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.