Tribute to Goel Bhai

Even in death, Rajinder Goel has remained behind the screen. His untimely departure was not adequately ‘covered’ in the media. In life too he was destined to remain in the background.

Normally it is believed that Bedi’s presence kept him and Padmakar Shivalkar out of the Indian team. But that is not the complete picture. For the discerning cricket follower knows that when Bedi was dropped on ‘disciplinary’ grounds, Goel was shelved in favour of Narasimha Rao, a leg-spinning all-rounder, and Dhiraj Parsana.

Later in 1979 when Bedi was finally omitted, Goel was still at the top of his bowling form. But he was overlooked as Dilip Doshi came in. The sad truth is that never did the national selectors realize the true worth of Rajinder Goel. He was destined to remain constantly under the shade no matter whoever was brought into focus.

Rajinder Goel’s fanatastic statistical figures were never given any consideration by the national selectors, although the cricketers who faced him on the field of battle knew the worth of the warrior. He was a team-man, whatever the situation, whatever the conditions. Never had a single selfish bone lodged in his body. Whichever team he represented could count on him to be the stock bowler as well as the match winner.

 Once when I complimented his Haryana captain Dr Chadha, the latter – another gentleman in the truest sense – replied, “With Goel Paaji around, it makes our job easier.” What a compliment from a captain at least seven years his junior. So very well deserved, not only as a great spinner but as a human being. Every captain of Goel’s beginning from Tiger Pataudi to Bishen Bedi to Kapil Dev had the highest regard for this outstanding, left-arm orthodox spinner.

Although his statistical figures far exceeded all his contemporaries, there is always a danger that his intrinsic value of his bowling skills would be submerged by the awesome records of his. The genuine truth is that he was a ‘captain’s bowler’. He would volunteer to do the toughest job for the sake of the team. He would not shirk any responsibility. He would not try to put pressure on the younger men who led him.

As a person, he was the epitome of a perfect gentleman. Perpetually smiling, ever ready to help others, he never gave the impression that he was an opponent! Once at Eden he caught me off his own bowling for 99. While walking back, I heard him say, “Raju, wish you got the single.” Knowing him, I know he meant it.

His son Nitin, a former Ranji Trophy cricketer, is a young man I admire for his abilities and bearing. Here is a sincere person who has been doing wonderful work as a BCCI match referee. I am hopeful that conscientious Nitin would soon be considered for higher honours.

At Feroze Shah Kotla against North Zone in 1972, I made my first-class debut. In a very low-scoring encounter East Zone won against an attack comprising Madanlal and Mohinder along with the spinners skipper Bedi, Gokul Inder Dev and the evergreen Rajinder Goel. After the match concluded, Bishen and Goel came to our room to congratulate. What a lovely gesture from such wonderful cricketers.

Both Bishen and Goel Bhai would invariably and sincerely maintain that the other person was the better bowler. I would hate to compare among the best. I would only add that they were at par with each other as the archers Karna and Arjuna were. If Karna was allowed to take part in the archery contest, who knows what shape the Mahabharata would have taken…

A marvellous cricketer. An impeccable gentleman. His memory would linger. He was at peace with the world on earth. So would he be in Heaven.

Obituary of Vasant Raiji

Vasant Raiji is no more with us. The great soul has gone but his writings will remain forever.  He has been a genuine historian of Indian cricket. Concentrating on knowledge and integrity, Vasantji did not need any external support of degrees and ornamentation. Not shackled to any media group or to any sponsor, the qualified chartered accountant charted an independent path of sincere research and freedom of expression. He did not need to impress or to decry any individual or institution.

He was a hero to me for his meticulous work on Indian cricket. His authoritative book ‘India’s Hambledon Men’ is certainly the finest of his various publications. He preferred the company of serious cricket writers and in his final years found in Makarand Waingankar an ideal person to interact with.

Although cricketers are notoriously weak in cricket history, Vasantji happened to be a glorious exception. Following his prominence as a first-class cricket, he developed himself to be among the prominent cricket historians in our country. His research on Indian cricket is at a different level to others.

