Dattu Phadkar

 

For sheer depth and variety Dattu Phadkar’s role in Indian cricket is difficult to emulate. On and off the field he had taken part in every possible drama that is euphemistically known as Indian cricket.

 

 For the India team he was initially chosen as a medium fast bowler, but his latent batting potential developed soon enough for him to be rated as one of leading all-rounders in the country.

 

 Not a bits-and-pieces man, but a genuine all-rounder in the best sense of the term. Apart from his extraordinary skills as a player, between mid 1940s and mid 1950s, he also reclined on the selectorial easy-chair in the 1970s.

 

Phadkar, born at Kolhapur in 1925, began playing Ranji Trophy at just 17 for Maharashtra and later in 1944-45, transferred his allegiance to Mumbai (then Bombay) where his cricket received the exposure to prosper. Lancashire leagues engagements occupied his attention for more than a decade in the 1950s.

 

 For Dattu Phadkar cricket was not only a passion but a profession as well. He was one of the earliest of Indians in the hard school of Lancashire League, at the time the premier club championship in England where the professionals from all over the cricket world would congregate and compete.

 

Phadkar was a great success, enjoyed a very high rating in the leagues where the Saturday afternoon cricket – the forerunner to over-limit cricket of today –  required remarkable adaptability and consistency. The lone pro of every team was required to carry the ten fellow-amateurs to regular victories. It was no job for the weak-hearted, or for the half-baked cricketer. And, of course, Phadkar was neither.

 

In the heydays of his youth, Phadkar was a fast medium purveyor of swing and seam. He was nippy and could bowl a bouncer that ruffled batters. When the need arose, he could use the old ball with a firm clockwise tweak which made the off-cutters bite and turn. His variety and his control made him an asset to whichever team he played for during a long and distinguished career.

 

As a batter he had a lovely free-flowing style. He drove the ball hard, high and handsome. Never one to shy away from challenges, Phadkar played the game with courage and conviction. Athletic of build, every movement of his reeked of natural grace. Extremely handsome of face and bearing, the debonair presence certainly did cause quite a flutter among the female followers of the game around the world.

 

Dattu Phadkar’s capability would be best exemplified if one cared to study the perspective of Indian cricket in the 1940s. India was billed to play one of Test cricket’s greatest-ever sides, Don Bradman’s Australians. India reached Australia in November 1947, depleted by the absence of Merchant and Mushtaq. Australia won the 5-Test series, four zero. Bradman, Sidney Barnes, Arthur Morris, Keith Miller and Raymond Lindwall were just unstoppable.

 

Apart from Vinoo Mankad and Vijay Hazare, and to a lesser extent Lala Amamath only in the State matches, no Indian looked decent enough as a cricketer. This was the series that pitch-forked Dattu Phadkar into the international arena as a debutant.

 

And what a debut it was. He came into the team at Sydney in the 2nd Test match. With 6 wickets down for a mere 95, the well-built Mumbai man strode in as a Maratha warrior. He had no desire to go into a defensive shell. That was not in his nature. Rather he used the bat as a sword and went after the bowlers. In next to no time the slashing blade scalped 51 notches as India recovered to be all out for 188.

 

The dream debut continued with the red cherry in hand. He realized that seaming would not do on those hard, sun-baked pitches. He concentrated on swing and accuracy and captured 3 wickets for just 14 runs in 10 overs as Bradman’s team collapsed for 107. Misfortune appeared in the form of continuous rain in the following 3 days, completely ruining the Test. Otherwise there was every likelihood that Lala Amamath’s Indians would have upset the Australian applecart on the shoulders of rookie Phadkar.

 

But, that was not to be. The following 3 Tests belonged to Australia and they won as they wished. But among the ruins, along with Mankad and Hazare, young Phadkar kept his broad chest well thrust out.

 

In the 3rd Test, he had Bradman lbw and scored unbeaten 55 and 13. At Adelaide he breezed his way to a brilliant 123, reducing Miller and Lindwall within human proportions. Another half century in the final Test concluded that Phadkar was indeed an exemplary all-rounder.

 

Such consistency spelt class. Obviously enough the expectations of the cricket followers went up. And as with class, the success graph too showed a distinct upward flow. Following series against Goddard’s West Indies in India in 1948-49 Phadkar played 4 Tests scoring 41 and 5, 74, 48 and 10, and 27 and 37. In the first two Tests he had just 1 wicket but at Chepauk he dismisssed 7 batsmen and also had a haul of 6 wickets in the final Test at Mumbai.

 

Then arrived Nigel Howard’s England (MCC at the time) in the Indian winter of 1951-52. Phadkar was very much in his elements in the series, both with the ball as well as the bat. The high-point was an innings of 115 at Eden Gardens. In the Chepauk Test where India won her first ever Test match victory, Phadkar with an excellent innings of 61 gave commendable support to the centurions, Pankaj Roy and Polly Umrigar.

 

By now his position in the national team was firmly established among the nuclei. He deserved the kudos that came his way, for not only did he have the weight of statistics in his favour, but also a rare grace that enveloped whatever he did. He was a crowd favourite. Handsome of bearing and appearance, Dattu Phadkar, looked every inch the accomplished sportsman that he was.

 

On the tour of England in 1952 when Hazare’s India was mercilessly exposed by Alec Bedser and the young firebrand Freddie Trueman. Dattu Phadkar was among those who returned with their reputation in tatters. A hard-hit 64 in the first Test was the only redeeming feature in a series where he had difficulty against pace and movement. Even his bowling suffered. He bowled no less than 116 overs in the series but had only 2 wickets to show for his effort.

 

This performance of Phadkar was as strange as it was ironical. For he was at the time playing regularly in the leagues in Lancashire and was well acquainted with the varying conditions prevailing in England. His modest performances affected the morale of the team as they had relied highly not only on his ability but also on his vast knowledge for inspiration and guidance. Apart from skipper Hazare, Vinoo Mankad and young Vijay Manjrekar it was an eminently forgettable tour for every other member.

