The author with Tenzing Norgay at the latter’s Darjeeling residence in 1955

On Tenzing Norgay, my first idol

Darjeeling, 1955. Dr ‘Pahari’ Guha Mazumdar was at the time the civil surgeon of the Darjeeling district. A selfless man of charm and honour. The hill people were his family. He spoke their language, he wore their ‘sarong’, he ate their food and he took care of them. The Sherpas and the other hill tribes literally worshipped him.

Among the hardy Sherpas who came to visit the ‘Pahari daktar saab’ was a man who began life as a guide and coolie to foreign mountaineers who came to the foothills of the Himalayas with the intention to climb the various high peaks of the region. Within a few years he was not only the best guide available but also the most sought-after supervisor of the labourers, who carried heavy loads on their back to help the expedition teams.

Away from mountaineering expeditions this stocky, tough Sherpa was a social worker par excellence in his hometown bustee at Darjeeling. He would carry the old and the infirm to the good doctor and flash his heart-winning smile. He became Dr Guha Mazumdar’s younger brother in every respect imaginable.

When Sherpa Tenzing came down from the skies in 1953, the noble doctor complimented him on his ‘conquest’ of Mount Everest. The world renowned climber in all modesty replied, “Doctor saab, I was lucky to go on a pilgrimage to God’s abode.”

The doctor embraced him and began to weep uncontrollably. Years later Dr Guha Mazumdar told our family, “I realized there and then how small we were. The real people are these men who have the highest regard for the bounties of nature. Our knowledge is so very shallow, so very superfluous. These simple, innocent hill people have a far more profound understanding and respect for nature.”

In a country where genuine heroes are forgotten, erosion in values is the only option. A true champion of Tenzing Norgay’s stature has receded into the background. The spirit of adventure has ebbed. We have no inclination towards sports of high risks. Our whole ethos revolves around ‘heroes’ of doubtful potential.

The greatness of Tenzing lay in his simplicity. International renown and awards chased him. Presidents and kings followed his trail. Press and politicians pestered him. But he remained his smiling self with the barest minimum of needs.

The greatness of the man lay in his innocence. He just could not utter a lie, not even a white lie. When asked who stepped first on top of Mt. Everest, Tenzing replied that though they had the same rope around their waist, Edmund Hillary’s feet were the first on the summit and his own followed soon after. It takes great courage to say that degree of truth.

 In mountaineering parlance, two climbers handling the same rope are considered to be together and not separate from each other. In a high-risk adventure sport like mountaineering, the issue of individualism does not arise. It is a total team effort. Tenzing could easily have avoided the issue with a vague answer, but then, Tenzing would not have been Tenzing.

This was the real Tenzing. Throughout his life he has been ‘used’ by others. On being appointed the Director of Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, he was assured by Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and Chief Minister of West Bengal Dr Bidhan Chandra Roy that his appointment was for life and that he would accordingly draw remuneration throughout his tenure.

But after the death of those political leaders, he was asked to retire! No further remuneration, no pension followed. Moreover, throughout his period of directorship, not once did he get any increment on his salary!

When some little money came to him by way of book royalty and donations, numerous blood-relations appeared and came to stay in his humble home and lived off him. The kind-hearted man just could not turn them away. When India began sending expeditions to Mt.Everest, nobody thought him important enough to be invited at the flagging-off ceremonies. But not once did he ever express any grudge against any of his exploiters.

Born in Nepal of Sherpa stock, Tenzing lived in the British-built hill-station of Darjeeling in North Bengal. After the epic achievement of ‘summiting Everest’ in 1953 he was offered “nationality” by both Nepal and India. Both countries, which had done nothing for him or for his indomitable Sherpa people, wanted to claim him as one of their own for international publicity.

Pressure was piled on him from either side, but Tenzing, true to his honest belief, maintained that he was both a Nepali and an Indian! In his innocence he highlighted the international nature of his personality.

This is exactly the kind of pettiness and disregard we have shown a man who literally put India on top of the world.

On 29^th May, 1953, he and the New Zealander, Edmund Hillary, reached the summit of Mt. Everest as part of the British expedition team under John Hunt. When the tri-colour flag fluttered on top of the world on that historic day, the brave man holding the pick-axe was none other than this self-made mountaineer from Darjeeling in Bengal.

When they realized they were on the summit, two toughest and bravest of men embraced each other and began to shed tears. They were mesmerized by the beauty and the grandeur of nature. Tenzing took out the sweet lozenge and the coloured-pencil-stub his daughter Nima had given him and offered it to the Almighty!

People who climb peaks are themselves at the summit of the human race. They have little interest in borders and barriers. Rarefied realms they traverse in isolation. They do not bother about nationality, race, colour of skin, levels of education, financial backgrounds. Edmund Hillary would not have opted for the ‘coloured’, poor Sherpa when he decided on the final launch, if he was a racist.

Tenzing did not blink an eye to say that Hillary was the first to step on the summit ahead of him. In mountaineering two climbers together on the same rope are like twins. The rope is the umbilical cord.  They are together, inseparable. They have the same identity. Both Hillary and Tenzing were very appropriately given the honour of being the first to climb the highest peak on earth. None would consider them first and second in order.

 If Tenzing was magnanimous, so too was Hillary. On top Hillary reciprocated by clicking Tenzing’s photo on Mt Everest and did not insist on having his own photo taken. These sacrifices are beyond the comprehension of most of us.

Why was just Tenzing’s photo on the summit taken? Why not Hillary’s as well? The reason being that they had just two exposures left. Hillary realized that Tenzing may not be able to handle the camera well enough. So to get the perfect frame, he took Tenzing’s picture and with the single remaining frame he clicked the final path they traversed for the benefit of future mountaineers. These acts of Tenzing and Hillary are at the summit of man’s selflessness.

Mountaineering is an amazing sport. Exclusively for the bravest and selfless of men and women. There are no spectators to cheer and applaud up on the mountain. No media support for instant glory. It is a complete team-effort. No individual can do it alone without the active, selfless support of his colleagues.

One small error and the climber invites his own death; sometimes even dragging down his partner with him. Very lonely, very slow, very difficult the progress is. Courage, strength, patience, team-work, leadership all combine to be successful in this most dangerous of all sports.

