On yet another person who left a deep impression on me: Rajan Bala

Rajan Bala was his own enemy. Totally disoriented and totally disorganized. Highly unreliable; lacked any semblance of discipline. Then why were so many people so very fond of him?  So very attached to him? Therein lay the magic of Rajan Bala.

Exceptionally knowledgeable he could speak on any subject worth mentioning. English literature, religion, history, politics, economics, medicine or sports came alike to him. The depth and orbit of his learning cannot be described. What a communicator he was! One had to meet him to realize and appreciate the magnetic appeal of the man.

Highly sensitive, he could make one weep with his emotional rendering of Rabindrasangeet. He did not have a melodious voice but he made up for it through his spontaneity and sentiments. Highly emotional, he was prone to extreme behavior. Highly intelligent, he was impatient with people who had problems following him. He summed himself very appropriately, “I am a proud Bong by being born and brought up in Bengal and a proud Tamil for having Tamil parents.” He would not stoop to mention his caste and creed, but even his critics realized that he belonged to the highest breed in any society because of his exceptional attributes.

Rajanda was a very bad judge of men. Invariably he fell for flatterers. As a born extrovert he loved mixing with players. Because of his gregarious and generous nature, he became too close to most players. Little did he realize that most of the players and administrators who mixed with him so very closely were only there for their own personal interest.

Players who had ‘used’ him during their playing careers dropped him the moment he retired. This was a regret he nursed till his last days. During his heydays so very obsessive was he with some of them that he would overlook their weakness and defend them at all cost. Never quite understood that they were not true friends but fiends.

He was involved with the Bengal players of the 1960s. They were his college-mates and fellow club cricketers. When he became a journalist, he left no stone unturned to help them gain all-India publicity. Quality players of the calibre of Ambar Roy, Subroto Guha, Gopal Bose and Dilip Doshi were particularly close to him. No doubt they were excellent cricketers but without Rajan Bala’s constant and vociferous media support they would not have received the regular and massive coverage they received at the national level. He wrote on them constantly till the selectors woke up to take notice. I know of no other journalist who has done this kind of selfless work. Unfortunately hardly anyone of them acknowledged the debt.

However Rajanda’s status at the all-India level lay untarnished. Pataudi and Jaisimha were his special pals but no less were Chandrasekhar, Prasanna and Bedi. In fact Rajanda ‘ghosted’ the books written by Pataudi, Chandra and Prasanna. He was especially close to Tiger Pataudi. They spent hours discussing cricket and cricketers. Pataudi was not a garrulous person but he had a lovely dry wit. He enjoyed Rajanda’s constant chatter on anything and everything under the sun. Pataudi certainly appreciated his friend’s wide and deep knowledge of cricket among other subjects. Theirs was an association based on reciprocal respect for each other’s outstanding qualities.

At the wedding ceremony of the glamorous couple Tiger Pataudi and Sharmila Tagore, apart from Rajan Bala no other sports journalist was invited. Among the players were only Ambar Roy and my elder brother Deb Mukherji. Wanting to gossip, I asked Rajanda about the location of the ceremony at Calcutta. Typically he replied, “How will I remember? It was not my wedding!” Then as an after-thought he added, “May be at Nizam Palace, somewhere near Camac Street. I remember Satyajit Ray presented the couple with reels of Ray’s films where Sharmila Tagore had acted. Bechu Dutta Ray, the national selector, who was supposed to be ‘very close’ to Tiger was not among the invitees,” he signed off with a hearty laughter. Later very pointedly mentioned, “Raju, let me assure you Tiger had no time for cronies or for corrupt administrators.”

Rajan Bala’s image abroad never waned. He wrote as a freelancer for the best of magazines and newspapers in foreign lands. He commentated on BBC Radio in his impeccable diction but never made any hue and cry over it. The tenor and tone of his voice made him highly popular among the cricket aficionado. His knowledge and analyses were at par with the best the world could offer. No wonder BBC Radio relied on him for years even after his retirement for expert comments to cover the Test day’s proceedings. Men of the eminence of John Woodcock, Christopher Martin Jenkins, Dicky Rutnagur among others considered him to be their friend. His reputation as a writer as well as a commentator was well deserved.