 

Overlooked initially against Pakistan at home, he played the last 2 Tests at Chepauk and his favourite Eden Gardens. Thankfully he found his touch with the ball in hand. At Chepauk he had 2 dismissals and this was followed up with 5 wickets at Eden Gardens. A very responsible knock of 51 at Calcutta helped him to book his ticket for India’s inaugural series on West Indies soil in 1953.

 

On those hard, sun-baked wickets, akin to the ones he relished in Australia, Phadkar found the conditions to his liking. But again neither runs nor wickets came his way. Failure on the tour of Pakistan in 1954-55 revealed that his cricketing days were numbered.

 

He did return to play for India now and then in the 1950s but it was apparent that he was only a pale shadow of the magnificent all-rounder that he was. Around this time he was playing in the Calcutta club leagues as a professional alongside his world-famous contemporary, Subhash Gupte. Ultimately he settled down at Calcutta with a job in the Eastern Railway. He represented Bengal from 1954 to 1957 and then finally played first-class cricket for Indian Railways till 1960.

 

Dattu Phadkar played 31 Tests for India scoring 1229 runs at 32.34 per innings with 2 centuries. His Test bowling figures are 62 wickets at 36.83. His first-class figures read 5377 runs at 36.08 and 466 wickets at 22.04 in a career span of 16 seasons during which apart from playing for his home-state of Maharashtra, he also served Mumbai, Bengal and Indian Railways.

 

The transfer of allegiance to Bengal made him eligible to be the east zone representative in the national selection committee. In the 1970s, he and Pankaj Roy by a system of musical chairs occupied this extremely responsible post by turns. Unfortunately, like Roy, he failed to do justice to the honour that was bestowed on him. Dattu Phadkar hardly ever watched the east zone players in action and seemed to have a peculiar notion that only cricketers from the western region were good enough to play for India!

 

It is indeed unfortunate that so many of India’s former star cricketers hardly do justice to the game after their salad days are over. Very critical of the modern generation, they rarely tend to follow the current trends and yet they pass judgements on all and sundry issues. Inevitably their views become irrelevant and a time comes when their worthy contribution as a player to Indian cricket comes under grave doubts. Unfortunately Phadkar could not come out of this cocoon-like approach. 

 

Very surprisingly Dattu Phadkar could not get any worthwhile employment in his favourite hometown of Mumbai. He had made Calcutta his home since the 1950s. After retirement, Dattu Phadkar assisted his wife run an extremely successful kindergarten school in Calcutta. The family was well entrenched in the eastern metropolis. But Dattubhai’s heart and soul were in Mumbai.

 

He never could find the time and energy to watch the east zone players in action as the national selector. Not even Duleep Trophy matches and fixtures against visiting foreign teams. He spoilt his cricketing image unnecessarily through a very casual approach to the task of a selector.  

 

His selectorial image shattered his glorious cricketing image. Once he actually selected just 4 bowlers for a one-day match! When asked by the media about who would share the 5^th bowler’s slot, he replied, “Why? Are 4 bowlers not enough to bowl 50 overs?” Even as a selector in the late 1970s, he seemed to have little clue about the basic requirements of a one-day match!

 

 I for one would prefer to remember Dattatray Gajanan Phadkar (1925-1985) as the handsome, gifted, courageous all-rounder who did the nation proud with his heroics on the playing arena.

 

Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi

 

The Indian cricketers just would not gel as a combined unit. Team spirit was at a discount. Parochialism and prejudice ruled the roost and the country’s cricketing reputation lay in tatters.

 

In the winter of 1958-59 Gerry Alexander's West Indies literally floored us and in the following summer in England Peter May's team massacred us with utmost contempt. A drab, drawn series against Pakistan at home exposed us as the 'dull dogs' of international cricket. Not only were we incapable of winning a single Test Match; worse still, the mental attitude of the players seemed to border on negative thoughts. Self interest ahead of team's cause was the order of the day.

 

However, the winter of 1961-62 brought about a refreshing transformation. All on a sudden the Indian cricketers seemed to have acquired springs on their feet. Even their appearance showed a distinct change. Those stodgy, grim faces gave way to relaxed smiles. Ill-fitting clothes made way for sartorial elegance. At last, the Indian cricketers looked confident enough to rub shoulders with the very best. Gone were the days when our players appeared distinctly uncomfortable and suffered from inferiority complex.

 

But how did such a radical change take place? Primarily because of the advent of one man, who was destined to lead India into an era of freedom from submissive self-consciousness.

 

Bhopal, Winchester and finally Oxford gave us the 'springing tiger' – to borrow a term from Netaji Subhash Bose’s biography – in the form of Mansur Ali Khan of Pataudi. He, at the time still the titular Nawab of Pataudi, brought about a discernible difference to the attitude and appearance in the Indian dressing room. Men like Jaisimha, Prasanna, Bedi, Chandrasekhar, Kunderan and Hanumant among others found their voice and gave full vent to their personalities.

 

With Polly Umrigar playing the paternal role to perfection and Borde lending his solidity and the genius in Durani his fluidity, the Indians finally began to display handsome cricket. They brought about Dexter's downfall at Calcutta and Chennai (then Madras) enabling India to record her first series victory over England. At Calcutta he contributed 64 and 32; and at Chennai 103 and 10 to help India to two glorious victories at the age of just 21.

 

Mansur Ali Khan was, of course, not the captain of India at the time. That was only his debut series in international cricket. But such was the influence of his mere presence that men far more experienced than he began to develop confidence in their own ability by watching him walk, talk and dress. He changed the scenario of Indian cricket for good.

 

On his debut in the 3^rd Test at Delhi the young nawab marveled at the batsmanship of centurion Vijay Manjrekar and became his great admirer. He formed a life-long friendship with the other centurion Jaisimha. After the initial stutter (13) at Delhi on debut, he displayed his superlative style at Eden with 64 and 32 and helped India to its victorious march that culminated at Chennai with 103 and 10.

 

 Pataudi did not know thralldom; did not know submission. He had played against the best in their own backyard at their own terms and proved himself to be of the top-most bracket. Consequently his manner and mien were of self-assurance and fortunately for Indian cricket he had the aura to permeate that self-assurance into others.

