HANUMANT SINGH

             Hanumant Singh has a unique place in the hearts of the players who played with or against him. In independent India he was the first to introduce batting as an art form. A picture of perfection that took one to ethereal heights.

 

Grace and graciousness marked him out as an individual. A true cricket ambassador. Far beyond the confines of boundary, of creed, of class. A cricketer whom Mother Teresa would have taken to heart.

 

His love for cricket extended to cricketers of all hues and abilities. And without hesitation he would freely share his vast and incisive knowledge with whoever evinced any interest. Cool and composed, his languid movement had all the aura of a man at peace with himself.

 

Hanumant Singh was born a prince in the erstwhile royal State of Banswara in Rajputana. But never, never was he to show any semblance of princely arrogance or misdemeanour. Rather his aristocratic bearing manifested in the charm of his manner and speech as much as it did in his graceful elegance at the crease.

 

His bat was like a violinist's bow, playing soft melodious tunes to the ripples of applause of the connoisseurs. He combined the best of attributes of Rajput gharana with those of his missionary school background and very quietly implanted the old world values among the men he played with. In his time Rajasthan was the best behaved State team in Indian cricket and in their relaxed manner had the measure of oppositions who thought killer-instinct meant foul language and ugly gestures.

 

 Hanumant, of course, never led India but let it not be forgotten that it was under his leadership that in 1967 the extremely strong West Indies team lost by an innings to the Central and East Zone combined team. That West Indies team, apart from skipper Gary Sobers included Kanhai, Hunte, Butcher, Nurse, Gibbs, Hall and Griffith. He motivated his mates not by words but by gestures and acts. His magnificent innings inspired Chuni Goswami and Subroto Guha to bowl splendid spells in that overwhelming victory.  

 

 An incident in that match is worth recollecting. Chuni Goswami held a superlative catch at mid wicket running about 30 yards as the ball spiralled high and wide. After holding the catch one-handed Goswami, typical of his footballing spirit, ran round the ground holding the ball high as the crowd bellowed its approval for the soccer legend. Skipper Hanumant tried his best to restrain the indomitable Goswami, “Chuni, Chuni, this is cricket, not football. Please stop running.” But finding his appeal fall into deaf ears, Hanumant broke into a broad smile and joined in the general applause.

 

Hanumant was born to be a diplomat. Aware, intelligent, tactful, he injected the essence of diplomacy to his batting and leadership. No violence erupted as he caressed the ball to the railings. No bravado exhibited as the innings unfolded and the match won. Sheer artistry of form delineated the canvas. He used the willow as a painter would use his brush: contemplation giving way to colour and conception.

 

But in no way should this mean that Hanumant lacked purpose or resolve, grit or sense of adventure. Quite the contrary. During his short Test career and his long Ranji Trophy innings, he exhibited rare courage, strong determination and a steel-will. But he was very lenient when he judged others. Very liberal in explaining their apparent weaknesses. And, above all, he possessed a sterling quality of praising and motivating youngsters, even of opposing teams.

 

At a time when princes frittered away their time in frivolous pursuits or joined private sector organizations under fancy designations or made attempts to toe the political establishment to gain ambassadorial postings abroad, Hanumant Singh did something quite extraordinary. He joined a public sector commercial organisation! For a prince this was actually unique.

 

For even the public school upstart at the time would have regarded this appointment as distinctly low-brow. But to us, the '60s generation’, this act was a revelation. Revealed to us the true blue-blooded prince. We marvelled at this non-conventional decision, at his pioneering zeal. We thought if a real prince could join an unfashionable public sector organization, why not we? By his action, he helped a whole generation to open its eyes and to disregard false values.

 

Hanumant Singh’s grace and simplicity permeated deep into his batting. At the crease he – ‘Hanu’ or ‘Chotu’ to his peers – made batting appear easy, too easy. This was artistry at its height: effective without apparent effort; graceful without trying to be grand. He would dance down the pitch and gently drive the ball. There was no force or violence apparent. When it suited him, his late-cut would be a soft, deft touch to help the ball on its way to the fence.

 

But the mediocrity mind-set determines that one must give at least the impression of struggle. This hypocrisy Hanumant would never commit. Why should he give an impression of dogged effort when he was perfectly capable of getting the same results with the ease and simplicity that the gifted individuals are endowed with?

 

Ultimately the gifted stroke-maker was eased out after just 14 Tests! At the time he had an average of 31.18 with one century and five 50s. I wonder what the reactions would be if such a fate was handed out to some of our modern-day stars, who have had the luxury of extended run of failures at the crease.

 

Hanumant had a dream debut in Test cricket. At 24 he was brought in at Delhi against Mike Smith's side in 1963-64. An innings of splendid all-round strokes full of culture and character extended to 105. A genuine artist had arrived, reminding old-timers of the grace of Mushtaq Ali and Khandu Rangnekar of pre-independent India.

 

Delectable drives and wristy elegance were the hallmarks that heralded the arrival of the batting prince from the sandy dunes of Rajputana, who had settled down in Bombay. Off-the-toes and off-the-hips, his wrists would glide the red cherry racing to the rails. A typical Hanumant innings bore the stamp of a Mozart symphony at Salzburgh, nothing less.

 

Next year when Simpson's Australians were here in India he played an innings of rare courage and fortitude at Madras. Four wickets had fallen for just 24 runs when Hanumant walked in to join his Rajasthan mentor, Vijay Manjrekar. They proceeded to display a superlative exhibition of batsmanship by adding 93 runs when Manjrekar left at 40. Quickly enough the innings folded for 193 runs but not before Hanumant selflessly threw his wicket away at 94 in trying to shield the tail-enders. That season he played another 6 innings against New Zealand at home at an average of 48.75 including 75 not out and 82.

