A Tribute to a Genteel Soul

On Sunday 31^st March, Dipen Datta, a person I deeply revered, expired in his sleep. A memorial service will be held at St Xavier’s on Wednesday, 17^th April, in the evening at 6. Cannot help but share my feelings with my readers, of whom many were well acquainted with this man of charm and feelings.

It took a while for the shocking news to filter in. The wonderful man was gone forever. Not the usual two-minute vanishing act of his for a quick puff. This time he was not to return. No longer would we see his happy, ever-smiling face. No longer would he be acknowledging our innumerable requests. To me, he played the elder brother role to perfection.

Dipenda happened to be a permanent fixture at St Xavier’s ever since he joined the school in the early 1950s. Hailing from a zamindari family of North Calcutta, he excelled at cricket in school, continued his pursuit at college and finally played for Sporting Union, a prominent Calcutta club side which boasted the presence of Test cricketers like Pankaj Roy, Ambar Roy and Subroto Guha among others. Later, when he and his closest friends represented the illustrious Dalhousie Athletic Club for years, they spread cheers all round. Many cricketers would surely agree that it was a pleasure playing with and against him.

He was asked to take charge of the Alsoc office – the association of former students of St Xavier’s Collegiate School – on his retirement from a very successful stint in the corporate world for the better part of three decades. He gave the Alsoc post a distinct reputation with his remarkable skills in man-management. Dipenda became the go-to man for everyone. He was a diligent listener; possessed an analytical mind and would always deliberate before taking firm decisions. His integrity was beyond compare.

A gentleman to the core, he was genteel and civil to all who came across him. Teachers and students, priests and peers held him in the highest esteem. The handsome man with a ready smile was too modest to understand how much he meant to so many. Last November when Xavier’s won the SLOBA cricket tournament, Dipenda had tears in his eyes. He hugged me and gently muttered, “Raju, today I am really, really happy after a long time. We needed this victory.” Never saw Dipenda in that emotional frame ever.

The dignified persona radiated warmth and happiness. In his company people felt relaxed and comfortable. Perpetually low of profile, he brought sunshine to the lives of many but never would he try to be in the limelight himself. With cricket teachers he shared beers at social clubs; enjoyed tarka-roti at dhabas; sipped cha on pavement stalls. He was at ease on all occasions. Every adda of Dipenda would include Xavier’s. He and Xavier’s were inseparable partners.  

To perpetuate his memory, the cricket coaches at Xavier’s have instituted the Dipen Dutta Memorial trophy for the Best Young Cricketer of the Alsoc cricket camp. Whenever I used to rag him about Xavier’s, he would smile and say, “Raju, I know very well that your heart feels just the opposite.” One day about five years back, while having lunch at Calcutta Club at Anupda’s invitation, Dipenda merely said, “If Raju Mukherji does not have time for Xavier’s cricket, who will?” That settled the matter. Egos and worse vanished into thin air. That’s my typical Dipenda, a person I revered and respected.

As a member of distinguished social clubs – Calcutta Club and Calcutta Cricket & Football Club – he was universally popular. The wonderful gentleman was an epitome of etiquette and elegance. A rare individual he was. Not once did he allow anybody to realize the distress that he had to endure throughout his entire life.

Once I drove into a ‘No Entry’ lane and was stopped by a sergeant. Thoroughly cool Dipenda, sitting beside me, smiled at the sargeant and said in his inimitable way, “Please do not fine him. Caution him. He is always in a hurry.” Honestly, I was dazed. So was the sergeant, it seemed. He too burst out laughing and gave me a mild rebuke, “At your age, you should not drive. Please hire a driver!”

Personally, I have lost my elder brother. I have lost a genuine well-wisher. I have a lost a matured guide. The slight stoop of his gave him a stylish gait. Not that he wanted to draw attention, but then he attracted people by his disarming smile and cultured voice. Never have I met a man with such a selfless approach to life.

 Dipenda, wherever you are, we know your soul would be at Xavier’s. Amen.

Ashwin-Buttler issue

If the batter is taking an undue advantage (euphemism for cheating), why is the bowler being blamed? This defies logic. How can one hold the bowler responsible for playing the game according to the laws?

If the umpire was wrong to give the non-striker Jos Buttler out, then the umpire should have been held guilty. If the match referee has not charged Ashwin with defacing the spirit of the game, then how is Ashwin to be blamed?