 

The tour to West Indies in 1962 was an unmitigated disaster throughout. After skipper Nariman Contractor's most unfortunate head injury in the Barbados match following the 2nd Test, Pataudi, the fledgling vice-captain was thrown into the deep sea. With the selfless Polly Umrigar's hand on his shoulder, he somehow survived the ordeal of Frank Worrell's marauding men and returned to India far more matured than his 22 years of life ought to have been.

 

Now he was on the saddle. Almost overnight he was thrust onto it by circumstances beyond control. Though he tried to maintain a cool, almost casual exterior, it was apparent that the slight hump had become a little more pronounced. The responsibility and the cares of leading a team of diverse tastes, habits, languages, likes and dislikes can either make a man a hero or throw him deep into a chasm.

 

None yet, not even C.K.Nayudu or Lala Amarnath had handled the Indian team with any sense of unity, although it must be readily admitted that Polly Umrigar was the one who came closest to being a real leader of this diverse group. Now it was the young Pataudi’s turn.

 

Sheer perception helped him to fathom the problems of captaining an Indian team. He brought about a delightful change. He did not demand respect, he sought to earn it. Through personal example on and off the field. Most importantly he kept himself far, far above petty considerations like regionalism and class bias. A leaf from the approach introduced by Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose and his INA braves.

 

By Indian sports standards this was a distinctly novel idea; a giant leap forward indeed. Unfortunately we have gone many steps back ever since he left the scene. Earlier very few of the Indian captains had been selected on merit. Most were appointed because of their proximity to the powers-that-be.

 

They led by rote, using all the prejudices prevalent to keep the establishment happy. That was surely no leadership. Just a vehicle to carry out the orders of men in power, who pulled the strings from the background to satisfy their own petty considerations.

 

Pataudi' s presence and personality changed all that nonsense. He had an aura that kept the flatterers at bay. He had no time for regional politics or for class bias. He wanted to enjoy playing cricket and knew well enough that to enjoy one had to try one's utmost with the best available talent. He regarded the players for what they were intrinsically worth themselves. Inevitably enough, the Indians developed self-respect and were making headlines across the globe, playing positive cricket and most important of' all, winning matches. No one dared to call the Indians 'dull dogs' any more.

 

Pataudi was a revelation. In appearance and in ability he exuded confidence. His distinctive style sent a whole generation into trying to emulate him. The man was an inspiration to his fellow men; a much-admired person to his opponents. Cool, composed, confident, the cricketer in him had a cavalier panache about him. He brought back the adventurous days of CK Nayudu and Mushtaq Ali as he lifted the ball over the heads of fielders with utmost nonchalance. It was he who revolutionized fielding among our players by his own lofty deeds.

 

Conditions and reputations never ruffled him. In his only series in England in 1967 he was superb at Headingley with scores of 64 and 148. So also later that year on the tour of Australia where despite an injured limb, he batted brilliantly to score 75 and 85 at Melbourne. His batting was based on sound technical principles but he never allowed technique to dictate to him.

 

 He would innovate; he would evolve on his own to overcome the problem of impaired vision in one eye, the result of a car crash in England before he had made his Test debut. To have done wonders at the international with proper vision in just one eye is nothing short of a miracle. But he achieved the ‘impossible’ in style and splendor.

 

His only tour to West Indies was unsuccessful in terms of runs. But the baptism by fire made him mentally tough and he was quick to grasp that international cricket was a totally different ball game to the English county scene, of which he was a part with Oxford first and then with Sussex.

 

 Moreover Tiger relished challenges. The tougher those were, the more the phlegmatic man dared to combat it. On Indian wickets where the pitches were favourable to batsmen, Tiger was not always at his best. He gave the impression that he could not motivate himself in matches which descended to a dreary end. Invariably he appeared listless, withdrawn.

 

 

Tiger Pataudi led India 40 times out of 46 Tests that he played. He won victories over Simpson’s Australia and Clive Lloyd’s West Indies, two very formidable world-beating oppositions. In fact India’s first-ever Test and series victory abroad was also under his able leadership. In 1968-69 his team defeated New Zealand 3 to 1 to record India’s first ever Test and series victory abroad.

 

Anyone can be named a captain by the powers-that-be. But to be a genuine leader one needs to be a self-sacrificing, innovative, inspiring individual. Very few Indian captains have been real leaders of men. Pataudi without any semblance of doubt was one exceptional leader. He was not merely a captain selected by the selectors, he was a leader of men by the force of his personality, integrity, selfless nature, broad-mindedness and cricketing skills. He was indeed a born leader on and off the field.

 

Pataudi's Test aggregate of 2793 runs at 34.91 includes 6 centuries, the highest being 203 not out against England in 1963-64. On his only tour of England he scored 269 runs at 44.83 and on his only tour of Australia despite much physical hardships he was a man inspired with 339 runs at 56.50. He led India in 40 of the 46 Tests that he played registering Test victories over Australia, West Indies and New Zealand.

 

His brilliance as a leader of men came to the forefront time and again. But none more so than at Calcutta in 1974 against Clive Lloyd's men. At the time he was well past his prime as a batter and was brought back – with skipper Wadekar throwing in the towel – to withstand the might of Greenidge and Richards, Kallicharan and Lloyd, Roberts and Boyce. The first two Tests were lost and in the 3rd Test at Eden Gardens the stage was set for West Indies to deliver the final punch.

 

 But Tiger and his brave Indian team caught the vaunted West Indies men by their necks. Gundappa Vishwanath played the stellar role with a supremely authoritative century and Pataudi’s 37 – including 4 successive boundaries off Vanburn Holder – after being laid low by a riser was an inspiration to his mates.

 

On the final morning when Lloyd and Kallicharan were going great guns to bring off the deciding victory of the series, Tiger did not relinquish his faith on Chandrasekher. He knew if anybody had the capability to run through, he would be the unorthodox spinner. Initially Chandra came in for some punishment and the Eden crowd roared its disapproval of Tiger's insistence on Chandra. It needed much courage to withstand that kind of public wrath.