As a radio commentator he was unparalleled. Although very close to Tiger Pataudi and Ambar Roy, no radio-listener would have been able to make out any bias in his comments. He was as critical of them as he was of the others. Today when you hear words like ‘momento’ and ‘inning’ over the air with constant regularity you realize why sensible listeners keep the volume at zero. Thirty years ago these mediocre commentators would not have been given another opportunity.

But having said all this, I would add at the same time that his books were a disappointment to me. For a man of his knowledge, understanding and contacts his books should have had far more depth in his analyses; far more details into intricacies. He was at the centre of Indian cricket for the better part of three decades. But it seemed that many very serious issues completely eluded him. This was not the Rajan Bala I was familiar with and highly admired. He seemed to be in a hurry while writing his books. Never did justice to his talents as an author of books.

While he was such a hard-hitting journalist who cared for no administrator either of BCCI or CAB or AIFF or any other sport associations in his regular columns for three decades, why was he so different in his books? Rajan Bala the writer of articles and Rajan Bala the author of cricket books were entirely two different personalities. Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde. Why was it so? No one has yet been able to give a convincing answer. I only wish some publisher would get hold of his articles and publish those as ‘collected works’. That title would be a bestseller. Full of incidents, full of anecdotes, full of aggression, full of characters, full of technicalities. But then Rajan Bala was not a person who would collate and keep his articles together. Wonder where his fantastic collection of sports books has gone.

Once while working on the former Test-cricketer of ‘bodyline’ fame, Jack Fingleton as journalist, Rajanda asked me for a particular copy of Sport & Pastime of 1960. Had no option but to tell him that all my S&P copies of 20 years were borrowed by a research scholar and not returned.

Rajanda’s instant reaction was, “You mean he took the entire collection and vanished?” I said, “Well, he claimed that I had gifted 20 years of Sport & Pastime copies to him! And he had sent those to USA!”

Rajanda was dazed, “Ah! So our famous researcher-turned-journalist felt that a cricket-book collector would part with rare copies of S&P of the 1950s and 1960s for no rhyme or reason. Of course, none can touch him as he has always been an Establishment man. He has tricked many over the years.” Then he added, “However let’s give him his due. He has even tricked the BCCI and CAB president. That certainly deserves a gold medal!”

I had kept in constant touch with Rajanda over the decades. Wherever he would be – Mumbai, Chennai or Bangalore – I would make it a point to visit him and marvel at his genius. His equation with my wife Seema and me would be of a parent beside his son and daughter-in-law. We were very attached to him. So much so that we could even at times try to ‘guide’ him. He would indulge us with a smile, but all to no avail. No ‘guidance’ could curb his self-destructive ways of life. His final years led to serious health problems and he seemed totally drained of all physical energy. But there no stopping the fount of knowledge. It flowed with all the exuberance of youth…

I first met Rajan Bala during a friendly cricket match between St Xavier’s College and St Xavier’s School in 1966. The college team, although not at full strength, had their best bowlers Dilip Doshi and Suprakash Som in the playing XI. Ironically, in a one-sided match, it was the school team which actually defeated the seniors by 8 wickets!

At the end of the match a man of immense bulk came and congratulated us on our victory. He happened to be Rajan Bala. He was with The Statesman at the time and had come to interview Dilip Doshi, then a rising prospect of Bengal. But when he saw the schoolboys in action, so impressed was he that he willingly spent time to talk to us for quite a while.

Honestly I wasn’t too impressed by him that day. Found him too pompous, too preposterous. Years later Rajanda told me that he found me too serious, too determined and too confident!  I believe I had told him, “If we get such trash bowling, we shall thrash them again!” Rajanda instantly had pointed out, “Yes, Doshi tried his best to get you boys out and couldn’t.  But don’t forget, apart from the first two overs, Suprakash did not bowl at his full pace because of the dicey matting pitch. You must learn to judge merit from various angles. If he had bowled fast some of you may have got injured. Supi is a very decent gentleman.”

