Budhi Kunderan: unorthodoxy at its height. Note the Fred Perry-tee shirt and the watch at Test cricket in the 1960s! With Jaisimha, the only captain who really understood the non-conventional Budhi

 

Against West Indies in 1967 at Eden Gardens, Kunderan mis-hooked a Wes Hall bouncer, top-edging the skier to the 3^rd man region! Skipper Gary Sobers from 2^nd slip ran sideways about 60 yards near the boundary rope and got his hands to the ball, only to drop it.

 

Only Sobers could have tried it. None else. It was not a catch by any means. The ball was in no-man’s land. But the issue here is that the batter Budhi patted his raised bat to applaud Sobers’ effort. Amazing indeed. This approach set him apart. To Kunderan, there was little difference between Test and picnic cricket. He loved to be both a participant and an audience.

 

We all want to go back to our primary-school days. No cares, no responsibilities. None to impress. Simple pleasures of life. Budhi retained that innocence till his last days. He never really wanted to grow up. He never did. He had the spirit to continue with the carefree approach of a child. He achieved what we all wished but were not able to do so.

 

Unknowingly, because of his fun-loving approach Budhisagar Krishnappa Kunderan became a cynosure of all eyes. He had little care for any win-loss result. He was neither a showman nor a stage artiste. He was born to enjoy the fun of life. As his second name suggested he was the baby-Gopala adored by all Indians of every hue.  Whichever profession he would have chosen, he would have remained a fun-loving man without any pretensions.

 

 In a sport known for its traditions and customs, Budhi Kunderan appeared to be a man who had lost his way. He was the first to change the contours of apparel for cricketers. Cricketers of his time in the 1960s were so used to flannels, gaberdine and cotswol outfits that we could not fathom any need for any change of textile. But Budhi, the heretic, thought otherwise.

 

In a Test match he actually batted wearing a collared tee-shirt! It was the Fred Perry-designed cotton tee, highly popular in the 1960s, even among the non-tennis fraternity. Wonder if anybody would possess a picture of Budhi in that relaxed tee-shirt. Sport & Pastime of the 1960s published many such pictures. My full collection of S&P of 1950s and 1960s got pilfered by a renowned establishment crony, otherwise most surely a tee-shirt wearing Kunderan action-photo would have appeared in these columns. 

 

Unusual happenings and Kunderan were rarely away from each other. He played for his country even before playing first-class cricket! Only a handful have done so. It was said that so impressed was Lala Amarnath, then a national selector, by Kunderan’s daredevil antics in inter-railway matches that he decided Budhi was ready to play Tests! If Lalaji had decided, no one would have dared to raise his voice in Indian cricket at the time in the late 1950s.

Within months of his Test debut against Australia in 1959-60, he was playing his first first-class match against Jammu & Kashmir. To the statisticians' delight, young Kunderan raced to a double century on debut in a blitzkrieg of an innings. 

 

Our Gopala, like his namesake, played numerous roles. If he was the child makhan-chor at one moment, he was also the charioteer who advised Arjun at the battle of Kurukshetra. If he was dancing on Kalia one moment, then he also had his nails out as Narasimha to help Prahlad.

 

So it was with Budhi. For sheer versatility he has had few equals. He played for India as a specialist wicket-keeper. He played for India as a specialist middle-order batsman. He played for India as a specialist opening-batsman.

 

As if these were not unusual enough, Kunderan even opened the bowling for India in a Test match in England where the pitches are, as we all know, highly conducive to pace bowlers. So we may well presume that Kunderan was selected for that particular Test match to do the specialist’s job of pace bowling as well! He was an outstanding fielder as well in the deep: agile, acrobatic, swift.

 

But even these unusual happenings lose their significance when we have a look at his most successful series as a Test cricketer. England, then M.C.C., had come under Mike Smith in the winter of 1963-64. The first Test was at Corporation Stadium, Madras. Prior to the start of the opening day’s play, the players were warming up and Budhi Kunderan, one of the reserves, was helping out at one of the nets.

 

About twenty minutes before the toss, the first-choice wicket-keeper, Farokh Engineer, was writhing in pain having suffered a nasty injury to his finger while warming-up. The selectors had no option but to ask Kunderan to be ready to replace him. Within minutes not only was Budhi playing, he was actually putting on his pads to open the innings for India!

 

Those days cricketers played in flannel shirts and in full-sleeves shirts. But Budhi had no time for orthodox mode or manner. He strutted out in a white, half-sleeved, tight-fitting shirt and tight drain-pipes! It was considered a sacrilege to wear such an outfit even in first-class matches at the time. But Budhi was no respecter of persons or things; or of customs and conventions. Why would our adorable Gopala worry about the customs of ordinary men?

 

Next to no time he was Dennis the Menace in person. He stepped out of his crease to hook David Larter’s bumpers to the long-leg fence! Went down on his knees and slashed Barry Knight over cover-point. Began sweeping away-going spin and, to add sauce, drew away to the leg side to cut square off the top of the bails. It was sheer bravado, if not outright madness. No normal player would dare to even contemplate such a display of complete disdain. Especially when he is making a comeback as a late replacement.