 

He was an outstanding fieldsman close-to-the-wicket. Never got any mention because he did not make a great show of his catching prowess. The catch that he took at Brabourne Stadium in 1964 off Bobby Simpson is still spoken of with awe by connoisseurs who witnessed it.

 

Evergreen Rusi Surti was bowling left-arm spin at the time. Skipper Simpson played defensive forward to smother but the ball jumped a wee bit, struck the bat-maker’s name and looped in front. From silly mid-off, the agile Hanumant dived on the pitch to bring off a marvellous catch. The Hindu’s ever-agile photographer of Sport & Pastime clicked on time, thankfully. That dismissal led to Australia collapsing against Nadkarni and Chandrasekher helping India to a magnificent victory. Hanumant got no credit for converting a defensive prod into a superlative catch.

 

In 1967-68 against Sobers' side he played 4 innings including a 50 at Chepauk. But it was his 37 on a treacherous Eden Gardens wicket where his twinkling toes danced down the pitch to lift world-class spinners like Gibbs and Sobers that marked him out as a player of rare vintage. This short tenure was indeed a classical innings played on a pitch that had been badly tampered with the previous day by a section of the crowd which had invaded the ground to thrash the cricket administrators who had sold more tickets than space available. 

 

In his only tour abroad, to England in 1967, he batted in 4 Test innings, one of which fetched him 73. This was at Headingley, Leeds, where following-on India put up a brilliant but vain resistance to pile up 510 runs. On this tour he was troubled by a niggling injury to his knee.

 

 Unfortunately he missed the tour of Australia, where on the hard surfaces his stroke-play would have found an ideal platform. But that was not to be and in 1969 after just one failure he was sidelined forever! Despite prolific performances later, the stylish batter was never again asked to don the country's cap. Just one failure ended his Test career! Imagine what would have happened to our current stars if they had to face such a cruel fate. Please do not judge our former players by the statistical yardsticks of today.

 

Even after being permanently sidelined, the Rajput prince Hanumant Singh proved to be a glorious exception. No rancour, no vengeance, no back-biting, the charming gentleman merely said, "To be replaced by Gundappa Viswanath is no sadness.” Truthful and modest till the very end.

 

His like will not be found again. Hanumant would have made an ideal guide for the nation's youngsters. But he was never asked to. Only once he was sent as manager of the Indian team, to West Indies in early 1983. There at Berbice he left his mark. That was the first time when Kapil Dev’s India defeated Clive Lloyd's men in a one-day international. That ‘Berbice-win’ was the occasion which gave Kapil and his men the confidence to pull off that magnificent victory later in the 1983 World Cup final at Lord’s.

 

Hanumant career as a coach however took him to Nairobi. He was the architect who gave Kenya that outstanding victory over West Indies in the 1996 World Cup in India. Yet, ironically, after the victory Hanumant Singh was relieved of his post! Would it be sadistic on my part to relate that after Hanumant's departure Kenya could not make any distinctive mark even among the bottom rankers of international cricket and was eventually demoted?

 

Hanumant Singh began his first class career with Madhya Pradesh in 1956 but from the following season contributed wholeheartedly for his home-state of Rajasthan and Central Zone for 20 long and fruitful years. He was the first to exhibit to post-independent Indian crowds the concept of charm and artistry in batting and prepared the way for Gundappa Viswanath to follow.

 

Hanumant Singh was one of my boyhood heroes. Saw him at Eden Gardens in Ranji Trophy and Duleep Trophy ties and was charmed by his off-the-field manners and his fluid batting style. In 1972 I was actually playing a Duleep Trophy match against my idol at Eden. I was too shy to speak to him or even to wish him! No one has ever accused me of being tongue-tied! But in front of a most friendly Hanumant Singh, I actually lost my voice!

 

But surprise of surprises, when I was batting very cautiously in the middle of a crisis situation, he actually came forward during a drinks-break to say, “Good going. Don’t lose patience.” I was astounded.

 

In the previous match against North Zone, the opposing captain Bishen Bedi had encouraged the young debutant and now another opposing captain – my idol Hanumant Singh – praising me! I must have been born lucky. Two of cricket’s finest ambassadors were willingly offering encouraging words to an unknown, young man from the obscure East! Amazing indeed.

 

Another very interesting issue highlighted the tremendous influence of Hanumant Singh on me. In 1977 when I was dithering over accepting a probationary officer’s job at a nationalized bank instead of continuing in the corporate sector, one particular thought helped me to solve the problem: if the Banswara prince could accept a SBI appointment, why not me? That was the kind of lesson Hanumant left behind for others of his generation and beyond.

 

Later as a journalist, I met him at Vizag in the mid 1980s when he was one of the national selectors. As the SZ-EZ tie was drenched in pouring rain for days, I was indeed fortunate to have had his company for three full days. He was full of cricket history, literature and the current scenario.

 

When I told him that cricket followers were surprised that he was overlooked as manager to the world cup in 1983 despite his undoubted contribution as manager in the ‘Berbice-win’, Hanumant replied, “As manager Maan Singh did a great job in England in 1983.” Still I persisted, “Yes, Maan Singh was outstanding, but he too was relieved after that. Why do you think you were not reappointed later?”

 

Hanumant thankfully opened up, “In my report to BCCI, I mentioned 3 batters who were unwilling to face the fast bowlers in the West Indies in the island matches. This did not go down well with BCCI as all 3 had very powerful ‘backers’. They are still around. I only hope that they make positive contributions to India’s effort. I would be happy to be proved wrong.”

 

What a visionary Hanumant was. Believe it or not, all the three represented India as specialist batters and ended their careers with a combined total of 24 Tests and respective averages of 26, 18 and 25 without being able to score a single century between them! Specialist batsmen for over a decade! This frank and candid report of a real India well-wisher was put in the waste-paper basket by the powers-that-be.

