Phul-da.

In the late 1960s my very close school-mate Bapi and I were regularly at loggerheads with our diametrically opposite political views. He was all for the naxalite movement that had taken grasp. I of course was an ardent admirer of Swami Vivekananda. One day Bapi took me to a person who he claimed would give me a clear perspective of ‘leftist’ ideology.

As it transpired I met a remarkable individual. A liberal mind of immense knowledge and wide orbit. A man of charm and humour. But I am going ahead of my story…

“Raju, Bapi told me you are the captain of the Bengal Schools cricket team. But you do not look like a sportsman at all.” The debonair man put his arm around me.

”Why not?”  I nervously asked.

“You look like a serious student and a monk in the making,” he smiled.

“A monk?” I stood stunned.

His wife, Deepa Chattopadhyay, was a well-known badminton player at the time. I was well aware of her fame and had seen her pictures in The Statesman. She came to my defence, ”Pulu, that’s no way to rag a young 16 year old.”

The handsome man smiled again, “No, no. I wasn’t teasing him. Just a simple statement. Because Bapi had told me his cricketer-friend Raju was a devotee of Swamiji.” This is how the conversation flowed way back in 1966 when I first met Deepa-di and her husband Soumitra Chattopadhyay.

Deepa-di was at the time the champion woman shuttler of Bengal and cine-star Soumitra was the heart-throb of millions. My friend Subrata Mitra (Bapi) was almost a family member through his close association with Deepa-di’s younger sister Bulu. Phulda – as Bapi addressed Soumitra Chattopadhyay and I followed suit – was a charming conversationalist with a wide repertoire of interests. We discussed sports and politics generally, although Krishnanagar, City College, Calcutta University, Satyajit Ray, Apu, Coffee House came for fleeting references.

At the time the glamorous celebrity-couple used to stay on Southern Avenue. Bapi, my classmate at St Xavier’s School, was a vociferous supporter of Marx and Engels. He asked me to join him whenever he visited the Chattopadhyay household. Deepa-di, a vivacious lady with the softest of hearts, was the reigning queen of the badminton court in Bengal. The Lady Brabourne College graduate was forever in my support whenever Phul-da tried to rag me.

The way the couple conversed with us – at least 16 years their junior – and made us feel comfortable in their presence revealed their class and charm. Deepa-di was an admirable hostess while Phul-da was a warm-hearted, humourous raconteur, if ever there was one.

Whenever I met Phul-da at his place, he was always dressed in a long-flowing panjabi and spotless white wide-pajamas, the typical attire of a cultured, intellectual of Bengal. As we progressed into our post-graduation studies in early 1970s, Bapi came under the influence of Charu Mazumdar’s movement as were some of my other friends like Sanjay Basu Ray and Ram Gopal Mitra. Without Bapi around, my association with the wonderful couple gradually dwindled and came to a standstill.

Later in 1979 I went across to their residence, now at Lake Temple Road (previously, Satyajit Ray’s apartment), to invite them to my wedding reception. Deepa-di and Phul-da promised that they would certainly come but they would be very late! When I expressed surprise, Deepa-di settled my doubt, “If he goes on time, Raju, you would face unnecessary problems with security.” Absolutely to the point. No false modesty.

As the wedding reception neared its end, there was no sign of the glamour couple. BK Saha, the then Police Commissioner, had policemen posted at various places. Even his patience was at the end of its tether. He asked,” Do you think Soumitro-babu will really come at this late hour?” I had no doubt at all, “If he has given his word, he will keep it. That’s for sure.” BK Saha – himself an excellent table-tennis player – stayed back till the distinguished couple arrived.

So did my Bengal Ranji Trophy team-mate Srimonto Banerjee. Later bright and witty Srimonto would regale his audience with innumerable ‘manufactured tales’ of the occasion, “Oh! Yes, I had a long and serious conversation with the intellectual couple. After all, my Ramkrishna Mission School and St Xavier’s College background made all the difference!”

Though a fitness fanatic, Phul-da enjoyed the fish mayonnaise and the lobster thermidor. True to form, Deepa-di did justice to the Bijoli Grill preparations. Mr Barick, the proprietor, was thrilled at being highly complimented. 

A week later with wife Seema, I went to their flat to thank them. Seema wore the bangles they had gifted her. Deepa-di was extremely pleased as was Ful-da. They blessed us profusely.

For various reasons we hardly met over the next few years. Except perhaps very casually at some media parties. To me it was always the Ful-da of good old days: warm and affectionate. Once his close buddy Pradip-da (PK Banerjee) was present. It was a delight to see and hear the two friends exuding charm and affection all round. Both were exceptionally knowledgeable and full of humour.

In January 2015 a pleasant surprise awaited us. Seema’s cousin-sister Tanuja flew down from Mumbai to attend a ceremony as the guest of honour to celebrate the 80^th birth anniversary of her close friend Phulu, with whom she enjoyed fabulous chemistry on and off the screen.

Generally Seema spends a lot of time with Tanuja whenever the ever-graceful heroine is in Kolkata. This time too it was no different. Seema and I were invited. We met Tanuja at Oberoi Grand and went together to the function. We were escorted to the ‘green room’ and saw the dashing 80 year old in his inimitable candour.

The regal bearing of the magnificent performer came to the fore. He began with a chat-show with Tanuja, followed by a superlative rendering of Tagore’s poems and finally concluded with a shruti-natya with his daughter. Incomparable in every respect. The ultimate in Bangali Bhadralok culture.

Prior to the show, on seeing me in the ‘green room’, Phul-da’s eyes lit up and he gave that million-dollar smile and clasped my hand with all warmth, “Arey Raju, onek din por. Tomar lekha mon diye pori. Khub bhalo lagey.” It was enough for me, coming from a person for whom I had the highest admiration as a performer and as a person. 

 

Milkha Singh

When Milkha Singh ran, it seemed he ran not only for a country but for a continent. Every Asian from Tokyo to Teheran ran every galloping-stride with him. His popularity was mind-boggling. It is doubtful if any other Asian athlete has matched the mass support of millions that he had around the world, especially from the developing Oriental nations.

From the late-1950s a skinny Sikh sprinter from India held the world athletic followers in thrall. Commonwealth Games (then Empire Games) he dominated. At the Asian championships including the quadrennial Asian Games he was the perpetual champion. Across Europe and United States wherever he competed, the fleet-footed ‘cheetah’ was among the best. Milkha’s hair knotted into a bun gave his presence a distinctive appeal to the international audience.

The slight physique gave the impression that he was not really running but ‘flying’! The sobriquet ‘Flying Sikh’ stuck, very appropriately. Whoever coined the nick-name was absolutely on the spot to describe the frail sardar in running spikes, shorts and sleeveless vest. The image that he created by his graceful flow was a gift to the spectators. Silken smooth approach developed into a momentum of speed. A delight to watch for spectators. In awe and wonder for competitors. His movements and mannerisms revealed a distinct impression of a man with a mission.

Yes, a mission he had. He desired that his nation would be the best. The feline grace of the quarter-miler gave the impression of a speeding gazelle in its natural habitat. A sight for the connoisseurs. His ease of style, his determined look, his non-emotional bearing made him hugely popular all over the world. A slight frame dominating the strong, physically endowed giants had an appeal beyond description. A David among the Goliaths.

In 1958 at Cardiff in Wales at the Commonwealth Games, Milkha Singh left the field far behind to win the gold in the 440 yards. In 1958 yet again this time at Tokyo Asian Games he was the undisputed champion in the 200 metres and 400 metres.  At the end of the season, he won the Helmes Award for the best quarter-miler in the world. He was certainly among the favourites to win the 400 metres at the Rome Olympics in 1960.