 

Budhi Kunderan went berserk as did the crowd. Cricket connoisseurs shook their heads in disbelief, but the spectators loved every moment. Whatever it was, it was certainly not the cricket as we knew it. It was pure mayhem. Was his attitude not the precursor to the T20 approach to batting?

 

England’s much-vaunted professionalism, ‘scientific’ field-placing, ultra-defensive tactics went through the window in next to no time. Budhi the heretic had no time for heritage. The hurricane called Kunderan was in no mood for security or style, convention or custom. He was at no race. He just wished to highlight gay abandon. No wonder like Gopala again, he was the ‘darling’ of the masses.

 

His was an approach against orthodoxy, against grumpy faces, against theorists. When the hurricane finally subsided, Kunderan had raced to 192. It was an innings of sheer dare-devilry, sheer audacity. For sheer belligerence that innings has rarely been bettered.

 

By then Kunderan had earned crowd support. They had received their money’s worth. To a man they admired his guts, his sense of adventure. Medium of height, slight of build he was an unlikely hero. But the handsome chiseled features of the ebony-complexioned man made people sit up to take notice. He had taken convention by its throat and put it to rest in a most audacious manner.

 

After that attacking near double-century Budhi became a certainty for the rest of the series. He opened the batting in his own unconventional way but was extremely consistent, ending the series with yet another century. He was the highest run-getter as well as the leader in the batting averages. Not that he cared. Nor did he ever bother to remember, not even after retirement.

 

He was a desperado in the best sense of the term. Being of the attacking mould, he played with fire and took grave risks, often leading to suicidal dismissals. Security and orthodoxy were alien concepts to this man. He loved challenges. He embraced risks. He was a fighter pilot in the garb of an Indian Railway cricketer.

 

It was this defiant attitude, this aversion towards convention, this allergy to dull monotony that endeared him to the cricket lovers. His exciting personality permeated that excitement among the onlookers. When Kunderan walked out to bat, we did not expect match-winning innings. Nor did we hope for match-saving graces. We wanted action; we wanted adventure to lead us to thrills that we did not get in our everyday life. In this approach Budhi hardly ever failed to disappoint us.

 

We who were brought up under the strict discipline of school-regimentation just adored him for his individuality. We cared two hoots about results. We wanted to be free birds like he was. We wanted adventure; we wanted to be ourselves. In him we realized our dreams. When I told him once about it many years later in Aberdeen, his eyes moistened. He just stared at me. Not a word was exchanged. The feeling and the tears said it all.

 

He had come to tell the world that cricket was only a sport, meant to be enjoyed with full freedom. Everything about him was unusual. He would not wear loose cricket trousers, but ‘drain-pipes’! He would open for India with the approach as if he was the no. 11 in the batting order! He would walk as if he was on a modelling ramp. This is not to be construed a criticism, but a compliment to his fun-loving, exciting persona, whom we adored.

 

In looks he resembled the handsome Rohan Kanhai. In batting too his approach – not the skill: none can match Kanhai’s creativity – matched the world numero uno of the 1960s. If Kanhai was the epitome of individualism in a highly individualistic West Indies side, so was Budhi Kunderan in the India team. In Calcutta we the Bongs adored him for his individualistic streak. 

But Budhi’s supposed inconsistency of performance went against him in selectorial eyes. His batting average of 32 happens to be higher than all his contemporary wicket-keepers, which included PG Joshi, Naren Tamhane, Farokh Engineer and KS Inderjitsinhji. Throughout his career of just 18 Tests in 8 years he was 'on trial'!

 

Once at Edgbaston in 1967 he opened India’s bowling attack. When asked by the umpire what he would bowl, Kunderan replied that he would have to bowl one delivery to find out! And then, promptly bowled a bumper to Geoff Boycott, who was so taken aback that he had to duck to avoid it. Yes, that was typical Kunderan, the non-conformist.

 

He happens to be one of the few batters who have been called back by the opposing captain after being given out. This happened in the Mumbai Test against West Indies in 1967 when Lance Gibbs appealed successfully against him for a catch at short leg by Gary Sobers.

 

But Sir Gary, the sportsman that he was, withdrew the appeal and Budhi stayed back. Budhi took the opportunity to score a brilliant 79 against the deadly combination of Hall and Griffith; Sobers and Gibbs. This can only happen to cricketers who are genuinely loved by their opponents. Yes, Budhi was surely one of these rare birds.

 

Budhi Kunderan made his Test debut against Richie Benaud’s Aussies in 1959 in the 3rd Test at Brabourne Stadium. In the following Test at Chennai he attacked the world-class attack of  Davidson, Meckiff and Benaud with a belligerent knock of 71 with strokes which baffled even a captain of Benaud’s class. 

Within a year, against Ted Dexter's team, despite taking 3 catches and 2 stumpings in the 1st Test, he had to make way for reasons never convincingly told! Budhi never had any 'backers', so very essential to survive in Indian cricket. 

