DILAWAR HUSSAIN, the neglected and heralded scholar, activist, Test cricketer.

One person whose name never appears in writing or in speech on Indian cricket is that of Dilawar Hussain. The Lahore-born gentleman happened to be academically the most highly qualified of all Indian Test cricketers. He left the scene with a Test batting average of 40 plus, far more than most Test batsmen who have played for India. This intellectual, social activist was neglected even in his prime by his peers, by the administrators as well as by the media!

The heavily-built, rugged wicket-keeper made his Test debut at Eden Gardens on a chilly winter morn in January 1934 against bodyline-famed skipper Douglas Jardine’s MCC team. In both the innings the debutant was the highest scorer for India with scores of 59 and 57. Perhaps an all-time record for any Test cricket debutant around the world.

His first appearance in Test cricket coincided with the first-ever official Test match played on the lush green turf of Eden Gardens. This Test followed that at Bombay Gymkhana ground, where the first official Test on Indian soil was played in December 1933.

In the first innings at Eden, while opening the batting Dilawar Hussain received a nasty hit on the head from a bumper of Morris Nicholls when he was on 11. It was a very serious injury and he had to retire to receive medical attention. The gutsy man returned from the hospital and continued to face the pace of Nobby Clark and Nicholls as well as the variety of Hedley Verity’s spin. His dogged 59 was the highest score of the innings.

My father, then just about 14, witnessed the Test match at Eden Gardens sitting on the temporary wooden stand beyond the periphery. For the teenage spectator the lasting impression was the courage of the batsman, “You should have seen the guts and the tenacity of the man. Blood dripping, forehead in bandage, team in tatters, stern captain Jardine giving no quarters. But our man stood up like a real freedom fighter. He took the deliveries on his body. Did not flinch even once. Showed exemplary bravery and patience to hold fort. A genuine patriot. That’s the real spirit of sports.” Those days the Indians took pride in speaking in terms of struggles against the colonial masters.

In the mid 1960s there could no better way to inspire his teenage son. Dad’s words motivated me to research on this inspiring, brave hero. But try as I might, I found very little reference to the courageous man in any of our cricket books! Very few seemed to have even heard of him. Hardly any photographs of his were to be found. Ultimately the walking encyclopaedia of Indian cricket – Subroto Rana Sirkar – came to my rescue with a portrait of Dilawar Hussain.

 Something told me to carry on with the search for the actual person behind this missing name. What attracted me most were my dad’s inspiring words to describe the man’s sheer valour in the face of high odds. As I delved into Dilawar Hussain’s life, I could only marvel at the magnificent all-round personality and his immense contribution to society.

With Jardine enforcing the follow-on, the brave man – head now swathed in bandage – came out to bat with India reeling at 129 for 5. Batting alongside the descending order, Dilawar was the last man to be dismissed at 237. Out of the 108 runs added by the last 5wickets, the grievously injured man’s contribution was 57. Yet again he was the highest scorer of the innings. Wonder if any debutant anywhere has achieved this superlative feat of being the highest scorer in either innings. Instead of creating a lasting impression, this achievement was never highlighted by anybody.

Even the deadly spinner Hedley Verity – who had troubled Bradman in his prime – along with the hostile pace duo of Clarke and Nicholls could not dent Dilawar’s impregnable defence and his insurmountable patience. His brave effort also helped India to prolong the second innings and save his country from a certain defeat. With his head bandaged and his body black and blue, he was indeed the lone warrior battling it out against the colonial masters on the cricket arena. This was no less than a political statement to the foreign rulers in the pre-independence movements of the 1930s.

Within weeks in the following Test at Chepauk, Dilawar again volunteered to open the innings against the lively pace attack of Jardine’s men, Clarke and Nicholls. No one thought of rest and recuperation in those glorious days. Dilawar’s opening partner Naoomal Jeoomal received a nasty crack on the head from Clarke and had to retire from the match. Far from being bogged down, Dilawar played two tenacious innings of 13 and 36 but could not save India from a massive defeat.

In 1936 he was an obvious choice for the England tour under Vizzy. But the whimsical selection policy left the team rudderless. Debutant Hindlekar ‘kept’ in the first Test while another debutant wicket-keeper Meherhomji came in for the 2^nd Test. By the 3^rd Test both the stumpers were on the injured list. Suddenly someone remembered that Dilawar was also in England.

Yes, he was in England at the time. Studying at Cambridge University, no less. His was not a ‘royal’ entry into the hallowed precincts. No, he got admitted to Cambridge University on his own merit as an serious student. This by itself was a huge departure from the existing norms where Indian royal family members gained easy, automatic entry into these famous institutions despite below average academic results.

An invitation was sent to Dilawar by BCCI to join the squad. He took permission from his college tutors and joined the team. He was the most consistent scorer in the last 9 matches that he played coming down from Cambridge. He was second in the tour average list having scored 620 runs at     44.28. Not too bad for a player originally overlooked!

In the final Test at Oval, yet again he was his determined, patient self with scores of 35 and 54. In England’s imposing total of 471, he gave not a single bye. For all his courage, determination, effort and contribution, the magnificent Dilawar Hussain was never heard of again as a Test cricketer for India! Omitted just after 3 Tests without a single failure.

Was he a distinct victim of racism at Cambridge University in the mid 1930s as well? I am sure he was. Although a very successful Test cricketer for India (Test batting average as high as 42 plus), he was never chosen to represent Cambridge University at cricket! Unfortunately these issues have never been highlighted by our cricket pundits.

When Dilawar made his first-class debut for the Muslims in the Quadrangular tournament in 1925 he was merely 18 but possessed a strong, broad, bulky physique. He wore loose-fitting trousers which resembled the wide Pathani pyjamas, very popular in the north-west of our sub-continent. Invariably his shirt would hang out of his trousers and had to be regularly tucked in! At 6feet 2 inches, his bulk and his bald pate gave him an imposing presence!

Dilawar came from an academically-oriented, stable, financially sound family. An excellent student in school, to him cricket was only a pleasant, welcome diversion. Being of a sensitive nature he became involved with socio-political activities while at college in the culturally inclined city of Lahore. Later with the nationalistic movement gaining ground in the country, his concentration towards cricket receded.

Dilawar Hussain was an inveterate talker. Very well-read, the learned man from Lahore could speak on any topic, from philosophy, politics to raw slang! Even on the ground his constant chatter not only disturbed the opposition batters but his own mates as well!

The awesome bulk gave every indication that he loved his food and gave extra attention to his appetite. The “Professor”, as he was called, was a master chef himself and was known to guide the best of cooks about masalas and measures!