When the news filtered in, a shocked silence pervaded the atmosphere. Strange was the feeling: a certain kind of void. People felt morose. As if a close friend or relative had passed away. The disappointment was not only Milkha’s, it was felt all over the country by every Indian. Around the Asian continent too. We all felt sad. Gradually we began to realize the enormity of the issue.

We were so used to Milkha Singh winning that we could not visualize that he could also lose. He was only human, we realized. He was competing against the very best that the world had to offer. He was the representative not only of India, but of the whole continent of Asia as well. Now he was competing not against the best sprinters of one continent, he was competing against the best of five continents. As the magnitude of the achievement seeped into us, we began to admire the magnificent athlete still more.

In much less than a minute our world came to a stand-still. Six best quarter-milers on earth took their positions for the 400 metres sprint at Rome on a day of sunshine with a light breeze. Ideal conditions for outdoor athletics. In a matter of barely 46 seconds all six of them crossed the finishing line. Two of them beat the existing world record and four of them the existing Olympic record. Amazing race, it was.

Later Milkha remembered that he had a splendid start and breezed ahead till 200 metres. “Then suddenly,” quoted by sports researchers Ezekiel and Arumugam, “I slowed down a bit. I thought the pace was very fast and I would fizzle out in the end if I continued at that speed…may be I also took a side-glance…” Why? Why? Why? An answer that will forever remain shrouded in mystery.  No one would ever know, not even Milkha Singh himself. That momentary lapse proved to be the biggest mistake of his life.

Many theories have been cited. But none at all convincing. Typical of our Indian bio-pics, we have even tried to give a ‘filmy’ sob-story to the disastrous moment. ‘Side-glance’ perhaps makes a good story for movie-goers and media publicity. But in the world of real sport no one resorts to a ‘side-glance’ when running a sprint.

Milkha Singh did not give a ‘side-glance’ during the 400 metres sprint. No way. He perhaps made the mistake of slowing down a stride or two before the final burst of speed.  Why can we not accept the truth that a moment’s mistake cost him an Olympic medal?

He returned to his homeland to a hero’s welcome. But he just could not forget the blunder. On a fraction of a second his destiny changed. He missed even the bronze medal by a whisker. Milkha finished just behind the South African Malcolm Spence, whom he had defeated earlier. The mind rankled: nothing would compensate for missing the bronze medal. In fact some athletic experts had predicted before the Rome Olympic Games that Milkha Singh was good enough to get either the gold or the silver on his current form.

If this run left him without even a bronze medal, it was another run that saved his life from marauding murderers. Innocent, hardworking millions suddenly found one night that they had become refugees in their own homeland because of some callous politicians who gave precedence to their own self-interest ahead of genuine public service.

Born in Llyalpur (now Faisalabad in Pakistan) in 1935, he witnessed the murder of his parents and relatives at the time of the Partition of the sub-continent. The young Sikh managed to escape. He just ran and ran. There was no time to think, no time to collect anything, no time to plan. He hid himself under a railway-coach compartment that made its way to India. Or, perhaps, in the ladies toilet of a train, according to another version. His memories of certain incidents are crystal clear. But a lot of it is only a blur. It is not possible for one to remember details when one is desperately trying to save one’s life from assassins.

Milkha’s case was multiplied by millions who had to flee from the newly-declared country of Pakistan. The mass exodus of the population on either extreme of India – Bengal and Punjab – brought forth misery unfathomable. Self-centred political leaders deprived innocent people of their lives, limbs, land and livelihood. Milkha was no exception as a haunted refugee.

In India the young Sikh found refuge in the Indian Army. It was the Indian Army that gave him the opportunity to pursue his fancy: the will to run and to compete with the best. With each passing day, the young jawan of the Indian Army breezed through and breasted the tape way ahead of all others. Army meets he won with ease. National championships he won again with ease. Now international exposure was required. But where would the money come from? Who would help to arrange and organize? Invariably the House of Patiala came to the rescue, as they had done to Indian sports and sportsmen for decades.

What Milkha achieved in his Rome Olympic defeat was much, much more than what he achieved in his innumerable victories. His exploits revealed to the athletic world a glimpse of Asia emerging as a sporting giant. He was an Indian first and an Indian till the last. But he was also Asia’s favourite athlete all along. Very few sportsmen can lay claim to such heights of fame and adoration despite being an Olympic non-medalist.

More than any of his various victories around the world, it was Milkha’s failure to win a medal at Rome in 1960 that gave him immortal fame.  People hardly remember any of his outstanding performances over world-famed sprinters. Ironically, it was his missing an Olympic medal that made him a legend in the eyes of his countrymen!

Doubt if any other sportsman has been eulogized to such an extent for not having won any Olympic honours. Such was the appeal and the mass admiration for this superlative athlete.

 

 

Kishore Bhimani

A wonderful, well-rounded personality. Raconteur extraordinary. Could liven up an evening over a peg with anecdotes on cricketers, especially off-the-field! Lover of good life, Kishore had a graceful and gracious way of writing prose. While his famous contemporary Rajan Bala would concentrate on technicalities, history and superlative turn-of-phrase, Kishore developed his own distinctive style as he wrote on cricket for The Statesman for decades.

Started with Calcutta St Xavier’s and finished his academics with London School of Economics (LSE), his orbit was wide, deep and liberal. Could hold a conversation on any serious topic just as he could come up with light-hearted banter. Outstanding  he was as cricket commentator.

One great quality of his was his ability to accept jokes at his expense. Rajan Bala at times teasingly called him “Beimani” but Kishore would laugh the loudest. Once I had asked him, “Are you the only LSE product to have served time at the Press Box?” Kishore replied,” No, no. There are several others as well from prominent universities.” I told him, ”My emphasis is not on LSE, but on ‘served time’.” You should have heard his laughter. In the Press Box he actually looked a downcast prisoner!  He was not born to be a cricket journalist to warm the benches at the Press enclosure. He was a free-bird who loved to mix and chat with elan. He had a way with celebrities. Yes, he was that kind of a man.

He was a regular at prominent social clubs and extremely popular with his penchant for adda. In the latter days a perpetual presence around the walk-path of CCFC. Charm of manner and speech, he was a man of dignity. Very doting husband to Rita and father to Gautam. A wonderful family.

I wish to remember him for his relaxed manner, easy smile, ready humour. Once I told him,” You are a living ghost! Why do you ‘ghost’ books for cricketers and industrialists?” Kishore furrowed his eyebrows and tried to muffle his smile but it did not last more than a few seconds. He burst out laughing with his gold-tooth glistening, “Raju, you were at least 10 years junior to me in school.” 

That was his way of rebuke to a man he had given the opportunity to write for The Statesman way back in 1980. Extremely generous of him to offer an active cricketer to write at the age of 30. His magnanimity made me the first non-international cricketer to write regular columns in one of India’s leading newspapers.

Kishore celebrated his 80^th birthday last February. Calcutta-media’s sports pages, very typically, decided he died at 74! Surely from the celestial plane Kishore would be enjoying this debate over his date of birth. A life lived in style. A life full of generous banter. A delightful person whom I will never again get to meet.

 

Shankar Laxman

No life is worth living if one does not do something for one’s fellow-men or for one’s own country. In life as in death these rare individuals earn genuine admiration even from their opponents. One such soul happened to be Shankar Laxman.

The name may not ring a bell for many readers. Certainly not the readers’ fault. Shankar Laxman’s exploits were hardly ever highlighted by the media. He never received any worthwhile recognition while he lived. Today years after his death his name is almost forgotten. But if the annals of India’s sports history ever reflects the truth, then the name would reverberate and send ripples around the land.