Mountaineering is man’s communion with nature. Not a sport between humans. It is a pursuit to overcome the almost insurmountable hazards of natural obstacles: climate, rain, blinding sun-light, gusty wind, snow, rocks, crevice, chasm, lack of oxygen, no shade or shadow, glacier, avalanche. Why would anybody want to volunteer to attempt to overcome such odds?

The mind of a genuine mountaineer is almost impossible to fathom. They are above the concept of self. These dare-devils care not about fame or fortune. Why would any sane person opt for a sport where there is no return in any form?  Why aim for a deserted summit? There are so many ‘whys?’ begging for answers.

To help us understand the reason for a mountaineer to climb a peak, a legendary climber by the name of Keith Mallory simply said, “Because it is there.”  Full stop. All questions vanish in a moment. One is astounded in the face of such selfless courage. Incidentally Mallory vanished in the Himalayas in the 1920s while attempting to climb the world’s highest peak. His body was never found.

Tenzing could not write yet he sent hundreds of letters to his fans worldwide. Tenzing could not read, yet he received thousands of articles and books written on him from his admirers all over the world. 

Tenzing Norgay’s admirers are legion. His exploits on the mountain are legendary. Generous, courageous, honest, self-less, the exemplary mountaineer remains to this day a legend and an inspiration to millions around the world. But in his own country, for which he earned so much of international respect and adulation, he is a forgotten man.

When ‘Pahari’ doctor took our family to meet him, the ever-smiling all-conquering Tenzing Norgay picked up the 5 year old child in his arms and related constantly to my parents, “It was a pilgrimage to the Almighty’s abode.”  I can still feel the blessed touch. He was my first hero. Never regretted the fact. With every passing day I can still smell the earthy odour of the most marvelous of human beings. For me, it was a pilgrimage to the best of creations.

False Tunes

Most former cricketers turned media-experts have a tendency to mislead cricket followers. The latest version is, “To win a Test, one has to take 20 opposition wickets.” Of course, every cricket follower knows that. It is obvious. But we also know that you have to score more runs than the opposition. Obviously enough, no point getting 20 opposition wickets and then losing 20 own wickets for less runs. No big deal.

This has nothing to do with Einstein or Kafka. There is no abstraction involved. It is simple class 1 maths. My only apprehension is that if genuine cricket addicts follow the ‘experts’ too closely, they will forget the normal cricket knowledge that they possess.

On a lighter note, let me relate an incident. Mohun Bagan’s secretary Dhiren Dey – known for is straight-face wit – once addressed the club cricket team, “Just score one run more than East Bengal. One more goal in football and one more run in cricket. Very simple!”

Years back the doyen of cricket writers Neville Cardus had lamented, “The score-board is an ass.” What he meant was, do not have total reliance on bare statistics. Absolutely to the point.

Kohli’s overseas Test series victories have been against lowly Sri Lanka and very pathetic West Indies of recent times. These teams are way below India in the Test rankings. What credit is there in winning against wooden-spoonists?To win against them is no different from winning Tests against Zimbabwe and Bangladesh.

Instead of trying to mislead cricket followers, it would be best if our so-called experts learn to give credit to those captains who have won Test series for India abroad against top quality teams like Australia, South Africa, England and the West Indies of earlier decades.

Ajit Wadekar led India to overseas victories in West Indies and in England in 1971. Kapil Dev defeated England in England in 1986, following his marvellous achievement in the 1983 world cup. Rahul Dravid led India to defeat Lara’s team in West Indies in 2006 and then England in their own backyard in 2007. In between Dravid also won a Test in a losing series in South Africa as well as a Test on Pakistan soil. Unfortunately these captains have never got their rightful due.

We are obsessed with captains who have the media dance to their ‘false’ tunes. Please note that India is yet to win a series in Australia and in South Africa.

Now, instead of trying to mislead the cricket followers with long lectures, the team management and the players would do well to acknowledge the glorious deeds of Wadekar’s, Kapil’s and Dravid’s men. But will our ‘experts’ ever learn to admit the truth?

Kalighat Club won all the CAB trophies in 1974. From left: Dilip Dutta, Gopal Bose, Raja Mukherjee,  Robi Banerjee, Raju Mukherji and skipper TJ Banerjee.

Remembering Gopal

Gopal Bose followed his India captain Ajit Wadekar to the Elysian Fields within days of each other. Wadekar got his opportunities late in life; Gopal hardly ever. Both were destined to remain in the background.

Gopal would have made an outstanding one-day player. He would have been an asset as a BCCI coach for beginners. His knowledge and communication skills would have made him a brilliant match referee. If he had written for the English media, he would have had genuine readers in millions. But all these were not to be. He was left under-utilized at all levels. A real shame that none bothered to give upright man his rightful due.

In world cricket no bowler, who was ‘called’ for throwing while bowling, ever improved on his game thereafter. Meckiff, Griffin, Griffith, Narine to name a few. They all tried, failed and were all eased out. Except one man. He happened to be Gopal Bose, the Bengal and East Zone off-spin bowler. Gopal achieved a feat that no other bowler in the history of cricket has been able to achieve over the last 150 years.

Gopal made his Ranji Trophy debut in 1969 at the age of 22 as an off-spinner. He got a wicket in his first over. But his action did not impress the purists. There was a definite bent elbow in his bowling action. Gopal’s delivery-action initially did not come up for censure. In the meantime he was also developing himself as a batsman.

However in 1971 in a Duleep Trophy tie, he was ‘called’ for throwing. Instead of wallowing in self pity, Gopal began to rectify his bowling action with yogic devotion. Gopal would practise, practise and practise till the ‘cows literally came home’. My friend Gopal, incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable, was his own coach.

Prodyutda our coach at Kalighat Club would be with Gopal at the net from 7 to 9 in the morning; then Gopal would drive him to Grand Hotel where he worked and then reach his own office at Dasturco. At 1 in the afternoon Prodyutda would be picked up by Gopal in his Herald car and brought back to the club. The net session would continue till 5 in the evening leaving everyone, except Gopal and Prodyutda, exhausted!

When Gopal played for Bengal in the following season his arm was ram-rod straight and his off-spin spinning skills had acquired more variety. He actually had improved his bowling skills after being ‘called’ for throwing. This is unique in the history of world cricket. No other cricketer has been able to achieve this fascinating correction. He achieved what no one else had ever done before.