 

He went on tours to West Indies and England, but his batting approach did not quite succeed as it did on Indian wickets. Nor did he get adequate opportunities. His best Test score abroad was at the Lord’s, when he played as a pure batter and scored 20 and 47, the latter being the highest score in a total of 110.

 

Kunderan’s greatest fans would agree that his keeping of wickets was too flashy to be consistent. Of course, he did not suffer in comparison to his supposedly 'superior' peers. He had a tendency to grab, a weakness he never even tried to remedy. If he tried, then he would not have been Budhi. We liked Budhi because he was so unpredictable, so unusual and so individualistic. He was an innocent child in the garb of an adult. We just loved his innocence, his child-like nature.

While discussing unusual incidents on the cricket field, former Test umpire Samar Roy once mentioned to me, “Jaisimha and Kunderan used to chat while taking runs! Against Mike Smith’s MCC at Eden, I remember Budhi, while taking a run, say ‘One, Jai’ and Jai replied ‘Right ho, Buddy’. Mind you, Raju, all this was happening while taking a single in a Test match!”

 

Only extraordinary artistes could do so with such spontaneity and casual manner. What showmanship! They were real entertainers with not a care for the morrow.

 

I met him just once. In 1992 at Scotland. I was the coach of Kailash Gattani’s Star Cricket Club. During the course of a match at Aberdeen I was walking around the ground where hardly 10 people had gathered to watch. Suddenly I noticed an Indian face which looked very familiar. Walked up and asked, “Excuse me, are you not Mr Budhi Kunderan?” The face smiled and nodded. Took me to a boundary-adjacent canopy for coffee and we conversed and conversed.

 

When I told him about his own cricket exploits, his eyes became moist. He was frozen in time. I mentioned all his unique, non-conventional traits and mannerisms. He was happy, extremely happy. I realized that he was missing his homeland having married a British lady and having settled down in UK. He had come to watch his son play that particular match for the Scottish team.

 

He expressed no regrets, no recriminations. Did not criticize, nor did he condemn. He kept all his frustrations to himself. Whenever I tried to raise a few unsavoury issues, he said, “Well, that’s life. You win some. You lose some.” When I tried to pay for the coffee, he took out his wallet and said, “Please let me remain an Indian. You are in my hometown.”

 

My last parting shot actually staggered him. Told him, “In 1964 you snicked John Price and began to walk before wicket-keeper Binks could even appeal. Then you flung your bat high in the air and as the bat descended you caught the bat one-handed and strode away to the pavilion. Never seen such magnificent showmanship on a cricket field.You should have been on stage or ramp.”  Hindustan Standard had published the picture on the first page.

 

He ruminated for a while, “Were you actually there? You saw that happen? You still remember it so well. I had forgotten the incident. Never quite though about it. Certainly had not rehearsed it. It was a spontaneous gesture.” Absolutely to the point, he was. Budhi Kunderan was a spontaneous showman who used the cricket field as his stage.  

 

Kunderan actually was born 50 years too early. He would have thoroughly enjoyed the slap-bang variety of T20 cricket of today. He would have given tons of thrills and loads of enjoyment to the spectators.

 

 The modern media with its penchant to highly emphasize characters would have found in him an ideal target. He would have made an ideal model for merchandise with his looks, mannerism and personality.

One particular incident at Eden Gardens I still shudder to relate. Standing on his left toe, Kunderan hooked David Larter and in one reflex action swung his right leg over the stumps! Yes, his heels were just about 2 inches above the bails! I do not think anyone before or since has done such a fascinating act. It was ala Kanhai’s falling sweep. Irresponsible, we thought. But to the irrepressible man it was spontaneous, instinctive A born entertainer, if ever there was one.

 

Budhi Kunderan was all youth, all adventure, a total non-conformist, a total misfit in Test cricket. But we loved him nevertheless. Akin to his close buddies Durani and Jaisimha, Budhi Kunderan revived the seed of glamour in post-war Indian cricket.

As I got up from my seat and extended my hand, the soulful face uttered, “In life nothing actually adds up. Nothing remains at the end.” I was stunned. Was this Lord Krishna at Kurukshetra or Krishnappa Kunderan in the Scottish Highlands? The sensitivity of Shyamal Mitra’s tune rang in my ears: Jibon khatar proti patay jotoi lekho hishab nikash, kichhui robe na…(In life no matter whatever calculations you make, nothing will remain…).

 

Is this Budhi, the baby? Or, Kunderan, the philosopher? He did not extend his hand to clasp mine. He got up and hugged me! Two totally different personalities, who knew nothing of each other were locked in an embrace high up at a deserted cricket ground in Aberdeen! Now it was my turn to shed tears…

 

Different paths lead to the same goal: thanks to Bhagwan Shri Ramakrishna. The highest philosophy of Vedanta seeped into me from a most unlikely quarter. Joy Jagannath. Joy Gopala.