The diminutive man was a giant between the posts. Short and sturdy, he was a real warrior who wore his Indian army uniform in pride and splendour.  Courage was his middle name as he turned the art of hockey goal-tending to a spectacular display of raw bravery and fortitude. For the Indian army jawan, the rectangular area between the goal-posts and the cross-bar was India territory and he would not allow a single enemy bullet to touch his motherland.

In those days goal-keepers did not wear helmets and chest guards. The short-statured Laxman found the pads unwieldy. Those came beyond his hips and were heavy enough to make a goal-keeper almost immobile. But the jawan from the Services had little time to worry about the size and the weight of his kit. His unflappable concentration revolved around his duty: to guard India’s citadel against every possible invasion. Nothing else mattered to him. With just his hockey stick in one hand and a tattered glove on the other he took charge of India’s honour for close to ten years that covered three Olympic Games.

The first Olympic Games Laxman went to was at Melbourne in 1956. He was the under-study to the best goalie in the world, Raghunandan Francis, who was a vital member of two Olympic gold medal-winning India teams at London in 1948 and Helsinki in 1952. But the team management realized that Laxman was ready to come into the first XI.

On the morning of the final against Pakistan, captain Balbir Singh told the young jawan to get ready to play. Laxman’s Olympic debut was in the final! He did not have the luxury of time for mental preparation. He did not have the comfort-feeling of being ‘nursed’. He did not need such namby-pamby treatment. He was a warrior first and foremost and that’s the reason he was ready for any challenge at any hour of the day or night. To him it mattered not who the opposition was or what the conditions were like. He was a fighter and fighters do not bother about anything but the honour of their motherland.

After a hard-earned win in the final match, the grateful senior players carried the brave, young soldier on their shoulders. He had brought off not ‘saves’ but saved the nation’s citadel time and again against constant onslaughts. Sidelined for the final match, the senior goalie Francis rushed onto the field and embraced his young protégé. Tears flowed as the two generations merged for the cause of the nation. What spirit of patriotism the Indians had those days. With the gold medal around his neck, Shankar Laxman let out a war-cry from the medal-pedestal, “Jai Hind.”

In 1960 at the Rome Olympics, by the extremely high standard the hockey team had placed for themselves, the Indian hockey players were a disappointed lot. They had given their all but a solitary goal defeat in the final against Pakistan rankled. The nation as a whole stoutly defended them for their exemplary skill and valour but the players thought they had let the nation down! Just imagine the bar they had settled for themselves: feeling sad for coming 2^nd in the world! Feeling downcast for winning the silver medal! This was the kind of spirit our hockey team possessed till the 1960s.

Tokyo Olympic was still four years away. But the hockey players refused to rest and relax. They were impatient for revenge. The effort that Laxman put in would put an aspiring, ambitious youngster to shame.  In 1964 again the man beneath the cross-bar was the one and only Laxman.

But in the final, Pakistan, down by an early goal through a penalty-stroke, came back to wreck vengeance on the Indian goal. Attack after attack followed. Any moment the citadel would break down. It was just a matter of time. Munir Dar the magnificent Pakistani striker, among world’s best ever, was threatening to break the neck of every Indian in his vicinity.

 The final match was now no longer a hockey-duel, it had become a battle between two neighbouring nations, India and Pakistan. Eye-ball to eye-ball they fought. No quarters given, none asked for. In the last ten minutes – that’s a long period in a fast sport like hockey – the dark-green shirts were all over the Indian ‘D’. As the final whistle blew, no one had the energy to be on one’s feet. All 22 players were on the ground desperately trying to regain their breath. Hardened, experienced players were all in tears. Some in sorrow; some in joy. But no warrior could find the energy to leave the arena of battle. Both the teams had fought and given their best for their respective motherlands.

Finally Munir Dar rose, walked up to Shankar Laxman, picked him up and embraced, “What were you doing there? Do you realize you could have died from those bullets? Never seen a hockey goal-keeper dive and fly as you did.” Tears streaming, Laxman embraced, “I wanted to die against you on the hockey field ever since that defeat at Rome.” Tears welled up as opponents embraced. Both the teams realized that they had taken part not in a hockey match but in something much more: honour of their motherlands. The spirit of sport was laid bare in profusion. The skills of hockey, no less. There was no disgrace in defeat; no euphoria in victory.

At the victory podium, the Pakistan team requested India skipper Charanjit Singh to allow Laxman to take the gold medal first! Magnanimous captain Charanjit was willing but the Olympic Committee quite rightly pointed out that the formality must be maintained. Laxman followed Charanjit to the medal ceremony. At the end of the match when asked about the loss to India, the Pakistan captain said, “No, today we lost to Shankar Laxman, no one else!” That’s the kind of reverence he earned from hardened opponents.

After serving the country for ten years, finally in 1966 at the Asian Games he was given the captaincy of national hockey team. India regained the championship that they had lost to Pakistan in 1962. The poor man finally received the honour that he deserved.

Born at Mhow in Madhya Pradesh in 1933, he did not have the luxury of attending schools. He spent more time in the poverty-stricken neighbourhood watching seniors at play and trying to copy them with his friends. In time he was lucky someone identified his talent for hockey. After a few years with some informal clubs, the tough youngster was found fit to join the army. The armed forces thankfully encouraged sporting activities and in next to no time Laxman found his métier at hockey. After that there was no stopping the determined boy from the back-streets of Mhow.

The great Dhyan Chand had the highest respect for Laxman, “In 3 successive Olympics, Laxman was beaten just once!  Just once! A miracle-man, indeed. Apart from his amazing courage and undoubted skills, his greatness was that he never tried to be spectacular. His only mission was to save India’s citadel. Nothing else mattered to him. He was a true jawan. Jai Jawan. Jai Hind.”

During an interview in the 1980s, the phenomenal Leslie Claudius once remarked to me, “With Shankar Laxman guarding your goal, you felt confident of victory. The opposition was in awe of this innocent and simple soul. Even at practice sessions he was almost unbeatable. His trademark smile acted as a tonic for all of us. He was much junior to me but delightful company with his rural jokes and pranks.” This aspect of Laxman was totally unheralded and unknown.

After retiring from his favourite sport of hockey at which India dominated as long as he played, Laxman was back to square one. He was born poor and now again he was back to penury. To add to his misfortune, suddenly a small injury flared up to reveal the dreaded disease of gangrene. Despite the awesome pain, the soldier in him soldered on and did not want to tell the world his problems.

The family was not in a position to pay the medical costs. Much later, when the erstwhile Holkar royal family came to know, it was said that Madhav Rao Scindia rushed to his aid with a blank cheque. But by then the doctors had proclaimed that both the legs would have to be amputated from the thighs. The news stunned everyone except the person involved. He heard of the problem but kept his cool. He still looked every inch an army jawan and every inch the best goal-tender in the world. In appearance and spirit he was the same Shankar Laxman.

This poignant moment of his life was related to me by Pranay Mondkar, a genuine sports enthusiast from Mumbai, and I wish to share it with the world.

Scindia was visibly moved. He knew not what to say or do. He understood the plight of the family. He was moved to say, “Sir, we do not want those legs to be amputated. Those two legs of yours have saved hundreds of goals for your country. We must try to save them somehow.”

But Shankar Laxman, ever the warrior, simply shook his head and firmly said, “No. No surgery can save my legs. No amputation can save my spirit. Let me die a warrior’s death at my Kurukshetra. I want to die bleeding.” Only a real warrior can say this. No wonder his middle name was ‘Courageous’.

The history of Indian sport has to be rewritten and these patriots be given their rightful recognition. In a country devoid of genuine sports culture, what can we expect? In a country where crime-stained sportsmen become parliamentarians; where ignorant and arrogant sportsmen hold major posts; where back-stabbing, match-fixing and bribery are passwords for sportsmen; where sport has become a refuge for self-seekers,  who will have the time for Laxman?

