The only time Bradman set foot on Indian soil was in 1953 on his way to UK with wife.

Here at DumDum airport lounge they are seen with Pankaj Gupta and Khokon Sen.

Probir Kumar  Sen (Khokon)

Today if one walks into the CAB club house at Eden Gardens, one would come across a wall in the central lounge where a list of Test players from Bengal appears. The list begins with a glaring error. The first name itself is wrong! Just goes to show how much of pride and interest we have in our own selves! Of course, there are a whole lot of other wrong names in that list, as well.

Over the last 15 years the list with the embarrassing errors has stayed on despite repeated requests to alter. No CAB president, neither Jagmohan Dalmiya nor Sourav Ganguly, has shown any interest in having the list rectified. Complete ignorance?  Or, sheer indifference? Dalmiya once defended, “The names on the lists were as guided by a foreign-returned cricket-scholar!”

Unfortunately even an erudite man like Sunil Gavaskar fell into the trap and once commented in his television broadcast that the first Bengali Test player was Shute Banerjee! Sunil of course was relying on the piece of information available to him in the official site of CAB. Shute Banerjee’s name is prominently displayed on the CAB lounge to mislead the whole world.

Shute Banerjee was representing Bihar when he made his Test debut for India in 1948-49 at Bombay in the 5^th and final Test of the series.

The first Bengali player to play for India was not Shute Banerjee , but Probir Kumar Sen, popularly known as Khokon. In 1947-48 he went with skipper Lala Amarnath’s team to Australia as the second wicket-keeper to Jamshed Irani. But after two Tests the team management realized that they had made a blunder by omitting Sen from the first XI.

Khokon Sen’s career was a massive mass of misunderstanding. People enjoyed his company but ridiculed him behind his back. He was always thought to be pompous because of his very close rapport with royalty. Actually he was an extrovert with the softest of souls. Just as he was close to the maharajas so was he to the masseurs.

Khokonda nicknamed Jeevan Paul, the humble masseur of the Bengal team, ‘Stanley’ after the famous publisher of cricket books, Stanley Paul. He was as comfortable with ‘Bhaya’, the Maharaja of CoochBehar.

The Maharaja of Cooch Behar, Jagaddipendra Narayan Bhup Bahadur, who was very popular as ‘Bhaya’, was an elder brother to Khokonda. They were very thick friends on and off the field. Bhaya captained Bengal in the Ranji Trophy in the 1940s while Probir Sen took over in the following decade.

Khokonda’s hearty laughter was as appealing as his big heart. Hailing from a wealthy family, the generous persona loved having people around him to relax and regale. With Bhaya, he would be seen at social clubs, palaces, angling expeditions and shikaars. He enjoyed the best of liquor and was voracious with Continental cuisine, particularly crabs and prawns, but made no effort to feel defensive about either.

Unfortunately his gregarious nature, his easy laughter, his practical jokes were thought to be of a man yet to mature. His Bengal team mates which included Nirmal Chatterjee (Bengal’s best-ever all-round sportsman) and Badal Dutt (Bengal captain and Cambridge University Blue) as well as the Test cricketer Montu Banerjee loved and adored him. Even the great Indian contemporaries like Vinoo Mankad, Vijay Hazare and Polly Umrigar found him to be excellent company. The fashionable man would wear Barkat Ali suits with felt hats tilted stylishly. Those were the days…

But generally the cricketing community, particularly the officials, found his ever-cheerful nature reprehensible. For them an ideal sportsman was expected to be a teetotaller, a person who would not talk or contradict, a person who would perpetually kowtow to officials. Khokonda most surely did not quite fulfil criteria and thankfully never bothered to. In fact he was exactly at the opposite end. Ultimately his cheerful nature became a noose but little did he care.  

Sen began at Melbourne and was an instant success with his wicket-keeping. He was an extrovert character who just could not keep quiet. He would chatter constantly from behind the wicket with the fieldsmen and the bowlers. He would liven up a dreary, boring afternoon on the field with his incessant fund of stories.

It is said that Bill Ferguson, the famous scorer, once told Sen that he reminded him of the England wicket-keeper George Duckworth who also had the habit of constant chatter. Sen turned round and told him, “I don’t just talk and talk. I guide. I give encouragement.” And then in his typical camaraderie embraced Ferguson and went for a round of beer. No wonder the Indians were very popular as tourists those days.

Sen had a very happy tour on and off the field. Being a superb mixer, he became the toast of the evenings when the Indians would spend a lot of time with Don Bradman for advice. In a match against an Australian XI he stumped Bradman and was delighted to be praised by the latter for his speed and ability.