Gopal began his club cricket career as a medium-pace. Through sheer determination, he progressed to become an off-spin bowler who batted low down. Then by means of intelligent application he improved to become an attacking opening batsman who could vary his off-spin most intelligently. Gopal, to me, will always remain an outstanding model of self-coaching. A brilliant, incisive cricketing brain he possessed.

Our association goes back almost 7 decades. We resided opposite each other. Both studied at St Xavier’s School till Gopal went across to Delhi. Our childhood was spent playing cricket at our garage space and on the streets of our neighbourhood. Apart from cricket, our life revolved around football, table-tennis and flying kites. Then we went to White Border Club together and after a year or two we parted ways: Gopal to Kalighat Club and me to Mohun Bagan AC.

We however had a major difference. I was allergic to movies. Gopal was fascinated by the cinema. He adored Dev Anand and would always wear his well-tailored trousers at least three inches short of regular length! Whenever a Dev Anand show was premiered, he would be one of those ‘first-day-first-show’ characters!

I am eternally grateful to his innovative ideas for helping himself and me to get early batting everyday in our road-side matches! How he managed it, I shall not divulge. We were probably the first ‘fixers’ of street cricket!

When, with extreme good fortune, I made it to the East Zone and Bengal teams in the early 1970s, the shining star of Bengal cricket always had his arm around my shoulders. Gopal was very affectionate and generous. He would give away his own cricket kit – even unused ones – to anyone who might be in need. I was indeed lucky to have had more than my fair share. Gopal was very magnanimous in his guidance to youngsters. Again I was extremely lucky.

One particular instance comes readily to my mind. Gopal had just got out for nought and Bengal was reeling at 4 down for 8 runs at Guwahati against Anup Ghatak’s impeccable swing bowling. While walking out, he stopped me and said, “This pitch is ideal for you. If you play your normal defensive game, you will get a 50.” What do you make of this magnanimous gesture from a batter who had just scored a zero? Thankfully his prediction came out right and we won a match from the jaws of defeat.

Gopal had a very unusual international cricket career. He scored a century on debut in the unofficial Test against Sri Lanka in 1974. In the next unofficial Test got a half-century. Following series in England in 1974 he was dropped from all Tests despite India losing all the 3 Tests!

His only over-limit match was against England in 1974. He had very economical bowling figures – 11 overs, 39 runs and 1 wicket – yet he was sidelined forever. At Chepauk in January 1975 he was omitted from the playing XI at the last minute. Instead Eknath Solkar played as India’s opener! Despite success in the limited opportunities he got, he never received his due from the national selectors. But never did he show any rancour towards anyone.

After retirement Gopal was totally immersed in the coaching of youngsters. His profound knowledge did not go waste. A whole generation of young cricketers benefitted from his wisdom and guidance. Unfortunately his own home State did not use him to the full extent. He would have been my choice as the Director of Coaching at CAB.

Gopal’s fondness for me is beyond imagination. He would not bother to guide me at every step. On the contrary he would let me be myself. But whenever he felt I needed advice he would come forward without hesitation. The 3-year difference gave him the right to be my ‘elder brother’. I am forever indebted to him for his guidance. Once, late in life, I did not listen to him and paid for it. I shall mention the issue later.

He had implicit faith in me. Even if he detected any weakness in me, he would hardly spell it out. Rather he would always encourage. Would constantly support. Gopal had a strange habit. If I intervened to say something, Gopal would never contradict! He would nod approval. Thankfully I listened more to him and spoke less. The ‘elder brother’ role he played to perfection.

Very few people know of Gopal’s asthma problem. He suffered immensely over the years, even during his prime. This affected his cricket career to a great extent. He never enjoyed England. The high pollen-count in England always caused him great discomfort. Ultimately at just 71 he left us while visiting his son, Pop, who is well-settled in Birmingham. Arijit (Pop) is a former Bengal cricketer himself, who too received a raw deal from the State selectors.

Residing opposite each other we would meet quite often and chat. Gopal excelled in light-hearted banter. Very witty and a brilliant conversationalist, Gopal enjoyed life as he enjoyed his ‘adda’. But he made no effort to suffer fools. Never bothered to hide his emotions: a man after my heart.

He was extremely well-informed on various issues. A voracious reader, Gopal’s frequent companion on tours would be an issue of the “Reader’s Digest” along with  Cardus, Fingleton and  Ray Robinson. Now that he is gone, who do you discuss cricket with?

Three years ago when I accepted Sourav’s offer to become a CAB selector, Gopal lambasted me, “Are you mad? Why did you accept the offer? They will make your life hell.” Amazing prophesy, indeed, it was. Thankfully, he never hesitated to speak his mind. Never wasted time or effort to seek favours from authorities. Though charming and courteous, he was completely divorced from tact and falsehood. He spoke his mind and acted on his high principles. An exceptional person born at a wrong time and place.

Highly intelligent, incredibly witty, very knowledgeable, Gopal wore many hats in Indian cricket: as player, captain, coach, team manager and writer. In each and every avenue, he left behind his imprint. For a person of his sterling qualities, it was only a natural consequence.

With so many fond memories to fall back on, I can still feel his presence around me. This is a void which would be impossible to fill.

Ajit Wadekar

Only thrice has India won a Test series on English soil. The captains were Ajit Wadekar (1971), Kapil Dev (1986) and Rahul Dravid (2007). Ironically not one of the above three has ever been rated very highly as a captain in India.

Captains who lost or drew the series in England have been eulogized in the Indian media!  Cricket history reveals that the England tour is always the most difficult for Indians. Since 1932 India has played 17 Test series on English soil and lost 13 of those. Most of the Indians captains, who lost or drew, have been those who were supposed to possess exceptional cricket brains.

Yet the exceptional achievements of the three successful Indian captains in England have not received their due recognition. Superb leaders of men like Ajit Wadekar, Kapil Dev and Rahul Dravid never received any acclaim for their leadership qualities. Very strange, indeed. Very unfortunate.

Wadekar’s captaincy career has been a giant-wheel in motion. For a period of three years he was right on top, having won every series that came his way.  Then in a matter of weeks in 1974 he came crashing down. Became a villain whom everybody wanted to curse and kick.