What is the value Shankar Laxman’s sacrifice for his motherland? For our own motherland?  Will his soul ever be able to rest in peace?

 

 

Udham Singh

He played in four Olympics, won three gold and one silver medal yet hardly anyone remembers his name! If you do recollect the name of the hockey legend then you are a genuine hockey enthusiast.

In modern India very few hockey administrators or players would be able to identify him or say anything substantial about him. Sport journalists are not known to be very keen on sport history. They have little to do with him because Udham Singh would not resort to falsehood or gimmicks for self-publicity.

Udham Singh – unparalleled in skill and stamina – is said to have lived and died with his boots on and his hockey stick in hand. People who followed the trail of Indian hockey after independence remember this name because it seemed to be in every possible Indian team from the late 1940s. Wherever India went and won gold medals, Udham Singh’s name was bound to be present.

 For 15 long years, between 1949 and 1964, he was an indispensable member of the Indian hockey team when all-conquering India was feared by every nation in the world. No other Indian hockey legend, not even Richard Allen (3 Olympics), Dhyan Chand (3 Olympics) and Leslie Claudius (4 Olympics) wore the Indian jersey as long as Udham Singh did.

While sportspersons with a sole Olympic appearance develop a jaunty gait, it is mind boggling to note that Udham actually participated in four Olympic Games: Helsinki in 1952, Melbourne in 1956, Rome in 1960 and Tokyo in 1964. According to conscientious sport researcher K Wadhwaney, “Udham Singh would also have been considered for the London Olympics in 1948 if he had not broken a finger in the trials at Bombay just prior to the team selection.”  That would have meant five Olympics and five medals. Mind boggling, to say the least.

Udham took the disappointment with a shrug of his broad shoulders. Even as a teenager he had the temperament and the maturity to realize that life was a perpetual struggle of many ups and downs. He concentrated on the domestic hockey scene. Next year he was in the Indian team to play ‘friendlies’ against Afghanistan. And from thereon in 1949 the juggernaut of Udham Singh continued…

Players who have been to just one or two Olympics are feted with awards and funds. Even players who have not done anything worthwhile are recipients of various national awards and influential posts. Yet this man who has won four Olympic medals, yes four, is a forgotten name in his own country.

Udham Singh won Olympic gold medals at Helsinki in 1952, at Melbourne in 1956 and at Tokyo in 1964. In between from Rome in 1960 he returned with furrowed eyes and in deep frustration with the silver medal, “We all felt like committing suicide. But then we told ourselves that we must avenge this defeat in the next Olympic. Through hard work and honest effort, we achieved that at Tokyo in 1964.” The ‘spirit of sport’ exemplified in the simplest of terms. That’s the magic of Udham Singh: straight and simple.

Nimble and fleet-footed Udham Singh was exemplary with his body feints and skilful dribble. As the left -inside in a combination of five-forwards, he was pivot who made life easy for the strikers. His exceptional ability with the stick held addicts spellbound. He was a master of his craft. He was the play-maker, the architect who created openings for the legendary Balbir Singh and other strikers to score.

He never got the publicity that many of his other deserving peers got. He did not have the flash of glamour. He was the quiet operator who thrived on his skills. His distribution of passes and deft placements drew repeated applause from all around. He would do the difficult job of wriggling through the opposition defence and then unselfishly pass to a fellow player who was unmarked or better placed.

Born at Sansarpur in Punjab in 1928 he grew up in an environment of hockey. Top-quality hockey players used to come from Sansarpur and still do so. Very rightly Sansarpur is known as the nursery of Indian hockey. Udham’s great quality was that he was a quiet learner, extremely hard-working, very bright and a man of equable temperament. He did not believe in fixed practice hours. He would go on and on…’till the cows came home’.

Off the field he was extremely popular with all age groups. He had an easy charm which attracted attention.  Possessed a fantastic sense of humour. Not shy of being the butt of his own jokes. His ever-helpful approach to life endeared him to every player who played with or against him. ‘Udhi Paaji’ was the person to go to for any problems.

A vital member of the Indian senior teams from 1949, he was once selected by some jokers in IHF to lead the junior Indian team to a youth hockey festival at Warsaw in 1955! “What is a man of 27 doing with teenagers?” asked some foreign reporter. Flashing his endearing smile, Udham reasoned in his inimitable Punjabi wit, “I too played with 27 year-olds when I was 19!”

Udham never led India in any official tournament. His only scope of India captaincy was on the ‘friendly’ East Africa tour in 1959. It appeared that he was officially the permanent vice-captain! Perennial deputy to players even ten years his junior. Nothing seemed to bother him. Thoroughly relaxed he would be no matter the situation, opposition and conditions. He played in different climes all over the world earning compliments for his wonderful skills and co-operative manner. Never once did he lose his temper on or off the field.

In 1965 the Indian Hockey Federation and the Government of India woke up to find that although many youngsters were given the Arjuna award for hockey, the name of Udham Singh was missing from the list! He became an awardee that year. But little did it matter to him. He deserved a much higher award.

How can you equate a man with 4 Olympic medals with men who have barely won one? Unperturbed, Udhi, as he was popularly known, remained attached to hockey by helping the youngsters of his native State, Punjab, and of his alma mater DAV College, Jallandhar.

The magical contribution of Udham Singh continued even after his retirement from active hockey. “From his stable,” according to Wadhwaney,” appeared top-quality players like Ajitpal Singh, Harmeek Singh, Surjit Singh and others.” Numerous players have credited him with guidance when they were young as well as when they had matured. He himself, however, never claimed any credit.

 But, sad to relate, Udham Singh’s name got relegated to the footnotes of India’s hockey history. He died in 2000 at his favourite hometown of Sansarpur in 2000 at the age of 72.

At a time when non-medalist Olympians are being felicitated, it is a shame that we have conveniently forgotten one of our genuine heroes. Like Leslie Claudius, Udham Singh happens to be the only Indian hockey player with 4 Olympic medals, three gold medals and one silver. No other Indian hockey player has served the nation for as long as he did. No less than 15 years.

But then in Indian sport who cares for genuine gold? We are more engrossed with the gloss of artificial jewellery. That’s the real picture of Indian sport

 

Chetan Chauhan

The bumper struck him on the jaw. Hospitalized, the army man’s son pleaded with the doctor to allow him to go back to the ground. Then he pleaded with his North Zone captain Bedi to allow him to resume his innings!

Jaw wired and mouth capable of sipping only, the brave warrior of Pune, now with Delhi, came out to face the wrath of his erstwhile colleagues of West Zone. Through sheer tenacity he completed his century and booked his ticket for Australia and New Zealand later in 1978-79. This was the start of his 2^nd essay as an India opener.

Chetan had a poor start to his Test career. He was one of the many tried by Vijay Merchant’s selection committee in 1969 at home. Apart from Vishwanath, all fell by the road-side, including Chetan. Then it was the usual grind of domestic first-class cricket. Chetan, unlike most, did not look around for excuses nor gave long discourses on motivation. He concentrated on his batting and reeled off prolific figures. The courageous century against North Zone forced the selectorial nod.

His second service to the country was exemplary as he consistently gave solid support to Gavaskar, Viswanath, Amarnath and Vengsarkar. But his exit after a successful tour of Australia in 1981 raised eyebrows. Why was he omitted is anybody’s guess, unless it was because he was considered too old at 34. Unfortunately his replacements were nowhere in comparison: neither in ability, nor in guts.

If Chetan Chauhan was a dour batman at the crease with a grim mien, off the field I would remember him as a man with a peculiar sense of light-hearted humour. He was excellent company as he knew how to converse. He had wit, he had depth and he had a wide orbit of subjects to fall back on. I remember him telling us once, “Well, Sunil is my junior partner, you know.”