 

(Left) Ranjitsinhji  and (Right) India in England 1932: Natwarsinhji and Ghanshyamsinhji (sitting 4th and 3rd from right)

Royalty at two extremities

Indian cricket is replete with strange happenings. A legendary cricketer who had no time for Indian cricket received the highest accolades possible. At the other extreme, two average-ability players who sacrificed their self-interest for India’s cause kept receiving taunts throughout their lives and beyond. Irony at its height. Contradictions following contradictions. Yes, that in a nut-shell is Indian cricket.

*******

Ranji’s Strange Behaviour

Ranji never played a Christian stroke in his life. So said Neville Cardus. True it was. The Indian prince’s batsmanship had all the charms of Oriental mysticism. The bat was his wand as he mesmerized England, both spectators and oppositions, with his wristy elegance.

At a time when the top batters would play the ball mainly to the off-side as the ‘Champion’ WG Grace would do with his customary mastery, the graceful, lissome figure of the Indian prince would gently caress the ball from outside the off-stump to the untenanted areas on the leg-side. It was magical.

How did he do it with a perpendicular-held bat? With a cross bat, we understand. But how with a bat held straight? He was the first to use the pace of the ball to glance it between the fine-leg and square-leg regions. The fluidity of his steely wrists gave the art of batsmanship a new dimension.

Mustachioed and ebony of complexion, the traits of his race were distinctly apparent in this conjuror’s every step. Medium of height, shining black hair thinning on the temples the man looked every inch an Oriental. Yet he was giving the white man a lesson in effortless stroke execution at the white man’s own sport. Who is he? What are his antecedents? How is he lighting up our grey skies with his golden streak? These were the queries in the minds of cricket followers from Yorkshire to Sussex.

Kumar Shri Ranjitsinhji was the adopted son of the Raja of Nawanagar, who had no male heir to his throne. Following the best possible education on offer in India, Ranji went to England for further studies with his school headmaster in tow. Cambridge was the university chosen.

The climate and the food disagreed with the prince brought up in India. He was overwhelmed by the liberal western culture that he daily encountered. Perplexed he was by the differences. After the initial hiccups, he however found his métier in the game of cricket. He had played a little at school in India but in England in the game of cricket he found an ideal escape route from the dreary routine of academic life.

His soft features belied his determination. He spent hours practicing at the nets. The young prince went for the trials of the Cambridge University cricket team. But he returned disappointed as players of far superior ability got the nod ahead of him. He realized that he would have to work really hard if he wanted to be in the first XI. And that is exactly what he did.

He appointed professional coaches, who would bowl to him for hours against payment. Never tried to copy WG Grace or Arthur Shrewsbury, the role models at the time. Very sensibly he developed a distinctive style of his own. He did not go for power; he went for precision. He used his wrists more than he used his forearms. While others tried to play on the off side, he preferred to play on the leg side. He picked up the tenets of back-foot play from WG but avoided the cross-batted shots.

In the 1890s Ranji would organize his net sessions in such a manner that the professional bowlers would have the incentive to further their gains. Apart from their usual fees for bowling to Ranji at the nets, they would get a shilling every time they hit his stump. Ranji had the brilliant idea of putting a coin on the top of each stump! Later many have claimed to have done so, even in their bio-pics, but Ranji was certainly the pioneer of this novel idea.

 Ranji’s mastery was quickly fathomed, selected for Cambridge University, invited to play for Sussex and finally for England in the Manchester Test in 1896 against Australia. He began his Test career with a century for England against Australia. He sent spectators and the journalists into raptures. They were amazed to see the man’s effortless mastery over pace and spin. No conditions would upset him. No opposition would overawe him.

He was majestic in whatever he did. He had all the Oriental flavor of mysticism around him. Silk shirt fluttering in the breeze, he gave the impression of effortless ease. His strokes conveyed the essence and not the effort. He strode supreme and earned universal admiration. Ranjitsinhji, who later became the Jamsahib of Nawanagar, was popularly known as ‘Smith’ during his Cambridge University days.

Unfortunately for Indian cricket, Ranji had no time for his motherland. He had a very poor opinion of Indian cricket and Indian cricketers. He played a few matches in India but never showed any interest in promoting the game here. At Eden Gardens he once played a match as well as another at Natore Park in the Picnic Garden district of Ballygunge in south Calcutta. Even the grand exploits on English soil of Mehellasha Pavri and Palvankar Balloo, who were so highly rated by discerning British critics, did not quite wake up Ranji from his stupor.

He seemed quite oblivious to the progress that was happening in India. The quality of Quadrangular cricket tournament had no appeal for him. He had no praise for Deodhar or for CK Nayudu. In fact the magnificent all-rounder Amar Singh Ladha was from Nawanagar, Ranji’s own territory, yet the grand old man never offered even any words of encouragement to him.

 Ranji’s strange conduct in relation to Indian cricket defied all logic. Why was the great cricketer so adamant in his opposition to the march of Indian cricket? No one will ever know. Ranji’s biographer Simon Wilde did not give high marks to Ranji as a person. Actually he trashed many of the Ranji-related eulogies of the earlier authors.

