Mushtaq Ali’s Unique Popularity           

 

The first time I saw Mushtaq Ali was at the Eden Gardens in the ‘Defence Fund Match’, which was held following the India-China war in 1962. At the time in the early 1960s, Mushtaq Ali was nearing 50 and most certainly was out of cricket for more than a decade.

 

In my childhood days, I had heard of Mushtaq Ali’s magnificent exploits from my father. He would mention how Mushtaq Ali would step out of his crease to even fast bowlers and glance, flick or cut with ease. That was supposed to be his trademark stroke.

 

To be honest, it was difficult to believe that such strokes were at all possible. Why should a batsman step out to a fast bowler? And even if he did, why would he do so to glance, flick or cut the ball?  It sounded incredible. I used to think that since my father belonged to Mushtaq Ali’s generation, he was merely exaggerating the hero worship of the generation’s idol.

 

Now I was watching the 50 year old former opener against the fastest bowler in the world at the time, Roy Gilchrist of West Indies!  A fast bowler of frightening pace and ferocious nature. As Gilchrist, arms flailing, thundered in to deliver, Mushtaq Ali actually stepped out of his crease! He must have stepped out at least two yards!

 

Gilchrist, flabbergasted, did not release the ball. He ran down the pitch to Mushtaq Ali’s end, glared at him for a while and made a sign of the cross on Mushtaq Ali’s chest, as if marking the target before turning back to bowl the next ball. Mushtaq Ali merely smiled and made a gesture of flicking a speck of dirt from his fluttering flannel shirt.

 

The whole episode was the height of showmanship. But this was no theatre. A spark had been ignited between the world’s fastest bowler and the world’s most adventurous batsman. The stark reality of antagonism was palpable. The crowd was on the edge of their seats. We realized that there would be no quarters given; certainly none asked for.

 

The intervening moment throbbed with excitement: a fuming Gilchrist walking back to the top of his distant bowling mark; and Mushtaq, nonchalant and graceful, leaning on his walking-stick of a bat for support!

 

The next ball from the fearsome Gilchrist scorched the earth but the old man was again out of his crease in no time and flicked the rising delivery off his chest over square-leg to the fence. It was a combination of raw courage, superlative co-ordination of hand and eye. And a rare sense of adventure.

 

 Realised there and then, the reason why my father’s generation of cricket lovers idolized Mushtaq Ali. He was not only a marvellous batsman, full of strokes and full of bravado. No, no, he was much more. For him cricket was not only a game, but an adventure. An adventure to be enjoyed and to be lived to the full.

 

If the adventure did not end in glory, there was no failure involved. It was just a matter of challenge. It was the sense of attempting the impossible that set him apart from others. Never before or since has a batsman stepped out to the fastest of bowlers to pat the ball over slip cordon or to glance or to flick. None would dare because of the physical risk involved. In fact that was precisely the reason why Mushtaq Ali patented those strokes of his: because those were very difficult to execute and because those were highly risky.

 

In 1977 I played against his son Gulrez Ali in a Duleep Trophy match at Jaipur. He had his father’s easy bearing, relaxed smile and cultured manner. There, however, the comparison ended because there could never be another graceful and gracious Mushtaq Ali, not even among his own progeny. Genes of geniuses, I guess, end with them.

 

In 1993 Mushtaq Ali had come to Calcutta at the invitation of the Voluntary Blood Donors’ Association to meet the blood donors at Eden Gardens, of whom I happened to be one. I had taken a copy of his autobiography Cricket Delightful and requested him for his signature. Flashing a wide smile, he put down his signature and wrote, “Hope one day you play for India.” It was very embarrassing and so I told him, “Sir, I am 43 and have given up active cricket more than a decade back.”

 

Without any hesitation he smiled again, “You never know. You look fit enough. They might call you for some Veterans XI.” Believe it or not, by the end of that year I was actually in the India Veterans team!

 

After the blood donation camp was over, I invited Mushtaq Ali to the CAB indoor stadium – named after the mercurial sports-official Pankaj Gupta – to meet the Bengal Under-16 team members, who were my trainees. There even before we could request him, he volunteered to bat.