People forgot that he had won a series against West Indies in their backyard in 1971. Repeated his success in England against a very strong England team in 1971. The following season his team beat England in India in 1972-73. Thus Wadekar won three series in succession, a feat which no other Indian captain has ever been able to replicate. He was indeed unlucky that he never had Zimbabwe and Bangladesh in the opposition.

Wadekar received almost no credit for his team’s success. It was always claimed that he won with “Tiger Pataudi’s men”! Ajit till the last day of his life maintained, “If that be the issue, then why did Tiger not win with his own men?” Absolutely to the point.

But in 1974 Wadekar’s team lost all its 3 Tests in England. It was a disastrous tour for India with all the top stars available. The moment that happened, his house in Mumbai became the target of stones and bricks. Ajit Wadekar actually had almost the same players as he did in 1974. Yet the media forgot all about “Tiger Pataudi’s men” and laid all the blame on Wadekar’s captaincy!

Wadekar, disappointed and upset, retired immediately from all forms of cricket on his return from England in 1974. His whole life has been full of peculiar contradictions. May his soul finally rest in peace.

Misunderstood and misjudged, the soft-spoken, academically brilliant man always remained a soft target.

  Leslie Claudius                      

In India our Olympic victories are few and far between. But at the same time we have had a legendary sportsman who won 4 Olympic medals and then lost all of them! No riddle this. It actually happened.

For an Indian to win 4 Olympic medallions he had to be a hockey player because India dominated world hockey from 1928 to the 1960s. Your guess that the sport is hockey is as perfect as it can be. But can you guess the name of the player concerned?

The hockey player happened to be none other than Leslie Claudius, the hockey marvel who won 3 gold medals and one silver medal for India in the four Olympics between 1948 and 1960.

Olympic medalists are honoured and revered the world over. To win an Olympic medal is an awesome achievement. These champions are a rare breed. But then to win four is nothing short of a miracle. Very, very few international sportsmen have won 4 Olympic medals and more.

Not many international sportsmen have lost their Olympic medals. The legendary ‘American Black’ boxer Muhammad Ali (then Cassius Clay) threw away his gold medal out of sheer disgust. That is another story time. Another time.

Only one international sportsman has been known to have lost all the medals he had won at the Olympic Games. Thanks to an odd-job man, who had come to Leslie Claudius’ house to polish his medals and numerous other trophies. Some polishing the man did. The man actually polished off the medals and vanished without leaving behind any trace.

When as a freelancer, I went to Leslie Claudius’ residence for an interview for the Tiger-Pataudi edited sports weekly magazine Sportsworld way back in the 1980s, the laid-back personality quite casually said, “Ah! You want to see the Olympic medals?  I had asked a man to clean and polish my trophies. He took me literally, I suppose. He took the money and the medals with him. However he did a very good job with the rest of the trophies in the cabinet.”

Honestly, I was aghast, “Did you actually keep those gold and silver medals in an unlocked show-case in the drawing-room?” He nodded, “My mistake, I reckon. But then why would anybody be interested in my trophies?”

When told that the medals would fetch millions as souvenirs among collectors, he gave a relaxed smile, “Let’s say he needed the money more than I did!” It took a little while to dawn on the interviewer that the phlegmatic individual sitting opposite was in a sphere of his own without any attachment to worldly objects.

The life of Leslie Claudius has always been full of such unusual happenings. Born and brought up in hockey-dominated Bilaspur in Madhya Pradesh, the young Claudius was fascinated by football and was fantastic at it. Among the sports-fanatic Anglo-Indian community at Bilaspur, he was an all-round sportsman with particular fondness for football.

Yet, when he came over to football-mad Bengal, first to Kharagpur and from there to Calcutta in 1946, ironically football receded into the background as the game of hockey dribbled into his heart. Office teams like Port Commissioners and Calcutta Customs helped him with the opportunities and the latent talent flowered in next to no time.

At every level – office, club and State teams – he left his mark. It is indeed unbelievable, that in only two years since he seriously wielded a hockey stick for the first time, he was actually donning the national colours in the London Olympics in 1948.

With Dhyan Chand and company around, India had won the Olympic hockey gold at Amsterdam (1928), at Los Angeles (1932) and Berlin (1936). Because of the 2^nd world war no Olympics took place in 1940 and 1944. Now after India’s independence, the 1948 London Olympics would be the first time that independent India would play under her own national tri-colour flag.

There was considerable consternation among the hockey followers. Would India be able to put up a reasonably good show with not much hockey played during the war period? Would the new players be able to live to the high expectations? Do we still possess the required talent?

But by the end of the London Olympic Games, the Indian flag kept fluttering to remind us of the exploits of Dhyan Chand, Rup Singh, Richard Allen, Carlyle Tapsell, Eric Pinniger and company. Untried youngsters like Claudius, Keshav Dutt, Ranganathan Francis and Randhir Singh Gentle came to the fore in 1948 and gave relief to hockey lovers around the country. In 1952 arrived Udham Singh and Balbir Singh (Sr). India’s top stature in world hockey remained unscathed.

From 1948 onwards, for the next 12 years Leslie Claudius was India’s mainstay at the pivotal position of center-half. This was the continuation of the golden period of Indian hockey. Uninterrupted success was a mere formality.

 Legendary Indian players dominated the world in a style as distinctive as it was effective. Claudius was always in focal point as the sheet anchor. One moment he would be defending his own goal and at the next he would be threatening the opposition’s “D”. Energetic and selfless, he had indomitable courage and a will-power to overcome any opposition, situation and condition.

Leslie Claudius was a stylist. Impeccable technique, he combined with powers of innovation. He inspired not by hollow words of advice, but by solid performance. He had no time for provincial, communal or class bias. He had no time for unscrupulous administrators. He formed no group, joined none as well. He was the shining nucleus of a world champion team.

But the contradictions continued. He did not cater to conventional wisdom. He was of medium-height, very tough but not muscular. He was not an exhibitionist. On the contrary he was a clean-shaven, young man of exemplary manners and bright eyes. Courteous and kind, he hardly had the macho image one generally associates with successful sportsmen.

His refreshing charm, his modesty, his refined voice and conduct belied all the conventional impressions of a star sportsman. He was a champion without an ego. He was an artist without any hang-ups. He was a super star without any controversy following him. He was a magnificent centre-half without having anyone good enough to be his rightful protégé.

