Syed Mushtaq Ali           

The first time I saw Syed Mushtaq Ali was at the Eden Gardens in the “Defence Fund Match”, which was held following the India-China war in 1962. At the time in the early 1960s, Mushtaq Ali was nearing 50 and most certainly was out of cricket for more than a decade.

In our childhood days, I had heard of Mushtaq Ali’s magnificent exploits from my father and uncle Tarun, who used to play club cricket in Calcutta. They would mention how he would step out of his crease to even fast bowlers and glance or cut with ease. That was supposed to be his trademark stroke.

To be honest, it was difficult to believe that such a stroke was possible. Why should a batsman step out to a fast bowler? And even if he did, why would he do so to glance or cut the ball?  It just did not make sense. It sounded incredible. I used to think that since my father and uncle belonged to Mushtaq Ali’s generation, they were merely exaggerating the hero worship of their idol.

Now, I was watching the 50 year old former opener against the fastest bowler in the world at the time, Roy Gichrist of West Indies!  A man of immense pace and ferocious nature. As Gilchrist, arms flailing, thundered in to deliver, Mushtaq Ali actually stepped out of his crease! He must have stepped out at least two yards!

Gilchrist, flabbergasted, did not release the ball. He ran down the pitch to Mushtaq Ali’s end, glared at him for a while and made a sign of the cross on Mushtaq Ali, as if marking the target before turning back to bowl the next ball. Mushtaq Ali merely smiled and made a gesture of flicking a speck of dirt from his fluttering silk shirt.

The whole episode was the height of showmanship. But this was no theatre. A spark had been ignited between the world’s fastest bowler and the world’s most adventurous batsman. The stark reality of antagonism was palpable. The crowd was on the edge of their seats. We realized that there would be no quarters given; certainly none asked for. The intervening moment throbbed with excitement: a fuming Gilchrist walking back to the top of his distant bowling mark; and Mushtaq, nonchalant and graceful, leaning on his bat for support.

The next ball from the fearsome Gilchrist scorched the earth but the old man was again out of his crease in no time and flicked the rising delivery off his chest over square leg to the fence. It was a combination of raw courage, superlative co-ordination of hand and eye and sense of adventure.

I had seen enough. Realised there and then, the reason for generations of cricket lovers to idolize Mushtaq Ali. He was not only a marvellous batsman, full of strokes and audacious nature. No, no, he was much more. For him cricket was not only a game, but an adventure. An adventure to be enjoyed and to be lived to the full. If the adventure did not end in glory, there was no failure involved. It was just a matter of challenge.It was the sense of attempting the impossible that set him apart from others. Never before or since has a batsman stepped out to the fastest of bowlers to cut the ball or to glance or to flick. None would dare because it was risky. In fact that was precisely the reason why Mushtaq Ali patented that stroke of his: because it was difficult to execute and because it was risky even if executed properly.

In the 1970s I played against his son Gulrez Ali in Duleep Trophy matches. He had his father’s easy bearing, relaxed smile and cultured manner. There, however, the comparison ended because there could not be another graceful and gracious Mushtaq Ali, not even among his own progeny.

In 1993 Mushtaq Ali had come at the invitation of the Voluntary Blood Donors’ Association to meet the blood donors at Eden Gardens, of whom I happened to be one. I had taken a copy of his autobiography Cricket Delightful and requested him for his signature. Flashing a wide smile, he put down his signature and wrote, “Hope one day you play for India.” It was very embarrassing and so I told him, “Sir, I am 43 and have given up active cricket.”

Without any hesitation he smiled again, “You never know. They might call you for the India Veterans XI.” Believe it or not, by the end of that year I was actually in the India Veterans team.

After the blood donation camp was over, I invited Mushtaq Ali to the CAB indoor stadium to meet the Bengal Under-16 team members, who were my wards. There even before we could even request him, he volunteered to bat! He was nearing 80 at the time. Still ramrod straight and without an iota of excess fat, his statuesque bearing evoked instant admiration. Most of the bats he found rather heavy, as contemporary bats are. Finally he picked up a comparatively light bat and was ready to face the bowling without any protective gear. I asked an off-spinner to bowl. Again he stepped out of his crease and this time he cut the ball with immaculate timing!

 It was not the rapier thrust of a cut. No, it was a whipping action of steely wrists. Simply amazing the stroke was. At the age of 80 in totally alien conditions how did he manage to time the ball is beyond my comprehension. But he did it. We saw it and were mesmerized. Never before had he played under artificial lights. Never before had he played on artificial surface. Yet he revealed to us what genius really was.

Later, I requested him to advise me and my trainees. The modest man said, “My philosophy is enjoy your cricket and give enjoyment to others. I have nothing else to say.” It was brilliant. Just brilliant. In a nut-shell he told us what sport was all about.