On that tour of Australia, every Indian cricketer was offered the scope to say two sentences over the long-distance phone that had just been introduced between India and Australia. Almost all the players said that they were fine except, of course, the one and only Khokon Sen. When his turn came, he shouted, “Dadu, send money. Nothing left!” That was typical of him: no other message worthy enough! He endeared himself to all those who played with and against him.

Sen played for India against West Indies in 1948-49 then went to England in 1952 as well as was a regular in the national team at the time. Although a regular member the opportunities were sadly limited to only 14 Tests.

The highpoint of his career was the victory at Madras in 1951-52. Skipper Vijay Hazare’s team defeated Nigel Howard’s MCC very convincingly with Roy and Umrigar getting hundreds and Vinoo Mankad capturing 12 wickets. They were the prime architects of the victory.

But one man made headlines from an unusual position. That was Khokon Sen. He had a hand in 5 stumpings. This was exemplary wicket-keeping no doubt but what was more appealing was the man’s stage-craft. One moment he would be throwing the ball up and juggling with it. Next moment he would start to roll on the ground to the cheers of the crowd. And in the very next instant he would be running around the pitch with the ball in hand like a goal-scorer in football. Sen captivated the audience and the media lapped it up. He was indeed a born showman.

I met him just once. Was the year 1970? I distinctly remember the date 26^th January for many reasons than the obvious one. I was a member of the Mohun Bagan team which went to Kalighat Club ground to play an exhibition match. Our captain was the mercurial Chuni Goswami.

Just prior to the match, our dressing room vibrated with the laughter of a diminutive, stocky man of around 45. Unmistakably Khokon Sen. He was cracking jokes with Chunida, Shyamuda and my elder brother Deb when his eyes fell on me. “Who’s this?” he furrowed his eyebrows. Someone mentioned, “Deb’s younger brother.”  “Deb’s brother?” he fumed, “Unshaven. You must try to look like a cricketer.”

Like most precocious college youth, I had little respect for persons who had no time for me. I coolly uttered, “Sir, have you not heard of WG Grace?” There was pin-drop silence. Stunned, Khokonda instantly recovered, smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, “Son, why hide your handsome face with a beard?” I forced a smile in return. As Khokonda left our room, my brother was furious with me for my silly response.

Little did we realize that the famous man had come to take an active part in that match. He had come in cream flannels and had his India blazer on. He was well past his prime and had not played at all for a decade. Why did he decide to play that particular match will for ever be a question that would go unanswered.

Later that evening we heard that Khokonda was no more. After the match he had some spurious rum that burnt his gullet. What a dreadful death for a cheerful man. I happened to be his last victim as a wicket-keeper. He held my ‘edge’ – a simple, straight forward catch – and then leaned to his right, allowed the body to fall gently and rolled over in front of second slip! For ever a showman. A lovable joker. A wonderful human being.

I have the highest regard for him because he was a true sportsman: modest, humourous, determined, chivalrous and highly talented. Khokonda was incapable of hurting anyone. A man who had given endless hours of mirth to all around him.

Fifty years have gone since Khokonda’s death. Grateful to Jayanta Chatterji for reminding me.

My Chunida

He seemed born to blend. Unwittingly he bridged the divide between bangal (east bengalee) and ghoti (west bengalee) in an exemplary manner. His presence led to rapport between the cricketers and the footballers of Bengal. He possessed a magical mass appeal that gave him unprecedented popularity among the populace. His popularity even in the non-television era of his time would have dwarfed many a current cinema star.

Born and brought up in the liberated Murapara zamindary (now in Bangladesh), my maternal link, where he was preceded by Sarojini Nayudu, Bhanu Bandyopadhyay and Nripati Chattopadhyay, the young Chuni utilized his sports talents in the path of reconciliation of differences between the two artificially divided parts of Bengal.

Destiny too willed so. While he was showing off his undoubted football skills to his Tirthapati Institution friends at Deshopriyo Park, a distant pair of eyes watched with awe and wonder. Walked across, asked him his father’s address and by evening was knocking at the door. The elder Goswami instantly recognized the boxer-footballer Bolai Chatterjee and was too happy to allow his son to be at the Mohun Bagan ground the following morning for a practice session. As the cliché goes…the rest is history.

Former players were wide-eyed in amazement to see the talent exhibited by the child prodigy. Within the course of the year he was the shining star of the club and state teams. By 1958 at the age of 20 he was scoring goals for India.