At the crease, however, he had a most uncouth batting-stance. Knees bent low, his ample body would be so crouched so as to have his head in line with the bails! He never wore a cap or the sola-topee that most Indian players in those days would wear. The super confident academic-cricketer did not feel it necessary to hide his bald dome, as is the modern trend among celebrities.

Little did he care about his personal image or in creating any impression.  He had no concern for aesthetics. Wasted no time or effort to please others. He had awesome determination coupled with insurmountable patience as well as a solid defensive technique to see him through, both behind and ahead of the stumps.  Confidence personified, he was quite a ‘character’. A most lovable personality to all in general, but not to his jealous India team-mates.

Dilawar was a victim of jealousy of his peers. Intellectually far superior, he was too scholarly for them. Statistically far more successful as a batter than most. He aligned neither with the provincial groups nor with the communal-minded characters. He was nobody’s crony. Hence he always remained out of the periphery of the disjointed XI that represented India in Tests in the 1930s. It appears that even the media personnel were overwhelmed by his individuality!

He played in the Quadrangular for the Muslims from 1925 to 1929 and again when it resumed in 1934-35. His last appearance in the Quadrangular was in 1940 when he came down from Cambridge to help Mushtaq Ali (110) and Wazir Ali (59) to defeat The Rest in the final. At the time Dilawar was more into academics and social activism, hardly played cricket. Now a doctorate, nevertheless Dilawar’s amazing consistency (54) continued.

Between 1930 and 1934 no Quadrangular matches were held as the nation was totally immersed in the Civil Disobedience movement against the British rulers. Just goes to show that political movements and sports have always helped each other. Sports and politics in the right sense of its broad term have always been very closely related. Both are egalitarian, broad-based and secular.

Dilawar Hussain was probably the first Test cricketer of the sub-continent to become an important functionary in cricket administration. He became a very active founder-member of the Pakistan cricket administration after the partition of the sub-continent. He served as Pakistan’s national selector as well.

This bright visionary was the man who gave Pakistan cricket its firm foundation from the first day. He allowed Pakistani players to develop their individual technique and approach, a trait which even now is apparent among the Pakistani cricketers. They are ‘naturals’ who display no adherence to ‘copy-book’ technicalities. Thanks largely to the largesse of Prof Dilawar Hussain.

Dilawar Hussain happened to be academically the most highly qualified of all the Indian Test cricketers. He was an undergraduate at Cambridge University when he assisted India in 1936.

Later completed his doctorate and according to the research of my wife Seema – a student of history – became the principal of the highly distinguished Muslim Anglo Oriental (MAO) College in Lahore. He also acquired a professional degree in Law and went on to do ‘double MA’! Wonder how many of our academicians can match the academic accomplishments of this amazing Test cricketer? Yet, we in India have totally forgotten the superlative intellectual.

The successful cricketer was involved with cricket, yet not quite into it. The brilliant activist was involved with serious politics, but stayed away from its corruptible influences. The esteemed academician was a friend of his students, not a pedagogue. An ideal persona of an educated, non-ambitious gentleman. Without intending to be so, he was actually a karma yogi of the highest esteem. A role-model whom we have ignored continuously and totally!

Unfortunately we have totally neglected a gentleman who had served pre-independent India as a cricketer and as an activist with all bravado and glory in those difficult days of colonial rule. Dilawar Hussain was a freedom fighter who helped undivided India fight for self-respect on the sports battle-field. His contribution to society was no less in the academic arena.

Another Indian Test cricketer with a doctorate from Cambridge University was Jahangir Khan, father of Majid Jahangir Khan the Pakistan captain. Jahangir Khan played 4 Tests for India, all in England, in 1932 and 1936. He was also a ‘Blue’ having represented Cambridge University for 4 successive years.

Dilawar Hussain’s career as well as that of Jahangir Khan’s went on to erase many false notions of  Indian society. They proved to the world that even highly qualified Indian academic scholars can be successful in international cricket and vice versa. They proved to the world that not every sportsman is an academic dullard…

Shall we ever see such brilliant doctorate-international cricketers again? I doubt it. I don’t mean those ‘honorary doctorates’ that are ‘arranged’, as is the present trend.

The exemplary professor – Dr Dilawar Hussain – should always remain an immortal role-model for all forward-thinking, self-respecting Indians.

 

 

 

Unforgettable Chakuda, a heroic jawan

He represented the nation on the war-field. But was most unfairly denied the opportunity to represent the nation on the cricket-field. The heroic Indian jawan by the name of Samar Chakraborty was known around the country’s cricketing fraternity as ‘Chaku’.

His omission from the Indian team for the tour Australia and New Zealand in 1967-68 defies all reasoning. The Services medium-fast bowler representing North Zone in Duleep Trophy and the Rest of India in Irani Trophy had the Indian Test batters in a quandary.

Batsmen of the calibre of Tiger Pataudi, Ajit Wadekar, Chandu Borde, Ashok Mankad, Eknath Solkar, Farokh Engineer and a young man named Sunil Gavaskar, among others, fell victim to the subtleties of his variations. He was in the India camp at Khadakvasla near Pune among the probable 30 initially chosen for the proposed tours under Tiger Pataudi.

But when the final squad was announced the name of Samar Chakraborty, the most successful of all the Indian pacers at the time, was missing! Two pace bowlers who were not even in the original squad of 30 were chosen instead! The selectors included prominent names like Ghulam Ahmed, Madhav Mantri, Hemu Adhikari and M Dutta Ray. Ironically Indian cricket has always suffered at the whims of India’s national selectors!

Highly consistent over the years for Services and North Zone later for Bengal and East Zone, in 1967 he was at his peak. The best of Indian current Test batters had to bow down to his skill and stamina. He was in performance far ahead of any of his contemporaries. But he always maintained a low profile and never received any media support that was his due. He seemed to be a ‘no-where’ man of Indian cricket. He always taken for granted.

I first met Samar Chakraborty (perpetually misnamed Samir) in 1973 in the Bengal team. After rendering his contribution to the Services and the Indian Railways teams, he was already a major influence in a very strong Bengal Ranji Trophy squad. I happened to have made my debut in first-class cricket just the previous season. Chakraborty brought with him the halo of an Indian Army man. Tall and erect, the handsome lithe physique did not have an ounce of excess flesh. His backbone was always straight, both in build and in character. He breathed discipline and impeccable conduct.

He never believed in words. He was a man of action, a distinct legacy of the heroic Indian Army. I admired him for what he was. He would not copy anyone. He would not join any group. He was a singular man with a singular positive approach. I fell for him. It was a case of instant rapport.