He took his employment very seriously and went on to become an assistant commissioner of Calcutta Customs. After retirement, every Sunday morning after his visit to the church, he was a regular at the maidan tent of Ranger’s Club with a tankard of frothy beer in hand.

A delightful conversationalist, he once said, “We were unlucky not to have seen Dhyan Chand and Roop Singh at their peak. But let me tell you, son, even in their old age such was their ball control that we had difficulty to take the ball away from them. Both were wizards with the stick in hand. Roop was no less than his brother Dhyan, but was destined to be forever in the shadow of his elder brother.”

During the course of the interview at his McLeod Road flat, Claudius said, “From the 1950s many Anglo-Indians left India to settle in Australia and Canada. This was a setback for Indian hockey as the Anglo-Indians showed a distinct flair for the stick and ball game.” Absolutely correct he was. Many of our past greats came from the Anglo-Indian community.

After three successive Olympic gold medals at London (1948), Helsinki (1952) and Melbourne (1956), Claudius was selected to lead the country in the Rome Olympic Games in 1960. This was his 4^th Olympic Games. Later in 1964 Udham Singh, too, repeated Claudius’s record of 3 golds and one silver.

Sadly, India’s domination of the Olympic hockey honours came to an end in the final against Pakistan. Claudius was shattered. For him the Olympic silver medal was no compensation. He bid adieu to the game he loved and served with the greatest of dignity.

“That was the saddest day of my life. It was a magnificent final against Pakistan at Rome. No quarters were given and none expected. But the one nil defeat was just too much for me. I retired on our return.” Furrowed eyebrows clouded his face.

Within moments, however, he brightened up, “You know, son, when the national flag goes up the pole you get a strange feeling that cannot be described. Hardened men have tears in their eyes. You only think of your country and nothing else matters. I was lucky to have enjoyed that exhilarating feeling no less than three times.

Then after a while, his voice faltered, “At Rome on the podium we tried to muffle our disappointment. Tough adults cried like children. The silver medal seemed to mock at me.”

Sport is said to be a great leveller. Claudius is an exception to the rule. For he has had no failures. Yet the man himself felt that he had failed the country at Rome. Such was his high standards that even the silver medal was considered a failure! Amazing approach, indeed.

No, most certainly he did not fail. Rather he was a glorious example of an ideal champion sportsman: charming, modest, selfless apart from being a magical wielder of the hockey wand. The memory of the dignified self still remains a shining model for every aspiring sportsman.

          

The farcical nature of Indian football  

The 21st football world cup is about to begin. And, as always, India is nowhere in the picture. This is both a disappointment and an embarrassment to millions of football lovers like me. But the reasons have never been truthfully answered. We have hidden ourselves behind screens of misrepresentations and hypocrisy. High time that Indians know the truth about our football scenario. 

 Today India is ranked below 100 other soccer-playing nations of the world. Today even at the Asian level we are among the bottom-rankers. If nations like Panama, Iceland, Cameroon and Costa Rica among others can become world-cuppers, why can we not make it?

Ironically, soccer was introduced to India much earlier than it was established in Brazil by Britain. The sport was introduced in India by the Britons in the 1850s whereas they laid the foundation of football in Brazil much later in the 1880s. The game was played in India by the military men stationed here. The native Indians were quick to grasp the fundamentals and organized clubs to compete with the British teams based in India.

But so attuned were we to being within the ‘comfort zone’ of our country that our players, coaches and officials had little idea of how football was evolving around the world. The World Cup had begun in 1930. Soccer at the Olympics had started still earlier, in 1900. Initially at the Olympics it was an all-European affair, but from 1924 Olympic soccer began to attract nations from around the world. All over the globe the players had progressed from ‘bare-feet football’ to wearing boots with studs on.

In India we still continued to play in bare-feet with anklets on! Actually, even now, some people take great pride to say that those Indian players had real courage because they played in bare feet against the boot-studded Brits. Such misplaced bravado cost Indian soccer very dear in the long run.

In fact when India first took part in Olympic soccer in 1948, our boys actually played in bare-feet! It was not allowed by the existing rules. But at the time India had just gained independence and the Olympics were held at London, so the British authorities, in an act of over-magnanimity, allowed the Indian players to play without boots on. On a bone-dry ground, the Indians put up an outstanding display but finally went down 1-2 against France, after missing 2 penalties!

The next Olympic Games were held at Helsinki in 1952. Our much-vaunted ‘bare-feet players’ made a mess of the slushy conditions. They were thrashed by Yugoslavia, 1- 10. Yes, that’s right, 1-10. Only after that year realization dawned in India that one cannot play proper soccer without proper boots on.

In between the two Olympics, in 1950 India received an invitation from Brazil to take part in the World Cup. India failed to accept the invitation (those days there were no qualifying rounds) and since then India has never been a part of the World Cup. Recently an idea is being floated that India could not go to distant South America because of the high cost of travel. This is not true at all.

At the time, just after India’s independence, Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, an ardent lover of sports, was very keen to see India participating in sports tourneys around the world. Money was made available for various sports meets including hockey, cricket and other sports. In fact, football too had received government patronage and private sponsorship to travel to London for the 1948 Olympics.

Money was certainly not the major issue. The outrageous demand of our football authorities was to be allowed to play in bare-feet! FIFA was adamant that they would not allow anybody to twist their rules: either you play with boots on or don’t play at all.

Even for the 1954 World Cup at Switzerland an invitation was extended to India. True to form, our football authorities returned the entry form after the expiry date and consequently India was not allowed to take part.

In the last five decades India took part in pre-World Cup tournaments and invariably was defeated by big margins even by Asian sides.  Indian football since the year 1970 has not been able to make a mark even at the low Asian level.

For the last five decades, India’s football stature has stagnated at the rock-bottom. But still we have not bothered to analyze our weaknesses. We have tried to take refuge under various lame excuses. We have blamed the lack of infrastructure, the lack of sponsorship money and the lack of opportunities. Are Nigeria, Senegal and Honduras superior to us in these respects?

Our problem is that we have remained dishonest to ourselves. We have continuously hoodwinked our football enthusiasts. Today, India is not even a force in Asian soccer. As it is, Asian soccer is no big deal in the world of football. For the world cup among the best 32 nations, three teams from Asia are considered for qualification just for the sake of universal participation. These Asian teams are grossly inferior to teams from Europe, South America and Africa which do not qualify for the world cup.