When Ranjitsinhji’s nephew, Duleepsinhji – another outstanding batsman – was invited to play for India in 1932, it was reported that Ranji flatly refused to give permission by saying that Duleep would not play as he was an English Test cricketer!

 Yes, Duleepsinhji made his debut for England against South Africa in 1929 and later scored a century against Australia at Lord’s the following summer.  He could have easily served his motherland in India’s early days at Test cricket in the 1930s. But he had no desire to defy the dictates of his stern uncle, whom he obviously idolized.

When the inauguration of the national cricket championship in India was being discussed at the BCCI meeting, the Maharaja of Patiala Bhupindra Singh announced that he would donate the trophy and the trophy would be named after Ranjitsinhji, who had just expired. Although Ranji had no time for Indian cricket, the magnanimity of Patiala and the BCCI members of the time need to be acknowledged.

At Calcutta’s Eden Gardens in 1950 a huge concrete block came up, right opposite the pavilion at the time on the western fringes of the ground. Pankaj Gupta, the evergreen man of Indian cricket and the dominant personality of National Cricket Club, then the custodian of the iconic Eden Gardens promptly named the awesome structure ‘Ranji Stadium’. That is how it remained till the so-called modernization demolished it in the 1980s. Thus the first-ever structure in India to be named after a sportsman was Ranji’s. This was possible because of the broad vision of Pankaj Gupta and his committee.

The naming of the trophy for the premier national championship was indeed a grand gesture to honour the magnificent batsman who first made the world realize that Indians could master the British sport. No doubt, Ranji established the name of India on the world cricket map.

It was also ironical that a man who never encouraged Indian cricket or Indian cricketers would be given the highest possible honour. Strange are the ways of Indian cricket. Stranger still was the conduct of Ranji.

Kumar Shri Ranjitsinhji remained an enigma till the very end.

Natwarsinhji & Ghanashyamsinhji

Prior to India’s inaugural tour to United Kingdom in 1932 to play her maiden Test match at Lord’s, the national selectors – HD Kanga, AL Hosie and Ashan ul Haque – offered the captaincy to Bhupindra Singh, the maharaja of Patiala. Bhupindra at 41 was well past his prime as a player and moreover because of pressing duties at Patiala State, he declined the invitation.

In 1932 the Indian cricket team set sail for Britain to play their first-ever official Test match. Now the replacement captain selected to lead the touring team was the maharaja of Porbandar, Natwarsinhji. His deputy was the maharaja of Limbdi, Ghanashyamsinhji.

Both were very average cricketers. At the time, in India in the 1930s, it was felt that leaders could only come from the princely classes. Hence the two members of the royal families were given the top two posts in the Indian cricket team to play their debut Test.

Thankfully both Natwarsinhji and Ghanashyamsinhji were educated, liberal souls in the most appropriate sense of those words. They were sensible enough to understand that if they were in the playing XI, the national team would become weak. Both declined to play in the inaugural Test at Lord’s. That Test match being the sole Test of the series, they never got to play for India again. Supreme sacrifices that have gone unacclaimed.

Skipper Natwarsinhji and his deputy Ghanashyamsinhji decided that the best choice to lead would be the ‘commoner’ CK Nayudu. Accordingly India’s first-ever Test captain was Cottariya Konkaiya Nayudu, a magnificent all-rounder and a born leader of men. CK’s elevation to the top was not because of the selection committee, but because of the magnanimous gesture of two princely gentlemen.

The chief reasons for highlighting this extraordinary event are quite a few. To begin with, this particular issue has not yet seen the light of day. Cricket historians could not decipher the magnitude of the gesture of two men who sacrificed immortality for the just cause of the nation. Both Natwarsinhji and Ghanashyamsinhji deserve our salute.

Secondly, in the annals of international Test cricket such a unique sacrifice has never been seen. No international cricket captain-elect has ever relinquished his debut captaincy in this magnificent manner. For sheer magnanimity the acts of these gentlemen should forever be recorded in cricket history.

Thirdly, this is a very significant issue in the light of modern thinking. At a time when ‘commoners’ in BCCI are fighting among themselves for every bit of crumb on the table, we in India have had ‘royal’ people who knew how to sacrifice self for the cause of the deserving individuals as well as for the nation.

Natwarsinhji and Ghanashyamsinhji are names that even the top Indian cricketers and administrators are unaware of. In fact they do not want to know about them. As one former India captain has recently observed, “…why bother about what happened earlier; all that is in the past!”

Unfortunately some very uncharitable remarks were printed to denigrate the average batting skills of these two royal members. It was said that they owned more cars than they scored runs. This comment was totally uncalled for. To begin with, they did not select themselves. Secondly and most importantly, they sacrificed the honour of representing their nation in a Test match. Instead of praising their magnanimity, we have had people criticizing them!

Today where is the time for chivalry and magnanimity in the quagmire of corruption?  Now the whole emphasis is on money and power; power and money. Nothing else matters.

