Budhi Kunderan

 

Nana Patekar is no more, screamed the headlines. No, no, he is very much with us. In the hearts of millions who value spontaneity, originality and versatility. He was no actor playing a role. He was a real character on celluloid. These men do not perish. They stay with us forever. Nana was to Indian films what Budhi Kunderan was to Indian cricket. Both have remained my eternal favourites.

 

 Let the Kunderan story begin…

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Unknowingly, Budhi Kunderan became an entertainer first and foremost. He had little care for any win-loss result. He was a showman, a stage artiste. A man born to give delight to the onlookers. Whichever profession he would have chosen, he would have been basically an entertainer.

 

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

 

In a Test match he actually batted wearing a collared tee-shirt! It was the Fred Perrie-designed cotton tee, highly popular in the 1950s and 1960s, particularly among the tennis fraternity.

 

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

 

For sheer versatility he has had few equals. He played for India as a specialist wicket-keeper. He played for India as a specialist middle-order batsman. He played for India as a specialist opening-batsman. As if these were not unusual enough, Kunderan even opened the bowling for India in a Test match in England where the pitches are, as we all know, highly conducive to pace bowlers. So we may well presume that Kunderan was selected for that particular Test match to do the specialist’s job of pace bowling as well! He was an outstanding fielder as well in the deep: agile, acrobatic, swift.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

England’s much-vaunted professionalism, ‘scientific’ field-placing, ultra-defensive tactics went through the window in next to no time. Budhi the heretic had no time for heritage. The hurricane called Kunderan was in no mood for security or style, convention or custom. He was at a race. A race to highlight gay abandon.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

It was this defiant attitude, this aversion towards convention, this allergy to dull monotony that endeared him to the cricket lovers. His exciting personality permeated that excitement among the onlookers. When Kunderan walked out to bat, we did not expect match-winning innings. Nor did we hope for match-saving graces. We wanted action; we wanted adventure to lead us to thrills we did not get in everyday life. And in this Budhi hardly ever failed to disappoint us. Surely his approach to cricket inspired people to think in terms of T20 matches.

 

He was primarily an entertainer from top to toe. Everything about him was unusual. He would not wear loose cricket trousers, but ‘drain-pipes’! He would open for India with the approach as if he was the no. 11 in the batting order! He would walk as if he was on a modelling ramp. This is not to be construed a criticism, but a compliment to his fun-loving, exciting persona, whom we adored.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Budhi Kunderan was the ultimate sannyasi: totally carefree without a single complaint against anybody for all the trials and tribulations he had to face. Is this Budhi, the innocent child? Or, Kunderan, the philosopher in disguise?

 

He did not extend his hand to clasp mine. He got up and hugged me! Two totally different personalities, who knew not each other were locked in an embrace high up in the Scottish Highlands! Now it was my turn to shed tears…

 

Different paths lead to the same goal: thanks to Bhagwan Shri Ramakrishna.