The issue is very simple. The non-striker in his ignorance, idiocy or cunningness was trying to over-rule the laws. The intelligent bowler outsmarted him. Full stop. No point making a simple issue complex.

Honestly I am not in the least bothered about either of the players involved. Both are professionals and are expected to know the laws as well as to abide by the ‘spirit’ of cricket.

Some former players-turned-critics, especially those who had brought the game into disrepute by betting against their own team and by using dust to change the condition of the ball, are now making a desperate attempt to defend the guilty non-striker Jos Buttler by mentioning words like ‘dozy’ and ‘brain-fade’. These are merely ways and means to show that the white man was not trying to cheat and that the brown man was not ‘sporting’ enough. Silly notions. In this century no intelligent, self-respecting cricket lover would fall for the trap.

My only concern is that Vinoo Mankad’s name is being bandied about for no rhyme or reason. There is little by way of comparison. In 1947-48 when Mankad ran-out Bill Brown, the non-striker, he did it after cautioning him in a first-class fixture between Australian XI and India at Sydney. Mankad again ran-out Bill Brown in an identical fashion in the 2^nd Test match at Sydney. But this time, quite rightly, he did not feel the need to caution Brown again.

Mankad need not have warned the Aussie batter Bill Brown even in the first instance. But he did. Just goes to show the class and the character of the great Vinoo. He remains the finest all-rounder India has produced. In his time – along with Keith Miller – he was the leading all-rounder in the world.

The Aussie captain in that post-war series was none other than Sir Donald Bradman. Far from criticizing Mankad, Sir Don in his book Art Of Cricket went on to defend Mankad’s action of running out Brown in no uncertain manner.

 Let Sir Don take over, “…immediately in some quarters Mankad’s sportsmanship was questioned…For the life of me I cannot understand why. The laws of cricket make it quite clear that the non-striker must keep within his ground until the ball has been delivered. If not, why is the provision there which enables the bowler to run him out?”

That is exactly what cricket is all about. Play hard, but play fair. Brown was cheating and Mankad caught him red-handed. Thanks to Sir Don, Vinoo Mankad received his unstinted support in print. This is the spirit of cricket.

There have been many players and captains who have allowed the opposition to take advantage of the laws to the detriment of their own team’s interest. Magnanimous men like Gundappa Viswanath (Bob Taylor’s caught behind) and Courtney Walsh (1987 world cup) among others, have shown the world that cricketing chivalry is more of an exception rather than the rule. But they all ended up on the losing side!

The author with Tenzing Norgay at the latter’s Darjeeling residence in 1955

On Tenzing Norgay, my first idol

Darjeeling, 1955. Dr ‘Pahari’ Guha Mazumdar was at the time the civil surgeon of the Darjeeling district. A selfless man of charm and honour. The hill people were his family. He spoke their language, he wore their ‘sarong’, he ate their food and he took care of them. The Sherpas and the other hill tribes literally worshipped him.

Among the hardy Sherpas who came to visit the ‘Pahari daktar saab’ was a man who began life as a guide and coolie to foreign mountaineers who came to the foothills of the Himalayas with the intention to climb the various high peaks of the region. Within a few years he was not only the best guide available but also the most sought-after supervisor of the labourers, who carried heavy loads on their back to help the expedition teams.

Away from mountaineering expeditions this stocky, tough Sherpa was a social worker par excellence in his hometown bustee at Darjeeling. He would carry the old and the infirm to the good doctor and flash his heart-winning smile. He became Dr Guha Mazumdar’s younger brother in every respect imaginable.

When Sherpa Tenzing came down from the skies in 1953, the noble doctor complimented him on his ‘conquest’ of Mount Everest. The world renowned climber in all modesty replied, “Doctor saab, I was lucky to go on a pilgrimage to God’s abode.”

The doctor embraced him and began to weep uncontrollably. Years later Dr Guha Mazumdar told our family, “I realized there and then how small we were. The real people are these men who have the highest regard for the bounties of nature. Our knowledge is so very shallow, so very superfluous. These simple, innocent hill people have a far more profound understanding and respect for nature.”

In a country where genuine heroes are forgotten, erosion in values is the only option. A true champion of Tenzing Norgay’s stature has receded into the background. The spirit of adventure has ebbed. We have no inclination towards sports of high risks. Our whole ethos revolves around ‘heroes’ of doubtful potential.