Chakuda, as we all called him, was a strong-silent man. As is my habit, I watched him very keenly but from a distance. My first serious conversation with him – believe it or not – was at the crease while batting!  The quarter-final match against Maharashtra was in progress at Eden Gardens in 1974. Pandurang Salgaokar, then the fastest Indian fast bowler who had broken Sunil Gavaskar’s thumb earlier in the season, ran through the cream of Bengal batting. We were tottering at 102 for 9 when Chakuda at number 11 walked out to join me at the centre.

Adhering to the usual convention in cricket, as the specialist batsman I was trying to shield him from the bowling by trying for singles towards the end of every ‘over’. Initially on a few occasions, it happened with ease. Then in a particular ‘over’ I could not do so.  

At the end of the ‘over’ Chakuda walked up to me, “Raju, you play normal cricket. Do not bother about me.” I protested, “No, no. I must try my best to keep you out of the strike.” Chakuda became very serious, “Just look after yourself. Do not change your usual pattern of play for my sake. I am confident of tackling Pandu.” I was honestly aghast. A bowler not known for his batting skills was willing to fight it out against a genuine fast bowler on a grassy Eden Gardens track.

Only a born-fighter can say so and do it. He did it in style and splendor. He actually helped me to cross a personal landmark and showed exemplary courage in the face of odds. Those days the Eden Gardens pitch used to have a coat of green turf. But Chakuda the magnificent fighter had no time for Pandu, pitch or pressure. Chakuda revealed exemplary character to add 40 invaluable runs for the 10^th wicket. Kept his word: no bowler could get him out for more than an hour. Ultimately he was run-out. He had fought in wars to defend India. This was chicken-feed for this brave Indian Army warrior.

Enough has been and will be said and written about his bowling. I shall not repeat except to add that I have never seen any medium pacer with his kind of accuracy. His line and length constantly probed the batter’s defence. His modulation of movement added to his penetrative skills. His vicious off-cutter has deservingly acquired legendary status. Apart from Kapil Dev I have not seen anyone with a more dangerous off-cutter than Chakuda’s.

He was as deadly with the old ball as he was with the new. Even on docile pitches he would not shirk his responsibilities. He would willingly bowl for hours if the captain desired. His never-say-die attitude sent ripples within his team mates. Like all great bowlers, he had mastered the art of wrist-movement at ball-release and the use of the seam. His strong yet flexible wrists added a lethal dose of poison to his deliveries.

Off the field the man was a role model. Impeccably mannered, the erect personality was quick to appreciate the immense contribution of Sumitra-boudi in bringing up two wonderful sons. Chakuda always maintained, “No, no, I would never be able to handle household matters. I am indeed lucky to have a wonderful family to look after me.”

Once at Sambalpur most of the Bengal players found accommodation at a hotel. But no room could be found for the young players, including myself. Typically, conscientious gentleman that Chakuda was, he volunteered to be with the youngsters. This proved to be a blessing as we were taken to the Circuit House to stay and dine.

At the dining table while having a chat with him, the generally strong-silent man was in a voluble mood, “I believe Ambar wants you to bat at number 3 tomorrow. This is a good opportunity for you to play a long innings as you always bat too low at number 6.” I replied, “I shall certainly try my best. Wish me luck.”

Chakuda elaborated, “Mind you, the pitch is a mud-pot. No grass to bind the turf. It will be a rank turner with variable bounce. But I am confident you have the technique and temperament to survive on this pitch.” I had no idea that the quiet man was such a serious student of the game. However, I did bat low again but, as luck would have it, managed a decent score to help Bengal win in that very low-scoring match. What a prophecy!

Within a few years we were playing club cricket together for Mohun Bagan Athletic Club. That season most of the prominent players had left the club for our principal rival. Apart from Chakuda, TJ Banerjee – another gem of a man – and me, the others were youngsters with almost no experience of playing for a club with hundreds of vocal supporters in attendance. Selfless Chakuda sacrificed his captaincy-opportunity and willingly allowed me – 10 years his junior – to lead the club side.

Chakuda – though no longer in his prime – still glowed with confidence. He reassured me, “Raju, I shall bowl whenever you want me to bowl and for as long as you want me. Don’t lose hope.” Almost single-handedly – with TJ Banerjee’s assistance, of course – he helped the young team to win two out of the three championship titles. For an elderly medium pacer, past his prime, this was indeed a lion-hearted effort. Because of Chakuda’s championship-winning bowling performance, the following season his club captain was indeed lucky to be asked to lead Bengal in the Ranji Trophy championship.

Later, much later in 2010 one evening at home I got a phone-call. The confident voice of the man at the other end was unmistakable, “Extremely happy that you have been chosen as a match-referee for international matches by ICC.” I could only mumble, “Chakuda, please bless me.” He signed off by saying, “I always thought knowledge-wise you were far ahead of the rest. I am happy to find that I was not wrong in my assessment.” My voice choked. I could barely say, “Pronam neben.”

The most deserving Indian jawan never represented his nation on the cricket field. Was it his loss or the nation’s? I honestly wonder.

 

With enouragement from eminent author Mac Waingankar, reposting 

SALIM DURANI: the genius  on his 88th birthday, 11 December 2022

 

Most Indians feel that the turning point of Indian cricket was in 1983. Yes, India won the ODI world cup in UK. India’s first-ever silver-ware in international cricket. And ‘big money’ began to flow into cricket. With it came bribery, betting, match fixing, dacoits masquerading as officials, sponsors and agents. Yes, it was the turning point in Indian cricket off-the-field.

 

But if the genuine cricket follower cares to put his hand on his heart, his conscience will reveal the truth: the most significant year of Indian cricket on-the-field was 1971. India defeated West Indies and England in successive Test series within months on their own backyards.

 

Never again would India repeat such major victories abroad within such a short span. As England had just registered a victory over Australia in 1970-71, India was justifiably the number one cricketing nation at a time when ‘rankings’ were unheard of.

 

The man who took India to the top of the cricketing world way back in 1971 happened to be a man born in Afghanistan. The ‘Kabuliwala’ who was christened ‘Prince Salim’ by his innumerable fans around the country was the chief architect of that splendid victory in West Indies and laid the foundation for Chandrasekhar’s inspired spell at the Oval within months. Let all genuine cricket lovers have the courage to admit this essential truth.