Once he told me, “Raju bhai, I caught you once. Don’t do anything awkward, I will catch you again!”The reference was to the fact he had caught me in the Bengal-Maharashtra Ranji match way back in 1973.

He had this strange way of relating issues. Always laughingly maintained, “My job is to get a century partnership and not to score a century myself!” A clear reference that he never got a Test century himself although with Sunil Gavaskar he had numerous century partnerships.

Chetan had very few positive strokes. His method was generally defensive. But he would be very categorical with critics, “Let me play my way. You play your way.” It was like the philosopher-cricketer CB Fry saying that one needs just one stroke which one can play all round the wicket.

His first scoring stroke in Test cricket was a six off Caiirns. When asked how was it that he who would treat every ball as a striking viper, hit the ball for a six to begin his Test career.  Chetan is believed to have said, “I did not hit the ball. The ball hit my bat and went over the boundary! In fact when I tried to hook a ball for a six, I got caught at the long leg fence.”

Began his career as a batsman for Maharashtra and did consistently well. But at the international stage he was a failure in the early days. Later shifted to Delhi and from the 1979 tour of Australia under Bishen Bedi he found his métier. Was a splendid partner to SMG in many a battle.

After retirement he was a very prominent face in cricket circles as national selector, as cricket manager and generally as a very helpful administrator. On the ‘Harbhajan-Symonds issue’, as the manager he did not let the Aussies get away. He stood firm, a legacy of his army-man father.

Became a parliamentarian with BJP in 1991. He did not join for any career advancement, as is the recent trend. He was always a firm believer in Shyama Prasad and Vajpayee’s ideals. Even in his political career he showed exemplary courage and perseverance, for which he was so well known in cricket circles. Liberal-minded, he was beyond meanness and greed.

Last time I met him was during an IPL match in 2013 at Feroze Shah Kotla ground in New Delhi. When I told him about a certain facility that was not attended to as promised, Chetan smiled, “Raju bhai, Delhi will always be Delhi. Everyone will promise “koi baat nei, ho jayega” but nothing will be done. However, you need not worry, we shall arrange things in such a manner that you would be satisfied before the match starts.” He kept his word.

Chetan Chauhan will be remembered as an honest, determined soul with no frills. A very gutsy man who did not take things lying down. Independent and confident, he never tried to befriend or influence the media. A knowledgeable man full of wit and reason. Even up there, he will not rest. He will do something worthwhile to keep himself busy. Marvellous soul.

 

 

     

 MS Dhoni , an extract from my latest book Cricket India: Tales Untold

In 2004 the BCCI began a system by which young talented cricketers around the country would be identified and short-listed for further training. The idea germinated from the fertile brain of Makarand Waingankar, the highly conscientious freelance journalist from Mumbai.

Former senior first-class cricketers PC Poddar and I travelled to Jamshedpur to watch the players in action in the one-day senior inter-state championship in January 2004.

At the end of the first day’s match, while discussing cricket, Poddar blurted out, “Today I saw a man hitting the ball with awesome power. Never before have I seen anybody with such immense power in his strokes.” Coming from a man of Poddar’s deep knowledge and wide experience, I was extremely keen to have a good look. Poddar added, “Tomorrow you would be watching the Bihar match. Have a good look at the opener with long hair.”

 Next morning, as I alighted from the taxi near the Keenan Stadium pavilion gate, I found a motor-cycle screech to a halt a few metres away. A well-built lad in his mid-20s wearing a tight t-shirt and denims parked his vehicle. Instantly two pariah dogs came towards him and he brought out some biscuits from his pocket to feed them. The speeding bike, the long flowing hair style, the bulging biceps all mitigated against the sensitive care that he took to show his affection for the road-side canines.

When I asked the Bihar coach if he was the opener who hit the ball very hard, he  replied, “In my Bihar team everybody hits the ball hard. But this boy from Ranchi is an exceptionally hard hitter. He is actually a wicket-keeper/batsman, playing first-class cricket for about 4 years. No one has ever taken any notice of him yet. Why are you so keen to know about him?” By the end of the day, when he had scored just about 40 odd, I realized that I had seen an uncut diamond.

That evening both Poddar and I exchanged notes. We decided to send our report to the chief Talent Resource Development Officer (TRDO), Dilip Vengsarkar, specially mentioning the batting ability and the exceptional power of the young man’s strokes. As it transpired, the responsible people at the BCCI took serious note of the report and the career graph of a young talent from a neglected corner of India took an upward curve.

By the end of the very year – 2004 – MS Dhoni was playing for India and had done enough to cement his place. Other wicket-keepers, who hailed from favoured provinces and were being played in the national team by turns and on whims, were now vying for the reserve stumper’s post. A new star had risen on the horizon.

Dhoni’s career graph is a unique case in Indian cricket. Hailing from a family of very modest financial background, he had little option but to accept whatever job came his way. The Indian Railways gave him a job based at Kharagpur at the border of Bengal and Orissa but, true to tradition, decided that a man from the eastern region would not be good enough for the all-India Railways cricket team!

Since Dhoni was based at Kharagpur, which happens to be in West Bengal, he was very much qualified to represent Bengal in national championships. Where were the Bengal selectors – all former test and first-class cricketers – at the time? Their job was to select the best of talent residing in Bengal. Were they doing their job?

He kept his ears and eyes open in the India dressing room to observe what Tendulkar and Dravid were doing to prepare themselves for the battles ahead. Off the field, his cool and composed personality was the just right ingredient required for a person craving to learn the ways of the world.

During an IPL match, as match referee I requested the Chennai Super King skipper Dhoni to call very loudly at the toss because the extremely high decibel music from the stands could plug one’s ears. Dhoni, true to his impeccable manners, said, “Do not worry, sir. I will call ‘tails’.” He was, it goes without saying, true to his promise.

Reams have been devoted to his exceptional abilities. I shall not repeat those to bore my readers. But I would like to relate that never before have we had a leader in India as exemplary as the man from Ranchi. He led India to the inaugural T20 world cup trophy with all the top names dropping out of the team for one reason or other! A young set of keen lads helped the relaxed captain to bring off one victory after another.

 Before leading India, did MS Dhoni ever lead a cricket team?  Perhaps his school team. But, even then, I doubt it. Because he was first and foremost a football goalkeeper. It was only when his school coach, Keshav Ranjan Banerjee, asked him to become the school keeper, did he pick up the wicket-keeping gloves. Surely you do not give the captaincy to a replacement player? Dhoni had no experience of captaincy; no grooming at all. It seemed he did not need any. Players instinctively followed him for his sterling qualities of character. A distinct sign of a born, natural leader of men.

With not a single god-father, the magnificent man went on lead India to all sorts of trophies. No other Indian captain has been able to match his statistical highlights. In fact, has any other captain from any country been able to hold all the three trophies at the same time?

Despite such magnificent achievements, the cool and composed man still remains as modest and accessible as he was nearly two decades back when he was making his debut in first-class cricket for Bihar. Far from stooping to gamesmanship, he was the epitome of the ‘spirit of cricket’ concept. His classic calling back of Ian Bell in England will forever remain a great lesson in sportsmanship. He even allowed a re-toss after having won the first toss in a world cup final. A sage, no less.

Never took advantage of his position. He could have promoted players of his choice or his State but never did. He respected the selectors and allowed them to do their job. Never got involved with any publicity stunts. Never bothered to get into conflicts and controversies. Detested sledging and avoided verbal duels. Never resorted to any kind of one-upmanship. He was and still remains a champion in the truest sense of the word.