 

Hanumant was simplicity and sophistication personified. In speech, in manner and in appearance. Accessible, calm and friendly, he continually maintained his distinctive posture throughout both on and off the field. A willing and patient listener, he was. Never spoke much; certainly never a word out of place. Never could admonish anyone with an offensive remark or act. I do not think anyone ever has spoken ill of him.

 

A prince by birth he was; a prince by title he was. But a prince who just refused to be recognized as a prince. He was indeed a genuine member of royalty. The prince who voluntarily sacrificed power and position. A prince who willingly came forward to serve all and sundry without an iota of discrimination. The man’s graceful and gracious demeanour gave shape to an impressionable young mind at Calcutta in the early 1960s.

 

In the pantheon of Indian cricket, he was the Gautama Buddha, the erstwhile prince of Kapilavastu, who sacrificed self-interest to serve humanity.

 

 

With Kailash Gattani and Ramnath Parker at the world's most popular photo studio

Kailash Gattani: a pioneer mentor of cricketers

His name is not in the record books. His name did not make the headlines. He did not fish around for compliments. He never stayed close to power-centres. Never received any official awards or accolades. Our Kailash, like Mount Kailash, forever retained a dignified presence.

Again just as the holy mountain has the Manasarovar for celestial company, our Kailash is surrounded by innumerable cricketers who consider him to be their rightful guru. Just as Mount Kailash is a spiritual symbol of Sanatan Dharma far removed from petty rivalries, so is our Kailash the man who stayed all alone in the background to steer the cricket careers of young Indian talents.

Kailash Gattani was destined to remain behind the screen and guide others to stardom. Now in retirement, in his heydays too the man was a primal force to help others achieve and fulfil their dreams. Even as a student of St Xavier’s College in Mumbai, he was a much sought-after peer. Colleagues and newcomers found in their cricket captain a refuge. He had the kind of character, personality, integrity and tact that made people relaxed and confident in his presence. He could easily have authored a book on man-management even while at the university.

First saw him bowl in a Duleep Trophy tie in 1964 at Eden Gardens when my elder brother Deb was representing the east zone side for the first time. Gattani, a strappy lad in his late teens, enjoyed the moist conditions and the greenish tinge on the pitch. His enthusiasm knew no bounds. He bowled long spells with remarkable accuracy. His impressive, steady bowling accounted for 4 wickets and at the same time allowed Salim Durani the liberty to go for an all-out attack.

Consistent in his performance at the first-class level, the young medium pacer earned his kudos from distinguished critics. Many thought that he would become an international cricketer. But their hopes went haywire. No call ever came to Gattani from the national selectors.

He stayed on course for the better part of nearly two decades in the service of his home State of Rajasthan and consequently central zone. Despite consistent performances his name never quite made the list of the national selectors. While many would have left any association with the game in sheer frustration, the social worker in Kailash brought his misfortune to a positive end. He stayed on with his favourite passion and served cricket with full sincerity and integrity.

He conceived of a plan to help young Indian cricketers to thrive and prosper. He did not vouch for coaching camps. Nor did he think of organizing tournaments. He realized that there were many others doing wonderful work in these essential spheres. Kailash decided that he would give exposure in foreign lands to unknown, young Indian cricket talents by taking them abroad. He himself was a beneficiary when he had led the Indian Schoolboys team to Sri Lanka (then Ceylon) in 1963-64 under BCCI’s junior tours programme.

During the off-season in India, Kailash Gattani would often go to UK to take part in the club-cricket leagues. He also was a regular with Kent CCC in their 2^nd XI. His friendly nature made wide and important contacts. He made sure that these contacts would help his Star CC – full of young teenagers from India – to arrive and play matches around the British Isles in the decades ahead.

As decided, he meticulously organized the trips for more than a decade giving rare opportunities to young talents from all over the sub-continent. Star CC would play a whole lot of matches up and down the British Isles in about 25 days at top-quality venues against strong oppositions. Many of the promising players graduated to international cricket and almost all of them achieved first-class status at cricket.

The idea of private teams touring abroad was first conceived in India by the maharaja of Patiala Bhupindrasingh in 1911 when he sponsored and led an all-India team to visit UK. Later in the 1930s Calcutta-based sports journalist Berry Sarbadhikari – financially assisted by his friend Jagaddipendra Narayan, the maharaja of Coochbehar –  had his University Occasionals touring the country and beyond to Ceylon.

So did the team of the great patron of Indian cricket, maharajkumar of Vizianagram, Vijaya Anand, popularly known as Vizzy. Vizzy’s team played around the country and even went to Sri Lanka (then Ceylon) in the 1930s. Legendary cricketers like Jack Hobbs and Herbert Sutcliffe accompanied the team as playing members. In the 1960s, ‘cricket-crazy’ Maan Singh – the manager of the Kapil Dev’s world cup-winning team of 1983 – would take his cricket team Hyderabad Blues to South-East Asia regularly.

All these private cricket teams had established players with a sprinkling of youngsters. But with Kailash Gattani the teams were exclusively for under-19 year olds. This novel concept gave Indian cricket a most distinguished service. The example of Sachin Tendulkar is a case in point. Even before Tendulkar embarked on his international career, he already had the experience of overseas exposure. All this was because of one man’s ingenuity.

 In 1988-89 while involved with veterans’ matches against Majid Jahangir’s Pakistan, Kailash and I shared hotel rooms. One day he casually asked me if I would suggest a few names from among the under-19 east zone talents. That year all-rounder Sourav Ganguly and wicket-keeper Sanjoy Das had done exceptionally well in the under-19 national championship. Accordingly I mentioned their names.

 Next day he had the invitation papers for the two boys ready and requested me to hand it over to them personally at Calcutta on my return. I was indeed pleasantly surprised by his efficiency and his positive spirit. He had not seen them but he selected them without any hesitation entirely on my suggestion. That’s the kind of confidence he reposed in me. There and then I realized that he was a selfless soul without the slightest of silly pretensions.