The greatness of Tenzing lay in his simplicity. International renown and awards chased him. Presidents and kings followed his trail. Press and politicians pestered him. But he remained his smiling self with the barest minimum of needs.

The greatness of the man lay in his innocence. He just could not utter a lie, not even a white lie. When asked who stepped first on top of Mt. Everest, Tenzing replied that though they had the same rope around their waist, Edmund Hillary’s feet were the first on the summit and his own followed soon after. It takes great courage to say that degree of truth.

 In mountaineering parlance, two climbers handling the same rope are considered to be together and not separate from each other. In a high-risk adventure sport like mountaineering, the issue of individualism does not arise. It is a total team effort. Tenzing could easily have avoided the issue with a vague answer, but then, Tenzing would not have been Tenzing.

This was the real Tenzing. Throughout his life he has been ‘used’ by others. On being appointed the Director of Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, he was assured by Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and Chief Minister of West Bengal Dr Bidhan Chandra Roy that his appointment was for life and that he would accordingly draw remuneration throughout his tenure.

But after the death of those political leaders, he was asked to retire! No further remuneration, no pension followed. Moreover, throughout his period of directorship, not once did he get any increment on his salary!

When some little money came to him by way of book royalty and donations, numerous blood-relations appeared and came to stay in his humble home and lived off him. The kind-hearted man just could not turn them away. When India began sending expeditions to Mt.Everest, nobody thought him important enough to be invited at the flagging-off ceremonies. But not once did he ever express any grudge against any of his exploiters.

Born in Nepal of Sherpa stock, Tenzing lived in the British-built hill-station of Darjeeling in North Bengal. After the epic achievement of ‘summiting Everest’ in 1953 he was offered “nationality” by both Nepal and India. Both countries, which had done nothing for him or for his indomitable Sherpa people, wanted to claim him as one of their own for international publicity.

Pressure was piled on him from either side, but Tenzing, true to his honest belief, maintained that he was both a Nepali and an Indian! In his innocence he highlighted the international nature of his personality.

This is exactly the kind of pettiness and disregard we have shown a man who literally put India on top of the world.

On 29^th May, 1953, he and the New Zealander, Edmund Hillary, reached the summit of Mt. Everest as part of the British expedition team under John Hunt. When the tri-colour flag fluttered on top of the world on that historic day, the brave man holding the pick-axe was none other than this self-made mountaineer from Darjeeling in Bengal.

When they realized they were on the summit, two toughest and bravest of men embraced each other and began to shed tears. They were mesmerized by the beauty and the grandeur of nature. Tenzing took out the sweet lozenge and the coloured-pencil-stub his daughter Nima had given him and offered it to the Almighty!

People who climb peaks are themselves at the summit of the human race. They have little interest in borders and barriers. Rarefied realms they traverse in isolation. They do not bother about nationality, race, colour of skin, levels of education, financial backgrounds. Edmund Hillary would not have opted for the ‘coloured’, poor Sherpa when he decided on the final launch, if he was a racist.

Tenzing did not blink an eye to say that Hillary was the first to step on the summit ahead of him. In mountaineering two climbers together on the same rope are like twins. The rope is the umbilical cord.  They are together, inseparable. They have the same identity. Both Hillary and Tenzing were very appropriately given the honour of being the first to climb the highest peak on earth. None would consider them first and second in order.

 If Tenzing was magnanimous, so too was Hillary. On top Hillary reciprocated by clicking Tenzing’s photo on Mt Everest and did not insist on having his own photo taken. These sacrifices are beyond the comprehension of most of us.

Why was just Tenzing’s photo on the summit taken? Why not Hillary’s as well? The reason being that they had just two exposures left. Hillary realized that Tenzing may not be able to handle the camera well enough. So to get the perfect frame, he took Tenzing’s picture and with the single remaining frame he clicked the final path they traversed for the benefit of future mountaineers. These acts of Tenzing and Hillary are at the summit of man’s selflessness.

Mountaineering is an amazing sport. Exclusively for the bravest and selfless of men and women. There are no spectators to cheer and applaud up on the mountain. No media support for instant glory. It is a complete team-effort. No individual can do it alone without the active, selfless support of his colleagues.