His persona was and still is such that people consider him to be the leader, whether he is leading the team or not. He gave up his Test position so that Wriddhiman Saha could come in. He did it in style and in isolation. Did not create any hullaballoo about it. How many men, dear reader, you know who has given up the India captaincy voluntarily without any pressure? None till Dhoni showed us the way. A neglected man from an obscure corner showed the so-called educated Indians what actual magnanimity was all about. It was only because of his generosity that the crown prince Virat Kohli could be gradually groomed for the leadership seat.

It is to the great credit of Virat Kohli that he has shown the highest possible respect to his benefactor. In the dressing room, Dhoni in his quiet and low-profile manner is still a great influence on other cricketers. Just as chief coach Ravi Shastri and the captain Kohli readily admit Dhoni’s reassuring presence, every young player makes a beeline for his guidance.

After being out of the captaincy throne, no other India captain has earned the respect and affection of his peers as Dhoni has. This shows the man’s actual worth. Even when not in the any seat of power his considerable aura pervades every nook and corner of Indian cricket. People from all walks of life revere the man for what he is. The media flocks to him. The sponsors crowd around him. Powerful politicians want to shake hands with him. Film stars have been known to be photographed with him. He does not, and never did, go out to seek publicity or power; fame or fortune. Everything comes to him because he deserves it.

When not actively involved with the national team, Dhoni still finds the time to be with his Jharkhand players at the ground. He does not need any official appellation, but he becomes everyone’s mentor. His accessibility, his easy manner, his ready smile are not artificial at all. Spontaneous, modest, sincere, honest that is what he was and, thankfully, still remains so.

No fiction writer would ever have conceived the rise and rise of Dhoni to fame and fortune. He was nowhere on the radar in early 2004 before two talent spotters strongly recommended his name to their chief. Thankfully the India ‘A’ selectors had a close look and realized his potential.

Without wasting time they put the 23-year old, as the reserve wicket-keeper, on the plane to Kenya and Zimbabwe with the India ‘A’ team in mid 2004. With the main wicket-keeper Dinesh Kartik ‘called’ to England with the India ODI team, the reserve wicket-keeper of India ‘A’ got the scope to exhibit his potential.

By the end of the year the name of MS Dhoni was an obvious choice for the national team heading for Bangladesh. A man, who was ignored by all concerned people for four years, suddenly became the cynosure of all eyes within four months!

Which fiction writer would dare to pen such lines? No wonder it is said that truth is stranger than fiction.

 

 

Balbir Singh

After the Berlin Olympiad in 1936 the following quadrennial Olympic championship could not be held in 1940. Nor in 1944. The 2^nd world war had turned the world topsy-turvy. 

India had won the hockey gold medal at Amsterdam in 1928, followed by Los Angeles in 1932 and the last one in 1936 at Berlin. Obviously India was considered by the other nations as the ‘favourite’ to retain the hockey gold medal. But in India there were grave doubts about the quality of the team that would go to London to defend the title.

After the partition of India, many prominent players from the Muslim community had opted to settle in Pakistan. Numerous outstanding talents from among the Anglo-Indians migrated to foreign lands. These hockey players were the nucleus of the three previous gold medal-winning teams.

During the war years, although hockey championships were held in India at the domestic level, were we able to unearth top-quality players? Would they be able to uphold the legacy of Dhyan Chand and company at the highest international level? How will they be able to take the strain without adequate international exposure?

The anxiety was genuine. All the new players bound for London would be debutants at the international stage. Will the young, inexperienced men be able to take the pressure of winning on foreign soil? Do they possess the skills we were famous for? Will they be able to withstand the pressure of being the defending champions?

At the end of the London Olympics, every hockey follower heaved a sigh of relief. New heroes emerged almost overnight. Young men of almost no international experience revealed that they did not lack the magnificent skills or the tough mentality of their predecessors.

Skipper Kishen Lal was magnificent on and off the field. The brilliant KD Singh ‘Babu’ was an inspiration with his stick-work and distribution. Young Leslie Claudius gave every hope of becoming a future ‘great’. Leo Pinto with his huge pads was a perpetual stumbling-block. And one young Sardar made the world sit up and take notice. He was Balbir Singh, an inspector of Punjab Police.

Fortunately for India a man of formidable presence went as the joint-manager of the team, Pankaj Gupta. Gupta in close confidence with his skipper Kishen Lal planted the concept of ‘one nation, one aim’ among the players as he had done earlier with Dhyan Chand’s men. They chopped and changed the team depending upon situations. But more so to give every youngster the opportunity to experience the international sphere. Ultimately India’s worry was over as skipper Kishen Lal, KD Singh ‘Babu’ and their mates went up to receive the gold medals round their necks.

The magnificent centre-forward Balbir Singh began with 6 goals in the first match only to find that he was sidelined for the next two matches! The reason was that Gupta did not want to expose his trump card to the opponents. Balbir was brought back for the final, scored two more goals and finished the championship with 8 goals in just 2 matches. A hero was born.

The other forwards were no push-overs. Later Pankaj Gupta once recounted, “In the 3 matches that Balbir did not play, our other forwards scored no less than 12 goals. We played as a team called ‘India’. We helped one another to succeed. We did not think of personal considerations. Our trump-card Balbir did his duty for the nation as did everybody else.”

In the 1952 Olympic Games at Helsinki again India was at the top. Balbir Singh was superlative, as always. His stick-work, his body feints, his final ‘finishing’ all had the ‘cobra strike-symbol’ in action. He was a general on the field: perpetually encouraging and attacking, always dangerous, fatal as a finisher. A magnificent specimen of a hockey player. An ideal man to take over the crown that Dhyan Chand had worn.

At Helsinki in 1952, India hardly played 3 matches to reach the final. Every match was a knock-out fixture. There was no question of anyone being ‘nursed’ or someone else being ‘rested’ as had happened at London in 1948. Here again the combination of skipper KD Singh Babu and the world-class striker Balbir Singh had the oppositions in no end of anxiety.

In 1952 at Helsinki yet again the magic of Balbir Singh continued. He proved again and again that he had no parallel as far as goal-scoring ability was concerned. He was by far the best in the world. Warmed up against Austria with a goal and then against Britain repeated his 1948 hat-trick. As if this was not enough, in the final Holland could not withstand India’s blitzkrieg as Balbir scored 5 of the 6 goals.

Now came 1956. Melbourne Olympics was a stunner with a huge stadium to beckon one and all. This time Balbir was the captain of the team.  In the first match Balbir sounded the board 5 times. But a very serious injury to his hand kept him away from the next two matches. Came back against Germany in the semis with pain-killers and again scored the match-winner. In the final, a close encounter with Pakistan gave India the gold medal through a penalty corner conversion by Randhir Singh Gentle.

Balbir Singh retired from active hockey on his return. He joined the Punjab Government bureaucracy and did outstanding work as the Director of Sports. His splendid service to the nation resulted in being awarded the Padma Shree award in 1957. His sterling inspiration helped the State of Punjab to promote sports and encourage sportspeople.

The great patronage of the House of Patiala from the early 20th century continued with the active encouragement of the government of Punjab. The triple gold medalist in three Olympic Games – like Dhyan Chand and Richard Allen earlier – authored an excellent book The Golden Hat-trick: My Hockey Days.

Balbir was born in 1923. As a youngster he revealed exceptional prowess at hockey. After finishing his college studies at Lahore, where he met his future wife, Balbir went across to Amritsar to train under Harbail Singh. His reputation grew as his college and club teams prospered. The exploits of the India team in the pre-war Olympic Games held him in awe. He was inspired by the magical stick-work and the finishing touches of Dhyan Chand and Roop Singh.

