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.