost a song in my heart, I set off again. But, it being that kind of a day, my joy was short-lived.
The 'infamous stretch' was safely negotiated only for me to discover that Delhi was in a gridlock of vehicles, covering practically the whole city. No route was free to travel in. All that I could do is change direction, reverse and seek strange looking by-lanes over and over again. I spent 45 minutes in Saket; 30 minutes on Press Enclave Road and half an hour inside Defence Colony itself before reaching home at 2.00pm. I descended from the car in a totally knackered state to discover Kumkum waiting for me at home. She had not been able to go to office in Hauz Khas which is 3 kms away!
Well so ended the saga of the deluge. Looking at the state I had been reduced to by my 3-hour battle with water-logging and traffic jams, I could not but feel blessed in contrast to many poor souls who had suffered much worse on that fateful 2005 day in Mumbai. This was Mumbai re-lived, but not quite!
There is a common belief that bad things happen if one gets off on the wrong side of the bed! Well,it is irrelevant to me since I have been getting off on the same side of the bed for several decades - what being happily tied in wedlock and what not! Is it the right side? Is it the wrong side? Who cares? However, yesterday, for a fleeting moment, the thought did cross my mind that there may be something in that belief, after all!
The day dawned with copious amount of rainwater being precipitated from the heavens on to the hapless and unsuspecting people of Delhi. City rain, and its accompanying greyness, has always caste a pall of gloom on my mood. Yesterday was no exception! Added to this was the thought that I would have to make an early start(i.e. 07.30 hrs.), drive 13 kms in the rain and set foot on a squelchy, muddy car park of the Institute - thus spoiling both my Hush Puppies and the Institute's floor with equal facility! The gloom in my mood knew no bounds!
When trouble comes, it pours! This adage proved prophetic, for, no sooner was I informed on arrival at the Institute that there would be no class, the rain intensified and became a veritable cascade! A double whammy, if ever there was one! This was at a little after 8.30 am.
It was only by 9.30 or so that the deluge seemed to be easing off. By 10.00 the rainfall had come down to a mild shower. That is when I made my first mistake. Armed with an umbrella I set off for the car park. Straight away I sensed that things were much worse than it had appeared from the dry safety of the Institute's lounge. The "ground reality" ensured that I was immediately in shoe-deep water. The umbrella did manage to protect my half-bald top for a while, but did little else to help. In no time my shirt was drenched; my trousers were drenched and, in trying to get into the car, finally my head too got drenched! And it was in this state that, with a sense of dubious achievement at having made it to the car, I drove off.
I do not know if you have ever been to Nebh Sarai in outer Delhi, a part of the substantial expanse of rural habitat that Delhi has. There is a stretch of road 1.7 kms long which bridges the Badarpur-Mehrauli Road with the Institute. This road is a road by name only. Actually, 0.7 kms of it, towards the institute, have been concretised and broadened. The remaining 1km is a motorist's nightmare of the worst order. It is narrow. It is used by an amazing mix of transport vehicles from trucks, RTVs, cars(big and small), two-wheelers, push carts, rickshaws, bullock-carts, cycle-carts, etc. You name it - it plies there! The road also has no surface worth its name. Moreover, there are several even narrower roads which converge on this from both sides. Given the rustic habits of the drivers (whether of urban or rural pedigree!), coupled with the total absence of traffic lights or policemen, the area is a potpourri of the chaotic and the insane!
My second mistake was to drive off, as I did. Immediately, as though on cue, the rain started to intensify again. The concretised part of the road was not a problem. But the moment I hit the infamous stretch, I realised that I was in trouble. The traffic had piled up - and there was water everywhere. Now, this situation was not really new to me as I had faced such hurdles in previous years too! Although, things did not look encouraging, I had every hope of safely , though slowly, negotiating the stretch like in previous occasions.
As I inched forward, I noticed that some cars were turning around in search of other routes - of which I had not the faintest idea. The rain also gathered a little more momentum by now so that I had to keep the windows up. Inching forward on half-clutch I advanced about 50 yards in 15 minutes! It was a regular waterway out there in front of me! Where was the road? The water level was at the hub-cap level as evident from the other cars. Another 25 yards - and the snail-march came to a halt. And there I stood for 20 mins or so, unwilling to switch off the engine, cocooned in the car with totally frosted windows affording no view, except through the wind shield, which was kept partially clear by the metronomic whoosh- whoosh of the wipers. And then, suddenly, my worst fears were realised! Water started entering the car!
As I heard the dreaded lapping of the water, I was momentarily transported to another point of time when I had read horror stories of the plight of motorists caught in the catastrophic flooding of Mumbai in 2005. Believe it or not I broke out in a cold sweat. I was petrified! My brain stopped functioning. I could not decide as to the right course of action. I was alone in a water tank and slowly drowning. An there was no chance of anyone coming to my rescue. At least this was the vision that arose in my mind. What was I to do?
Very soon, my feet were completely submerged in the water up to the ankles. The chilling sensation must have jolted me out of my near-panic state, for I suddenly decided to turn and head back to the institute, if I could! Some divine force must have taken over my body because I do not know till now just how I managed to turn the car around without any visibility of the surrounds because of the fogged windows on all sides. Also with every shift of gear from reverse to forward I was expecting the car to stall. It took me all of 10 minutes but turn it I did. I was bathed in sweat but at least I had managed to face the other way. With gritted teeth, and still driving on low gear and half-clutch I headed off and managed to regain the institute's car park in ten minutes. The time was 11am. After an hour' traumatic struggle I had returned to base having travelled not even 1km! The rain continued to come down in sheets.
A helpful person from the institute arrived with a mug and managed to decant the accumulated water from inside the car. I was ever so thankful that, through sheer blundering, I had managed to take a sensible decision of returning to the institute. I was grateful to squelch back to the dry safe haven, viz. the institute's building. A visit to the washroom, a cup of steaming hot tea and some magazines did restore a semblance of order in my mind. The most important part was that I was able to recover my poise soon enough.
The rain petered out slowly. At noon, I was told by the staff that word had come that the 'infamous stretch' was at last cleared of waterlogging and traffic jam. So, after an hour's recuperation in the college lounge, it was time for me to leave once again.
I was a trifle apprehensive about the car's refusal to start, but it did. So, with almost a song in my heart, I set off again. But, it being that kind of a day, my joy was short-lived.
The 'infamous stretch' was safely negotiated only for me to discover that Delhi was in a gridlock of vehicles, covering practically the whole city. No route was free to travel in. All that I could do is change direction, reverse and seek strange looking by-lanes over and over again. I spent 45 minutes in Saket; 30 minutes on Press Enclave Road and half an hour inside Defence Colony itself before reaching home at 2.00pm. I descended from the car in a totally knackered state to discover Kumkum waiting for me at home. She had not been able to go to office in Hauz Khas which is 3 kms away!
Well so ended the saga of the deluge. Looking at the state I had been reduced to by my 3-hour battle with water-logging and traffic jams, I could not but feel blessed in contrast to many poor souls who had suffered much worse on that fateful 2005 day in Mumbai. This was Mumbai re-lived, but not quite!
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