The handsome Sikh was a strong man physically and mentally. Once, as a teenager, it is said that the Punjab Police threatened him of arrest unless he played for them! When no response was coming from Balbir, the Inspector General of Punjab Police John Bennet had him hand-cuffed and brought to Jalandhar, “If you do not join Punjab Police, you will be arrested right now! Now decide your future.”

Thankfully Balbir realized that discretion was the better option than valor and did not go into the pros and cons. From all angles, the forcible recruitment appears to be an extremely praiseworthy move on the part of the inspector-general!

During the partition days Balbir was based at Lahore and was at the heart of the violence. Two great stalwarts of Pakistan hockey team – Shahruk and AS Dara – helped Balbir and his wife to cross the border without any problems. The great rivalry on the field actually gives rise to great friendship off it. This is a stirring example of camaraderie between the hockey players of India and Pakistan.

In 2014 he was conferred with the Major Dhyan Chand Lifetime Achievement Award by Hockey India. Settled in Canada, he kept travelling back to his Chandigarh residence. Last week of May 2020, he breathed his last at the age of 96. A wonderful person; among the greatest of players; and an able administrator. A treasure to cherish.

 

 

Anglo-Indians in Hockey                                                                                        

When India decided to send her hockey team to the Amsterdam Olympic in 1928, Great Britain the defending champion withdrew their team! It seemed that Great Britain was afraid of their prized-colony beating the master at the latter’s own game.

Prior to 1928, twice the hockey event was held at the Olympic Games, first in 1908 at London and then at Antwerp in 1920. Both the times GB was the winner. It was indeed surprising to find the defending champion GB withdrawing at India’s participation. Was it a political defeat at the time of India’s nationalist movement? Strange are the ways of politicians around the world.

In 1928 at Amsterdam in Holland, debutant India won all her five matches by convincing margins. While Dhyan Chand and company were doing wonders up ahead, the citadel was in the safe custody of the Anglo-Indian community.

Apart from Dhyan Chand the core of the team were all from the highly versatile Anglo-Indian community. According to David Wallechinsky, the authority on Olympic history, out of 14 members there were no less than nine Anglo-Indians from Bengal, Punjab, Central Provinces and United Provinces in the gold-winning combination: Eric Penniger (deputy captain), Richard Allen, Michael Rocque, Leslie Hammond, William Cullen, Rex Norris, Maurice Gateley, George Marthins and Frederic Seaman.

The tough and talented team of diverse backgrounds showed the world what fortitude meant. Not even one goal was scored against India in five matches! Wizard Dhyan Chand’s men scored 29 goals.

The outstanding goalkeeper from Calcutta, young and fearless Richard Allen began the trend of attack from the goal-line itself. The strong, swarthy man was a stumbling block which no power in the world could penetrate.

Eric Penniger of Punjab was the link between the defence and the offence. He was a master in the area of distribution. Matured and a natural leader, Penninger wore the mantle of deputy-captain with dignity and pride. Central Provinces’ Rex Norris was the pivot in the mid-field. He was an outstanding play-maker with all-round skills. An excellent game-analyst, he was a born mentor of players.

Thankfully the India hockey team to Amsterdam in 1928 combined very well and began a tradition of unity in diversity. A lot of credit should go to the manager AB Rosser, an Anglo-Indian from Bengal who was firm yet friendly and totally unbiased. He stamped his authority in no uncertain manner and skipper, the highly-connected Jaipal Singh, had to leave the team during the course of the tournament.

In the following Olympic in 1932 at Los Angeles, there were eight Anglo-Indians in the Indian Olympic squad. Carlyle Tapsell, Frank Brewin, Richard Carr, William Sullivan and Arthur HInd joined the experienced Allen, Hammond and Penniger. The very knowledgeable, mid-field exponent Rex Norris was no longer around. Up ahead, Dhyan Chand’s younger brother, the brilliant Roop Singh was an automatic choice.

Again Dhyan Chad was not given the captaincy. The curse of ‘royalty to lead’ remained. Surprisingly Eric Penniger, who was the deputy captain at Amsterdam four years ago and was being thought of as the ideal person to lead the team, was eased out. An average player of influential background Lal Shah Bokhari arrived from UK and was asked to lead!

In his first Olympic in 1932, an Anglo-Indian from Calcutta Carlyle Tapsell gave the world a notice of his class and composure. He was simply superb in his defensive role. India let in just two goals at Los Angeles in 1932, while scoring 35 in 2 matches. The man guarding the goal happened to be the one and only Richard Allen. He exuded confidence and inspired his mates from his goal-line with constant encouragement.

At the Berlin Olympics in 1936 the candidature of Dhyan Chand as the captain could no longer be suppressed. In any case he was the undisputed leader of the team since 1928, but now he also became the formal captain. With Roop Singh around there was little reason to worry about the attack.

In defence, the presence of Tapsell once again gave one the reassurance of old. This time too there were eight Anglo-Indians serving India: Allen, Tapsell, Earnest Cullen, Joseph Phillip, Paul Fernandes, Lionel Emmett, Cyril Michie and Joseph Galibardy.

And of course guarding the citadel with pads on was the master, Richard Allen. Along with Dhyan Chand, Allen held a permanent place in the India Olympic teams from 1928 to 1936 (3 Olympics). Unfortunately the legendary Allen has not been remembered in India today. No one has the time and the inclination to worry about a sportsman who won 3 gold medals for India at the Olympics!

First heard about the grand performances of Allen and Tapsell from my father in the late 1950s. Later in 1967 from our school games-master at St Xavier's, James Brown, the former goalie with Calcutta’s BN Railway (now South Eastern Railway). He missed the India colours only because of the perennial presence of the great Shankar Laxman.

At a time when we in India are bending backwards trying to highlight the non-medalists as well as mere participants at Olympic Games, we have little interest in the exploits of men who brought glory to the nation in the Olympic Games in the past.

Apart from the immortal and legendary Leslie Claudius, no other Anglo-Indian hockey player has been shown an iota of the gratitude that he deserved. The exceptional Claudius – a product of post-independent India – with three gold and one silver medals in four Olympic Games is an all-time role model for any sportsman of any sports discipline. He was too important to be ignored.

But what about the rest from the Anglo-Indian community of the pre-independence era? Penniger, Hammond and Tapsell have won two gold medals each for India in two outings. Richard Allen improved on that to get three gold medals in three Games. Yet how many of our country’s youth have been told of their contribution to the national cause?

The Anglo-Indians played hockey not for money. Their progeny are not asking for financial assistance. Not even bothered about awards and recognition.

The Anglo-Indian community in India displayed superlative hockey skills and established India’s credentials as world champions.If we have any sense of gratitude, then it is our obligation to acknowledge their contribution. By honouring them today, we would merely be rectifying a wrong done and continued for so many decades.

Why can we not give them some kind of recognition in posterity? Why do we not rewrite our sports history by acknowledging that the Anglo-Indians helped to make India the world hockey champions? Who is stopping us from spilling out the truth? Why are we dishonest to our own selves? What have we gained by not heralding the glorious achievements of these champion athletes?

So low is our self-esteem that today we like to glorify sportsmen who are mired in controversies; we eulogize sportsmen who are lackeys of political parties and we love to honour those sportspeople who are close to the seats of power and influence.

This happens to be the sports culture of modern India. Shall we live to see a turnaround?

Pankaj Gupta with Nazi minister Goebbels at Berlin in 1936

Pankaj Gupta, the mercurial sports ambassador.                              

While there is a long tradition in India of doling out sports-team managership to sycophants and stooges, it is worth relating that  we actually possessed a manager who was rated very highly by no less a discerning persona than Sir Donald Bradman in his book Farewell to Cricket. Sir Don christened him ‘Peter’ out of respect for the man’s personality and prowess.