Actually our opening batsmen Jayanta Chatterjee and Babul Mitter showed real gumption to deal with Som’s fearsome pace early in the innings. On loose matting, the bounce was disconcerting, no doubt. Michael Carlos and I were lucky that Som had bowled to us with a shortened run-up. Today I well remember that having heard Rajan Bala, I walked up to Suprakash Som and thanked him for not injuring us. Suprakash Som, ever smiling, shook my hand, “No, no, I tried my best but could not get you or your partner out. Congrats.”

Realized there and then why cricket was known as a ‘gentleman’s game’. This was the first time that I had such an experience and it was all due to Rajan Bala opening my eyes to the niceties of the noble game. Thanks, Rajanda, for pinpointing to me what gentlemanliness on the sports arena actually meant.

In time Suprakashda became my first captain with the Calcutta University team. We played together for the championship-winning Mohun Bagan for 3 years, 1967 to 1969. He represented Bengal in Ranji Trophy but never got the appreciation he deserved. He was a rare individual. Full of talent but was perpetually ignored. Smiled his way through a very short life without ever showing any remorse. The product of Hazaribagh St Xavier’s taught me a very vital lesson of the noble sport of cricket but the problem was that cricket had ceased to be a ‘gentleman’s game’ by the 1970s with sledging, cheating, match-fixing, betting, bribery, ball-defacing, pitch-tampering, pressurizing umpires, throw-bowling, etcetera gradually making headlines.

I was very fortunate that during my formative years the formidable personality of Rajan Bala was dominating the Calcutta maidan with his presence and penmanship. Very unusual for a sport editor, he would personally cover even club matches, first with The Statesman and later with Hindustan Standard (precursor to The Telegraph). I am sure it was his strong, eye-opening articles that helped me to climb the ladder to first-class cricket.

He attacked administrators and selectors with facts and figures and made them open their eyes and ears for the betterment of Bengal cricket. Although Rajanda was Ambar Roy’s best friend, none else but he advocated Chuni Goswami as the Bengal captain to replace Ambar Roy in 1970! Chunida’s 2-season tenure as captain brought a breath of fresh air to Bengal cricket and with it came regular success.

Rajanda just could not settle down at one place. He changed jobs and cities as quickly as one would change one’s tooth-brush. Almost every top media house in India had the benefit of his service. His freelancing for All India Radio and Doordarshan too did not last long, although he was considered among the best in the business. His approach was much too aggressive for most. He was far ahead of his times. He was a restless visionary who did not have the patience to adhere to the general slow pace of the period.

While with The Indian Express and The Hindu at Chennai, with whom he had the longest tenure, he nursed and nurtured a group of trainees who went on to become jewels in the Indian sports media. All them became authors of serious books, held prominent positions in India and abroad and were very highly rated as journalists. Among them happened to be Gulu Ezekiel, R Mohan, Suresh Menon, Joe Hooper and others. At Calcutta his protégés were Subrata (Rana) Sirkar and Arijit Sen, both of whom were acknowledged to be among the finest sports journalists in the country.

Without Rajan Bala’s liberal attitude, constant encouragement and opportunities galore these young journalists would not have attained the fame that they did in a very short while. Rajanda allowed his assistant journalists to be themselves. This approach enabled others to flower, to reach beyond themselves. He gave them full liberty to do things their own way.

 I worked with him just once. He had professionally left Calcutta for good by the time I was seriously into freelance-journalism by early 1980s. Later once he had come to Calcutta to cover a Test match at Eden Gardens for Deccan Herald.  He had the former Test legend Bhagawat Chandrasekhar accompanying him to add some extra touches to the Test coverage. And Rajanda with Moti Nandi’s permission asked me to write a daily column for DH evening edition apart from my regular daily match coverage for ABP in Bengali.

It was an experience of a lifetime. Totally non-conventional. To begin with, Rajanda had convinced DH to have an evening supplement for its readers. So we would have to cover the Test till tea-break and send the report by telex. Fair enough. Something new for me but luckily everything clicked.