One small error and the climber invites his own death; sometimes even dragging down his partner with him. Very lonely, very slow, very difficult the progress is. Courage, strength, patience, team-work, leadership all combine to be successful in this most dangerous of all sports.

Mountaineering is man’s communion with nature. Not a sport between humans. It is a pursuit to overcome the almost insurmountable hazards of natural obstacles: climate, rain, blinding sun-light, gusty wind, snow, rocks, crevice, chasm, lack of oxygen, no shade or shadow, glacier, avalanche. Why would anybody want to volunteer to attempt to overcome such odds?

The mind of a genuine mountaineer is almost impossible to fathom. They are above the concept of self. These dare-devils care not about fame or fortune. Why would any sane person opt for a sport where there is no return in any form?  Why aim for a deserted summit? There are so many ‘whys?’ begging for answers.

To help us understand the reason for a mountaineer to climb a peak, a legendary climber by the name of Keith Mallory simply said, “Because it is there.”  Full stop. All questions vanish in a moment. One is astounded in the face of such selfless courage. Incidentally Mallory vanished in the Himalayas in the 1920s while attempting to climb the world’s highest peak. His body was never found.

Tenzing could not write yet he sent hundreds of letters to his fans worldwide. Tenzing could not read, yet he received thousands of articles and books written on him from his admirers all over the world. 

Tenzing Norgay’s admirers are legion. His exploits on the mountain are legendary. Generous, courageous, honest, self-less, the exemplary mountaineer remains to this day a legend and an inspiration to millions around the world. But in his own country, for which he earned so much of international respect and adulation, he is a forgotten man.

When ‘Pahari’ doctor took our family to meet him, the ever-smiling all-conquering Tenzing Norgay picked up the 5 year old child in his arms and related constantly to my parents, “It was a pilgrimage to the Almighty’s abode.”  I can still feel the blessed touch. He was my first hero. Never regretted the fact. With every passing day I can still smell the earthy odour of the most marvelous of human beings. For me, it was a pilgrimage to the best of creations.

False Tunes

Most former cricketers turned media-experts have a tendency to mislead cricket followers. The latest version is, “To win a Test, one has to take 20 opposition wickets.” Of course, every cricket follower knows that. It is obvious. But we also know that you have to score more runs than the opposition. Obviously enough, no point getting 20 opposition wickets and then losing 20 own wickets for less runs. No big deal.

This has nothing to do with Einstein or Kafka. There is no abstraction involved. It is simple class 1 maths. My only apprehension is that if genuine cricket addicts follow the ‘experts’ too closely, they will forget the normal cricket knowledge that they possess.

On a lighter note, let me relate an incident. Mohun Bagan’s secretary Dhiren Dey – known for is straight-face wit – once addressed the club cricket team, “Just score one run more than East Bengal. One more goal in football and one more run in cricket. Very simple!”

Years back the doyen of cricket writers Neville Cardus had lamented, “The score-board is an ass.” What he meant was, do not have total reliance on bare statistics. Absolutely to the point.

Kohli’s overseas Test series victories have been against lowly Sri Lanka and very pathetic West Indies of recent times. These teams are way below India in the Test rankings. What credit is there in winning against wooden-spoonists?To win against them is no different from winning Tests against Zimbabwe and Bangladesh.

Instead of trying to mislead cricket followers, it would be best if our so-called experts learn to give credit to those captains who have won Test series for India abroad against top quality teams like Australia, South Africa, England and the West Indies of earlier decades.

Ajit Wadekar led India to overseas victories in West Indies and in England in 1971. Kapil Dev defeated England in England in 1986, following his marvellous achievement in the 1983 world cup. Rahul Dravid led India to defeat Lara’s team in West Indies in 2006 and then England in their own backyard in 2007. In between Dravid also won a Test in a losing series in South Africa as well as a Test on Pakistan soil. Unfortunately these captains have never got their rightful due.

We are obsessed with captains who have the media dance to their ‘false’ tunes. Please note that India is yet to win a series in Australia and in South Africa.

Now, instead of trying to mislead the cricket followers with long lectures, the team management and the players would do well to acknowledge the glorious deeds of Wadekar’s, Kapil’s and Dravid’s men. But will our ‘experts’ ever learn to admit the truth?

Kalighat Club won all the CAB trophies in 1974. From left: Dilip Dutta, Gopal Bose, Raja Mukherjee,  Robi Banerjee, Raju Mukherji and skipper TJ Banerjee.