 

Salim Durani was a free soul without a care for the morrow. Had no inhibition; had no ego. He borrowed money and bought beer and coke to share with the ‘creditor’! Next day in the most subtle manner possible, he left the exact amount into the man’s shirt pocket! I can vouch for the incident because the person happened to be me. At Hyderabad during the Moin-ud-Dowla Trophy way back in 1976.

 

In a career that spanned nearly 15 years, the magnificent all-rounder played in only 29 Tests. He went on only two tours abroad – both to the Caribbean ten years apart – where he showed the world his true greatness.

 

The national selectors, in all their wisdom, realized that Durani would be a ‘passenger’ on tours to England, Australia and New Zealand between 1959 and 1974! The man who was helping India to win series after series at home was omitted from tours abroad!

 

Once I asked him the reason for being was omitted from the Indian team to England in 1967. The disarming smile softly uttered with all the sweetness of an Urdu couplet, “The selectors thought England would be too cold for me.” Why not to Australia and New Zealand the following year? A charming, subtle wink elaborated, “May be too hot for me.”

 

Handsome is as the handsome does, so goes the cliché. Absolutely true in Durani’s case. The greenish-blue eyes looked at the world from a tall, handsome frame. He was all elegance and style.

 

Even the glamorous world of Bollywood had to relent by offering him a hero’s role opposite Parveen Babi in BR Ishara’s Charitra. This also happens to be another ‘first’ of his among Indian Test cricketers.

 

In 1962 when no one quite wanted to face the fiery Wesley Hall and Chester Watson on those lightning fast, hard West Indies pitches of the time, it was this man who volunteered to bat at number 3! So very typical of this man. For good measure, the left-handed all-rounder scored a magnificent century against a world-class attack comprising Sobers, Gibbs and Hall.

 

Surely he did not mean to offend anyone, but the graceful century-innings did embarrass the prima donna batters no end. Not that it mattered to him. He was just doing something that came naturally to him.

 

Salim Durani was born on a train heading towards Kabul in 1934 at a time when his father, Abdul Aziz, was keeping wickets for the Nawanagar State team in pre-independent India. After India’s independence in 1947, Aziz and his family settled down in the newly formed State of Gujarat.

 

Destiny had decreed that Durani would be Afghan by birth but Indian by nationality, as was the case with millions of others affected by the partition of the sub-continent.

 

He was as much the people’s man as he was of the connoisseurs. A hero to millions. At Calcutta people still – now nearly 50 years since he last played for India – go crazy when they see him. When my book on the 150^th year of Eden Gardens in 2014 was in print, a cricket addict said, “I shall buy the book only if Durani’s photo is on the cover. No one ever was more popular than he at Eden.” Absolutely correct the gentleman was.

 

He always seemed to keep his best for the Eden Gardens crowd. In 1965 in one over of magic weave he had three Aussies in hypnosis. Unfortunately his wonderful spell did not get the acknowledgement as the match was curtailed owing to unseasonal rain.

 

“Yes, I enjoyed the support of the crowd at Eden. To be honest, I enjoy only if the spectators enjoy wherever that be. Otherwise what is the purpose of sports? Sport is entertainment. Is it not?” How true. Only a genuine artist like Prince Salim can say so – exactly like Mushtaq Ali of yesteryear – in such an easy, relaxed manner.

 

His charm was captivating. Once in a Duleep Trophy tie, the bowler Durani actually applauded a cover-driven boundary of mine! I was too stunned to react. It took me moments to realize the fathomless magnanimity of the man.

 

His simplicity, his modesty, his love for life and his love for companionship are lessons to learn from. At Eden during my book inaugural session he told a packed audience, “…I always wanted to be a railway engine driver…Never thought I had any talent for cricket…Life has been good to me…No regrets at all…”

 

Only a man of Salim Aziz Durani’s class can say so despite all the injustices that he had to bear over the decades. So casual and unconcerned was the man about his own well-being that he even would not go to collect the honorarium one benefactor in Bombay had decided to give him on a monthly basis!

 

Never once has anyone heard him criticize another person. Not even a harsh word passed through his lips. That was quite beyond him.

 

He believed in enjoyment. He enjoyed his life, his cricket. And in return he gave far more enjoyment to others, whether they were spectators or friends. Doubt if he ever had a foe. A man of few words; when he spoke his soft, chaste voice was all music. He was the Prince Charming of Indian cricket.

 

Great cricketers would be born again and again. But there will never be another to match this nonchalant, selfless genius.

 

 

Genius is a cliched term. Misunderstood and misused. Only a handful can lay claim to the combination of originality, creativity, natural skills that are inherent in the nature of a real genius.

 

Salim Durani combined extraordinary innovativeness with extreme ease of execution to walk into this exclusive elite group of cricketers. In the post-war scenario apart from Keith Miller and Gary Sobers, Salim Durani was probably the only one who could transform the tide of a tie in a matter of moments.

 

Lissome and handsome, the elegant left-hander left an imprint on every ground he trod on. The languid gait was enough to draw attention. The effortless approach of gay abandon drew spontaneous applause. His skills were varied and of pristine pure quality. People adored him for they knew that he was far, far beyond the accepted patterns of orthodoxy. His unpredictability gave him an aura of vulnerability and for that reason his adventurous ways made him so very appealing.

 

 No respecter of icons or ideologies, he took delight in puncturing reputations on the field. But there would be no violence, no mockery, no sadism. Made it appear the simplest of activities: nonchalance in the extreme.

 

And like all geniuses he also had his powerful detractors. Former Test cricketers masquerading as national selectors never could fathom the nugget of gold cast before them. They knew not his worth to the game or his value to the team. Consequently India suffered.

 

In the 1960s Indian cricket was studded with excellent performers, but without the presence of the one and only genius the team hardly ever played to its real potential. If Durani was unpredictable, the selectors were no less. To be honest the man was at a wrong place, at a wrong time.

 

His first-class career began as a batsman at 18 with Saurashtra in 1953 for whom he scored a century on debut. Then after spending two years with Gujarat, he finally transferred loyalties to Rajasthan, where under the care of Raj Singh Dungarpur his latent talent flowered.

 

Consistent batting performances earned him his Test debut at Bombay against Benaud's team in 1959. But an injured finger relegated him to no. 10, where an innings of 18 relegated him to oblivion.

 

 With Vinoo Mankad and Chandu Joshi around, Durani was hardly required to bowl for Rajasthan but then the young man was so involved with all the facets of the game that he began to pick up the tricks of the bowling art just by watching the mastery of Mankad. Such was the versatility of Salim Durani that in 1958-59 he even kept wickets for Rajasthan regularly!