 Our close companionship began from that day itself. Sourav’s and Sanjoy’s parents profusely thanked me for the opportunity that Kailash had given their respective sons at just 17. Kailash Gattani is the man who started the cricketing journey of the former India captain and current BCCI president more than three decades ago.

In 1992 Kailash asked me to accompany his team the Star Cricket Club as coach. I did and learnt the ropes first-hand which enabled me to organize regular England tours on behalf of The Sunil Gavaskar Cricket Foundation, based at Calcutta. He happens to be my mentor in organizing cricket tours.

As a medium-pace bowler he had impeccable credentials. Could swing the ball, use the seam to deviate, sharply twist his wrist for cutters. Very sensibly, he hardly ever used the bumper.

 I believe as a youngster he was very hot-headed and bowled bumpers quite often. With maturity his intelligence told him that at his pace, bowling of bumpers made little sense. Rather try to model oneself on Alec Bedser and Fazal Mahmood, two of the greatest medium-pacers in the post-war period. That is exactly what this intelligent man set about to achieve.

Kailash’s main forte was his never-say-die spirit. Docile pitches, dropped catches or unkind weather made no difference to this lion-hearted bowler. He could bowl long spells because of his smooth action and his positive attitude. He would willingly play second fiddle at one end so that his captain could attack from the other. Very few bowlers have the mental capacity to do so.

 He was in effect a captain’s bowler. Apart from Samar Chakrabarty of Services and Bengal, I have not seen any pace bowler as selfless as Kailash Gattani was. The Rajasthan skippers – primarily Raj Singh and Hanumant Singh – were indeed fortunate to have had a man like him in their teams. Both, obviously enough, held him in high esteem.

He was an ideal team-man. Even opened the batting in times of need. No wonder he was such an excellent mentor to a host of cricketers who toured UK with him: Sachin Tendulkar, Vinod Kambli, Sourav Ganguly, Ajay Jadeja, Amol Muzumder, Shridharan Shriram, Sairaj Bahutule, Manoj Joglekar among others. Many east zone players owe him a debt of gratitude for giving them the initial exposure to the varying conditions available in the British Isles: Ranjib Biswal (Orissa), Gautam  Dutta (Assam), Safi Ahmed and Jayanta Ghosh Dastidar (both Bengal) – all went on to become first-class cricketers – to name a few.

In 1992 at Cambridge University the Star CC tam was invited by the hosts to a sit-down dinner in the company of some of the faculty professors. At the end of the meal, various speakers gave enlightened but short speeches. When our turn came, manager Gattani highlighted very well the need for cultural exchanges through sports. Everything went off well.

Suddenly Kailash said, “Our coach Mr Raju Mukherji will now address you.” Not expecting to speak, I was stunned but thankfully settled down soon enough. I realized that every topic that needed to be covered was adequately covered. After expressing the usual ‘thank-you’ sentences, I just said, “There is so much of food lying waste on the table! In our country we were taught that not a morsel should be wasted. I would request all diners to pick up the fruits, the chocolates, the biscuits and the cheese for consumption later. Let us not waste food, please.”  You should have seen Kailash’s eyes. If possible he would have eaten me alive there and then!

Luckily the next speaker, a distinguished-looking Cambridge professor stood up, applauded and said, “During the War, we too were taught not to waste food. Thanks for reminding us.” Not many of our boys dared to pick up the fruits and the biscuits from the table but the youngest Shridharan Shriram (then just 14 plus) and I did. On the way back and at our residence not a word was exchanged between the manager and the coach with the coach maintaining a discreet distance. Kailash’s look had the daggers drawn!

Around 10pm Shriram and I were chatting in my room and enjoying the chocolates when we heard a knock on the door. The manager sheepishly stepped in, “Raju, dying of hunger. Do you have any food left?” A hearty laughter and a full tummy completed the day.

After the tour was over, I stayed back to do a short course on sports psychology at Leicester University. When I mentioned this to Kailash, his parting shot to me was, “Thank Heavens. You are not returning to India with us!” Whether he really meant it or not, I am still not too sure!

Kailash played his cricket with his head held high. He bent his back only at the delivery stride and never, never off the field.  With his backbone straight, the impressive personality of Kailash Gattani served cricket selflessly by providing opportunities to others.

Kailash never stooped to authority to ‘curry’ favours. Never bothered about media publicity. Cricket enthusiasts came forward on their own to help his team with funds. Even modest amounts and help-in-kind for the young were welcomed by Kailash. I happen to know two of them, Pranay Mondkar and Saktibrata Dutta. Both deserve my salutes for helping young cricketers through Kailash Gattani’s Star Cricket Club.

Always impeccably dressed, Kailash preferred to be seen in British formal wear with tie and jacket. The outfit suited his strong, tall, broad physique. He had acquired the typical dry British humour. Knew well enough how to use it and when. Never over-used his subtle wit to show-off. 

He was in the best sense of the term ‘a pucca brown-sahib’. He brought the best of cultures together in his own self and helped to propagate to others through his manner and actions. Kailash has achieved far more than most diplomats in the area of international relations through cultural exchanges.

 He remains a magnificent example of a man who can turn his own misfortunes to help others fulfil their dreams. A rare individual in any sphere of life. I am proud to call him my friend.

Kailash Gattani is one of the great contributors to Indian cricket. A mentor of many; a role model for many more. May his spirit of selfless service survive in Indian cricket.

 

Eknath Solkar

 

Eknath Dhondu Solkar has been a unique cricketer. Never before in the history of the game has a player been selected for the national team exclusively for his fielding prowess. Yes, Learie Constantine (West Indies) and Colin Bland (South Africa) had similar credentials, but then they also had statistical figures to establish their worth in other capacities.