 

He was nearing 80 at the time! Still ramrod straight and without an iota of excess fat, his statuesque bearing evoked instant admiration. Most of the bats he found rather heavy, as contemporary bats were. Finally he picked up a comparatively lighter bat and was ready to face the bowling without any protective gear. I asked an off-spinner to bowl. Again he stepped out of his crease and this time he late-cut the ball with immaculate timing!

 

 It was not the rapier thrust of a cut. No, it was a whipping action of steely wrists. Simply amazing the stroke was. At the age of 80 in totally alien conditions how did he manage to time the ball is beyond my comprehension. But he did it. We saw it and were mesmerized. Never before had he played under artificial lights. Never before had he played on artificial surface. Yet he revealed to us what genius really was.

 

Now after almost 30 years, my trainee-friend Sounak Das still has vivid memories of that day, “I shall never forget the way he returned the ball to the bowler to a delivery that was going outside the leg stump. He stood still at the crease, with just the right-hand (bottom hand) he picked up the bat, took it behind his body and hit the ball back to the bowler from behind his legs! Sheer genius.” Yes, only a genius could have tried and succeeded with that behind-the-body, one-handed tennis volley. As if he was swatting at an irritable fly. Showmanship at its best, even at the age of 80 plus!

 

Yes, those singular acts signified the man. He played for enjoyment, not only for his own but more so for the enjoyment of others. He loved to venture into the unknown. He loved to risk his talents against the elements. He loved challenges. As swift and as supple as a gazelle, the graceful gentleman was.

 

Later, I requested the handsome genius to advise me and my trainees. The modest man smiled, “My philosophy is: enjoy your cricket and give enjoyment to others. I have nothing else to say.” It was brilliant. Just brilliant. In a nut-shell, he told us what the philosophy of sport was all about.

 

Mushtaq Ali’s contribution to cricket and cricketers can never be judged by statistical facts and figures. He belonged to a different genre. A breed that evoked passionate love for the game among cricket followers. The top three of the rare breed most certainly would be Mushtaq Ali, Keith Miller and Salim Durani. They risked their fame and fortune to give entertainment to generations of cricket lovers. They never cared for statistics. Their talents were enough to achieve phenomenal popularity.

 

Both Miller and Mushtaq shared a rare platform. They were brought back into the national side by the direct intervention of cricket lovers. Keith Miller, at the time the leading all-rounder of the world, was dropped by the Australian selectors which included Sir Don, from the South African tour of 1949-50. The press and public outcry at the injustice reverberated all over the world, particularly in Australia. Later the Australian selectors had to bow down to public opinion and reinstate him.

 

So with Mushtaq Ali. More than 70 years ago at Calcutta he was dropped by the national selectors, one of whom was Duleepsinhji. The emotional Bengalees were up in arms. They demonstrated in front of Eden Gardens holding placards proclaiming: “No Mushtaq, no Test”. This was against Lindsay Hasset’s Australian Services team in 1945. Mushtaq Ali was promptly brought back to his rightful position in the XI.

 

Never in the long history of cricket has a cricketer been idolized by the kind of spontaneous love that Mushtaq received. Believe it or not, some cricket lovers heckled and even manhandled the selectors! It was a spontaneous reaction. The patriotic, knowledgeable Indians would not allow an injustice when the country's honour was at stake. This was in the pre-independence era, when the country came ahead of self.

 

 This was indeed unique. Never before or since in the annals of cricket have we had a player brought back into the playing XI because of public outcry. Such was the love and admiration that cricket lovers had for the magnificent man.

 

Every entertainer nurtures a dream that he be adored. Whether a sportsman or an artiste his highest accolade comes from the affection that he receives from the audience. No amount of money, no award, no publicity can quite compensate the spontaneous adulation of admirers.