Remembering Gopal

Gopal Bose followed his India captain Ajit Wadekar to the Elysian Fields within days of each other. Wadekar got his opportunities late in life; Gopal hardly ever. Both were destined to remain in the background.

Gopal would have made an outstanding one-day player. He would have been an asset as a BCCI coach for beginners. His knowledge and communication skills would have made him a brilliant match referee. If he had written for the English media, he would have had genuine readers in millions. But all these were not to be. He was left under-utilized at all levels. A real shame that none bothered to give upright man his rightful due.

In world cricket no bowler, who was ‘called’ for throwing while bowling, ever improved on his game thereafter. Meckiff, Griffin, Griffith, Narine to name a few. They all tried, failed and were all eased out. Except one man. He happened to be Gopal Bose, the Bengal and East Zone off-spin bowler. Gopal achieved a feat that no other bowler in the history of cricket has been able to achieve over the last 150 years.

Gopal made his Ranji Trophy debut in 1969 at the age of 22 as an off-spinner. He got a wicket in his first over. But his action did not impress the purists. There was a definite bent elbow in his bowling action. Gopal’s delivery-action initially did not come up for censure. In the meantime he was also developing himself as a batsman.

However in 1971 in a Duleep Trophy tie, he was ‘called’ for throwing. Instead of wallowing in self pity, Gopal began to rectify his bowling action with yogic devotion. Gopal would practise, practise and practise till the ‘cows literally came home’. My friend Gopal, incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable, was his own coach.

Prodyutda our coach at Kalighat Club would be with Gopal at the net from 7 to 9 in the morning; then Gopal would drive him to Grand Hotel where he worked and then reach his own office at Dasturco. At 1 in the afternoon Prodyutda would be picked up by Gopal in his Herald car and brought back to the club. The net session would continue till 5 in the evening leaving everyone, except Gopal and Prodyutda, exhausted!

When Gopal played for Bengal in the following season his arm was ram-rod straight and his off-spin spinning skills had acquired more variety. He actually had improved his bowling skills after being ‘called’ for throwing. This is unique in the history of world cricket. No other cricketer has been able to achieve this fascinating correction. He achieved what no one else had ever done before.

Gopal began his club cricket career as a medium-pace. Through sheer determination, he progressed to become an off-spin bowler who batted low down. Then by means of intelligent application he improved to become an attacking opening batsman who could vary his off-spin most intelligently. Gopal, to me, will always remain an outstanding model of self-coaching. A brilliant, incisive cricketing brain he possessed.

Our association goes back almost 7 decades. We resided opposite each other. Both studied at St Xavier’s School till Gopal went across to Delhi. Our childhood was spent playing cricket at our garage space and on the streets of our neighbourhood. Apart from cricket, our life revolved around football, table-tennis and flying kites. Then we went to White Border Club together and after a year or two we parted ways: Gopal to Kalighat Club and me to Mohun Bagan AC.

We however had a major difference. I was allergic to movies. Gopal was fascinated by the cinema. He adored Dev Anand and would always wear his well-tailored trousers at least three inches short of regular length! Whenever a Dev Anand show was premiered, he would be one of those ‘first-day-first-show’ characters!

I am eternally grateful to his innovative ideas for helping himself and me to get early batting everyday in our road-side matches! How he managed it, I shall not divulge. We were probably the first ‘fixers’ of street cricket!

When, with extreme good fortune, I made it to the East Zone and Bengal teams in the early 1970s, the shining star of Bengal cricket always had his arm around my shoulders. Gopal was very affectionate and generous. He would give away his own cricket kit – even unused ones – to anyone who might be in need. I was indeed lucky to have had more than my fair share. Gopal was very magnanimous in his guidance to youngsters. Again I was extremely lucky.

One particular instance comes readily to my mind. Gopal had just got out for nought and Bengal was reeling at 4 down for 8 runs at Guwahati against Anup Ghatak’s impeccable swing bowling. While walking out, he stopped me and said, “This pitch is ideal for you. If you play your normal defensive game, you will get a 50.” What do you make of this magnanimous gesture from a batter who had just scored a zero? Thankfully his prediction came out right and we won a match from the jaws of defeat.

