Kanhai: the lonely creative genius
Very difficult to write on a person whom you consider to be your all-time favourite. But I shall give it a try, knowing very well I will not be able to do justice. Let’s try…
Post 1958 hundreds of Indian babies were named ROHAN. Not for no reason. Intelligent parents who value genius, realized that they wanted their child to be named after one such. Today thousand of Rohans are a living symbol of our homage to a creative artist. Before 1958, dear readers, you would not find a single Rohan in the sub-continent! What a superlative remembrance, far ahead of any international award.
In 1958-59 arrived Gerry Alexander’s West Indies cricket team to India. They left behind glorious memories on the field. Cricket watching in India underwent a huge metamorphosis. We were used to other Test-playing nations and their characteristic styles but the men from the Caribbean islands were totally different. Their movements elastic and mannerisms egalitarian.
Free-flowing, fun-loving, these players were not only cricket players from distant lands, they were actually entertainers who made even a 5-day Test worth watching. Loose-limbed, acrobatic, forever smiling they enjoyed their game just as they gave enjoyment to others.
However two men in the team were different in looks and manner. They were mahogany and not ebony as the others in complexion. They were much shorter, much less quieter in comparison. They were Sonny Ramadhin and Rohan Kanhai.
Both were descendants of immigrants whose families migrated years back from eastern India, particularly Bihar, to Trinidad and British Guiana (now Guyana). Ramadhin had already been a world-beater in the early 1950s but sadly as the years passed the spinning fingers were no longer supple enough.
But the other brown man was young, strong and audacious. Determined to express his individuality in a white and black dominated society. Ever since his debut he was surrounded by a plethora of batting giants, all black and massive: Weekes, Walcott and Worrell followed by Hunte, Collie Smith, Basil Butcher, Seymour Nurse and the world record holder Garfield Sobers. The East Indian in the West Indies team began as a wicket-keeper and soon enough impressed upon the West Indies selectors his potential primarily as a batter.
Highly temperamental in his youth, through sheer indiscretion he sacrificed his wicket on numerous occasions. But with age came a transformation. Always neat and stylish in appearance, now the debonair man had his shirt buttoned at the cuffs and a handkerchief around his neck. The moody man’s transformation into maturity was remarkable.
Even at the age of 40 in 1975 he was found indispensable to the exceptionally strong West Indies batting line-up, the perpetual champions of the 1970s. In the inaugural world cup in 1975 he played a stellar, sheer-anchor role to help Clive Lloyd’s team, which included Gordon Greenidge and Viv Richards, to win the coveted cup.
Apart from his brilliant batting genius, Kanhai’s fielding prowess whether in the slips or in the covers never lost its brilliant sheen. Even at 40 his magnificent fielding did not suffer in comparison to Lloyd and Richards. That’s real genius. They have no age bar. No class bar. In fact, no bars at all. They exist in splendidly in isolation just as well in company.
Kanhai played professional cricket all over the world. Wherever he went he left behind exemplary memories as player, as coach and as manager. Truly an ambassador of cricket. He met and overcame social disparity and racial disparity right from his youth. But no repressive restriction could defeat the audacious artist. He strode the cricketing world in style and splendor.
In the first two Tests in India in 1958, he was yet to find his touch. Subhas Gupte called him ‘my bunny’ after getting his wicket twice at Kanpur. Kanhai gave him the look of Parasuram and remembered the insult. At Eden he had Gupte scurrying for cover and was never the same threat again. He finished the careers of Dattu Phadkar and Ghulam Ahmed forever.
But he did not do it as the axe-carrying Avatar would. Kanhai’s method was the method of Leonardo Da Vinci. When the Mona Lisa was created, the artist did not jump with exhilaration. There was no scene of triumph. The genius Da Vinci merely left it for others to comment on it.
Through sheer artistry the handsome young batter had the Eden Gardens crowd applauding every stroke of his exquisite drawing of an innings. He did not explode. Did not exaggerate; did no exhibitionism. The audience seethed with excitement; the audience erupted; went into ecstasy. Enthralled at the evolution. An ethereal moment it was. Came and went. Left behind a memory to treasure and savour.
In his hands Kanhai held a paint-brush as a bat. Did not reveal any rancour on the easel’s canvas. Just left the Indian fielders standing as his deft placements bisected the gaps. Not a single sizzling ‘sixer’, every boundary neatly etched reached the fence leaving an imprint on the emerald-green turf of the iconic Eden.