 

When Solkar was named in the India team to play against New

Zealand at Hyderabad in 1969 he was not among the major run-getters or among the main wicket takers in the national championships. Nor did he show any remarkable degree of consistency with the bat and ball to be regarded as a genuine all-rounder.

 

But such was the ability of the lean, young man on the field that without exception people rated him in the highest possible bracket. Quick-silver reflexes, super-fast speed, an unerring accuracy in throwing and a crab-like grip on catches made him a constant threat. In addition, his courage and his uncanny skills made him the cynosure of all eyes.

 

Solkar's cricketing tenure at the international level etched a complete circle. He began at the nadir with no means or lineage to support him. Slowly and surely, however, he went up the curve to circumscribe an orbit. Had a peek from the hallowed zenith. And then all on a sudden the downward course of the orbit brought him plummeting down to the starting point.

 

For about 7 years the fairy-tale story of Solkar's advent and adventure lasted. During the time his reputation as the best fielder in the world was never in any semblance of dispute. During that period he showed remarkable vitality and vigour to have held 53 catches in his 27 Tests. Actually he took 2 more as a substitute before he earned the India cap! He is one of the rare cricketers who took part in Test cricket before being an official Test cricketer himself.

 

Eknath Solkar learnt his cricket at the Hindu Gymkhana ground in Mumbai, where his father was the chief groundsman. In India we have neither respect nor rewards for the men who really look after the grounds. Their toil and their sincerity never received due recognition, due remuneration. Not even today. Thus the circumstances were such that the poor groundsman's son had no scope to pit his skills against the trainees and the members of the club.

 

He had to sit and watch and wait for the privileged ones to call it a day. In fading light, he would grapple with the basics; on his own he devised his own games.

 

However, in the mornings before the start of the matches or the practice sessions, the tiny-tot had a run of the ground. In a peculiar sense he was lucky in this respect. There was no school regimen to shackle him; no well-meaning coach bothered him. No indulgent parent pestered him. He was on his own. And, as with most deprived children, he developed raw survival instinct; an instinct that comes from hunger, from deprivation, from frustration.

 

 Quick on the draw, willing to take and give back body-blows and verbal volleys. The essence of a street-fighter with all the sharpness required to survive on his own without an iota of assistance from any quarter. Kids of this genre develop a shrewd, calculating mind; a perpetual distrust of others. Qualities which give them the so-called "killer instinct" and help them to reach beyond themselves. In this respect Solkar was no exception. Qualities that served him well in the years to follow.

 

One of the marvellous qualities of former Indian cricketers and Indian media personnel is that the moment they see a genuine talent they come forward to lend a helping hand. Solkar found a God-sent benefactor in Vinoo Mankad, who at the time was coaching at the Hindu Gymkhana ground at Mumbai.

 

 Vinoo Mankad spotted the latent talent, moulded the raw material and gave it the required polish. Thankfully, he put no curbs on the natural style of his young protege. As Solkar's progress began through representing the Bombay Schools and West Zone Schools team in the all-India inter schools championship for the Coochbehar Trophy, the Gymkhana members themselves came forward with much-needed financial assistance.

 

Solkar's rise to stardom was gradual. From leading the combined all-India Schools team he graduated to the Bombay Ranji Trophy side. At the time in the 1960s Bombay was the undisputed champion on the domestic front. In that company of unending success, young Solkar held his place with vital contributions.

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Right from his initiation at the school level to his entry into the first-class scene, Solkar was a left-arm spinner. In the Bombay team he was only a distant second fiddle to the spinning presence of Jimmy Diwadekar and the superlative Paddy Shivalkar.

 

However, it is to the credit of his survival instinct that even in that strong combination young Eknath made appropriate contributions with the bat and the ball, but more often with his outstanding ability as a fieldsman. His performance was not of prolific proportions. His primary quality was consistency arising from the attitude of cent per cent effort. His never-say-die made him a respected colleague.

When Vijay Merchant came into the national selection committee as the chairman, he concentrated on youth. The plan, as any new concept was susceptible to be, had some shortcomings. Some mediocre players received the national cap. But apart from the aberrations, the plan also pitchforked Chetan Chauhan, Gundappa Vishwanath, Sunil Gavaskar and Eknath Solkar onto the international platform.

 

Solkar could not have been selected primarily as a batsman. On his Test debut he came in to bat at no. 8. Could not possibly have been considered as a bowler or as an all-rounder. For he bowled just 3 overs out of 101 in the 1st innings and none at all in the 2nd.

 

Dropped from the next Test against Lawry's Australia, he came back for the 2nd Test at Kanpur. This time he batted at no. 7 and opened the bowling. Scored 44 and took Redpath's wicket. Thus the utility man adapted to the demands made on him and came out a winner. From a left-arm spinner he converted himself into a left-arm medium pacer for the sake of the team. That's the kind of spirit and skill he possessed.

 

That in essence was Solkar. Never an outstanding performer with statistics to support him, but a man of remarkable utility value. A man for all occasions. Someone once said that Solkar was a poor man's Sobers. No mean praise that. But Solkar should be remembered for what he was worth, all on his own.

 

In that series against Australia, India lost 3-0. The blend of youth and experience could not quite live up to the high expectations. However, the young man from Mumbai caught our fancy. He looked different, not diffident as some were. He looked spirited and not self-conscious as some were. With the bat he did not contribute centuries, but made vital 30s and 40s in the face of crises. He also picked up the occasional wicket.

 

But more than the actual performance it was the approach that appealed. He made it plain and simple that he was a fighter. He would battle it out till the last drop of blood. He would not throw in the towel, nor be unnerved by reputations. In those two series of 1969 far more talented players of privileged birth shivered their way into oblivion, but not so the son of a groundsman. Therein lay the magic of sport, where in the heat of battle it is one against one with no external factors to discriminate between the duelists.