Even among these weak Asian countries, India has no standing. At present we have come down to bullying our next-door neighbours in the South Asian Federation (SAF) games. Quite a come-down it is. In1951 and again in 1962 we were the Asian champions. We used to beat Japan and South Korea (who are regular world-cuppers now). Even in 1970 we were the bronze medal winners in the Asian Games. After that what has Indian football got to show? Just nothing.

In the 1980s the Nehru Cup was introduced. Top-quality foreign teams came to play. But what did Indian gain? Now we are having the I-League and the ISL for quite a number of years. How far has Indian football progressed? 

The eternal truth is that Indian football has to develop from within. No amount of money or overseas talent transfusion will be of any help. African and South American countries, including the top football nations Brazil and Argentina, can offer very little to their young trainee-players by way of facilities and funds. Yet how do they manage to produce outstanding talents?  Even players from economically advanced nations dance to their samba tunes. Why does this happen?

Surprisingly no one in India seems to be bothered. The golden age of Indian soccer was between 1956 and 1962.Instead of eulogizing those truly great players, at the moment the trend is to heap praise on players who achieved nothing worthwhile during their heydays, post 1971. This kind of hypocrisy will not help soccer to thrive in India.

Memories of men like Neville D’Souza, Peter Thangaraj, Arun Ghosh (my football idol), Jarnail Singh, Tulsidas Balaram, Simon Sundaraj, Pradip Banerjee , Prosanto Sinha, Yousuf Khan and Chuni Goswami, among others, are fading away fast. This was the nucleus that helped India to exhibit fabulous soccer at Melbourne, Rome and Jakarta between 1956 and 1962.

Neville D’Souza had scored four goals, including a hat-trick against Australia (now a world-cup side) at the Melbourne Olympics in 1956. True to Indian tradition, he was excluded from the 1960 Rome Olympic team! How many of us have heard of Neville D’Souza, I wonder.

The Indian soccer world is living in a cocoon of self-hypnosis. Unless we are honest to ourselves and to football, no improvement will ever take place. First we need to accept the fact that Indian football has been a total flop even at the low Asian level since that ‘bronze’ medal in the 1970 Asiad.

Yes, Indian football brigade can take heart that there are about 80 nations still behind India’s football rank. What needs to be analyzed is why are we behind Japan and Korea whom we used to defeat during our golden days between 1956 and 1962? Why are we behind teams from Cameroon, Nigeria, Ivory Coast, Honduras, Morocco, Columbia and others who  are economically far behind India and can give little by way of assistance to their own players?

Economically these countries are so backward that their players seek football-employment abroad. And because these players are exceptionally brilliant, they get very lucrative jobs as soccer-professionals. On the contrary our best players are so mediocre that they are turned back from wherever they go. This sad truth we must learn to face: we are just not good enough. No point hiding behind excuses, pretexts and verbiage. Our soccer heroes returned from the last Asian Games after being thrashed 5-0 and 2-0 in the two matches that they played.

Instead of finding faults with other sports and games, it is high time that we, the football fans of India, got the honest answers from the people concerned with Indian football. Indian football will not progress one step as long we stick to our hypocritical ways and means. Do we have the courage to accept the truth that apart from 1956 to 1962 we were never good enough?

The most important issues are: why are we not good enough? And, what is being done to rectify matters?

Russy Mody: the man who genuinely respected sportspeople

The first patrons of Indian sports were the Princely States of the pre-independence era. Later Indian Railways were very magnanimous to offer employment to talented sportsmen. From the 1950s some private sector companies, particularly in Mumbai and Chennai, took the initiative to recruit talented sportsmen. But the company that genuinely went into promoting various sports disciplines and sportsmen were the Tata’s. The principal catalyst was an executive by the name of Russy Mody.

Grace and graciousness flowed in his veins. At Jamshedpur in 1972 when East Zone was billed to play the visiting England team led by Tony Lewis, Russy Mody came to meet the East Zone players at the nets the previous afternoon. As he walked into the Keenan Stadium, dressed in a floral-print Hawaiian shirt and loose Bermudas, the  players, officials and the groundsmen  rushed towards him, but he waved them away saying, “No, no, carry on with the net session. I shall wait till the end.”

He kept his word. He did not walk on to the ground. He did not try to show he was the boss of the place. He just sat on a cane chair on the periphery and chatted with Sudhir Das, the prominent Bihar all-rounder of yesteryears who happened to be our cricket manager at the time.

As we finished our net practice and walked back towards the pavilion, he came and introduced himself to us with a smile, “I am your host for the match. Any problems you have, just let Sudhir know about it.” Exchanged pleasantries with all the players, most of the senior cricketers were well known to him. Before departing, casually mentioned, “Since you are playing against an international team, please think you are representing India.”

For a 22-year old debutant, this was a highly motivating message to me. He sounded so simple and easy. Made us feel relaxed. His modesty was unbelievable. Not once did he create any impression of high office. Not once did he try to create an overbearing scenario. He actually had tea with us in an earthen bhaar, as was the custom at the grounds in those days. Even dunked a biscuit in the tea before biting it.

Russy Mody was a multi-dimensional persona. Like a true industrialist, he thought of social welfare through community service as early as the 1960s. He worshipped cricket, yet spent time and effort on every other sports discipline. His sponsorship of social welfare activities never came to the fore. He was at ease with ministers as he was with the chai-walas on the street.

 At Digwadih in the coal belt of Jamadoba, near Dhanbad in erstwhile Bihar (now Jharkhand), where the Tata’s had their collieries, he engaged a first-class cricketer, Kalyan Mitter, as a curator to prepare a cricket ground. Later Daljit Singh and Robin Mukherjea, two renowned cricketers, followed to prepare facilities for football, hockey, volleyball and other disciplines.

His thoughts centred around the welfare of the children of coal-miners! The massive projects were being carried out to help these deprived youngsters to find an avenue for their personal development. Mr Mody, the magnanimous visionary, chose sports because he realized the appeal of sports to children of all ages and status.

In the 1970s he would invite international cricketers of the calibre of Salim Durani, Hanumant Singh and Dilip Sardesai, among others, to take part in the Homi Mody cricket championship at Digwadih Stadium. The tournament was held in September-October, at a time when no cricket was possible in any other part of eastern India because of the extended rainy season.