 

But Tiger knew his mind and his gamble paid off as Chandra went through the defence of Lloyd and Kallicharan. Then he brought on Bishan Bedi and polished off the tail in next to no time, and left the field in splendid reserve. No hugging, no high-fives, no vulgar gestures. Not even a wry smile but just a pat on the back for Bedi and Chandra.

 

Bedi and Chandra knew what that pat meant. So did the connoisseur. The crowd was on its feet in joy. They wanted the Tiger and his heroes to run a victory lap. But the tiger in him would not subscribe to such common dictates. He came out of the pavilion, stood at the gate and waved once and vanished forever.

 

Next Test, too, the Tiger magic worked. This was Tiger Pataudi at his best. A man of perception, who understood and nurtured brilliance. It was under him that most of India's prominent cricketers of the 1960s and 1970s came into limelight: Vishwanath, Bedi, Chandra, Prasanna, Venkataraghavan, to name a few.

 

Pataudi had no need for cricket managers in his time. Actually he would have considered such an appointment an affront to his mental faculties. He would most certainly have said, "If the cricket captain cannot make cricketing judgements and cannot take cricketing decisions, why is he there in the first place?"  So would have Polly Umrigar, Bishan Bedi and Sunil Gavaskar.

 

But Tiger Pataudi for all his worth and his contribution could have been a little more committed to Indian cricket. If he had only put his foot down a little more firmly at times, many of the evils of Indian cricket would have died there and then. If only he had twitched his nose at a  few awkward incidents, future captains like Bedi, Gavaskar and company would have been spared the duty of cleaning the Augean Stables of Indian cricket.

 

First met him at Hyderabad in 1975 during the Moin-ud-dowla Trophy. Some of us young players were on the 2^nd floor balcony of Lal Bahadur Shastri Stadium in the company of Durani, Jaisimha and other leading Indian cricketers. As Pataudi walked in, all the youngsters got up to offer their seats. He gave a gentle wave, walked straight to a vacant chair and sat on it. I was all ears as the seniors joked and exchanged views. Pataudi was generally very reticent with short, monosyllabic replies.

 

Everything was going fine till I opened my mouth and made a faux pas. I suddenly asked him what subjects he had studied at Oxford. He looked through me and almost whispered, “Oriental Languages.” Before I could fathom the meaning of the subject, he abruptly left his seat and went away. I was astonished.

 

Later that evening I told my room-mate Gopal Bose about the answer. Gopal, extremely intelligent and witty, replied, “Can you not be normal, Raju? Why ask him about academics? Could you not think of a single cricket-related query? You asked, he answered, now it’s your turn to find the meaning. Don’t get me involved in any of your academic mess!” The matter rested there since then.

My next meeting was at the Ananda Bazar Patrika office in Calcutta. At the time in the early 1980s he was the editor of the Calcutta-based sports magazine Sportsworld. I was a regular contributor but had never met him because he was stationed at Delhi and hardly ventured to the Calcutta ABP office. Prominent sports journalists Arijit Sen and later the very erudite Ajay Kumar acted on behalf of the celebrity-editor.

I had full freedom to write whatever I felt like. Generally wrote ‘thought-provoking’ articles like: leg-byes should be banned; cricketers some day in future would wear shorts as the tennis players had done; one short-run is actually 2 short-runs; all bats like balls should be of similar size and shape; etc. It seemed my articles went down well as further requests to continue writing kept coming to me. Honestly, I was more than happy to have the liberty to raise unusual topics. How many editors would allow such liberty? Thankfully, Tiger and his editorial-mates had an open mind. This was real leadership.

 

I entered the department one day to submit an article of mine. There inside the office facing the editor’s chair was the editor himself, Tiger Pataudi! Arijit introduced me. Tiger looked at me and softly uttered, “Fertile imagination.” I could barely smile, nod and leave for my office.

 

Next day Arijit called to say, “He paid you a rare compliment. After you left, he told me to tell you to ‘keep scribbling’.” I kept stabbing Tiger Pataudi’s Sportsworld with regular articles till it could take no more and died a natural death!

 

Tiger Pataudi was a natural leader of men; a man of sophistication and culture; a cricketer par excellence. He changed the face of Indian cricket by his prowess and personality.

 

 

 

VENKATARAGHAVAN

 

Srinivas Venkataraghavan is perched on a prominent platform of Indian cricket. He happens to be the only Indian Test cricketer capable enough to have officiated as an umpire in Test matches.

 

Actually not many Test cricketers have quite been able to achieve the 'double international' status. In either capacity Venkat belongs to the top echelon. As a member of the spinning quartet that fascinated the cricket world in the 1960s and 1970s, he was a vital constituent of our national team.

 

 Those long, supple fingers of his gave the ball a meaningful tweak. Released from a height of nearly eight feet, his deliveries were not tossed up floaters and curlers but a whiplash cobra-strike. If his trajectory did not paint a variety of arcs and curves, his line and length were of marksman-like precision.

 

The intelligent engineering graduate, an alumnus of a renowned engineering college in Madras, began his aerial mechanics at international cricket with a bang. In 1965 his first Test was against New Zealand at his home ground Chepauk. Instantly his spin and stamina, intelligence and intuition came in for much admiration. The series figures of 21 Test wickets at 19.00 assisted India to win the series. At Delhi the 20 year old engineering student captured 12 for 152 runs to win the deciding Test. A dream of a debut for a young spinner.

 

Venkat was not a cricketer who was mollycoddled and nursed. In those days of limited opportunities there was little scope for such luxuries. Venkat began at a time when Erapalli Prasanna, of guile and cunning, had already revealed his class and Bhagawat Chandrasekher, the ultimate match-winner, was firmly established.

 

Throughout his own distinguished career, Venkat was well aware of the distinguished shadows that stalked him at every step. But far from being overawed, he himself overcame his mid-career diffidence and cut an awesome figure for himself.