Genuine cricket connoisseurs would do well to remember these two unheralded and forgotten gentlemen of Indian cricket, who sacrificed personal honour for the benefit of the nation.

*********

 

 

Jaisimha: Grace and Graciousness personified

 

A most unusual cricketer. Loads of talent, but little by way of result. Disappointed many; yet huge fan following. Highly  erudite but unutilized by the media.

 

Jaisimha was all romance. Handsome of bearing and handsome of heart, he was the man who brought glamour to the game on Indian cricket grounds in the post-war period as did those wonderful stylish colleagues of his, Salim Durani and Tiger Pataudi.

                                       

Whatever the elegant Jaisimha did sent reverberations of excitement among the crowds. The way he spoke, the way he walked, the way he batted had a distinctive aura of its own. Even his bowling action was a sinewy, snake-dance! His mere presence reflected an aroma of elegance, of style, of originality so very essential for performing artistes.

 

As youngsters we tried to copy his walk! It appeared that he was perpetually stepping tip-toes across shards of broken glass! He always had his shirt-collar raised in a casual, carefree manner. His shirts never seemed to have the top three buttons!

 

Yes, Jaisimha was above all a performing artiste. A man who had the ability to help people feel relaxed after the careworn, monotonous lives they led every day. He gave the impression of perpetual youth, an eternal sense of adventure, a feeling of

exhilaration. Adonis in excelsis.

 

Even in the hard struggle of international cricket Jaisimha found the time and the desire to laugh on the field, to play daring shots and also to have an encouraging word or two for both friends and friendly foes. Apocryphal perhaps, but it was said that when he went in to bat flying kisses from the stands were planted on him!

 

So popular was he that many stories of him keep surfacing through telling and re-telling. It was said that even the umpires had a soft corner for him! Actually Jaisimha was very popular with all and sundry because of the kind of man he was: graceful and gracious.

 

Jaisimha was a man who attracted headlines. Appropriately enough, he made his debut at the Mecca of Cricket, The Lord's, and more significantly made his first international headlines at the iconic Eden Gardens, where 80,000 knowledgeable addicts unanimously gave him a standing ovation. Against Richie Benaud's star-studded Aussies in 1959-60 the young hero became the first cricketer ever to have batted on each day of a 5-day Test match.

 

Began his first-class cricket career for Hyderabad as a middle-order batsman in 1954. The class was apparent on the first day itself. Well-balanced, whether forward or back, he was at ease in defence as well as in attack. Rare reviews projected him into the Indian Starlets team on its tour of Pakistan. Some splendid performances across the border and in the Ranji Trophy championship helped him to board the flight to England with Dattajirao Gaekwad's team in 1959.

 

The disastrous tour notwithstanding, Jaisimha's progress as a batsman of promise and intelligence was a distinct plus point. He did not send the Thames on fire, but the young Indian's fire of ambition got its necessary fuel. He quickly grasped that the road to the top of international cricket was full of burning embers and only the toughest could survive the ordeal.

 

Back home he waited for another opportunity and when the opportunity did arrive to play the Australians at Calcutta, the handsome youth was ready to take on the opposition. Ray Lindwall, Alan Davidson, Ian Meckiff, Richie Benaud and Ken McKay hardly inconvenienced him as his dogged defence held them at bay for over after over, hour after hour, day after day.

 

Going in at number 9 on the first day towards the end, he batted with composure to remain not out with 20 when the Indian innings ended on the 2nd day. Then when India was struggling in the 2nd innings, young Jai was sent in at number 4 a little after tea on the 3rd day. From then on began an innings of attrition which has no parallel. He batted on and on, throughout the 4^th day and well after the lunch interval on the 5th day.

 

Even battle-scarred batters would have been proud of such a heroic display as this young man’s was. Certain in defence, equable in temperament, he was a man inspired. For the sake of his country Jaisimha sacrificed his natural aggressive style and helped to deny the Aussies an easy, expected victory. Batted for nearly a day and a half for just 71 runs!

 

Statistically it must be among the slowest on record, but believe it or not, not once did he appear to be pedestrian. Never before has a stone-waller received such an ovation. Even the hardened Aussies applauded his magnificent effort for they valued character then and they still do so now.

 

 Ironically far from looking dull, he looked extremely elegant as he middled ball after ball. Not a semblance of chance was offered; not once did he appear to be in any discomfort; never looked negative. So composed was he during the long vigil at the crease that when he drove two successive boundaries he hardly gave any suggestion of force. It was the Hyderabadi adaab culture at its best.

 

Within two years the same man was a totally different self. At Gardens now he was Genghiz Khan in full flight. Attacked Knight, Larter, Price and Titmus with such vehemence that more than once the bowler was on his haunches with hands on head as ball after ball screamed past him to the sight-screen. How can a self-respecting bowler have a fieldsman exactly behind his back in front of the sight-screen? But precisely that was the only way out to stop those scorchers.