 

After the inauspicious Test debut he kept himself involved

in a most unusual way imaginable. Instead of just concentrating on batting, as almost every batsman would have done, Salim concentrated on batting, wicket-keeping and, when opportunities offered, on bowling. Prodigious turn of his strong fingers and supple wrists made the ball spin appreciably on all wickets and its best results came when he had 8 for 99 against Bombay in the Ranji final of 1960-61.

 

Next year he was recalled against Dexter's team. Now the neglected man was regarded as the principal bowler! In conjunction with Chandu Borde, with whom he was to climb many a peak together, Salim (71) added 142 runs for the 5th wicket and each of them claimed 3 wickets to cement their positions in the side.

 

The following two Tests were drawn and then at Calcutta the magnificent pair brought about a stunning victory through their prolific contributions. Durani with 63 and 5 and 3 wickets and his mate Borde with 68 and 61 and 3 wickets were the toast of the crowd.  The duo continued their act in the next Test at Madras. Borde with 5 wickets and Durani with 10 wickets brought about India's first ever series victory over England.

 

To West Indies Durani went in 1962 as our premier all-rounder. On hard, pacy wickets where no spinner on either side made any dent, his guile and genius accounted for 17 wickets in just 7 innings against men of the calibre of Frank Worrel, Rohan Kanhai , Garfield Sobers, Conrad Hunte and company.

 

However what marked him out as special was the courage and class that he displayed in his batting. By the 4th Test the Indians were battered and bruised by the fury of Wes Hall, Charlie Stayers and Chester Watson. It was at this hour that his Pathan blood boiled. No longer could he restrain himself to be on the receiving end.

 

Volunteering to go at No. 3 he proceeded to take the attack to the enemy camp. His bat was a rapier as he lunged into the fearsome attack without a care for the morrow. Gutsy Vijay Mehra gave him solid support as he raced to his century and later the grand old man Polly Umrigar came up with a heroic unbeaten 172. In the Caribbean Salim Durani was not only the major bowler but also took upon himself the role of the saviour. When the top batsmen 'back-pedalled’, he emerged to offer sanctuary and security to his supposed superiors.

 

This saviour's role he was to play time and again for the cause of his mates and country. One moment he was expected to grit his teeth in attrition and at the very next to plunge the dagger in. To play just one role is beyond most, but to be outstanding in both called for something special. It was this rare quality that marked him out as a genius.

 

 He loved adversity; relished challenges. Against weaker teams and under easy conditions he was invariably below his best, but when the going got tough, he would get hold of the rudder and inspire others through personal example. Simpson's Australians on the way back after their triumphs in England shuddered to 174 all out at Eden as Durani taunted them with 6 for 73 off 28 but then had the mortification to see the late Calcutta monsoon ruin the last two days' play.

 

 Again against Sobers’ men when the Indians were feeling the heat of battle and succumbed at Wankhade, the only semblance of resistance came from Prince Salim's aggressive half century where he countered Hall and Griffith thrust for thrust, glare for glare. But sure enough he was omitted for the rest of the series!

 

It appears that the mediocrity around him in the form of officials, team managers and selectors did not want his genius to be exhibited. Of course we have to thank the sagacity of our Test selectors – mostly former Test cricketers – who decided that Salim, then India's premier all-rounder, was not good enough to tour England in 1967, 1971 and 1974 as well as to Australia and New Zealand in 1968.

 

He was done in by vindictive comments of mediocre contemporaries and also by cliquish, narrow-minded selectors. Durani even during his playing days had little time for nodding at powers-that-be. One can only wonder to what heights his penetrative left-arm spin bowling would have reached on the softish English conditions and what his flashing stroke-play would have achieved on the hard Australian wickets.

 

Nine years after his first visit to West Indies, he went back again. This time under Wadekar, a tour memorable for India winning her first-ever series overseas against West Indies. Very deservingly the Indian batters got their due praise, but the man who made the reality possible was a forgotten man within days! Yes, he was Salim Durani, who else?

 

It was his golden arm that first deceived Lloyd and rattled Sobers’ stumps first ball at Sabina Park. So rattled were the West Indies that they collapsed and could not regain their posture throughout the series. Durani with the two most important wickets for just 21 runs off 17 overs was the chief architect of India's first Test and series victory in West Indies. However, true to expectations, he was dropped from the playing XI just after one further Test!

 

However, this was not the end of his Test career. By now he had become a phoenix, perpetually rising from the ashes, as it were. After the euphoria of victories over West Indies and England abroad, India returned to promptly lose to Tony Lewis’ England side in the first Test.

 

 Immediately the panic buttons requisitioned for Durani. Now at the fag end of his career, Durani was to serve the country as a batsman! Durani began as a batter, then a spinner, later an all-rounder and finally back to square one as a batter! Amazing are the ways of our national selectors.

 

What an exhibition he had laid in store for his fans. To a thunderous ovation he walked in at the Gardens and into familiar surroundings: underprepared wicket, India in trouble, opposition literally baying for blood. Just the occasion he relished to have his adrenalin flowing.

 

He swatted a fly and it ricocheted back from the fence to his toe nails in the form of a cricket ball. Sheer magic it was. Edens erupted. We knew we were in the presence of an extraordinary individual, a genius. A man, a real man. A man of adventure and heroic proportions. A genius at the top of the world.

 

As he unusually calmly met a few deliveries without even moving his feet, we knew not the strain in the thigh. A runner was allowed later when the pain was too obvious and he was not even able to use his feet for basic foot-work, far less to run singles.

 

With his favourite Gavaskar to scurry about, the genius played an innings of rare gem. No cavalier was he this time; No frills, nothing fancy. Now he had his head down, chin up, elbow straight, body behind the ball. He steeled himself as he proceeded to play an innings of character that would bring victory to his country and draw parity in the series. He scored 55 out of 157 and helped his captain and mates to go on a victory lap.

 

In the following Test at Madras, once again he was in the thick of action at a time when India was wilting under pressure. And once again he was the main contributor to India's victory in the Test and consequently, as it transpired, in the series as well.

 

And once again he was dropped from the next Test at Kanpur. It was said he was omitted on grounds of fitness. I can only ask, is it not better to take such unfit men who can win matches for the country rather than fitter men who are of no benefit to the team?

 

The insult to injury had the Bombay crowd up in arms in unison. They made placards proclaiming 'No Durani, no Test' and demanded his return. The Board and the selectors remembered Calcutta in 1945 when national selector Duleepsinghji was heckled with similar posters for excluding Mushtaq Ali and so wasted no time in recalling Salim to the playing XI.