 

Every worthwhile cricketer aspires to this kind of genuine appreciation. But such wholehearted love comes only to the true artistes whose contribution is not measured by mere statistical performance but by qualities which elevate the spectators to rarefied realms beyond the humdrum of facts and figures.

 

Syed Mushtaq Ali was not a player whose records proliferate in the statistical books. He was a genuine artiste with the conviction that his sole intent was to do anything possible for the delight of the masses.

 

An entertainer par excellence. A person who would do the near impossible with the greatest of ease. A cricketer who would play for the sake of the game without a thought for the consequences. Records, awards, fame, money never furrowed the handsome brows of his broad forehead. The Padmashree award was just another trophy in the cupboard.

 

Unfortunately selectors are proverbially short-sighted when it comes to evaluating class; still more unfortunately the selectors have elephantine memories when it comes to taking revenge. Mushtaq Ali, the doyen of artistes among cricketers, was never given a moment's respite after this unique crowd-involvement incident.

 

 He was overlooked for the tour of Australia in 1947-48 even though he made himself available after he had initially declined to go because of his brother's death. In his place a leg-spinner opened India's innings in all the 5 Tests with disastrous consequences!

 

 Even later, when the West Indies team arrived in the winter of 1948-49, Mushtaq Ali was hounded by crass officials. Omitted from the first two Tests, he made a scintillating comeback at Eden with a century (54 & 106). Whenever they gave him the opportunity, he was an instant draw with the crowds. All over the country, the crowds just loved him for he not only gave enjoyment to the spectators but he himself always seemed to enjoy playing the game.

 

He was indeed a marvel. A man for the centre-stage. Tall and erect, lithe and strong, the handsome man was God's gift to Indian cricket. Born at Indore, he came under the influence of Abdul Aziz (Salim Durani's father) and C.K.Nayudu very early in life. And like C.K.'s proteges, Mushtaq, the most prominent of them all, was daring personified.

 

Mushtaq would dance down the wicket to the fastest of bowlers and then with a subtle turn of the wrists send the ball thudding to the square-leg fence or, if the desire took his fancy, he would rock back and coax the ball to the third-man boundary over the slip cordon with an elegant wristy under-pat.

 

Almost impossible to categorize him. He had all the conventional strokes and a few more that defied the accepted norms. If the country needed, the elegant batter would play a defiant, defensive role; but even in defence he was never dour. Therein lay his greatness. He was forever innovating. Forever seeking novelty. Forever restless. Hallmarks of a true artiste.

 

Mushtaq Ali scored his first Test century at Old Trafford in 1936 and with his famous partner Vijay Merchant was involved in a double century partnership. Later in the limited opportunities of those days he reeled off centuries against Hasset's Australians and Goddard's West Indies.

 

No less than 17 Ranji Trophy centuries unfolded from his entertaining willow. Yet some people still feel that he was not consistent enough; not reliable enough! Began as an orthodox left-arm spinner with impressive performances. Later developed his batting potentiality to such an extent that as an opening batsman he received acclaim from far and wide. As a fielder he was magnificent in any position.

                  

The backbone of his, which would arch so elegantly to meet the deliveries on the field, was ramrod straight off the field. Never stooped to anyone and consequently played only 11 official Tests in the feudal fiefdom of Indian cricket. He had the guts and the gumption to write in his autobiography that AG Ram Singh, Kamal Bhattacharya and Nirmal Chatterjee were victims of rank injustice.

 

The ready smile, the easy manner, the graceful gait hid a man of tremendous courage, determination and resolve. Even in 2005 when he expired at 91, the usual stoop of the ageing adult was yet to catch up with him. Man of perpetual youth. In body and mind.

 

Mushtaq Ali will always remain a hero to those who love adventure. His over-playing with fire is what youth is all about. In a country of servile mentality, where we are perpetually engrossed with copying others, his presence was a refreshing change. Never bothered about the English model or the Australian style or the Caribbean approach.

 

He wanted to remain an Indian, displaying the genius of his race. He was a creative artiste, a man in pursuit of untraversed oceans.

 

Incomparable he was; the nostalgia remains... an adventurer supreme.