This was the place where the East Zone players would get some practice matches before the start of the domestic season. Many young cricketers began their career because of Russy Mody’s benevolence. This writer happens to be one of them.

In time, many prominent names of Indian football, hockey and volleyball came up from the coal-mining districts of Jamadoba and Jealgora. All this was possible because of one man who refused take any credit or publicity for his generosity or for his vision.

From the mid-1970s, Russy Mody XI would go around the country to play various tournaments. Amazingly along with ten players from Bihar there would be one from Bengal in his combined team. He never quite forgot me.

 I once approached him for a job. The immediate response was, “Of course. You like to write. I think you should join our public relations department at Jamshedpur.” I replied, “But, sir, I am leading Bengal and cannot afford to leave Calcutta now.” He smiled and said, “Ra-jew (that’s how he pronounced my name), you would be better off in Bihar than in Bengal.” He was absolutely right. I wish I had taken the plunge.

He lived life to the full. And expected others to do so as well. He patronized sportspeople like the maharajas of old. He would allow them full freedom to play and to work. He wanted people to develop themselves. Magnanimity escorted him wherever he went. So much so that scores of people took advantage of his generosity. Yet not once did he ever show any remorse or regret.

For such a great lover of cricket, ironically he just could not put bat to ball. Totally non-athletic in frame, the hand and eye co-ordination lacked sporting prowess. He tried his hand at bowling and developed a peculiar way of delivering the ball. He would release the ball very early and the ball would go up for about 15 or so feet and descend on a spot near the batsman! The ball would lose almost all momentum on pitching and would more often than not drop ‘dead’ before reaching the batter!

But he had an ear for music. On his piano his fingers played the symphonies of Mozart and Bethoven to perfection. But throughout his life his first love remained cricket.

He was a genuine visionary. Today what is known in corporate circles as man-management was in his blood. He did not have to learn to be courteous. He did not have to resort to hypocrisy to impress or to draw attention. He never wanted publicity; never flaunted his friendship with the rich and the famous. To show off his ‘personality and importance’ he did not cocoon himself in a grave face.

 On the contrary, the real Russy Mody was gregarious, soft-natured, polite and generous to a fault. He accepted all the trickery and back-stabbing over the years with a hearty laugh.

He was the person who established the football academy at Jamshedpur, where later other sports disciplines like athletics, archery and gymnastics among others prospered. After his untimely and unfortunate departure from Tata’s, the academy lost its glamour and Jamshedpur lost its eminence as a centre of sports.

Russy Mody gave jobs to prominent sportsmen who served Tata’s office teams in various states. His generosity extended even to physically handicapped former sportsmen who would not be able to play for the Tata office teams. But never, never would he beat his own drums in any platform. In fact a journalist once recounted that it was almost impossible to get Russy Mody for an interview. He was easily accessible but too proactive to sit in one place and talk about himself. That was not in his genes.

Russy Mody met trade union leaders with a, “open-door” policy. One leftist union leader once recounted, “He would call all the union leaders of different camps together to discuss issues. There was never any separate meeting with any particular union. He did not believe in any hide-and-seek system. We respected and believed him totally. We knew he would never go back on his word.”

Just prior to his death I met him at the Nagraj Bar of Bengal Club. Bowed low to him and before I could finish my sentence, “Sir, I know you have forgotten me,” he raised his hand and softly said, “Ra-jew, no?” What do you make of this genius who had supposedly lost his memory and his voice?

After a few months, I was writing his obituary. Sent it to a leading Kolkata daily. They did not publish it apprehending repercussions as Mr Russy Mody had suddenly resigned and left. Even in death, his legacy tormented the corrupt and the callous.

Ironically the very men who took advantage of Russy Mody kept a distance from him when he bade good-bye to the company he served for decades. Some avoided him in public. Others kept a discreet distance. Their very selfish considerations took control of their decisions. But, even in private conversations, none could really say a word against him. Influential people very close to him when in power had no time for him when out of office. It mattered little to the short, bulky frame with the softest of eyes. He accepted the hypocrisy with extreme grace and a cultured demeanour.

His service to Indian sport has never been equalled in contemporary times. With his passion for the game, his love for cricketers, his administrative skills and his unimpeachable integrity, he would have made a marvellous president of BCCI or any other sports federation including the Indian Olympic Association.

 But he had no craving for power or for position. Certainly not a person to campaign or cajole. Most surely not a person to indulge in any rat-race. Never had any intention to flex muscles. No way would he use his massive popularity.

But our attitude is so hypocritical that we have forgotten the very man who first gave genuine prominence, social status, financial support and respect to performers of all sports disciplines.

No other Indian administrator has done as much for sports as he has. He stands a singular sentinel for the cause of Indian sports.

On Abebe Bikila                         

It was a power-packed field of runners from all over the world at the start of the 1960 Olympic marathon race at Rome. Strong, determined, able-bodied men jostled for vantage positions at the starting mark. The runners were attired in their national colours, had cushioned shoes for the exhausting ordeal of running no less than 26 plus miles.

 Right at the end stood a nondescript figure, who did not even have a pair of shoes. Frail to the point of being under starvation-diet, the low-profile man did not attract any attention. Just before the pistol shot, he merely looked up and said the shortest of prayers. Just asked for His blessings, as he had always done throughout his life before starting any work.

On his way, he was. He glided through the paved roads of the Italian capital with utmost ease and elegance. He was in no hurry. He was not in any race. He was not running against anybody. He was not running against the clock or any record. He just kept moving his elbows and legs in constant momentum.

Abebe Bikila ran this marathon as he would do so often among the hilly regions of his motherland, Ethiopia. He ran because he liked to run. He ran because it was his expression of freedom. He ran because he enjoyed running. Never bothered about style or strategy; techniques or tactics. No, he did not suffer from such luxuries.

In Ethiopia, Bikila ran through rough terrain. He never wore any shoes for the simple reason that he could not afford any. Wet ground, dry earth, sandy soil, rocky surface came alike to him. No gazelle was more graceful than he when on the run. At Rome he found that the entire route was smooth unlike the uneven ground he would cover without any complaint at home. He expressed no elation, no emotion.