Gopal had a very unusual international cricket career. He scored a century on debut in the unofficial Test against Sri Lanka in 1974. In the next unofficial Test got a half-century. Following series in England in 1974 he was dropped from all Tests despite India losing all the 3 Tests!

His only over-limit match was against England in 1974. He had very economical bowling figures – 11 overs, 39 runs and 1 wicket – yet he was sidelined forever. At Chepauk in January 1975 he was omitted from the playing XI at the last minute. Instead Eknath Solkar played as India’s opener! Despite success in the limited opportunities he got, he never received his due from the national selectors. But never did he show any rancour towards anyone.

After retirement Gopal was totally immersed in the coaching of youngsters. His profound knowledge did not go waste. A whole generation of young cricketers benefitted from his wisdom and guidance. Unfortunately his own home State did not use him to the full extent. He would have been my choice as the Director of Coaching at CAB.

Gopal’s fondness for me is beyond imagination. He would not bother to guide me at every step. On the contrary he would let me be myself. But whenever he felt I needed advice he would come forward without hesitation. The 3-year difference gave him the right to be my ‘elder brother’. I am forever indebted to him for his guidance. Once, late in life, I did not listen to him and paid for it. I shall mention the issue later.

He had implicit faith in me. Even if he detected any weakness in me, he would hardly spell it out. Rather he would always encourage. Would constantly support. Gopal had a strange habit. If I intervened to say something, Gopal would never contradict! He would nod approval. Thankfully I listened more to him and spoke less. The ‘elder brother’ role he played to perfection.

Very few people know of Gopal’s asthma problem. He suffered immensely over the years, even during his prime. This affected his cricket career to a great extent. He never enjoyed England. The high pollen-count in England always caused him great discomfort. Ultimately at just 71 he left us while visiting his son, Pop, who is well-settled in Birmingham. Arijit (Pop) is a former Bengal cricketer himself, who too received a raw deal from the State selectors.

Residing opposite each other we would meet quite often and chat. Gopal excelled in light-hearted banter. Very witty and a brilliant conversationalist, Gopal enjoyed life as he enjoyed his ‘adda’. But he made no effort to suffer fools. Never bothered to hide his emotions: a man after my heart.

He was extremely well-informed on various issues. A voracious reader, Gopal’s frequent companion on tours would be an issue of the “Reader’s Digest” along with  Cardus, Fingleton and  Ray Robinson. Now that he is gone, who do you discuss cricket with?

Three years ago when I accepted Sourav’s offer to become a CAB selector, Gopal lambasted me, “Are you mad? Why did you accept the offer? They will make your life hell.” Amazing prophesy, indeed, it was. Thankfully, he never hesitated to speak his mind. Never wasted time or effort to seek favours from authorities. Though charming and courteous, he was completely divorced from tact and falsehood. He spoke his mind and acted on his high principles. An exceptional person born at a wrong time and place.

Highly intelligent, incredibly witty, very knowledgeable, Gopal wore many hats in Indian cricket: as player, captain, coach, team manager and writer. In each and every avenue, he left behind his imprint. For a person of his sterling qualities, it was only a natural consequence.

With so many fond memories to fall back on, I can still feel his presence around me. This is a void which would be impossible to fill.

Ajit Wadekar

Only thrice has India won a Test series on English soil. The captains were Ajit Wadekar (1971), Kapil Dev (1986) and Rahul Dravid (2007). Ironically not one of the above three has ever been rated very highly as a captain in India.

Captains who lost or drew the series in England have been eulogized in the Indian media!  Cricket history reveals that the England tour is always the most difficult for Indians. Since 1932 India has played 17 Test series on English soil and lost 13 of those. Most of the Indians captains, who lost or drew, have been those who were supposed to possess exceptional cricket brains.

Yet the exceptional achievements of the three successful Indian captains in England have not received their due recognition. Superb leaders of men like Ajit Wadekar, Kapil Dev and Rahul Dravid never received any acclaim for their leadership qualities. Very strange, indeed. Very unfortunate.

Wadekar’s captaincy career has been a giant-wheel in motion. For a period of three years he was right on top, having won every series that came his way.  Then in a matter of weeks in 1974 he came crashing down. Became a villain whom everybody wanted to curse and kick.

People forgot that he had won a series against West Indies in their backyard in 1971. Repeated his success in England against a very strong England team in 1971. The following season his team beat England in India in 1972-73. Thus Wadekar won three series in succession, a feat which no other Indian captain has ever been able to replicate. He was indeed unlucky that he never had Zimbabwe and Bangladesh in the opposition.