 

Within months he went off to West Indies with Ajit Wadekar's men. In that historic series Sardesai, Gavaskar and Durani were the real winners and men like Bedi, Prasanna and Venkataraghavan were no less. But between those names one person most surely stood out in my opinion. He was none other than Eknath Solkar.

 

The boy from the 'depressed' classes showed all and sundry that

birth had nothing to do with character. Solkar with all his

limitations put up one heroic resistance after another against the

might of Sobers' men. Just as our ill-equipped jawans had shown unparalleled valour against the military might of China in the 1962.

 

That was real bravery, as was Solkar's. In that series Solkar was batting with real courage and consistency. Once when Solkar snicked a ball to the boundary, Sobers, it is said, taunted him, "Maan, why not use the middle of the bat instead of the edge?" Quick on the repartee, Solkar retorted, "You play your way, I will play my way." Sobers never quite recovered from that verbal exchange.

 

That was deadly stuff. Made possible by a man who learnt to survive by the hard way. He knew his mind; he knew his limitations. Exhibited character, not trendy styles. Showed guts, not foolhardiness. He was not a man to be overawed by occasions or by reputations. He expected no quarters, gave none in return.

 

All along in any position he has been a great fielder. Brilliant as well as safe. On the English tour of 1971 as well as against England in 1972-73 he took catches that defied description as well as gravity. Once he dived full length with arms stretched to catch Alan Knott's forward prod. It was because of Solkar's skills at short-leg that all our spinners could bowl with their confidence on a perpetual high.

 

Then again once at Eden Gardens as Tony Lewis stepped out, so did Solkar take a sideways step at short leg! And as the batter drove the ball towards the on-side, Solkar clung on to it for dear life! It was not a catch; not even a half-chance. But a wonderful combination of anticipation, courage and reflex brought about yet another downfall. Mind you, the man had no head gear, no shin pads, no chest guards. Solkar would have abhorred those paraphernalia. Well did he know that if one's skill could not do the job, no amount of equipment would be of any assistance.

 

It was reported that skipper Tony Lewis received a New Year greetings card wishing him happy days ahead. The erudite England captain replied, “With Solkar at short-leg, how can one be really happy?” Absolutely to the point Lewis was. Every batter would readily agree that the presence of Solkar at short-leg was a constant source of irritation with his antics and skills.

 

Since 1974, when he got his only century in Test cricket against Lloyd's West Indies, the old fire was gradually on the decline. Although he was still taking his catches, he was not converting as many as he so easily used to do.

 

The saga came to a sad finale at Calcutta in 1976. Two simple chances he floored in his favourite trademark position at short-leg. The career had finally turned the full circle. Never again was he to don the India cap.

 

Unfortunately like many of his mates he could not overcome the frustration of being sidelined. Became miserable and made life miserable for his young trainees. He was constantly on the flash back of his own cricketing life. A pitiful end to an eventful career.

 

He was surely the first player to have played international cricket primarily for his versatility as a fieldsman. He did score runs in times of need. Did give nightmares to even Geoff Boycott with his wobbly swingers. But to all those, who had the good fortune to see him, he will be remembered as a champion fielder non pareil. A natural talent who literally came up from the grass-roots. Undoubtedly India's greatest-ever close-in fielder.

 

 

Bishan Singh Bedi

 

“Whatever touched his heart, unloosened his tongue” to quote political scientist Wayper on Jean Rousseau, the legendary political philosopher and social activist. In a nut-shell that is the apt description of my Bishan. Bishan Singh Bedi happens to be the Rousseau of the world of cricket.

 

Much lauded and more maligned, my Bishan is not an individual who would run away from challenges fearing loss of image or whatever.

At the first hint of injustice, without a care for the morrow Bishan, like Rousseau, would be the first to raise his voice and the first into the scene of battle. If need be, he would go ahead alone and not look around for support, exactly as Rabindranath Tagore had visualized: Jodi tor dak shunay keo na ashey, tobay ekla chalo ray (If nobody answers your call, do it alone.)

 

Bishan Bedi is the synonym for high moral principles. At the same time a direct antithesis of tact. He would not deviate into diplomacy for the sake of sacrificing truth. No one – not even his sworn enemies – can ever accuse him of hypocrisy. He would be highly proactive for any just cause. 

 

Admittedly over the years he has paid a heavy penalty for this admirable quality of his. But he would not have had it otherwise. Fear of authority never crossed that raised turban of this proud Sikh of the martial race.

 

It is to his immense credit that as a cricket captain he inspired a host of young players to attain heights beyond their inherent abilities. He gave his team-mates freedom and respect. He fought tooth and nail for them. He left his stamp of character with every act of his.

 

But he was a terrible judge of people. He hated flatterers and fiends but that was precisely what he eventually had beside him always. Invariably he was left stranded by the very men he had helped to find moorings in cricket as well as in life. People, who benefitted immensely from him, made dirty noises invariably behind his back.

 

Again to his credit, he had no time for his critics or for prima donnas. He treated all men as equals. No wonder it was under his leadership that the young Indian brigade put up a rare show of fortitude as they chased over 400 runs to win a Test match. This was at Trinidad in 1976 against the likes of Holding, Roberts and company at a time when the West Indies avalanche crushed all obstructions to smithereens.

 

He was man of very high idealism. Once in 1979 at Sahiwal he forfeited an ODI match to Pakistan. When he found that the Pakistani umpires were not following the spirit of the noble sport by allowing bumpers beyond limit, Bishen decided to close the innings and consequently to forfeit the match!

 

On another occasion he declared India’s innings closed at Kingston in Jamaica when the West Indies fast bowlers launched a bumper-attack aiming at the body of the Indian batters. A distinct case of non-violent resistance that would have made one MK Gandhi glow in pride.