Mushtaq Ali’s contribution to cricket and cricketers can never be judged by statistical facts and figures. He belonged to a different genre. A breed that evoked passionate love for the game among cricket followers. The top two of the rare breed most certainly would be Keith Miller and Mushtaq Ali. They risked their fame and fortune to give entertainment to generations of cricket lovers. They never cared for statistics although their talents achieved phenomenal popularity.

Both Miller and Mushtaq share a rare platform. They were brought back into the national side by the direct intervention of cricket lovers. Keith Miller, at the time the leading all-rounder of the world, was dropped by the Australian selectors which included Sir Don, from the South African tour of 1949-50. The press and public outcry at the injustice reverberated all over the world, particularly in Australia. Later the Australian selectors had to bow down to public opinion and reinstate him when one player, Bill Johnston, was injured during the tour.

So with Mushtaq Ali. More than 70 years ago at Calcutta he was dropped by the national selectors, one of whom was Duleepsinhji. The emotional Bengalees were up in arms. They demonstrated in front of Eden Gardens holding placards proclaiming: “No Mushtaq, no Test”. This was against Hasset’s Australian Services team in 1945. Mushtaq Ali was promptly brought back to his rightful position in the XI. This is indeed unique. Never before or since in the annals of cricket have we had a player brought back into the playing XI because of public outcry. Such was the love and admiration that cricket lovers had for the magnificent man.

    

          

               On  Sachin Tendulkar

             

My first interaction with the young Sachin was in 1992. He was in England at the time as the first-ever overseas professional for Yorkshire CCC. I happened to be the coach of Kailash Gattani’s Star Cricket Club on its tour of UK.  Sachin had played for this team in 1988 at the age of 15 and the following year too had made another tour. In late 1989 he had also made his Test debut for India in Pakistan against the fearsome duo of Imran Khan and Waqar Younus.

Sachin had phoned to find out how the young boys were doing and if they were good learners. Honestly, I was quite amazed to observe his sense of belonging and commitment. He himself was just 19 at the time, in a new environment and among hardened professionals. But he was genuinely concerned about how the young Indian cricketers were doing in UK. I asked him, “Are you enjoying your own cricket here?” The young man replied, “Sir, Cricket is not merely enjoyment to me. I worship cricket. It is everything to me. My 24-hour companion.”

Over to 2011. IPL 4 was on. I happened to be the match referee in a match involving Sachin Tendulkar’s Mumbai Indians and Kumara Sangakara”s Deccan Chargers. On the way to the pitch for the toss, as is the custom to remind the captains of their responsibilities, no sooner I began, “Young men,” Sachin raised his hand and said, “Did you address me as young?”  Caressing my grey, flowing beard, I replied, “With my kind of beard, what else can I call you?” Immediately he replied, “One request. Please never shave your beard. Then I shall always remain young. You know some people consider me to be old.”

No doubt, it was a lovely sense of humour. But behind the wit, one could make out that the great man was nursing a sense of pique. A very natural sentiment for a person, who was selflessly serving the nation for more than two decades.

Another episode in the same match revealed the magnanimity of the man all the more. At the toss, when teams are exchanged between captains, Sangakara bit his lips and indicated that he had forgotten to bring the team list with him! This was a serious issue of code violation. But at that point of time with the whole cricket world looking at us, I did not want to create a scene. I raised my eyebrows at Sachin and he very coolly nodded that he was fine without the list.  The whole incident took just a couple of seconds and the toss took place without anyone else realizing what exactly had happened. Not even the ever-agile commentator Ravi Shastri.

This was sportsmanship at its best. For a captain to allow the opposition to delay submitting the team list is unheard of. But Sachin Tendulkar did it with grace and ease. For my part, I asked Kumara Sangakara to get the team list before we left the field. Sachin insisted that he was fine without it but embarrassed Kumara was full of apologies as he had the team list brought on the field by another player.

Yet another incident is related to IPL 5. This time I found that Sachin was running on the pitch while taking runs. As cricket followers are aware, no batter is allowed to run on the patch between the two sets of stumps, known as the ‘protected area’. But Sachin kept doing it more often than not. After the innings was over, as the match ref I asked the umpires if they had noticed Tendulkar’s mistake. One of the umpires was Asad Rauf of Pakistan.

Asad laughed at my query, “Rajuji, please don’t even think about it. He has been doing this for 20 years. But, you know, no umpire has ever raised a charge against him on this issue because of two reasons. First is that, although he runs straight between the wickets, he never does anything to spoil the condition of the pitch. And secondly, we have such high respect and affection for him that we cannot even visualize raising charges against this gentleman.” This is the kind of regard and admiration our Little Master has earned from hardened professionals around the world.

