Shyam Sundar Mitra: My role-model has gone but the memory remains…

When cricket connoisseurs including Sunil Gavaskar talk of Shyam Sundar Mitra invariably they remember him as the most deserving middle-order batsman who never represented India.  His career ran along the lines of Veda Vyas’ heroic warrior Karna: forever in neglect, but cannot be disregarded for his outstanding merit.

SS, to his friends and foes, did not believe in joining groups; had no desire to have ‘backers’; hated sycophancy. He was his own man: aware of his capabilities and in complete control of himself. Destiny decided that he be neglected and rejected by the mediocrity around him. But again like Karna, SS stood tall and independent on his own merit.

In a sea of corrupt influences, invariably enough, he paid for his uprightness. While Shivalkar and Goel lost out on a Test place because of the looming presence of Bishan Bedi, SS was tripped for a strange reason. A very domineering national selector hailing from Bengal wanted SS to play for his club in Calcutta. But SS preferred to be loyal to Mohun Bagan AC which he adorned with dignity and pride from 1964 to 1974. The price for his integrity was to remain in oblivion forever. Neither Mohun Bagan AC nor CAB ever came forward to assist him in any way.

SS graced Bengal and East Zone teams for more than a decade. An aggregate of 3058 at 50.13 from 59 first-class matches is a phenomenal feat on uncovered and spinner-friendly Indian pitches of the 60s and 70s. His 7 centuries included two against the might of Bombay of those days. He had two more against Indian Railways in one match as well.

As if this was not enough, he scored a masterly hundred against the great Vinoo Mankad on a matting wicket at Udaipur. Those who thought he was weak against genuine pace got their answer when he notched 98 against the fiery and fearsome West Indies fast bowler Roy Gilchrist who had sent shivers down the spine of our Test batters.

Exemplary concentration, unruffled temperament, cultured stroke-play and an impregnable defence were the hall marks of his skills. His batsmanship was based on classical lines. He preferred the ‘back and across’ movement at the crease but whenever the opportunity arose he would go half-forward and drive on the up. Like the persona, his bat was always straight. That most difficult of cricket strokes – the on-drive off the back-foot – was his copyright trademark and he accomplished it with rare grace. His batsmanship was a visual delight. Handsome of bearing, the chiselled face topped a lithe physique of 6 feet.

SS had a terrific sense of humour: the dry, cultured wit of PG Wodehouse, whose books he would read on tours. Someone once mocked, “Shyamu, tui boddo kaalo.  (your complexion is very dark).” Instantly he smiled, “So would you be, if you were to bat for as long as I do.”

His straight face sarcasm we relished. Once he remarked to a batter, who was out off the first ball he faced, “If you keep batting in this way, your bat will last a lifetime!” His dry wit extended to the ground as well. “Two on his shoulders, one on his waist and one on his lap!” was a typical skipper SS’s way of setting the field for two slips, one short leg and one silly-point!

Bapu Nadkarni’s accuracy made batters impatient and invariably they perished trying to hit him across the line. So SS’s prescription was, “Bapu does not like to be hit; so don’t try to hit him!”

My first real look at him was at Mohun Bagan AC, a club I joined at 17 after my ISC exam. He was our captain. It was a delight to see him use the bat as a violin. Melody flowed as he middled the ball. My impressionable mind realized that this man was different, far ahead of any of his contemporaries.

 I became the Ekalavya to his Dronacharya. Tried to pick up the finer points by observing, evaluating and practising. Subconsciously the style became ingrained. One championship-winning partnership with him against Guha and Doshi taught me more about batting than anything that I had learned earlier.

I reckon SS never took a fancy to me when we were together in Mohun Bagan for about 3 years. Not that he criticized me, but he would never praise. Nothing I did seemed to satisfy him. He seemed to have no time for others. Probably his approach was the correct approach. Why would he come forward with suggestions, when not asked?

Years later, after I got a match-winning 99 against Kapil Dev and Rajinder Goel at Eden Gardens, SS – at the time a Bengal selector – wryly smiled, “Ah! Captain, I see you have got the right role-model. I quite like the style.” That was enough for me. High praise from a man who was unaware that he was my batting idol ever since I first saw him bat.

Yes, Shyamuda, you were my role-model. God has taken you to a better place. RIP.

Riyan Parag: A Boy with a Mission

At a time when very wealthy and very influential former Indian cricketers are desperate to convince the world that they do not charge money from the IPL teams for their work as ‘mentors’ or whatever, one Ahom teenager has taken the sword out of the scabbard and slaughtered the hypocrisy in style and splendor.

One major message of this year’s IPL is the quiet emergence of a rare talent in the form of Riyan Parag. The teenager from Assam, who was a member of the world cup-winning India under-19 team last year, showed the adult cricket world his exceptional class, his repertoire of strokes, the power of his timing and, above all, his quiet confidence for the big occasion. No wonder he has MSD as his role model. Initially coached by his father, Riyan has certainly picked up the right recipe of batsmanship from his India under-19 coach, the unflappable and erudite Rahul Dravid.

In the face of odds, the gutsy young man helped Rajasthan Royals to defeat Mumbai Indians and then followed it with another sterling match-winning performance at Eden. All the supposed ‘international muscles of KKR’ vanished into thin air as the 17 year old Ahom gave a lesson to the recruiting personnel of KKR not to show disrespect to the talents in East Zone. For the record, KKR does not have a single player from the eastern region in its team.

Riyan gives the ball a real wallop. But what delights the connoisseur more is the solid cricketing technique that he possesses. Here is a batsman, who needs encouragement and exposure from the right quarters to be able to serve his national team for years to come. Wonder if our national selectors have even heard of him?

It is high time that our cricket administrators in mainstream India realize the kind of talent that lies in obscure corners of this land, particularly in the much-neglected north-east. These largely-ignored sportspeople from the north-east have time and again proved that even with the slightest of opportunities they can easily upset the apple-cart of their ‘fancied and favoured’ opponents.

Riyan’s father Parag Das was an outstanding all-rounder from Assam in the late 1990s. One of the hardest hitters of the ball, he bowled medium-fast getting his deviation from the proper use of seam. Apart from these qualities, Parag was among India’s best out-fielders in his time. On the electronic media in 1999, it was my well-considered opinion that he should be in the India world cup team to England. For having said this unpalatable truth, I lost my job! Parag’s seam bowling, power-packed stroke-play and exceptional fielding skills would have done the country proud. But then who has the time for a man from the perpetually ignored north-east?

Riyan’s mother Mithu Barooah is a former India swimming sensation. All those gold and silver medals that she won for India and Assam are now only a distant memory. Totally deprived of opportunities in their heydays, both Mithu and Parag decided that they would fight the system with no quarters asked for. Riyan reflects his dad’s image on the field. Wonder if any visionary would appoint Parag as a coach at the national level? Mithu, on the other hand, would make a fantastic sports administrator with her verve, energy, knowledge and a very broad-minded approach to life.

Riyan’s maternal grandfather R P Barooah was a very popular teacher at Don Bosco School in Guwahati in the 1970s. The tea garden owner was also the school’s cricket coach. As a regular columnist and commentator, prolific writer RPda harped on cricket with passion and feeling. Riyan, most certainly, is extremely fortunate to have such an excellent sporting pedigree. For India’s sake, I wish Riyan becomes the vanguard of a sports movement in Assam.

Even after seven decades of India’s political independence, will north-east still remain out of mainstream India?

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.