He was denied recognition in his own land. At a time when copyists are reaping awesome benefits, the treatment meted out to him remains a matter of shame. His life of over 100 years has been full of education and enterprise. Vasantji’s work will gain importance as the years go by.

I believe he was a fantastic conversationalist. For a man of his wide spectrum of knowledge he surely must have been. How I wish I was able to establish contact with him during my frequent visits to Mumbai. But destiny willed otherwise. The person I respected the most among cricket historians is the person whom I failed to reach. A regret that will only increase with time.

Vasant Raiji was a contemporary of Vijay Merchant. He was an excellent batsman, good enough to represent Bombay and Baroda in the Ranji Trophy championships in the 1940s. Although he could not make the final XI of the Hindu team in the Pentangular, he was capable enough to be considered in the reserves squad.

He was very highly regarded by men of the prominence of DB Deodhar, Vijay Hazare, Polly Umrigar and Raj Singh, among others. His authorship was based on exemplary research and independent analysis. He was very mucha man of the world, yet not quite in it. He enjoyed companionship but hated flattery.

The best compliments would be offered to him by the copyists who would publish from his ‘works’ without acknowledging the man. He would best be remembered by his writings which will be copied and recopied by various sources without giving the person any credit. He will forever loom in the background of every author who tries to write on India’s early cricket history.

Raju MUkherji

Photo credit: Dr Jayanta Sen

Balaramda: my role model

I met my hero just once. That too just recently. The opportunity came when Dr Jayanta Sen offered to take me along with PC Poddar and Sukumar Samajpati to Balaramda’s place at Uttarpara. He received us at the door with a heart-warming smile but just would not allow me to touch his feet to do pranam. Embraced and said, “No, no, Please don’t.” I managed to reply, “Sir, but I have a request you cannot refuse.”

The smile remained as he raised his furrowed eyebrows, “Yes. What is it?” Now it was my turn to flash a smile, “I shall not touch your feet as you wish, but you have to put your hand on my head!” The soft laughter of a saint emerged – a replica of Ramakrishna, no less – the embrace tightened and his right palm touched the tip of my head. A shiver went down my spine. I am indeed a lucky man to have had the affection and blessing of this great man.

Tulsidas Balaram’s career has a unique colour to it. His international life as a football player lasted 6 years from 1956 to 1962. During that period Indian football was at its zenith: 4th in Melbourne Olympics to gold medal at Jakarta Asian Games. Very few Indian sportsmen have had such an influential role in the prospect of India’s sports performance. Unique indeed: whenever he played, India did well.

The ebony, sinuous frame swerved to the right, ‘dummied’ a robust tackler and from an acute angle a deft placement saw the leather sphere balloon the net. That was a typical movement of the sinewy elegance of Balaram. He was to repeat this magic for India time and again during the heady days of Indian football, 1956 to 1962.

He was the hero of all the East Bengal supporters at our school. Even the Bagan followers grudgingly admitted his worth with Subroto Sirkar claiming that he would have been still better with the maroon and green jersey on! Little did we youngsters realize that he belonged not to any narrow allegiance of club or State, he was the treasure of the nation. Everyone not only admired his genius, they loved the person he happened to be.

He arrived on the scene when Indian football was going through a period of total change. The legacy of playing in bare feet was abolished for good. The reason for this sudden transformation in Indian football scenario came about because of the ‘hell-in-Helsinki’ treatment in the 1952 Olympic. The much-vaunted bare-footed Indians were caught on slushy turf and went through the torture of losing by 10 goals to 1.

Balaram emerged from an obscure village in rural Andhra. The mild-mannered inside forward mesmerized all and sundry in the neighbourhood with his soccer talents. As destiny beckoned, he was soon in the presence of an exceptional football coach, Syed Rahim, in the Nizam’s capital city of Hyderabad.