Under Syed Rahim’s coaching he flowered beside the magnificent duo  of PK Banerjee and Balaram and held India‘s flag high at the 1960 Rome Olympics. He went a step further at the 1962 Jakarta Asian Games when India won the gold under his leadership. This was best-ever era of Indian football. The most successful period  when men of the calibre of Arun Ghosh, Jarnail Singh, Peter Thangaraj, Simon Sunder Raj, Mario Kempiah and Yousuf Khan among a host of others dominated the Asian football scenario. Apart from PK and Balaram, the evergreen glamour of CG stood out in the glittering panorama.

Chuni Goswami led India in the pre-Olympic qualifying match at Calcutta’s Rabindra Sarovar Stadium in 1964. As a 14 year old enthusiast, I remember attending the 1-month camp every single day as a spectator. Unfortunately the brilliant Rahim was replaced by an English coach named Wright. Chunida scored the lone goal as India lost 1-3 to Iran with my favourite defender Arun Ghosh denying the opposition a dozen goals. Never again was India good enough to qualify for Olympic football.

Lack of guidance held him back from accepting a foreign assignment with Tottenham Hotspur in his heydays of 1960s. This was a typical scenario in our football context. While cricketers were going abroad and taking up assignments in the English cricket leagues, our football players never received any encouragement from our ‘frog in the well’ administrators, who were content with their clubs’ politics, personal prominence and media flatterers. Thankfully Chuni Goswami had the talent to seek other avenues.

He was deeply attached to cricket since his school days. He represented Monoharpukur Milan Samity at cricket while a student at Ashutosh College. He also represented Calcutta University at cricket while doing wonders and winning championships on the football ground.

Chuni Goswami made his Ranji Trophy debut under the strangest of circumstances. At the peak of his football career he was selected to play against Jaisimha’s Hyderabad in the Ranji Trophy semi final. The year was 1962-63 the season when four West Indies fast bowlers came to India. Roy Gilchrist the fearsome fast bowler held little terror for the debutant as he most courageously gave support to this skipper Pankaj Roy who scored two hundreds in the match. Thereafter he played very irregularly for Bengal as he was busy with his football commitments for club, state and country.

In the Ranji final against Bombay in 1968-69 he played two glorious knocks of 96 and 84 displaying his leanings for cross-batted strokes, particularly the sweep. His fantastic speed between wickets is still in the memory of people who have seen him bat. Chunida’s lone first-class century came against Bihar at Jamadoba in 1971-72 when he promoted himself to bat at number 3.

The highlight of his cricket life was of course the fantastic victory of Central-East Zone combined team under Hanumant Singh which inflicted the 1967 West Indies team to an innings defeat at Indore. Chunida took 5 and 3 wickets and in tandem with Subroto Guha had the powerful Caribbeans on the mat. Skipper Wes Hall top-edged a high skier towards mid wicket. Goswami ran almost 30 yards from mid-on, lunged forward to hold the one-handed and then actually went on a victory lap around the ground! Skipper Hanumant’s cultured voice, “Chuni, we are not playing football” was drowned by the thousands who had come to see their soccer hero playing cricket. That was the kind of popularity and affection he enjoyed.

In 1971-72 the Bengal cricket captaincy crown was on his head and he led Bengal to the final. The following year – my debut season – he led Bengal for the last time and announced his retirement. This idea of when to call it a day is a splendid example that he has set for others. At 34 he realized another few years of cricket would be a waste of time as he would be curtailing the prospect of a deserving youngster. He had left international football at 26 and now first-class cricket at 34. A master-stroke: a great lesson for most sportsmen.  

If Subimal was his first name, surely his middle name was Flambuoyance. Both the names were destined to stay in the background. Glamour and Chuni Goswami became synonymous. Reeking of glamour, Goswami was a revelation in a world of introvert Indian sportsmen. Most of our champion sportsmen in the pre 1960s were quiet, confident men who avoided controversies and publicity. Not so Goswami. He reveled in his extrovert form. He loved crowds, companionship and constant media coverage.

To my generation of sports lovers, Chuni Goswami was a magical name. Handsome of bearing, glamorous of manner the man had a distinct individuality. Smiling, waving, chatting he seemed to be in perpetual motion. Extrovert to the extreme, he brought the Bengal cricketers out of their shells. With Chunida as captain the Bengal team learnt to take on the opposition eyeball to eyeball. Within the typical easy-going exterior of Bengal team mates, he planted a tough approach to the job, which obviously did wonders for the state  in the future. This was a distinct contribution of his.

He seemed destined to bond people. Following independence and partition the differences between the Padma migrants and the Bhagirathi residents were distinct and definite. Hilsa and Chingri. Bangal and Ghoti. Only the Mir Jafar’s sat on the fence as far as loyalties were concerned. In such a precarious scenario emerged a young lad with eastern Bengal tastes and lingo to become the hero of the western Bengal bhadrolok. Without meaning to do so, his approach and actions actually assisted to bridge the yawning chasm between two extremely strong loyalties. So popular was he that I remember praying with all earnestness: Let Chuni Goswami do well but East Bengal win! I am sure there were many school boys of the 1960s with similar prayers.