 

Bedi’s candid logic was that cricket was no war, just a game. The moment he realized that the umpires were unwilling to use their discretion and allowed the conventional tradition of the noble game to be trampled upon, the patriotic man decided that he and his countrymen would not be a part of the fracas.

 

In time the ‘spirit of cricket’ code became a vital part in the MCC Laws of Cricket to enable umpires and match referees to take strict actions. Unfortunately the man, whose daredevilry made the idea of the code possible, never got any credit for it. Not even a mention for his proactive contribution.

 

Bedi, the supreme classical stylist was nature’s gift to cricket. To him the game came much ahead of petty considerations of victory and defeat. To him the end did not justify the means. Nothing, just nothing could shake him away from the firm resolve that cricket was a game for the mentally tough who could take the rough with the smooth. But it was a game nevertheless and certainly no war.

 

His open personality and liberal views invited confrontation. Bishan crossed swords with authority not because he relished duels but because they gave him little option. People in power could not tolerate his courage, his convictions. Even players whom he had nursed and nurtured stayed away from him lest they got branded. Never bothered to curry favours with the Establishment, neither DDCA, BCCI nor ICC.

 

Bishan could indeed be a very hard task-master, more so to his own self and to his own mates. He would brook no compromise. Inevitably enough in a scenario short on principles, the man of principles found himself marginalized. Throughout his active cricket career and beyond he had to carry a very high burden for his non-compromising stance.

 

If in life he was in perpetual hurry, at the bowling crease he was an exact antithesis. From a rhythmic classical pose – a model for sculptors – the bearded ‘sardar’ would tantalizingly tease. For him flight did not mean merely tossing the ball up. His flight was a deceptive trajectory that would curl in mid-air; aerial geometry perplexing the best of batters. The arc would curve variable paths at his beck and call.

 

When people thought that one-day cricket had no place for spinners, he enjoyed a hearty laugh when those supple fingers of his produced a match analysis of 12-8-6-1. Against East Africa in the Prudential World Cup of 1979. But knowing the man, I am certain that he would have preferred to bag a few more wickets in the process.

 

Bishan belonged to a period when Indian spinners were doing magic with the ball in hand. They were genuine spinners. Men who made the ball rotate on flight. Not the kind to trundle slow stuff and create an impression of being spinners. No, no, far from it. Bishan's contemporaries believed a spinner should be able to turn even on a billiard table-top. And that was precisely what they achieved.

 

They relished the friendly rivalry and banter among themselves. They were beyond comparison. They complimented and contrasted among themselves. Yes, they were lucky to have spinning tracks at home in the 1970s, but what about their successes abroad? On the hard sun-baked pitches of Australia as well as on the grassy tracks in England and New Zealand? Actually Bishan and his spinning-companions never bothered about surfaces and conditions to display their skills.

 

On the last day of December 1966 Bishan Bedi made his Test debut at the iconic Eden Gardens against Garfield Sobers' side. Just a few weeks earlier he had created a wonderful impression while bowling against the tourists for the all-India combined university side as well as for the Board President's XI.

 

Thankfully a liberal-minded captain like Tiger Pataudi realized the worth of the gem placed at his disposal, carefully gave it shape and polish. But did not unnecessarily interfere and allowed him full freedom to develop his art and personality.

 

This was just the kind of mentorship that Bishan needed: a guiding hand without unnecessary curbs. And this was the kind of guidance Bedi himself would give to youngsters when he was the captain of India, North Zone and Delhi.

 

When Bishan began his tryst with Test cricket there were established left-arm spinners in India with impeccable credentials like Padmakar Shivalkar and Rajinder Goel. But the moment the young sardar went left-arm round-the-wicket, he went over his generation of left-arm spinners.

 

 Such was the subtlety of his free-flowing action that people who had come with sardonic smiles were made to sit up and take notice. Even old-timers, highly critical of modern men, had to nod their heads in appreciation. They realized that they were witnessing a classical charmer in action.

 

As captain he did wonders for Delhi and North Zone teams. He made them believe in themselves. In his time Delhi and North Zone were feared teams and a whole lot of outstanding cricketers came into national reckoning. Instilled confidence into them and allowed them to blossom. Bishan's major contribution was that he guided young cricketers to believe in their own selves.

 

Bishan Bedi was and remains a pioneer in many respects. He was among the first Indians to come from an unfancied city (Amritsar) to become an international cricket legend. He was among the first to break the stranglehold of Bombay who monopolized the domestic Indian cricket championships. He was most surely the first in northern India to help the deserving regional youngsters to find their feet in the uncertain world of Indian cricket.

 

He was the first among our national selectors who had the courage to identify and select ‘horses for courses’ when it came to choosing the national teams. And most importantly he was the first to vehemently protest at the international stage when the game of cricket was reduced to a street-fight.

 

However, all these impeccable pioneering qualities do little justice to this ubiquitous personality. Unique though those attributes were, he was primarily an artiste. As with all genuine people of art he was a philosopher and a social activist.

 

Even Bishan’s critics will admit that the turbaned Sikh had tremendous faith in himself. His confidence level and the sense of self-respect were exemplary. Invariably enough, he was always fighting for a selfless cause, however difficult it might appear to be.

 

During the course of his life’s journey, he trod on many toes. Powerful, influential ones. But he had no regrets. Never bothered about who or how many were with him. He was always a singular man with a definite purpose. If no one came to assist, he would go forward alone without bothering about the consequences.

 

His best quality was that he could be your dearest friend and at the same time your prime adversary. Depending totally on the issue at hand. This sterling quality comes only to a very few. Thankfully Bishan had loads of it. This was the characteristic that kept him apart from most others.