Wadekar received almost no credit for his team’s success. It was always claimed that he won with “Tiger Pataudi’s men”! Ajit till the last day of his life maintained, “If that be the issue, then why did Tiger not win with his own men?” Absolutely to the point.

But in 1974 Wadekar’s team lost all its 3 Tests in England. It was a disastrous tour for India with all the top stars available. The moment that happened, his house in Mumbai became the target of stones and bricks. Ajit Wadekar actually had almost the same players as he did in 1974. Yet the media forgot all about “Tiger Pataudi’s men” and laid all the blame on Wadekar’s captaincy!

Wadekar, disappointed and upset, retired immediately from all forms of cricket on his return from England in 1974. His whole life has been full of peculiar contradictions. May his soul finally rest in peace.

Misunderstood and misjudged, the soft-spoken, academically brilliant man always remained a soft target.

  Leslie Claudius                      

In India our Olympic victories are few and far between. But at the same time we have had a legendary sportsman who won 4 Olympic medals and then lost all of them! No riddle this. It actually happened.

For an Indian to win 4 Olympic medallions he had to be a hockey player because India dominated world hockey from 1928 to the 1960s. Your guess that the sport is hockey is as perfect as it can be. But can you guess the name of the player concerned?

The hockey player happened to be none other than Leslie Claudius, the hockey marvel who won 3 gold medals and one silver medal for India in the four Olympics between 1948 and 1960.

Olympic medalists are honoured and revered the world over. To win an Olympic medal is an awesome achievement. These champions are a rare breed. But then to win four is nothing short of a miracle. Very, very few international sportsmen have won 4 Olympic medals and more.

Not many international sportsmen have lost their Olympic medals. The legendary ‘American Black’ boxer Muhammad Ali (then Cassius Clay) threw away his gold medal out of sheer disgust. That is another story time. Another time.

Only one international sportsman has been known to have lost all the medals he had won at the Olympic Games. Thanks to an odd-job man, who had come to Leslie Claudius’ house to polish his medals and numerous other trophies. Some polishing the man did. The man actually polished off the medals and vanished without leaving behind any trace.

When as a freelancer, I went to Leslie Claudius’ residence for an interview for the Tiger-Pataudi edited sports weekly magazine Sportsworld way back in the 1980s, the laid-back personality quite casually said, “Ah! You want to see the Olympic medals?  I had asked a man to clean and polish my trophies. He took me literally, I suppose. He took the money and the medals with him. However he did a very good job with the rest of the trophies in the cabinet.”

Honestly, I was aghast, “Did you actually keep those gold and silver medals in an unlocked show-case in the drawing-room?” He nodded, “My mistake, I reckon. But then why would anybody be interested in my trophies?”

When told that the medals would fetch millions as souvenirs among collectors, he gave a relaxed smile, “Let’s say he needed the money more than I did!” It took a little while to dawn on the interviewer that the phlegmatic individual sitting opposite was in a sphere of his own without any attachment to worldly objects.

The life of Leslie Claudius has always been full of such unusual happenings. Born and brought up in hockey-dominated Bilaspur in Madhya Pradesh, the young Claudius was fascinated by football and was fantastic at it. Among the sports-fanatic Anglo-Indian community at Bilaspur, he was an all-round sportsman with particular fondness for football.

Yet, when he came over to football-mad Bengal, first to Kharagpur and from there to Calcutta in 1946, ironically football receded into the background as the game of hockey dribbled into his heart. Office teams like Port Commissioners and Calcutta Customs helped him with the opportunities and the latent talent flowered in next to no time.

At every level – office, club and State teams – he left his mark. It is indeed unbelievable, that in only two years since he seriously wielded a hockey stick for the first time, he was actually donning the national colours in the London Olympics in 1948.

With Dhyan Chand and company around, India had won the Olympic hockey gold at Amsterdam (1928), at Los Angeles (1932) and Berlin (1936). Because of the 2^nd world war no Olympics took place in 1940 and 1944. Now after India’s independence, the 1948 London Olympics would be the first time that independent India would play under her own national tri-colour flag.

There was considerable consternation among the hockey followers. Would India be able to put up a reasonably good show with not much hockey played during the war period? Would the new players be able to live to the high expectations? Do we still possess the required talent?