 

In that age of magical mesmerists only a very, very capable spinner could hold his own. It needed a man of courage, a man of pride, a man of capability to stake his claim. With a plethora of excellent spinners in the country — Vaman Kumar, Anand Shukla, Padmakar Shivalkar, Bapu Nadkarni, Rajinder Goel, Haider Ali, Ramnarayan, Baloo Gupte, Soumen Kundu, Uday Joshi, Dilip Doshi — it was obviously no easy task to make a name for oneself as a spinner, especially when the cream boasted of Durani, Chandra, Pras and Bishan.

 

Venkat’s primary strength was his attitude. An attitude that breathed positivism with every twirl of his arched fingers. The furrowed eye-brows were perpetually arched as well! Never copied anyone's method or manner. In fact the thought itself would have been obnoxious to the self-respect of this intelligent, articulate, knowledgeable man.

 

 He traversed a path of his own: conventional and classic. The art of spinning and scheming he mastered to perfection. His superior intelligence was a great ally as it helped to convey to him that his craft would be based not on mysticism and mirage, but on consistency and control.

 

Such was his control that it seemed that he held a leash in his hands and made the ball do his bidding. Did not quite believe in giving away runs to buy his wickets. Under no circumstances would he allow the batters the slightest of indulgence. Rather he would keep the batter in thrall and keep a check on his strokes. He relied on tightening the noose till the victim's limp body buckled. No manner or subtlety did he ever entertain. Much like a modern-day Kautiliya.

 

Apart from his undoubted fame as an off-spinner of the highest class, Venkataraghavan became famous for his close-in catching. His fearlessness, fitness, firmness of grip, and reflex made him the safest of catchers at gully, where he generally stayed as a balancing factor to Eknath Solkar at short-leg.

 

Invariably Venkat’s name appears last when we talk of our great spinning quartet. This is no aspersion on his ability. Rather it helped us to judge his other dimensions. He was without doubt the best of the ’dreaded four’ against the left-handed batters. He had a remarkable ability to choke them up and make them gasp for fresh air. He also had an uncanny habit of bowling tight, economical spells in order to force batsmen to take chances at the other end. Well did he realize that he was an ideal foil for his stable-mates: they were not competing against each other, but were partners in the annihilation of oppositions.

 

Venkat’s career had a wide variety of ups and downs. Peculiar in nature and preposterous in the extreme. He led India in the Delhi Test against West Indies in 1974; but in the following Test was relegated to the 12th man's spot! This, of course, could only happen in India.

 

Another unique instance was in the Mumbai Test of 1969 against Australia. The Indian Test XI had already been announced but just before the start of the Test, Venkat was inducted into the XI as the chairman of the national selection committee, Vijay Merchant, prevailed upon pace-bowler Subroto Guha to drop himself from the playing XI! Merchant could not take the public outcry that followed Venkat’s omission!

 

As if these instances were not enough he must be the only international captain to be dropped before a tour was technically over. This ridiculous act happened at the conclusion of the 1979 tour of England, where Venkat led India in the 2nd World Cup as well as in the Test series.

 

 While the India team was on the return flight it was announced by the flight pilot that the India captain for the ensuing series against Australia had been announced and that the captain was no longer Venkataraghavan but Sunil Gavaskar. As the team was still to return to Indian soil, Venkat was technically dethroned on flight!

 

If this was unsavoury, so was his performance in the world cup championships. Twice he led India to the world cup, in 1975 and in 1979. On both occasions the world cup was held in England where 60 overs per side was the norm. Skipper Venkat bowled 72 overs in 6 matches but surprisingly could not take a single wicket!

 

Venkataraghavan has always been a highly spirited cricketer of impeccable credentials. As strict with others as he was with himself. Gutsy fighter that he was, he was intolerant of any measure of lacunae in others. He played hard and quite rightly expected others to do so as well. Players under him for Tamil Nadu and South Zone got his tongue-lashings for the slightest of errors.

 

Once in a Duleep trophy tie at Eden, T Srinivasan held a very low snick off first bounce at first-slip. Did not appeal, but bowler Venkat’s gestures and howls forced the umpire to raise a hesitant, feeble finger. As I (71) walked out in disappointment, my partnership with Uday Bhanu Banerjee (155) came to a sad end. Later Uday told me, “You should have heard Venkat cursing Srini for not appealing!” That’s the way he played his cricket: hard, perhaps a little too hard at times!

 

Venkat was not an artist. Neither in looks nor in manner. I suspect he even took serious steps to show that he was anti-artistry. The craft that he developed was an antithesis to art. There was nothing of ‘hide and seek’ about him; nothing open to subjective discussions. The engineer in him breathed of a bright ‘no-nonsense’ individual with a measuring scale in hand.

 

His craftsmanship was of a high order relying as much on precision as on perseverance. It was this attribute that he brought to his second cricketing career, that of umpiring. This is one job where nothing is left to chance; exacting, precise, objective. Thus by its very nature the umpire's job is thankless.

 

Very few cricketers have the stomach to take up the umpire's exacting work-load. Most players, very surprisingly, lack knowledge of the laws (!) and do not always have the necessary patience and the perspective to learn. In fact very few former players have the character to manfully withstand the criticism directed at umpires.

 

Many former Test cricketers who were pitch-forked into first-class cricket out-of-turn vanished into thin air within a season or two. They knew neither the intricacies of the laws nor did they have the ability to handle players and the communication skills required.

 

Here our Venkat proved to be a rare exception. He not only took up the white coat but proved himself to be as good as any professional umpire in the whole wide world. Venkat's success as an umpire has done Indian cricket proud. Our knowledge, our judgement, our integrity have received their due salutes only because of the extraordinary ability of this man of character and intelligence.

 

Another dimension to the life of this extraordinary cricketer was his contribution as an administrator. As the secretary of the Tamil Nadu Cricket Association (TNCA), he was an outstanding success displaying commendable planning to go with his indefatigable energy. Even a micro-level job like distribution of ‘Press Passes’ would be done with thorough efficiency and courtesy. No wonder TNCA and KSCA are so very highly rated for their general administration. Men like Chidambaram, Venkataraghavan and Srinivasan have left behind a legacy worthy of emulation.