 

The genial genius responded to the spontaneous ovation by playing two superlative knocks of 73 and 37 and signed off his magnificent deeds in Test cricket for good.

 

In the history of Test cricket never before or since has a man been omitted immediately after he had directly contributed to national victories. He won 3 Tests out of his last 5 for India, and altogether 6 out of 29 Tests and saved as many.

 

There are numerous Test cricketers — with statistics far superior to Durani’s — who have neither won nor saved a single match for their country. The very same people over the years are earning in crores for passing a whole lot of inane comments on television.

 

They tortured you, Salim bhai, but they could not take away your achievements. They may crucify you to death, Salim bhai, but none can take away your genius that God has blessed you with. You will remain my idol till I die and beyond.

 

 

Ambar Roy: talent wasted and under-exposed.

He was the original ‘Prince’ of Bengal cricket. A solid nugget of gold. Pristine of purity. Worth millions in intrinsic value.

But the nugget of gold was left untouched, unpolished. No shape or design was ever given to it. It remained till the very end exactly as it was at the very beginning. There was no identity crisis in his case!

Ambar Roy’s presence would not attract attention. His dress was casual to the point of being callous. Even at receptions he would be seen in kolhapuri chappals with his unfashionable wide pyjama-like trousers and an ill-fitting casual shirt. But I personally found the demeanour suited his shy, quiet approach to life. He was just being himself. Whether you liked him or not did not make any difference to his casual man.

But with a cricket bat in hand his personality underwent a complete transformation. The hesitant introvert became a man seething with confidence; a man who attracted the attention of cricket connoisseurs. When he batted even a cricket-ignorant person would know that he was watching the Kishore Kumar of cricket. Absolutely natural; self-made. No one can teach these ‘naturals’ anything. Whatever they learn and do are entirely spontaneous, based on their own instincts.

I believe many people tried their best to show Ambar Roy the ‘correct’ path! All these well-wishers failed. Even his legendary uncle Pankaj Roy, whose late career coincided with Ambar Roy’s early days for Bengal and East Zone, left no impact on the prodigiously talented youth. In fact Ambar Roy was a distinct antithesis to Pankaj Roy. Opener Pankaj was comfortable against pace and spin; relied a lot on cuts, glances, placements and pushes. While Ambar thrived on free-flowing drives and was particularly severe on spinners. Not very comfortable against genuine pace.

When Ambarda struck the ball he always gave me the impression that he was using a broader bat than others! How did he manage to ‘middle’ the ball from the first delivery? Only a man with a super sense of ‘timing’ could do so with such profound ease. His scorching drives left their marks on the dew-laden Eden Gardens turf. On the off-side he was invincible, especially when on the back-foot. People who have played the game would understand how difficult back-foot play is. But to Ambar Roy it came naturally.

Ironically however for a predominantly back-foot player, Ambar Roy was remarkably weak against pace bowling, especially towards the end of career. He could never really overcome his discomfort against genuine pace as were many Indian batters of the time and beyond. Unfortunately he never even tried to mend his weakness.

The power that the lithe physique generated was entirely based on ‘timing’. The power that flowed from his bat stunned a 17 year-old teenager way back in April, 1968. That was Pankaj Roy’s last year of club cricket. I remember taking a ‘dolly’ at mid-on to end Pankajda’s club cricket career! But at the other end the ‘Prince’ was merciless on Mohun Bagan’s strong bowling attack at Eden.

Being inexperienced, I had just no idea that a cricket ball could be hit so hard by a lean, almost frail frame. Ambarda’s drives were bullets that grazed the grass. During a recess in the match, I casually mentioned to our skipper Shyam Sundar Mitra the power behind the strokes. My innocent query received this instant answer from a man of erudite wit, “Arre baba, Raju, whether you hit hard or soft, you get the same number of runs, 4 or 6. Nothing more! Stick to what comes naturally to you.” An important lesson learnt from two genuinely top-quality batters.

Ambar Roy made his official Test debut at Nagpur against New Zealand in 1969. Indian cricket was in dire straits at the time, having been whitewashed by England in England and Australia in Australia. The national selectors decided to try new faces against New Zealand and Australia on Indian soil. Nagpur was hosting a Test for the first time ever. India put up a dreadful show and lost the Test to New Zealand. The nucleus appeared hesitant and lacked application when Ambar Roy strode to the pitch at number 7 in the batting order.

He gave the impression that he had come to play a friendly fixture at the Calcutta maidan. Within minutes he was striking the deliveries – which appeared to be ‘Molotov cocktails’ till then – as if he was swatting flies on the orange orchards of Nagpur. When his innings of 48 ended barely an hour later, the ball had ricocheted from the fence no less than 10 times. What a debut innings it was. To a man the sporting Nagpur crowd gave him a standing ovation and the Indian media was full of praise for a young man who showed that given the opportunities our young talents had the potential to flower against all odds.

But within a few more Tests, exactly three, the honeymoon with Ambar Roy was over! The national selectors in all their collective wisdom realized that this man was not good enough for the India XI. The chief reason was another thrashing, this time at the hands of Australia at Eden. Apart from the genius of Vishwanath, all the other established batters had also failed. Low profile Ambar Roy with scores of 18 and 19 – which were better scores than the more experienced players – was eased out forever. Despite consistent run-getting in the domestic first-class championships, a great potential was lost to Indian cricket.

Players with less than half his potential went on tours to England, Australia and West Indies. Despite constant failures they were persevered with for strange, unknown reasons.  Ambar Roy like Tamil Nadu’s mercurial batter of the early 1960s Milkha Singh – four Tests each – were handled as pawns and sacrificed with impunity.

Because of selectorial short-sightedness highly consistent batters of the 1960s like Shyam Sundar Mitra, Sudhakar Adhikari and Vijay Bhonsle did not get a single opportunity at the Test level. Similar fate awaited quality cricketers like pacemen Abdul Ismail and Samar Chakravarty; spinners Padmakar Shivalkar and Rajinder Goel and the wicket keeper/batter PK Beliappa. While mediocre cricketers were persevered with, many genuine talents suffered in silence in the 1960s.

Ambar Roy’s bat painted pretty pictures all over the grounds of India. Ambar Roy hardly used his feet to be at the pitch of the ball. He would rather prefer to go back and make room to play off the back-foot. Played as late as possible. Exactly as the world-class Majid Jahangir would do. Majid was known to have said, “Foot-work is not the main issue. The main issue is your hand and eye co-ordination and your ball-sense.” Absolutely to the point. Ambarda exemplified the concept not in theory but in action.