 

Magnanimous to a fault, Bishan had the knack of applauding an opponent for an exquisite stroke, even off his own bowling. I can vouch as a recipient. He was known to go across to the opponent’s dressing room for a chat. These came naturally to him for he enjoyed companionship.

 

He was the opposing captain when I made my first-class debut against North Zone at Feroz Shah Kotla in 1972. We won the very low-scoring encounter but not once did I see him lose his magnanimous bearing. If he inspired his own mates, he inspired me no less as a man and as a captain.

 

Never seen him lower his high moral code to take an undue advantage, even if it was legal and available. Never seen him lose his cool and composure on the field. Never saw him lose his dignified presence on or off the field.

 

But he would be the first to object if he found any wrong being done. Tony Greig and John Lever got a taste of his medicine in 1976 when they were illegally applying some artificial substance to the ball. Bishan was forever a patriot. The so-called professionalism of the mercenary never crossed his mind as Northamptonshire CC cut short his contract because of this incident.

 

India’s first series victory in 1969 was not taken seriously because at the time New Zealand was considered to be a weak opposition. But their ‘home’ conditions the Kiwis were a formidable lot. Tiger Pataudi’s men did wonders with Bedi and Prasanna among the principal wicket-takers. A major turning point of Indian cricket was the twin overseas victories of Wadekar’s men in West Indies and England in 1971. Bishan was a prominent contributor on both tours.

 

Even after retirement, his contribution was impeccable. Bedi took the initiative to be the chief architect who chose the 1983 world cup squad. For the first time India sent a team with the ‘horses for courses’ policy. Brilliant fielders, genuine swingers, lion-hearted batters brought forth a stunning result beyond all comprehension.

 

Salute to our national selectors where Bishan along with Chandu Borde and Ghulam Ahmed played a very prominent role for their unbiased, non-provincial approach. The east zone and central zone representatives were absent at the selection committee meeting! The appointment of Maan Singh as manager was a master-stroke as Maan’s personality and integrity played a crucial role during the campaign.

 

Bishan Bedi was born 50 years too late. His ideologies, his mannerisms, his conduct were of an earlier generation when values had some value. He was a complete misfit of his contemporary times and beyond. He was aghast at the dreadful cronyism and the hypocrisy around him. Frustrated, he could not afford to keep silent.

He became a rebel because of the prevailing circumstances; not because he loved rebellion.

 

It was his unique protests during international encounters against West Indies at Kingston in 1976 and against Pakistan at Sahiwal in 1978 that coerced MCC – years later – to bring about the page on ‘spirit of cricket’ to precede the laws of cricket. Thankfully all over the cricket world the concept of ‘spirit of cricket’ became the guiding pole-star. But the man who rebelled and forced the change never got his recognition. Not that he cared. That is the ultimate beauty of this selfless soul.

 

The Northern Punjab debutant first saw Test cricket in the first Test match he played. His baptism was literally in flames. He saw first-hand how a cricket-loving crowd could flare up and give the Establishment a run for its life.

 

When on 1st January of 1967 ‘daily’ tickets were sold far in excess of the ground capacity in the erstwhile Ranji Block, true to the tradition of the Eden Gardens, cricket followers from every section of the ground erupted in anger.

 

Cricket lovers chased the inefficient police and thrashed the corrupt officials to vent their feelings. It was a lesson not to be forgotten. Later when Bishan fought officialdom and peers he knew that there was nothing to fear about when one fought for the correct cause.

 

Very few are blessed to appreciate fine art. Fine art is most certainly a subjective matter. Cannot be calculated, measured or weighed. It is in the eyes, ears and mind of the beholder. How would you evaluate Leonardo da Vinci or Michelangelo? How would one compare Mohammed Rafi to Kishore Kumar? The moment we try to bring in material tools of evaluation we do an injustice to the concept of fine art.

 

This has been a perpetual problem in Indian sport. We are forever counting runs and wickets; averages and aggregates; appearances and goals. Little do we realize that all such figures will evaporate in future. In time someone else with more opportunities, better equipments, easier conditions, different techniques, wider media publicity will overtake the earlier performers. Does it mean that Ranji and Bradman, O’Reilly and Larwood were inferior to the post-war and modern-day stars?

 

Every era would produce its champions. A genuine champion of one era would also be a genuine champion of another era if that was possible. These hypothetical comparisons are odious and do serious injustice to the former greats.

 

Unfortunately, Bishan Bedi and players of his artistic ilk have always been judged on calculators. Although Bishan’s statistical figures are of the highest category contributing towards many distinguished Test victories, yet it is primarily his artistic talents that have delighted generations of cricket connoisseurs.

 

Most unfortunately the media played up the subtle differences between Sunil Gavaskar and Bishan Bedi. Actually, they complemented each other as the leading towers of the modern Indian cricket super-structure, so very carefully put together by the magnificent presence of the one and only Polly Umrigar.

 

Over to 1980 at Eden Gardens. Bengal was hosting Delhi in a Ranji Trophy quarter-final duel. Star-studded Delhi with 11 international players defeated a young Bengal side in a close-contested match. Bishan and I were the rival leaders. After the match, Bishan came to our dressing room and said, “Gallant fight-back, lads. All the best.” Smiled at me, “Raju, despite being the highest scorer in the match, you are in the losing team. That’s the irony of life.” What a lesson in the easiest of languages from a most magnanimous gentleman.

 

The magical rhythm of his twinkling toes, the slow curve of his arms, the subtle wait, the trademark thumb impression on the ball of the non-bowling arm and the impassive vein gave him a halo that sent shivers of excitement to those fortunate enough to have seen him in action.

 

He was primarily an artist with the cricket field as his canvas. There were no high-fives, no vulgar gestures. The artist was content to accept the applause with a disarming smile. That was and still very much remains my Bishan Singh Bedi in excelsis…

 

 

 

 

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