 

Venkat led Tamil Nadu and South Zone with immense success. He guided generations of young men to stardom. He would always be remembered as an off-spinner, as an arbiter and as an administrator of the top drawer. I am sure he would prefer to be considered as a friend of cricket.

 

Had some very meaningful interactions with him. Once at Chepauk where South Zone was hosting East Zone in a Duleep Trophy tie in 1973. Having just failed to overhaul SZ’s 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 after 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 shall go to field or not is entirely my concern. I just wanted to know if Mr Jaisimha would allow a substitute to field. Otherwise we shall field with 10 men.” Well aware of the laws, Venky was stunned to find the intricacies of the MCC law staring at him. Jai’s positive vibes ended the significant debate on a point of law that is not generally exercised.

 

Venkat remembered the issue when he came to address the Indian match referees at BCCI way back in 2004. The knowledgeable and confident individual had the vision to highlight the incident to convey to the new match-referees the importance of knowing the intricacies while applying the laws of cricket. Very few Indian Test cricketers are aware of this law. I happen to know one of them!

 

Srinivasraghavan Venkataraghavan remains an exceptional persona in Indian cricket. The only one to have been on the field as a Test player as well as a Test umpire. His knowledge, his intelligence and his demeanor evoked instant respect. An admirable man in every respect.

 

 

 

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Chetan Chauhan (1947-2020): a rare combination

He ducked but the bumper did not rise as expected. The ball struck him on the jaw. Hospitalized with a compound fracture, the army man’s son pleaded with the doctor to allow him to go back to the ground. Then he pleaded with his North Zone captain Bishan Bedi to allow him to resume his innings!

Jaw wired and mouth capable of sipping only, the brave warrior of Pune, now with Delhi, came out to face the wrath of his erstwhile colleagues of West Zone. Through sheer tenacity he completed his century and booked his ticket for Australia in 1977-78. This was the start of his 2^nd essay as an India opener.

Chetan Chauhan had a poor start to his Test career. He was one of the many youngsters tried by Vijay Merchant’s selection committee in 1969 at home. Apart from Gundappa Vishwanath, all fell by the road-side, including Chetan. Then it was the usual grind of domestic first-class cricket. Chetan, unlike most, did not look around for excuses. He concentrated on his batting and reeled off prolific figures with remarkable consistency. The courageous century against West Zone forced the national selectors to nod in his favour. Skipper Bedi wanted men who would fight for their motherland’s honour on those hard, fast Australian pitches.

His second service to the country was exemplary as he consistently gave solid support to Gavaskar, Viswanath, Mohinder Amarnath and Vengsarkar. He gave solidity to India’s innings against men like Richard Hadlee, Dennis Lillee, Jeff Thompson, Sylvester Clarke, Michael Marshall, Imran Khan, Sarfraz Nawaz, Ian Botham and Bob Willis among others. Got hit on the head and heart time and again but the warrior in him always came back to fight for India. No, no he did not believe in rest and recuperation. That’s for players with influential connections.

But his exit after a successful tour of Australia in 1981 raised eyebrows. Why was he omitted is anybody’s guess, unless it was because he was considered too old at 34. Unfortunately his replacements were nowhere in comparison: neither in ability, nor in guts. For over a decade India could not find a proper opener to accompany Gavaskar. Courageous Chetan faced the fastest of bowlers in 40 Tests scoring more than 2000 runs at a commendable average of 31.57.

If Chetan Chauhan was a dour batman at the crease with a grim mien, off the field I would remember him as a man with a peculiar sense of light-hearted humour. He was excellent company as he knew how to converse. He had wit, he had depth and he had a wide orbit of subjects to fall back on. I remember him telling us once, “Well, Sunil is my junior partner, you know. I need to advise him quite often while batting!”

On another occasion he told me, “Raju bhai, I caught you once. Don’t do anything awkward, I will catch you again!”The reference was to the fact he had caught me off his own innocuous off-spin in the Bengal-Maharashtra Ranji Trophy match way back in 1973.

He had this strange way of relating issues. Always laughingly maintained, “My job is to get a century partnership and not to score a century myself!” A clear reference that he never got a Test century himself although with SMG he had numerous century partnerships.

In 1981 in a fit of rage, Gavaskar upset with Lillee’s taunt asked his batting partner to accompany him and leave the ground! Bad decision, worse behavior whatever those were, there was no reason for the Indian team to leave the ground and forfeit the Test. Thankfully Sq. Ldr Durani, the manager, intervened and play continued with SMG leaving the field to a ‘debatable lbw’ decision. The point to note is that Chetan in all sanity did not rush out of the field as his captain SMG had ordered, but took hesitant steps and allowed the manager the time to intervene. This was the kind of maturity that Chetan possessed. Thankfully a very awkward scenario was avoided because of the sanity and maturity of two sensible men.

Chetan had very few positive strokes. His method was drab, dreary and deadpan. But he would be very categorical with critics, “Let me play my way. You play your way.” It was like the philosopher-cricketer CB Fry saying that one needs just one stroke which one can play all round the wicket.

Warrior Chetan’s approach to batting was to hold fort and lead from the front, as his namesake Pritviraj had done centuries ago. Chetan’s battle-field was, of course, the cricket ground where he would occupy the crease as long as possible to blunt the pace attack and allow the middle-order to flourish. Impeccable concept for a classical opener.

Most surprisingly his first scoring stroke in Test cricket was a six off Cairns of New Zealand! When asked how was it possible that he, who would treat every ball as a striking viper, hit the ball for a 6 to begin his Test career?  Chetan is believed to have said, “I did not hit the ball. The ball hit my bat and went over the boundary! In fact when I tried to hook a ball for a six, I got caught at the long-leg fence.”

Began his career as a batsman for Maharashtra and did consistently well. He always had the highest regard for his lion-hearted skipper, Chandu Borde. But at the international stage Chetan was a failure in the early days. Later shifted to Delhi and from the 1977 tour of Australia under Bishan Bedi he found his métier. Was a splendid partner to Sunil in many a battle.