Then we found Chandra missing after lunch on the 2^nd day! He had left the press box at the luncheon interval and did not show up. Rajanda appeared least worried! He wrote his own piece and then Chandra’s as well! When I went through Rajanda’s report and then “Chandra’s” piece on Rajanda’s typewriter, I was staggered. Rajanda’s own article contained impeccable reporting with his usual literary flavor while “Chandra’s” had technical analysis in simple English. Only the genius of Rajan Bala could manage to write two separate columns in two totally different ways in a matter of two hours.

Next few days were no less awkward. Rajanda as usual held court at the press box. He was perpetually talking, writing, guiding and getting involved with all and sundry. When  CAB's big-boss came to the Press Box to enquire about the packet-lunch served, Rajanda, fully aware of my equation with CAB, was nonchalant as ever, “Haven’t tried. Moti, Dicky and I are enjoying Raju’s ham sandwiches and chicken patties!” Later when he found that Chandra was having trouble in keeping his eyes open after lunch, he told Chandra to go back to the hotel room for a proper slumber!

As if this was not enough, he asked me, “Raju, today why don’t you do Chandra’s copy?” My ABP sports editor Moti Nandi, sitting beside me, immediately objected, “No way. Raju is nobody’s ghost-writer.” Rajanda, perhaps had anticipated what was coming, laughed, “Of course, in Bengal you don’t have any bhoot. All of you are adbhoot!” The class and maturity of the verbal exchanges of two outstanding personalities made life worth living.

In 1989 former Pakistan captain Abdul Hafeez Kardar had come to Chennai to witness the India-Pakistan Test at the invitation of BCCI. The evening before the match Rajanda and I met the suave Kardar at the Connemara Hotel lounge and kept chatting well beyond midnight. My room-mate was the ABP senior photographer Nikhil Bhattacharya.

Nikhilda, who was waiting for me to go back to our hotel together, got very upset after a while, “Rajan, please let Raju go.  The curfew is about to begin, the police will take you to jail if you delay any further.” Rajanda had little sense of timing or tact. He coolly said, “Dear Nix, you carry on. If Raju is taken to jail, I shall organize the bail!” Thankfully nothing untoward happened but Rajanda’s sense of perspective or rather the lack of it was laid bare. The great captain Kardar softly quipped, “Rajan, generally I sleep at night. Shall we all retire?” The charm and wit of the Cambridge graduate, who had represented India before independence as Abdul Hafeez, eased the situation.

Once Seema and I went to Bangalore and decided to look him up as we were out of touch for a while. Luckily for us, we found him enjoying his gin and tonic at KSCA. But his appearance shattered us. The big burly man had shrunk appreciably with his eyes protruding. A palpable case of diabetes. “Hope you are keeping fine,” I asked out of habit. Rajanda smiled, “With my reckless lifestyle, am I supposed to keep fine? Don’t worry, Raju. Let’s chat about the past.” I could not say much. I could see life wasting away.

When Seema handed a Batik-printed paanjaabi (Bengal-style kurta) to him, Rajanda could not hold back his tears, “Amazing, amazing are the ways of Lord Shiva. My days are numbered and still my bond with Bengal never ends. Tagore’s Santiniketani Batik in hand in the final hours. Oh! Lord, thanks. What a life: gift of birth in Bengal; gift at death also from Bengal.”

I clasped his hands, “Please do not utter another such word.” Rajanda placed his hands on our shoulders, “Raju and Seema, you do not know how fortunate you are that you were both born in Bengal. Bengal shall always remain blessed academically, spiritually and culturally. Let us rejoice. We threesome are Bengalis by birth; our parentage may be Bengali, Marathi and Tamil but we are all Bengalis at heart. Let’s sing Gurudev’s songs and go our own destined ways…”

Within a week, we came to know that he was no more. An irrepressible genius, destined to self-destruct, left an indelible impression on me. OM SHIVAY NAMAH.