 

Sheer murder, it was. But as Jaisimha walked back after his whirlwind century, I assure you, not a bead of sweat was on him, not a crease of his flannels out of place. Yes, he looked calm, unruffled, composed in the heat of aggression just as he looked elegance personified when gently caressing the ball just a few years back to Richie Benaud and company.

 

The high point of Jaisimha's career came in Australia in 1967-68. Initially omitted from the original touring party, he was requisitioned when injury laid low our fabulous spinner Chandrasekhar. Yes, replacing a spinner by a batsman is nothing unusual in India cricket!

 

But the main issue here is that Jaisimha went straight from the airport to the Test venue, 'Gabba in Brisbane. There he played two innings of remarkable maturity 74 and 109 and nearly took India to a remarkable victory.

 

Irony and melodrama followed Jaisimha throughout his cricket career. Obviously it was astonishing to find batsman Jaisimha replacing spinner Chandrasekhar; but what astounded still more was that he walked straight into the final XI although Sardesai, Saxena and Subramaniam were already there in the touring party as batsmen or whatever!

 

Mind you, most of the selectors were former Test players themselves. Actually it just goes to prove, if proof be at all necessary, that selectors ought to be men of knowledge and integrity, men of clean public image. No point having former Test cricketers as selectors who do not measure up to the high ideals required of them.

 

For a man of his vast potential and intelligence it is indeed ironical that Jaisimha, like some of his peers, was dreadfully out of his depth while representing India abroad. Jaisimha had a poor Test debut in England in 1959 but later too, apart from the superlative display at Brisbane, he made us tear our hair in disappointment. He tormented us daily. How can a batter with his kind of talent fail repeatedly even against mediocre oppositions?

 

On tours to West Indies, once in 1962 and then again in 1971 he had a total of just 160 runs in 13 completed innings. Just after the success against a strong Australian side at Brisbane, on the New Zealand leg of the twin tour he scored only 84 runs in 7 innings. Why on earth could he not show his real worth on these tours?

 

 Technique, temperament and skill he possessed in profusion, then why did he do less than justice to himself? Inconceivable indeed for a man who was so prolific, so inspiring on Indian pitches. If only he had got going more often abroad he would have done a great service to Indian cricket.

 

Jaisimha was at his best in the four seasons between 1960 and 1964. On Indian wickets he batted in regal splendour, banishing oppositions to all corners. Pakistan and England received the full measure of his wrath as his daring stroke-play made merry.

 

At Kanpur against Pakistan on his comeback match replacing Pankaj Roy a wonderful innings of 99 was cut short by a silly call for a single. Downcast he left the crease, dragging his bat on the turf. Even that melancholy sight had an aura of grace about it. He did not give a dirty look at his offending partner nor did he make any awkward gesture. Elegance personified even in pathos. These are the pictures that he will be remembered by for generations.

 

 Ultimately when he called it a day, he had 2056 runs at an average of 30.68 with 3 centuries. It goes without saying that his dashing blade did not measure up to his actual worth in terms of statistics. He was indeed a great disappointment. His talents were never quite realized. Why? Why? Why? We asked ourselves. But no answer ever came our way. Mysterious are the ways of men…

 

I personally feel he lacked the long-span of concentration, which is so very important to play the significant match-winning or match-saving innings. He got out after getting ‘set’ many times. He would do the difficult job of getting ‘set’ with ease and then with a casual stroke throw his wicket away. Was it lack of concentration? Repeatedly he committed the same mistake. Most unusual for a bright man like him.

 

Jaisimha is one of those cricketers who did not inflate their averages by plundering runs only against weak opponents. In fact against the comparatively weak New Zealand, he failed in every innings he played them. He seemed to lack the motivation. But Jai, the perfect gentleman, would be the first to deny this and would give credit to the New Zealanders for their successes. He would not have anything but the highest regard for the opposition.

 

Mothangalli Laxminarsu Jaisimha has been an idol of many including one named SMG, who genuinely hero-worshipped him for the way he helped the youngster in the latter's debut series in the Caribbean in 1971. When Jai’s batting form was going through hell even against the pathetically weak WI bowling of 1971, he had the large heartedness to help a highly talented newcomer to find his feet. That’s the real Jaisimha.

 

 Actually Jai was an immaculate gentleman by nature. He did not go about to catch anybody’s attention nor had any pretensions. Never tried to cultivate the media. Throughout his life he was genuinely interested in the development of youngsters and tried his best to assist them.

 

Such was his love for the game that he prolonged his first- class career till 1976. In a long span of 22 years he notched 12,616 runs at 36.66 with 30 centuries and took 396 wickets with his slow, gentle out-swingers and accurate off-breaks.

 

Had some very interesting interactions with him. The first one was at Chepauk where South Zone was hosting East Zone in a Duleep Trophy tie in 1973. Having just failed to overhaul SZ first innings total and being involved in a long stand with a tail-ender, I was extremely disappointed and did not wish to take the field in the 10 minutes change-over time. I went to the SZ dressing room and asked the SZ skipper Jaisimha, “Mr Jaisimha, may I please have a substitute to field for me for a short while?”

