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.