*** 

A long association of about 60 years has come to an end. Our childhood hero is no more. Chundai has left the maidan for the Elysian Field.

 The last time I met him was on his 82^nd birthday at his Jodhpur Park residence on 15 January this year. The Philatelic Bureau issued a stamp in his honour that day. The ever-jovial face was in distinct discomfort. To enliven him I recounted to him of his own glorious days; his magnificent contributions; his unique brand of witticisms. A tear or two welled up as he smiled his enjoyment. But no words emanated from the brilliant raconteur. Sad sight; sadder still to relate. Really unfortunate.

 For an extrovert like Subimal Goswami, universally popular as Chuni, to be sofa-tied and tongue-tied was indeed a dungeon-like existence. Boudi, Bubli, his wife and Chunida’s endearing grandson gave him the best of companionship possible but the inevitable was near at hand. Though extremely saddening, perhaps his ‘passing-away’ was, in a sense, a blessing in disguise. No one would have liked to see his ever-cheerful face in that posture.

***

My elder brother Deb was a regular opener for Bengal and Mohun Bagan in the early 1960s and so I was quite a frequent visitor to those matches. Saw Chunida often enough and was thrilled to get his cheery smiles. Once he offered me and my friend Bapi toast and tea at the Mohun Bagan canteen when we were waiting for a lift from Deb. That year I also attended his wedding reception as the guest of his elder brother Manikda, who played club cricket with me at Milan Samity at the time.

However the first genuine meeting was in December 1967 when I attended the Mohun Bagan net after writing my final school exams. With Chunida and his very witty elder brother Manikda around, the net sessions were full of laughter and humour, repartees and wise-cracks. Chunida warmed me up with, “Oh! No, another Mukherji. Oh! No, another with specs.” I was too stunned to think of a reply but realized that I had gained acceptance at the Bagan household.

Never before I had met anyone with his peculiar brand of speech and humour. However I realized that he had a funny peculiar way of speaking: a statement in the form of a query. Had a fantastic sense of humour. He would keep us in splits.

“This pitch is a pace bowler’s graveyard.”  Before the star pace bowler could take another breath, the Bengal captain replied, “Please take rest today. I need soldiers who will fight for his team.”

That was a typical straight forward Chuni Goswami repartee. He had no time for excuses, vague comments or for the soft-hearted. He himself led from the front and expected everyone to follow. Chunida did not believe in unnecessary theories. He always maintained that if you cannot motivate yourself, no one can motivate you. Absolutely to the point.

Once he admonished a prominent batter, who complained about the size of the sight-screen after being dismissed, “Watch the ball and forget the sight-screen? Did you get sight-screens in school, college and road-side matches?”  He gave cent per cent and more to the cause and expected others to do so.

He received accolades and recognition from every possible platform. Arjuna award was followed by the Padma Shree. A whole lot of honorary posts were created for him. Influential people queued up to shake his hands and be photographed.

But the main accolade came from the common man on the road. His popularity in the days before television coverage was miraculous in the extreme. People stopped their cars to wish him. People at airports and railway stations stared at him and waved. Once our train was held up for more than 2 minutes at Bardhaman till Chunida came to the door of the train coach to wave at the multitude waiting to catch a glimpse of the man they had only heard of and read about.

To my generation, Chuni Goswami was all glamour and skill. Every movement of his we would try to copy. The way he walked, the way he spoke, the way he smiled. Our childhood hero was far ahead of the celluloid stars in sheer popular mass appeal. Always impeccably dressed, he spoke in an easy manner, mixed easily and genuinely enjoyed companionship.

He possessed a very rare sense of timing. He knew what to do and when. He knew when to retire just as he knew when to take up a new assignment. He knew his abilities just as he knew his limitations. His life has been a shining example to many. He never wanted to be a teacher but his life was a document of teaching.

Not only was he my first Bengal captain, he was also the man who released my first book Cricket in India: Origin and Heroes in 2004. Ten years later he penned a fabulous Foreword to my second book Eden Gardens: Legend and Romance. About three years ago, in a wistful mood one evening Chunida said, “I want you to write my obituary.”   

“Ki bolchen ta ki?” (“What are you saying?”) I protested.

In a serious vein, he just added, “I am your captain. I am your senior. I like the way you write.”

His companionship was full of humour and nostalgia; prawn and beer. I am indeed blessed to have had him as my captain.