 

From the reclining seat beside him, his mate Venkataraghavan quipped, “If you can bat for so long, you can go and field as well.” I replied, “Well, whether I go to field or not is my issue. I just wanted to know if you do not allow a substitute, then we shall field with 10 men.” Venky was stunned to find the intricacies of the MCC law staring at him. But skipper Jaisimha, ever the gentleman, intervened, “Young man, please field for one over and then take a substitute.” Matter solved with ease. That’s typical Jaisimha.

 

 

Another meeting was in 1977 at Hyderabad while representing U-Foam team in the Moin-ud-Dowla Trophy. Jaisimha was our captain and he had invited me and Gopal Bose to play for U-Foam. I had a poor first match. On the morning of the 2^nd match, Jaisimha told me, in the best of cricketing euphemism, ‘to rest’.

 

I requested him that I be allowed to go back home as I did not wish to spend time watching others play. Jaisimha was aghast, “You mean you do not wish to be in the reserves? If you wish to be a cricketer you have to learn to be among the reserves as well.” I told him, “No, no, I do not want to be a cricketer at all. I play only because I enjoy playing. I hate to sit out and waste my time. Please allow me to leave soon.” Ever the gentleman, Jaisimha got me air-tickets and I left that very afternoon.

 

Within two months, East Zone was playing Central Zone at Jaipur in a Duleep Trophy match. I happened to get the highest score for EZ. Believe it or not, at the tea interval, Jaisimha – then just appointed a national selector – knocked on our dressing room door, called me aside and said, “Raju, sorry to have dropped you from the U-Foam team. You showed excellent temperament and technique today on this under-prepared pitch. Are you still casual about your cricket?” I smiled and said, “I love to play cricket myself but I hate watching others play cricket. For me it’s a sheer waste of time.” Jaisimha had a hearty laugh as he patted me on the back. The ultimate gentleman, he was. Free of all complexes. Totally independent of mind. Exemplary manners complemented the handsome appearance.

 

Jaisimha was a delightful blend of exuberance and refinement. During the Moin-ud-Dowla Trophy matches at the Lal Bahadur Shastri Stadium in Hyderabad, the local idol Jaisimha would invariably invite fellow players for dinner at his Banjara Hills residence, where his delightful wife would keep delicious home-cooked kababs and biryani on the dining table. What a wonderful time the couple gave us. Hyderabad was the destination to be in the 1970s, for me at least. Since I was a teetotaller at the time, the Jaisimha family would not forget to keep fresh grape juice in plenty! He had the ‘old-fashioned’ culture of charm and subtlety in his veins.

 

 Intelligent and communicative, the man has rendered a yeoman's service to the cause of cricket. Free from woolly theories and prejudices, the cavalier persona of the man continued to be as attractive till the very end as he was with the guitar of a cricket bat in hand. He strummed melodious lyrics. An entertainer of the highest breed. An artiste who did not do justice at the international level to his exceptional talents. My eternal regret.

 

He was an excellent captain for South Zone and Hyderabad. After retirement he would have made an outstanding manager or mentor of India teams, or still better of India youth teams. Unfortunately that was not to be. His peers of hardly any worthwhile credentials were offered those important assignments for reasons better not be told!

 

Unlike most prominent cricketers, Jai was an erudite student of the game. The laws, special regulations, literature, history, technicalities, etcetera were well within his grasp. He was a delight to converse with. Ever-willing he was to share experiences in his cultured, well-modulated voice. He was the ideal man BCCI missed in mentoring young players.

 

An unique tale involving Jaisimha and Chuni Goswami shows the former at his magnanimous best. The current India soccer captain Chuni Goswami was in Hyderabad to attend an officers’- training course of his employer, State Bank of India. The artistic footballer was a very popular figure all over the country at the time.

 

Goswami was also playing in the local cricket tournaments at Hyderabad and seemed to have created quite an impression. Jaisimha the Hyderabad captain persuaded the State cricket selectors to select him for Hyderabad against Bengal in the Ranji Trophy quarter-final scheduled for February 1963.

 

Goswami travelled to Calcutta for the Ranji tie with Jaisimha’s Hyderabad side. Arriving here they found that the Bengal selectors had also chosen him for that particular tie!

 

Jaisimha, then the Hyderabad skipper, later related to me, “We could have raised an objection with BCCI. But that’s not the way this noble sport should be played. We were happy to see Chuni representing his own home State, Bengal.” Only a man of Jaisimha’s class can think on such lines.

 

Jaisimha further added, “However, I was desperate to have him in our XI. He would have been an asset as an all-rounder.” High regard, indeed, for India’s gold-medal winning football captain, who had just returned from Jakarta after winning the Asian soccer supremacy title.

 

Jaisimha was an entertainer of the highest breed. A multi-dimensional personality. A man free from prejudice. A man of style and glamour. An artiste of rare vintage. A man of sophistication and sensitivity.

 

He was most certainly the first to exhibit showmanship to the Indian cricket spectators in the post-war period.