After retirement he was a very prominent face in cricket circles as national selector, as cricket manager and generally as a very helpful administrator. On the ‘Harbhajan-Symonds issue’, as the India team manager he did not let the Aussies get away. He stood firm, a legacy of his army-man father.

Became associated with BJP in 1991. He did not join the political party for any career advancement, as is the recent pattern. Nor to save himself from any embarrassment. He did not manhandle anyone in public nor did he manipulate matches in private. He joined the political arena with the intent to serve his countrymen with all honesty and integrity.

 He was always a firm believer in Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s and his protégé Atal Vihari Vajpayee’s ideals. Even in his political career Chetan showed the same exemplary courage, tact and perseverance, for which he was so well known in cricket circles. Liberal-minded, he was beyond meanness and greed. He never passed unnecessary comments against any community nor did he applaud when historical structures were pulled down for he knew neither Syama Prasad nor Atal Vihari would subscribe to those views.

Chetan Chauhan learnt the rudiments of practical politics at the feet of Vajpayee. He became a parliamentarian in 1991 as Vajpayiji realized the man’s worth. He stood from Amroha in Uttar Pradesh and was re-elected in 1998. Between 2017 and till death in 2020 he was the minister of youth and sports in the UP government. It required the dreadful covid to uproot Chetan away from us.

He was very well-read. Took a deep interest in India’s social problems. Had an open mind and kept his perspectives very clear. He had a probing mind and was constantly trying to widen his horizon. When he came to know that Syama Prasad Mookerjee – the founder of Bhartiya Jan Sangh, the forefather of Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP) – was my paternal grandfather’s cousin, he asked me, “Why did he spell his first name in such a peculiar manner?” Honestly I had no answer.

But Chetan was deadly correct. No one would spell Shyama as Syama. The difference between ‘Sh’ and ‘S’ made a world of difference to people who cared about spelling and pronunciation. Yes, Chetan had a very, very diligent mind. God only knows why the great liberal visionary dropped the ‘h’ and kept only the ‘S” while writing his name.

As my colleague in the All-India Banks’ Sports Board, Chetan left behind indelible prints with his conscientious approach and execution. He was with Bank of Baroda and had a very successful banking career. Chetan was a go-to man, ever ready to help. His cheerful attitude made life easy for hundreds of people who approached him for help. He was certainly a distinguished parliamentarian who wore his mantle lightly.

Last time I met him was during an IPL match in 2013 at Feroze Shah Kotla ground in New Delhi. When I told him about a certain facility that was not attended to as promised, Chetan smiled, “Raju bhai, Delhi will always be Delhi. Everyone will promise ‘koi baat nei, ho jayega’ but nothing will be done. However, you need not worry, we shall arrange things in such a manner that you would be satisfied before the match starts.” He kept his word.

Chetan Chauhan will be remembered as an honest, determined soul with no frills. A very courageous man who did not take things lying down. Independent and confident, he never tried to befriend or influence the media, as is the trend among celebrities. A knowledgeable man full of wit and reason. He was perpetually doing some activity or the other. On the field he appeared to be slow and careful, but off the field he was a busy-body. Always on the move. Even up there, he will not rest. He will do something worthwhile to keep himself busy. Marvellous soul. I am proud to mention that we enjoyed the best of relationships.

At a time when politicians and sportsmen are exposing themselves to awkward scenarios and situations with their words and actions, here was a sportsman-politician who showed his integrity, his courage, his enterprise in both the vocations without prejudice or rancour. A rare breed, indeed.

 Chetan, you left behind excellent lessons for other sportsmen to follow.

 

Farokh Engineer

 

'Handsome is as the handsome does' is a cliche, but to describe Farokh Engineer it happens to be the most appropriate turn of expression. For sheer energy and exuberance, the wicket-keeper-batsman from Mumbai had few peers.

 

 At a time when Alan Knott and Deryck Murray were at their peak, the name of Farokh Engineer as among the foremost wicket-keeper-batsman in the world reverberated in no uncertain terms.

 

 Day in, day out, he would do the most thankless job in cricket — keeping to spinners — with remarkable ability and enthusiasm. Squatting to spinners on pitches of variable bounce can be unnerving to the best of wicket-keepers and most develop a hang-dog look about them. Scowling and fuming they seem to be resigned to the cruelty of their fate.

 

But Engineer was of a different genre altogether. He actually relished the difficulty of keeping to the wiles of Prasanna, the curvature of Bedi and the accuracy of Venkataraghavan.  Chandra though posed a few problems for him. Earlier in his career he was quite at home to Durani, Umrigar, Borde and Nadkarni.

 

Tall and broad, he was a showman born. Farokh Engineer had the looks of a film star. The presence of a matinee idol. The man had the ability to keep the attention of the onlookers rivetted on him. In everything he did there was aura of excitement and exhibitionism.

 

The bloom of youth stayed with him throughout his career. Even when he took a routine delivery outside the off-stump there was joy and mirth in the act. He had the ability to turn a normal ‘take’ into a complex act. He had the distinct skill to trap the uninitiated into believing that he had done something extraordinary. Young, inexperienced cricket writers ate out of his hands. As a performing artiste he could exaggerate the act and earn plaudits.

 

His appeals to the umpires were neither mumbled pleadings nor vociferous instigations. Nothing as pedestrian as that. His was a ravenous, raucous roar of a Red-Indian war-cry. Nothing sinister, but a heart-felt exhilaration that desired the umpire's approval. When turned down, he would raise his head to the heavens in utter resignation.

 

Farokh Engineer was primarily a showman who had drifted into the role of a wicket-keeper. A man who brought the low profile Indian wicket-keeper into public gaze.

 

In the 1940s and 1950s we had the perky Prabir Sen, the steady Naren Tamhane, the safe PG Joshi as well as the boisterous Budhi Kunderan and the low-profile Inderjitsinhji but none – apart from the Kunderan’s non-conventional approach – really had the performer's appeal to draw attention.