The bowlers knew not what to do with an inspired artist at the other end. 203 unbeaten runs flowed from the genius’s bat on Day 1. World-class spinners like Gupte and Ghulam were made to look like pedestrians through cultured strokes of an artist with pads and gloves on. The bat was his brush and Eden’s manicured carpet his canvas.
During the course of the art-work he played a stroke that had never been witnessed before in the whole wide world of cricket. It appeared that he had slipped on the crease and then in one spontaneous action he banished the ball while lying on the ground. In an instant he was up and about as if nothing had happened!
Time stood still. The crowd stood in appreciation. No loud cheers. No whistles. No crackers were heard. Ripple after ripple of applause spread around the historic venue as the seconds crossed into minutes. A solemn affair: birth of a unique work of art.
The young man of East Indian descent merely bent his head, in modest supplication to the appreciative blessings. Why did he choose Calcutta to reveal this extraordinary stroke? Surely he could not have known the city’s love for creativity and originality; the respect for art and culture. Destiny decided that Eden Gardens would give birth to Rohan Kanhai’s most creative and original ‘falling sweep’.
This stroke was replicated many times but only by one man, Rohan Kanhai. None else in the history of cricket has been able to copy it. At par with the contributions of artistic geniuses in any field of art.
I met Kanhai just once. Way back in 1987. The world cup final was scheduled at Eden Gardens. Prior to the start of the world cup many world class former players joined a cavalcade around the periphery of Eden Gardens, the venue of the final to be.
At Tollygunge Club, Bata’s had organized a promotional campaign with Kapil Dev welcoming us at the gate to a reception. As I entered I found a lonely man sitting in one corner. Made a beeline for him and introduced myself. He extended his hand, with forearms as thick as my thighs. Without further delay I said, “Welcome back to Calcutta. Saw you in 1958 and 1966.” He smiled and nodded,” Amazing popularity cricket enjoys here in this city.”
I: Do you know who’s primarily responsible?
K: No. Sorry, I don’t.
I: The one and only Rohan Kanhai. You.
K flabbergasted: Whaaaat? What do you mean? Are you crazy?
I: Primarily you along with, of course, Sobers, Hall and Gilchrist on a December morn in 1958 changed Eden Gardens audience forever.
K: Ah! Yes, Gilly was there. So were Big Wes and Gary. Sadly that was Gilly’s last tour.
I: But Calcutta remembers you the most. After the 1st days’ play, when you were 203 not out, the word got around about your falling sweep. Not a single seat was left vacant in the daily seats enclosure from 2nd day onwards. People still talk of that stroke. A crude stroke like sweep done with such subtlety and sophistication.
Kanhai was stunned. Did not touch liquor. Hardly ate. Still the graying gentleman was as handsome as ever. He said in utmost modesty, “Are you sure I am not monopolizing you?”
I: No. I have come to meet you only. To express my deepest regard.
K: The game has undergone so much of transformation. Now ODIs are more popular that Tests.
I: Even in ODI you were the first to show that 60 overs is a long time to settle down. It is not all bang, bang. In the world cup final of 1975 your stolid fifty helped Lloyd to get the century after the initial setbacks. West Indies needed your maturity. With singles you kept the score-board moving and ultimately helped to win the trophy. Wish Sunil had done the same in 1975 and not be pilloried as he is even now!
Kanhai was truly bowled. “Let me tell you something. None has analyzed me in such detail. I don’t think I could have bettered what you have done.”
I: Geniuses do not analyze. They just create. Spontaneous and inspiring.
As I shook his hand and left the place, Kanhai smiled and said,” Take care.”
Rohan Kanhai will be remembered by all genuine cricket lovers for having invented a stroke, which no one in the universe has been able to duplicate. He helped to raise the stock of the East Indian domiciles in the Caribbean. Prominent names – Kalicharran, Chanderpaul, Shiv Narine among others – have paraded the cricket arena since the advent of Babulal Kanhaiya’s only son, the one and only Rohan Babulal Kanhai.
In just a few
words, discerning critic John Woodcock described Kanhai: …in full flow he came nearer to batting like Don Bradman than anyone
else since Bradman retired…
In accordance with many other very serious cricket writers, Woodcock meant in complete domination of the bowling. No greater compliment can be given to any batter, any period, anywhere.