He was elegance personified. While batting he appeared to have had so much of time to play the ball. He always looked to be at ease. Never saw him in any kind of discomfort. While I was making my first-class debut at Delhi in 1972, thankfully the man at the other end was my East Zone skipper Ambar Roy. On a treacherous pitch, North Zone was all out for a low score and East Zone followed by losing 6 wickets. Ambarda and I added the necessary 50 plus runs to win the match on first innings lead.

While batting, I asked him, “It seems the ball is turning a lot.” He smiled, “Raju, it is a normal pitch. Bedi and Goel can turn the ball on any pitch. Nothing to worry. Play your natural game.” I was not too sure that my steady, defensive approach would succeed in that situation and condition. So I went on the attack more in hope than with any conviction. Ambarda kept smiling at the other end as I went for the bowling. Not once did he ask me to check my approach. This was a grand lesson that he imparted: let every individual sort his own problem in his own way without unnecessary guidance at the last moment. Thanks, Ambarda, you really helped me that day by not confusing me with extra cautionary guidance and theory.

As a captain he was a total misfit. He was too soft a person to lead ten other people. He just could not even raise his voice to admonish. Never saw him criticizing anyone, not even in private. Many players really took advantage of his soft nature. For instance, whenever Subroto Guha would say, “I am tired, Amra”, he would make a bowling change, may be even after just three overs! The moment Dilip Doshi wanted to bowl, Ambarda would hand him the ball to bowl! Samar Chakrabarti and Alok Bhattacharya invariably suffered.

Everyone was fond of him. His nature was such that he would not hurt even a fly. Once he astounded me when I saw him carrying a whole lot of Phantom illustrated comics for reading on tour! His best friend was Rajan Bala. How did an erudite writer and a cricketer who had not read a single book became the closest of friends is anybody’s guess. Both were diametrically at extreme ends in every possible way except for their dreadful dress sense. However both were wonderful personalities.

I do not think Ambarda ever had a cricket bat which he could call his own. He would borrow bats and pads from others, even in serious matches. Batting with different bats is a very difficult proposition for most specialist batsmen. But for Ambarda it was only natural!

I do not remember seeing him do any physical training. Running round the periphery of the ground was strictly taboo! He would take a few catches before the start of the day’s play and might hit a few deliveries at the nets without his pads on. Nothing more serious than that. But as a youngster he had remarkable reflexes and I distinctly remember him taking some sharp catches at slip.

But he would just not give effort at practice sessions. He was not indisciplined in any way. No, no. Far from it. He was just indifferent; had little idea of his own talent. Wish he had a strong mentor who would have told him how good he was and who would have made him work really hard on his weakness against pace bowling.

Ambar Roy played many memorable knocks for Bengal and East Zone in a career that spanned from 1959 to 1978. He scored against the best of world-class spinners that included Durani, Nadkarni, Bedi, Goel, Chandra, Prasanna and Venkataraghavan. But his most memorable innings was versus Karnataka at Eden Gardens in 1976 in a Ranji Trophy pre-quarter final match.

Karnataka scored nearly 500 runs on the first two days, Bengal replied with about 400 and lost on first innings lead. Ambar Roy played a superlative innings of 150 odd and kept the match alive till the end of the fourth and last day. The point to note is Ambar Roy played a lone-hand scoring those 150 plus runs on a well-worn 3^rd and 4^th day’s pitch against two of the greatest spinners the world had seen. What a magnificent effort it was.

Still regret that I could not give him a little more support having left at 30 odd with a partnership nearing hundred. If only I was able to survive a little longer, the dashing leftie would surely have over-hauled the Karnataka’s imposing score. Ambar Roy’s sterling knock on a treacherous turner against Chandra and Pras never got its due recognition.

Today at a time when players get opportunities galore despite repeated failures, one can only lament at the fate of men like Ambar Roy and Milkha Singh who had the requisite talent but did not do enough justice to themselves in the few opportunities they got. They were dropped like hot potatoes without a thought. The talents remained but the talents got rusted through lack of exposure.

 

 

 

Russy Mody: the man who genuinely respected sportspeople

The first patrons of Indian sports were the Princely States of the pre-independence era. Notably Patiala, Cooch behar, Natore, Nawanagar and Holkar among others. Later Indian Railways were very magnanimous to offer employment to talented sportsmen.

 From the 1950s some private sector companies which included commercial banks, particularly in Mumbai and Chennai, took the initiative to recruit talented sportsmen. But the company that genuinely went into promoting various sports disciplines and sportsmen were the Tata’s. The principal catalyst was an executive by the name of Russy Mody.

Grace and graciousness flowed in his veins. At Tatanagar (Jamshedpur) in 1972 when East Zone was billed to play the visiting England team led by Tony Lewis, Russy Mody came to meet the East Zone players at the nets the previous afternoon. As he walked into the Keenan Stadium, dressed in a floral-print Hawaiian shirt and loose Bermudas, the  players, officials and the groundsmen  rushed towards him, but he waved them away saying, “No, no, carry on with the net session. I shall wait till the end.”

He kept his word. He did not walk on to the ground. He did not try to show he was the boss of the place. He just sat on a cane chair on the periphery and chatted with Sudhir Das, the prominent Bihar all-rounder of yesteryear who happened to be our cricket manager at the time.

As we finished our net practice session and walked back towards the pavilion, he came and introduced himself to us with a smile, “I am your host for the match. Any problems you have, just let Sudhir know about it.” Exchanged pleasantries with all the players. Most of the senior cricketers were well known to him. Before departing, casually mentioned, “Since you are playing against an international team, please think you are representing India.”

For a 22-year old in his first-class cricket debut season, this was a highly motivating message to me. He sounded so simple and easy. Made us feel relaxed. His modesty was unbelievable. Not once did he create any impression of high office. Not once did he try to create an overbearing scenario. He actually had tea with us in an earthen bhaar, as was the custom at the grounds in those days. Even dunked a biscuit in the tea before biting into it.

Russy Mody was a multi-dimensional persona. Like a true industrialist, he thought of social welfare through community service as early as the 1960s. He worshipped cricket, yet spent time and effort on every other sports discipline as well. His sponsorship of social welfare activities never came to the fore. He was at ease with ministers as he was with the chai-walas on the streets and the labourers in the coal mines.

At Digwadih in the coal belt of Jamadoba, near Dhanbad in erstwhile Bihar (now Jharkhand), where the Tata’s had their collieries, he engaged a former first-class cricketer, Kalyan Mitter, as a curator to prepare a cricket ground. Later Daljit Singh and Robin Mukherjea, two renowned cricketers, followed to prepare facilities for football, hockey, volleyball and other disciplines.