 

When Engineer took the field against Dexter's England side at Chennai in 1961 one could instantly notice that here was a presence with a difference.The gait, the manner, the approach suggested that at last we had found a man who had the cavalier flair for adventure as well as the spirit to be the cynosure of all eyes.

 

Such was his appeal and ability that the English county cricket team, Lancashire, offered him terms immediately after his very successful tour of England in 1967. This was an association that was to last for years during which he gave delight to the crowds in the county circuit. His joyful presence brought warmth in the murky, gloomy surroundings of Manchester.

 

In a Test career that spanned from 1961 to 1976 he was all youth and exuberance. Never for a moment did he appear sullen or listless, dull or withdrawn. Bubbling with excitement and confident of his ability, he altered the whole ethos of wicket-keeping in India. No other wicket-keeper did his job with such gusto as Farokh Engineer did.

 

Being a extrovert, Engineer thankfully saw no reason to change his natural inclinations. He distanced himself from the concept that wicket-keepers should be grim and shorn of flamboyance. He was the person who gave Indian wicket-keepers a new identity: that they could be throaty and thrilling, full of flair and glamour; that they should be the pivot of exuberance and inspiration all round the field. Engineer was as energetic on the field on the last ball of the day as he was on the first. Where did he get the energy from, we dared to wonder and still do.

 

A wicket-keeper's job is one of utmost concentration. For the man with the big gloves just cannot afford to relax, even for a single delivery. Ball after ball, match after match, day after day, he has to be on constant call. It can so easily become a chore. It is precisely for this reason that wicket-keepers, by and large, are always frowning and seem to be in perpetual grimace.

 

England’s George Duckworth and Godfrey Evans were of course glorious exceptions. In India, it was only after the advent of Budhi Kunderan in 1959 that we had the pleasure of seeing wicket-keepers casting off inhibitions and enjoying the game by giving enjoyment to others. Budhi’s contemporary Farokh followed in a similar manner.

 

It was this flirting with danger that made Farokh Engineer popular all over the cricketing world. Engineer was, of course, not content to rest on his laurels as an outstanding wicket-keeper only. No, most surely not. For that would have gone against his grains. He hated to put his feet up and relax and watch others bat, as was the outlook of some of the glove-men of those days. Some seemed to suffer from an idea that after a long stint on the field the wicket-keeper's job was to curl up in the dressing room. Engineer would have laughed at such amateurish views.

 

And that is precisely what he himself did. He would volunteer to open the innings against the fastest of fast bowlers. Had the skill and the guts to go for frontal attacks. He used the bat as a sword. Engineer literally plundered with gay abandon. There was nothing tentative about his approach to batting. Never quite believed in half measures.

 

 On his debut at Kanpur against Dexter's England team he had a hard-hit 33 but within a matter of months he gave us a superb example of raw courage and power. At Kingston in 1962 he took the measure of West Indies attack with innings of 53 and 40 at a time when supposedly better batsmen appeared to be more keen to retreat to the refuge of the pavilion.

 

The saga of Engineer reached its pinnacle at Chepauk during the Pongal festival of 1967. Dropped from the previous two Tests, where India suffered resounding defeats, Engineer was pitchforked into the XI for the final Test at Chennai. Now he was not only to be the wicket-keeper, but he was to confront the fearsome duo of Wesley Hall and Charlie Griffith with the new ball. Not one to say 'no', Engineer walked out with Sardesai to open the innings.

 

On this day he was Chenghis Khan reborn! Mercilessly he went about plundering and pillaging whatever came within sight. Against an attack comprising Hall and Griffith; Sobers and Gibbs. At lunch he was on 94! Just 6 runs away from the pedestal where resided Victor Trumper, Charlie MacCartney and Donald Bradman. Subsequently Majid Khan too joined the immortals by scoring a century before lunch in Test cricket.

 

Engineer's batting approach was sheer daredevilry. Extremely strong on the back-foot, he would hook and pull with gay abandon and for good measure follow it- up with a rasping square-cut. Being strong on the back-foot, he was a good player of fast bowling.

 

In fact away from India, his batting was a revelation. On English pitches he was more inspiring than some of our vaunted batting stalwarts. Engineer in his 46 Tests scored 2611 runs at an impressive average of 31.08 with 2 centuries and 16 fifties. He scalped 66 catches and 16 stumpings. Many critics however felt that he did not do justice to his ability as a wicket-keeper.

 

Engineer was quite fortunate to have been in selectorial focus more often than not. It is true that when the great quartet of close-in fielders are discussed, no one ever mentions the presence of Engineer behind the stumps. Many peers and critics felt that he did not exert as much as he could have and had a tendency to play 'safe'.

 

It must be readily admitted that at times Engineer's boisterous attitude bordered on impetuosity. He was prone to play to the gallery when discretion should have told him to do otherwise. He had sudden rushes of blood to his head and would become reckless as a consequence. His height and his broad-build also were factors that affected his agility. His leg-side collection was distinctly weak in comparison to his contemporaries.

 

And, then again, unnecessary garrulousness would at times affect his concentration. Even recently – decades after retiring from the game – he made an irreverent, irrelevant comment about India captain Virat Kohli’s wife. As the confident lady retorted in reply, Engineer back-tracked and apologized. These unnecessary headlines he could have easily avoided.

                                                                                                    

However Farokh Engineer added colour to whichever team he represented, whether it was Bombay, West Zone, India, Lancashire or the World XI. Never a man to be in the back seat, he was forever advising, imploring, encouraging his mates. Always in the thick of things, come what may.

 

So much so, that once on the evening before the start of a Test match it was announced that he would lead India in the ensuing Test match the following day, only to be told on the morning of the Test that he would not! But, thankfully, Engineer never allowed such recklessness to affect him. Was it because he was as reckless as any?

 

Farokh Manekshaw Engineer will go down in the history of Indian cricket as a showman who brought the low-profile wicket-keeper to public vision. In addition, his batting contribution made him a genuine wicket-keeper-batsman.

 

Handsome and enthusiastic, his intrinsic qualities as an exhibitionist made him the cynosure of all eyes wherever he played the game.