Another issue of IPL 5 stands out in my memory. I had penalized Munaf Patel 50% of his match fees for abusing Aussie umpire Rod Tucker. Munaf came to my room to plead to excuse him. So upset was I that I turned him down and gave him a note confirming that he pays 50% of his match fees. As captain of Mumbai Indians, Sachin could have come to a ‘hearing’ to defend his player Munaf Patel. But Sachin did not. I thought it was very sensible of him not come to the defence of a man who did not deserve any assistance. Munaf’s fine amounted to rupees 9.5 lakh. But Sachin thankfully did not come to put any pressure on me. The ultimate gentleman Sachn Tendulkar realized that Munaf deserved the heavy fine as punishment. The upright gentleman in him has no time for people, even colleagues, who commit crimes and expect sympathy.

In late 1989 the young man made his Test debut. At just 16 years and some days he was among the youngest ever to play Test cricket. The man who put him on the highest platform was none other than Raj Singh Dungarpur, the chairman of selectors at the time. Other selectors raised their voices against him, primarily because of his youth and more so because he was replacing a player of Mohinder Amarnath’s calibre. But Rajbhai’s personality and persuasive powers finally won them over. And the rest is history, as the cliché goes.

Before the arrival of Dravid, Ganguly and Laxman the young man had little by way of support as a batsman. He was in the company of cricketers who spent time in conspiracy and conflict. Some avoided fast bowlers, while others ‘fixed’ matches. To play and succeed in such an environment needed extraordinary fortitude and strength of character. Far from being nursed at an early age, the callow youth was expected to win matches for India on his own.   He was fighting not only the opposition but also the corrupt within his own team. Apart from George Headley of West Indies in the 1930s, no other great batter had so little support at the beginning of his career.

That he survived in that ambience speaks volumes of his character. From 1989 to 2013 (both inclusive) means 25 years of international cricket! This is an index of the man’s astounding form and fitness. Never once was he involved in any kind of controversy. Never once was any doubt raised in any quarter of the man’s integrity and honesty. His popularity is world over. Even battle-weary opponents have been known to be his ardent admirers.

Comparison with Sir Donald Bradman is inevitable. Sir Don himself acknowledged that his wife had told him that Sachin Tendulkar’s batting reminded her of Don’s skills with the bat. Like Sir Don in 1948, Tendulkar too announced his own retirement. Like Sir Don, he too retired at 40. But comparisons between geniuses of different eras are odious. I feel if Sachin was born in 1908 he would have achieved as much as Sir Don did. And had Sir Don been born in 1973, he too would have achieved as much as Sachin has. Geniuses of every generation outclass the rest against all odds. They are not to be compared and contrasted. They are to be treasured and worshipped.

Sachin Tendulkar’s social service is hardly ever reported. He works in silence; hates publicity for doing what he wants to do for the downtrodden. His gratitude for his early coach Ramakant Vithal Achrekar is well known. Here is a man who has exchanged views with the best of cricketing brains around the world, but he has not forgotten the man who helped him to lay the firm foundation as a youngster. This is the kind of gratitude you do not get to see in many players, Rahul Dravid always excepted.

Sachin’s deep respect for seniors is legendary. Time and again he has mentioned that Sunil Gavaskar’s mentorship had helped him. He has the highest regard for former players and makes it a point to keep himself informed about them. In a country where Test cricketers are rated to be the only experts on the game, Sachin holds the opposite view.

 He himself was thrust on top not by any former international player, but by a first-class cricketer by the name of Raj Singh Dungarpur. Sachin has not forgotten the contribution of Achrekar and Raj Singh, both non international cricketers. Even now, striding at the pinnacle of cricket kingdom, he still has a wave, a smile and often a word for the back-stage people who are associated with the game, whether they be umpires, referees, support staff, scorers, administers or players.

Cradled in the best tradition of Mumbai cricket, Sachin grew up in the strong Marathi stronghold of Shivaji Park in Dadar, which has given birth to numerous cricketers of outstanding calibre. The Mumbai school of cricket is a hard taskmaster but a very fair one: the deserving get enough opportunities of match-play, immediate recognition of talent and genuine encouragement from the right quarters. No favours are granted and none is expected.

Indian cricket lovers owe a debt of gratitude to Sachin’s elder brother Ajit.   Ajit was the person who understood that Sachin preferred the outdoors to the confines of a classroom. He took him to the no-nonsense coach, Achrekar. The low profile coach was sensible enough to realize that Sachin was a natural and needed more opportunities than text book coaching. Achrekar thankfully had no coaching diplomas and degrees to bother him and allowed his young ward to bat and bat and bat till the cows came home.

Now that the little-master-turned-great-batsman has retired , I salute him for the wonderful time he gave us. It is because of his outstanding performance that we Indians can walk twenty feet tall on the cricket field today.