The first person who opened my eyes about Russy Mody was a young IIT Kharagpur mining engineer by the name of Kuldip Sharma at the Digwadih Club in September 1972. Yes, exactly 50 years ago.

According to Kuldip that evening, now a very close friend, "His thoughts centre around the welfare of the children of coal-miners! The massive projects are being carried out to help these deprived youngsters to find an avenue for their personal development. Mr Mody, the magnanimous visionary, chose sports because he realized the appeal of sports to children of all ages and status. What a wonderful way to help the deprived find a place in the mainstream." The brilliant student and successful executive, Kuldip hit the nail right on its head. Without an iota of doubt, Russy Mody's vision was far ahead of his time.

In the 1970s he would invite international cricketers of the calibre of Salim Durani, Hanumant Singh and Dilip Sardesai, among others, to take part in the Homi Mody cricket championship at Digwadih Stadium. The tournament was held in September-October, at a time when no cricket was possible in any other part of eastern India because of the extended rainy season.

This was the place where the East Zone players would get some practice matches before the start of the domestic season. Many young cricketers began their career because of Russy Mody’s benevolence. This writer happens to be one of them.

In time, many prominent names of Indian football, hockey and volleyball came up from the coal-mining districts of Jamadoba and Jealgora. All this was possible because of one man who refused take any credit or publicity for his generosity or for his vision.

From the mid-1970s, Russy Mody XI would go around the country to play various tournaments. Amazingly along with ten players from Bihar there would be one from Bengal in his combined team. He never quite forgot me.

 I once approached him for a job. The immediate response was, “Of course. You like to write. I think you should join our public relations department at Jamshedpur.” I replied, “But, sir, I am leading Bengal and cannot afford to leave Calcutta now.” He smiled and said, “Ra-jew (that’s how he pronounced my name), you would be better off in Bihar than in Bengal.” He was absolutely right. I wish I had taken the plunge.

He lived life to the full. And expected others to do so as well. He patronized sportspeople like the maharajas of old. He would allow them full freedom to play and to work. He wanted people to develop themselves. Magnanimity escorted him wherever he went. So much so that scores of people took advantage of his generosity. Yet not once did he ever show any remorse or regret.

For such a great lover of cricket, ironically he just could not put bat to ball. Totally non-athletic in frame, the hand and eye co-ordination lacked sporting prowess. He tried his hand at bowling and developed a peculiar way of delivering the ball. He would release the ball very early and the ball would go up for about 15 or so feet and descend on a spot near the batsman! The ball would lose almost all momentum on pitching and would more often than not drop almost ‘dead’ before reaching the batter!

But he had an ear for music. On his piano his fingers played the symphonies of Mozart and Bethoven to perfection. But throughout his life his first love remained cricket.

He was a genuine visionary. Today what is known in corporate circles as man-management was in his blood. He did not have to learn to be courteous. He did not have to resort to hypocrisy to impress or to draw attention. He never wanted publicity; never flaunted his friendship with the rich and the famous. To show off his ‘personality and importance’ he did not cocoon himself in a grave face.

 On the contrary, the real Russy Mody was gregarious, soft-natured, polite, generous and accessible to a fault. He accepted all the trickery and back-stabbing over the years with a hearty laugh.

He was the person who established the football academy at Jamshedpur, where later other sports disciplines like athletics, archery and gymnastics among others prospered. After his untimely departure from Tata’s, the academy lost its glamour and Jamshedpur lost its eminence as a centre of sports.

Russy Mody gave jobs to prominent sportsmen who served Tata’s office teams in various states. His generosity extended even to physically handicapped former sportsmen who would not be able to play for the Tata office teams. One Bengal cricketer – Jiten Singh – who had lost a leg in an accident was given a job at Jamshedpur by this marvelous gentleman. The magnanimous personality would not differentiate between provinces Bengal and Bihar, nor between communities. To him a sportsman was a sportsman, of whatever hue he might be.

But never, never would he beat his own drums on any platform. In fact a journalist once recounted that it was almost impossible to get Russy Mody for an interview. He was easily accessible but too proactive to sit in one place and talk about himself. That was not in his genes.

Russy Mody met trade union leaders with an “open-door” policy. One leftist union leader once recounted, “He would call all the union leaders of different camps together to discuss issues. There was never any separate meeting with any particular union. He did not believe in any hide-and-seek system. We respected and believed him totally. We knew he would never go back on his word.”

Once when Rajan Bala, the eminent journalist, was pestering Russy Mody to accept the offer to contest the premier post of BCCI, the latter just said, “Rajan, with my bulk I don’t think I would fit on that chair!” Yes, that was the kind of ready wit he had. Last person to think of earning fame or fortune for himself from sports.

He was a firm believer in principles, not in posts. Certainly not the man to head any of India’s corruption-ridden sports organizations. But if he did, he would have cleaned the Augean Stables and altered the course of Indian sports. 

Just prior to his death I met him at the Nagraj Bar of Bengal Club in Calcutta. Bowed low to him and before I could finish my sentence, “Sir, I know you have forgotten me,” he raised his hand and softly said, “Ra-jew, no?” What do you make of this genius who had by then supposedly lost his memory? After a few months, I was writing his obituary.

Ironically the very men who took advantage of Russy Mody kept a distance from him when he bade good-bye to the company he had served for decades. Some avoided him in public. Others kept a discreet distance. Their very selfish considerations took control of their decisions. But, even in private conversations, none could really say a word against him. Influential people who were very close to him when he was in power had no time for him when he was out of office.

It mattered little to the short, bulky frame with the softest of eyes. He accepted the hypocrisy with extreme grace and a cultured demeanour. But thousands who came across him in daily life, whether in office or elsewhere, literally worshipped him. I have seen matured Tata employees in Jamshedpur and Dhanbad break down and cry at his departure from the organization.

His service to Indian sport has never been surpassed in contemporary times. With his passion for the game, his love for sportsmen, his administrative skills and his unimpeachable integrity, he would have made a marvellous president of BCCI or any other sports federation including the Indian Olympic Association.

 But he had no craving for power or for position. Certainly not a person to campaign or cajole. Most surely not a person to indulge in any rat-race. Never had any intention to flex muscles. Last person to use his influence or his wealth. No way would he use his massive popularity for any personal benefit.

But our attitude is so hypocritical that we have forgotten the very man who first gave genuine prominence, social status, financial support and respect to performers of all sports disciplines.

No other Indian administrator has done as much for sports and sports-people as he has. He stands a singular sentinel for the cause of Indian sports.