While in Australia with the India team in1947-48, Pankaj Gupta was at the peak of his eventful career as a sports administrator. When Sir Don was making mincemeat of the Indian bowling, the Aussie media became very critical of Bradman for his ruthlessness. But Gupta, the proud manager, would have none of it. He and his captain Lala Amarnath categorically stated that India had come to play Australia on equal terms and expected no condescending treatment.

Pankaj Gupta holds a unique place in India’s sports history. Thrice he went to the Olympics as a hockey-official but never as the prime manager! In 1932 he went to Los Angeles Olympics as the non-playing captain. In 1936 to Berlin as assistant manager. In the next Olympic at London in 1948 as 2^nd official. In all three Olympics India won the gold medal. If he was not a playing member, why was he sent at all? Why was he so desperately needed between 1932 and 1948?

There were many aspirants to the manager’s role. People who stayed in close proximity to the powers-that-be in expectation of favours. As is the typical Indian administrative system, these ‘favoured’ individuals were designated as ‘manager’ to keep the various member-State associations happy. Most managers did and still do go for a vacation and have fun.

But the IOA President, Maharaja of Patiala Yadavendra  Singh – pioneer and primary patron of Indian sport – well knew that India needed a man of Pankaj Gupta’s personality and knowledge to uphold the country’s self-respect and the team’s interest. Although Gupta was not ‘close’ to any of the influential royals, he was considered indispensable to India’s success. That is the kind of reputation he had.

As an official of the touring India hockey teams during their glory years in the 1930s and 1940s, Gupta was a father-figure to Dhyan Chand, Roop Singh, Allen, Tapsell, Jaffer, Claudius and company. He earned everyone’s – Muslims, Christians, Hindus, Sikhs and all others – respect for his transparency, generosity, complete lack of bias and no less for his knowledge of sports and sportsmen. He was a master in man-management. Supreme as a mentor he was, as the maestro Dhyan Chand always acknowledged.

Before 1947 India, played in the Olympics not as an independent nation, but as a British colony. Gupta motivated every player to consider himself a freedom-fighter battling for the cause of independent India. Dhyan Chand, no less, considered Pankaj Gupta to be his patron-saint.

Dhyan Chand’s bonding with Gupta went far beyond the confines of the hockey ground. He would seek blessings on Guru Purnima. Whenever Dhyan Chand came to play at Calcutta, he would stay at Gupta’s residence. So close was he that it is believed Gupta became the ‘ghost’ who assisted Dhyan Chand to pen his autobiography Goal.

Gupta could write and speak as the best. Courageous and forthright, the energetic man earned universal acclaim. His after-dinner speeches – a most essential formality of those grand old days – could be bold and witty; courteous and commanding. At technical committee meetings his was always a commanding presence. No Indian team was taken for granted when mercurial Peter Gupta was at the helm.

The highly respected sports journalist of yesteryears, Sunil Bose was Pankaj Gupta’s junior colleague at Amrita Bazar Patrika in Calcutta. Gupta was the sports editor for 20 years at a time when the newspaper was associated with India’s freedom struggle. Sunil Bose, himself a State-ranked badminton player, related an amazing incident involving Pankaj Gupta and Nazi Germany.

 In 1936 when the Indian hockey team was at Berlin for the Olympics, assistant manager Pankaj Gupta rushed onto the road and forced Joseph Goebbels, the German Propaganda Minister, to stop his motorcade! The Nazi guards were taken aback. Before they could react, Gupta calmly walked up to the minister, shook hands with him and wished him on behalf of India as the common enemy of Great Britain!

No situation daunted him. No personality overwhelmed him. He was a self-made man with a passion for sport. His oratory gave India a shining image. His diplomacy made India a treasured friend. His passion for sports left him with no time for politicking. And so after almost of two decades of rare excellence, he became a victim at the hands of people he had helped to establish.

Gupta, as the manager of the Indian cricket team to England in 1952, selected Vinoo Mankad, who was omitted by the national selectors from the touring squad, to play the 2^nd Test at Lord’s! Mankad went on to display one of the greatest-ever individual all-round performances in the history of cricket. The match came to be known as ‘Mankad’s Test’. This incident itself is a fascinating story to relate. Another time. Another day.

Without the intervention of the mercurial manager Pankaj Gupta, Vinoo Mankad – among the greatest all-rounders in the world – would not have played the Test and it is highly doubtful whether he would ever have played for India again.

This was Gupta at his best. Once convinced, he would anything for India’s prestige. He had no time for personal gain or for personal fame. No selfish motive ever clouded his judgement. His mission was to uphold India’s image high in the international sports arena. A role he played with great distinction both at hockey as well as at cricket. Not for no reason the selfless Maharaja of Patiala chose Pankaj Gupta to be with the Indian contingent, particularly hockey. The magnificent administrator Patiala knew his man.

I saw Pankaj Gupta just once, in 1969. He was the chief guest at a function organized by Mohun Bagan Athletic Club to honour the players from its various disciplines for winning all the local trophies. Pankaj Gupta spoke for hardly five minutes. He lambasted the club officials for organizing such lavish functions instead of utilizing the money to provide more facilities to junior players. Even as a teenager, I could feel the integrity and the commitment inherent in him. 

Surprisingly for an Indian sports administrator, he was far, far above provincial or communal bias. He had no time for ‘favourites’. Media people with shallow ideas and statistical obsession often misunderstood him. But little did he care. None ever dared to confront him. No time he had for the influential. Nor would he suffer fools. He carved a distinct niche for himself.

While he earned wide respect from all his players, in India many influential sports administrators despised him but none found the courage to confront him. He became very popular among the sportspeople in India for his brave and unbiased approach. The Indian sports media however never gave him his rightful due.

Once a sports journalist asked him about the omission of a certain player from some matches at the London Olympics in1948. Point-blank Pankaj Gupta raised his eye-brows, “Which team won the hockey gold in London? India? Then I do not care who played and who did not play. Never believed in favouritism or individualism. For me India first, India last, India in-between. Full stop.”

Tapan Ghosh of Ananda Bazar Patrika, a man who probably pioneered investigative sports journalism in India, met Pankaj Gupta several times at the latter’s Park Circus residence in Calcutta. Ghosh always maintained, “He was by far the best sports administrator we have ever had. Had a distinctive style and an excellent command of the English language. Amazing knowledge of sports history and the laws, particularly of hockey and cricket. Till the very end, he sported the famous Hitler-moustache and carried an ornamental walking stick.”

Indian Hockey Federation and Indian Football Association were both established at Calcutta in the 1920s. The chief architect happened to be the stocky man from Chittagong (now in Bangladesh). Then in his twenties, the young man’s exceptional administrative prowess was not lost on the Maharaja of Patiala, Bhupendra Singh, whose visionary spirit and awesome patronage paved the way for the development of India’s sport in the early days. Bhupendra’s son Yadavendra too followed in his father’s foot-steps regarding Gupta of Bengal.

Pankaj Gupta was the founder member of the National Cricket Club, which happened to be the custodian of Eden Gardens before CAB took over in the 1950s. Pankaj Gupta expired in 1971 after a glorious lifetime in the service of sport, particularly hockey and cricket.

CAB named the new indoor cricket facility at Eden Gardens after him. At its inauguration in 1979, as the current captain of the Bengal State team, I acknowledged that it was an honour to speak on Pankaj Gupta’s contribution to sport and described him as a sports ambassador nonpareil.

Although the Government of India could not find any award for him, ironically the British Government awarded him a MBE (Member of the British Empire) for his services to sports administration in 1944.

He was the perfect embodiment of a sports ambassador. Totally undaunted and forever free, all along Pankaj Gupta remained a singular man with a singular purpose: to uphold India’s prestige and image in the international sports arenas. Nihil Ultra.