After a while Bikila picked up a water bottle from the table set aside for runners. Bikila poured the water on his head while continuing to run. In Ethiopia no drink, not even water, is kept on the route for runners. In a country where starvation deaths are not unheard of, who has the time and money to offer drinks to a runner rehearsing his run?

Rome was distinctly more hot and humid than Addis Ababa. After about 19 miles, he sipped some water and waited a few moments to see how those following him were doing! For other runners it was an ordeal, more so to find a lean frame by-passing them with utmost ease. Now Bikila decided he had seen enough and decided to go ahead on his own.

Up the Appian Way he went in splendid isolation. In his charismatic style, he entered the stadium, breasted the winning tape and went on running around the stadium track as if 26 miles and 385 yards were not enough! The organizers ran after him to get hold of him but the man, now for the first time, changed his routine.

He stopped, did a few callisthenic exercises to cool himself, then looked up and thanked his Creator. Vaguely smiled at the world and waved his right hand. There was no bombastic gesture. No publicity stunt. No political or ideological message.

After Rome in 1960, Bikila competed again at the Tokyo Olympic Games in 1964. Nothing really had changed: the same non-emotional face; the same frail physique; the same low-profile. At Tokyo, now with the media spotlight on him, he repeated his feat of four years ago: the gold medal round his neck. However, now, there was one distinct change: he had shoes on!

 Shoes or no shoes, spotlight or no spotlight made little difference to the genius of Abebe Bikila. Not a trace of emotion clouded his façade. The same calisthenics at the finish, the same thanks to the Creator, the same wave of the hand.

In between Rome and Tokyo, the king of Ethiopia Haile Selassie had made Bikila one of his bodyguards at the palace. Now he could afford luxuries. He could take life easy. But, then, he would not have been the one and only Bikila.

Bikila showed the world that the poorest of nations, the poorest of people could match the very best the world had to offer. Even when exposed to fame and fortune, not once did he fall for the trap. In his own quiet way, he remained ram-rod straight in his love for his Creator, in his pride for his country, in his ideology of Spartan living.

It was because of Ethiopia’s Bikila that the neighbouring African nations of Kenya, Sudan and Morocco began to promote long-distance running in their own territories. Today the domination of African athletes and sportsmen in international meets is all because of one man named Abebe Bikila. Through sheer example Bikla became a champion of the coloured sports athletes of the world.

He uplifted not only a nation; not only a continent; not only a race. He uplifted the dignity of all the coloured people of the universe. Very few men have left behind such a legacy.

Gobor Goho, India’s first-ever  official world champion                                                                        

Although Gama Pehelwan was the first Indian wrestler to be considered a world champion, he could not be officially crowned because at the time in 1910 there was no official wrestling championship for professional wrestlers. That ultimate crown was reserved for Gobor Goho, an almost unknown name in modern India.

Some people do not require prefixes or suffixes. They fly high on their own. They inspire. They mould. They become the vanguard of movements. They do not crave for fame or fortune. In every field of endeavour they exist. They are the karma-yogis who just leave behind a trail for others to follow.

Such a soul was Gobor Goho of Calcutta. He won the world light-heavy weight wrestling championship in 1921. Gobor was a rare wrestler. He combined academics and music with massive physical strength. High on courage and technical skills, he was a prominent name in world wrestling in the 1920s. No opposition was formidable enough for him. No occasion, awe-inspiring. At 6 feet, 2 inches and weighing around 250 pounds, he himself was an imposing figure.

Born Jatindra Charan Goho on 23^rd March 1892 in a wealthy, enlightened background, he did not wrestle for money or for political patronage. His grandfather Ambika was great advocate of physical-culture among the Indian youths, especially belonging to the wealthy families who despised the idea of physical effort.

 Ambika Charan Goho established an ankhara at his north Kolkata residence way back in the 1880s. Later his sons Khetra Charan and Ram Charan (Gobor’s father) carried on the mission. The famous freedom-fighter ‘Bagha’ Jatin and Narendranath Dutta (later Swami Vivekananda) were trainees at the Goho wrestling ankhara.

Young Jatindra was a meritorious student. But unlike his father and uncle, he could not attain the ‘first’ rank in his academic class. His grandfather Ambika Charan lovingly said, “He has gobor (cow-dung) instead of giloo (grey-cells) in his head.” But his grandmother would not take it lying down. “Don’t worry,” she added, “his gobor will be worth more than your giloo.” Thus Jatin became Gobor overnight, as it were. Even such a rude, awkward nickname could not rattle the focus of this karma-yogin.

Khetra  Charan and Ram Charan  realized the young Gobor’s potential and so appointed Khosla Choubey, a famous wrestler, to guide and advise him. Later Gobor came under the tutelage of Rehmani and Khalifa, two famous pehelwans of the period, and took part in wrestling competitions all over India and abroad.

In 1910 Maharaja of Patiala, Bhupendra Singh sent Gama, Imam Baksh, Ahmed Baksh, Gamu and Gobor to Europe. Within days, however, he was forced to return as he had vanished without informing his parents! He was just 17 at the time and his father, although a great patron of wrestling, was extremely annoyed because Gobor had not shown the obedience and discipline expected of him.

That trip saw Gama emerging as the unofficial world champion. This was just the catalyst that young Gobor needed. Inspired by Gama’s magnificent exploits, young Gobor practised hard and diligently in his quest for the crown. In 1913 in UK he annexed the Scottish and the British titles. Following year in Paris he became the European champion.

But the philosopher-wrestler wanted only the world title. In 1921 at San Francisco he finally encountered Adolf Shantel, the world champion. It was a clash of titans, where the champion succumbed to Goho’s skill, speed and stamina.

The international community hailed the new champion of the world light-heavy weight crown. Unlike his famous compatriots, Gobor made many trips abroad and was highly acclaimed for his erudition, patriotism and for his wrestling prowess.

But in India, Gobor Goho’s success was only grudgingly acknowledged. Prejudice and jealousy kept his international eminence submerged. He did not belong to any of the influential akharas. Nor did he depend on any princely patronage. Rather he himself was nicknamed “The Prince” for his bearing and background.

His world championship-winning feat has hardly ever been highlighted in partisan India. In India at the time it was felt that a person hailing from a wealthy background did not deserve to be an eminent wrestler! Even now the sentiment has hardly altered. Gobor Goho, ever the karma-yogin, cared not. He traversed his own path with his head held high.