But by the end of the London Olympic Games, the Indian flag kept fluttering to remind us of the exploits of Dhyan Chand, Rup Singh, Richard Allen, Carlyle Tapsell, Eric Pinniger and company. Untried youngsters like Claudius, Keshav Dutt, Ranganathan Francis and Randhir Singh Gentle came to the fore in 1948 and gave relief to hockey lovers around the country. In 1952 arrived Udham Singh and Balbir Singh (Sr). India’s top stature in world hockey remained unscathed.

From 1948 onwards, for the next 12 years Leslie Claudius was India’s mainstay at the pivotal position of center-half. This was the continuation of the golden period of Indian hockey. Uninterrupted success was a mere formality.

 Legendary Indian players dominated the world in a style as distinctive as it was effective. Claudius was always in focal point as the sheet anchor. One moment he would be defending his own goal and at the next he would be threatening the opposition’s “D”. Energetic and selfless, he had indomitable courage and a will-power to overcome any opposition, situation and condition.

Leslie Claudius was a stylist. Impeccable technique, he combined with powers of innovation. He inspired not by hollow words of advice, but by solid performance. He had no time for provincial, communal or class bias. He had no time for unscrupulous administrators. He formed no group, joined none as well. He was the shining nucleus of a world champion team.

But the contradictions continued. He did not cater to conventional wisdom. He was of medium-height, very tough but not muscular. He was not an exhibitionist. On the contrary he was a clean-shaven, young man of exemplary manners and bright eyes. Courteous and kind, he hardly had the macho image one generally associates with successful sportsmen.

His refreshing charm, his modesty, his refined voice and conduct belied all the conventional impressions of a star sportsman. He was a champion without an ego. He was an artist without any hang-ups. He was a super star without any controversy following him. He was a magnificent centre-half without having anyone good enough to be his rightful protégé.

He took his employment very seriously and went on to become an assistant commissioner of Calcutta Customs. After retirement, every Sunday morning after his visit to the church, he was a regular at the maidan tent of Ranger’s Club with a tankard of frothy beer in hand.

A delightful conversationalist, he once said, “We were unlucky not to have seen Dhyan Chand and Roop Singh at their peak. But let me tell you, son, even in their old age such was their ball control that we had difficulty to take the ball away from them. Both were wizards with the stick in hand. Roop was no less than his brother Dhyan, but was destined to be forever in the shadow of his elder brother.”

During the course of the interview at his McLeod Road flat, Claudius said, “From the 1950s many Anglo-Indians left India to settle in Australia and Canada. This was a setback for Indian hockey as the Anglo-Indians showed a distinct flair for the stick and ball game.” Absolutely correct he was. Many of our past greats came from the Anglo-Indian community.

After three successive Olympic gold medals at London (1948), Helsinki (1952) and Melbourne (1956), Claudius was selected to lead the country in the Rome Olympic Games in 1960. This was his 4^th Olympic Games. Later in 1964 Udham Singh, too, repeated Claudius’s record of 3 golds and one silver.

Sadly, India’s domination of the Olympic hockey honours came to an end in the final against Pakistan. Claudius was shattered. For him the Olympic silver medal was no compensation. He bid adieu to the game he loved and served with the greatest of dignity.

“That was the saddest day of my life. It was a magnificent final against Pakistan at Rome. No quarters were given and none expected. But the one nil defeat was just too much for me. I retired on our return.” Furrowed eyebrows clouded his face.

Within moments, however, he brightened up, “You know, son, when the national flag goes up the pole you get a strange feeling that cannot be described. Hardened men have tears in their eyes. You only think of your country and nothing else matters. I was lucky to have enjoyed that exhilarating feeling no less than three times.

Then after a while, his voice faltered, “At Rome on the podium we tried to muffle our disappointment. Tough adults cried like children. The silver medal seemed to mock at me.”

Sport is said to be a great leveller. Claudius is an exception to the rule. For he has had no failures. Yet the man himself felt that he had failed the country at Rome. Such was his high standards that even the silver medal was considered a failure! Amazing approach, indeed.

No, most certainly he did not fail. Rather he was a glorious example of an ideal champion sportsman: charming, modest, selfless apart from being a magical wielder of the hockey wand. The memory of the dignified self still remains a shining model for every aspiring sportsman.