Balaram had no time for unnecessary theories. He was a man of the soil who concentrated on activity rather than words. Balaram knew not what positive attitude meant because he was full of positivity. He knew not that he was someone special because he himself possessed extraordinary skills. He could do amazing tricks with the ball with ease. He could toy around with the ball not only with his feet but with his head and body as well.

 Remarkable control he possessed with the ball as well as in life-style. When he found others floundering, he did not get upset or irritated. He merely carried their responsibility voluntarily. He did not ever think that it was a burden on him. He was the game-maker as well as the goal-scorer. With ease the man could carry a weak team not only on his shoulders but with a warm heart as well.

Was he India’s first ‘total footballer’? Most certainly, he was, as almost every coach had asked him to do multiple roles. Every coach understood his innate all-round ability; every player saluted his approach and temperament; every genuine football fan was attracted to his appeal. He earned universal respect.

‘Total football’ was made popular internationally by the Dutch and Johann Cryuff in the 1970s, but there was man in India who was doing so in the 1950s. Little did the media or the administrators realize that what he was doing was something unique. He was destined to be behind the curtain forever. Our greatest ‘complete’ player never received his due recognition.

Nor did the Government of India, for that matter, acknowledge his real worth. They gave him the Arjuna award but conveniently forgot to confer on him the Padma awards. The chief reason was that he had no one to canvass and plead for him. May be it was appropriate when we found players far inferior to him were getting those awards. No, no, he did not belong to that low a category.

 Even the club for which the highly-sensitive man devoted the prime years of his football life did not quite live up to our expectations. Later they tried to make amends. But by then it was sadly too late.

During the course of the conversation as the great man got up to make the tea himself and serve us sandwiches, pastries and patties, Samajda commented, ‘Balada, if you had got married, Boudi would have done this job and we could have had more time with you.” Balada replied, “Very true, Samaj. But try my tea today.” I developed some courage to say, “Balaramda, I feel that even if Boudi was around, you would have made the tea for us yourself.” An unaffected, relaxed answer evolved, “Perhaps. Never thought on those lines.”

Born in a rural environment among orthodox Hindus, he became a devout disciple of Syed Abdul Rahim. He played a body-contact sport like football without ever appearing to push or shove anyone. The rough and tumble of football did not quite bother the fleet-footed genius. He was the trademark symbol of the ‘beautiful game’, which we all love and admire.  

He was a goal-scoring forward yet he would be seen roving all over the arena to collect and assist. His twinkling feet sent opponents the wrong way yet he would be seen to distribute unselfishly to his colleagues. On either side of the attack he would be devastating yet he would sacrifice his favourite inside-left position for others to prosper.

Coach Rahim utilized Balaram not at his favourite left-inside position because Chuni Goswami preferred to be at left-in. Balaram was equally devastating at right-in, where he developed a fabulous combination with PK Banerjee at right wing. No Indian team has had such great forwards playing together. They complemented just as they contrasted each other.

When he went to Melbourne for the Olympic Games in 1956 it was the first time he was leaving the shores of India. Was he nervous: straight from rural India to jet-set Australia? He remembers, “We had no time to think of anything but football. Rahim Saab told us that we were going to war and that on us depended the honour of our country. Our team was prepared to die for India.” India won the match 4-2 against host Australia.

What happened after the match? “None seemed too overjoyed. We had gone to win and we won. Rahim Saab gave a rare smile and said it seemed that we had the national flag on our chest! Great tonic for all of us. Centre-forward Neville D’Souza scored a superb hat-trick.”

Everybody agrees that you and PK were magnificent at the Melbourne Olympic and created innumerable openings. Again there was just the suggestion of a smile, “PK and I just did our job and received terrific support from every other player.”

That is Tulsidas Balaram for you and me. Simple and straight forward: he was not trying to be modest. He was just himself. Not a word out of place; no exhibitionism; no exaggeration. After his stupendous performance at Melbourne in 1956 of all the Calcutta clubs, it was Jyotish Guha’s East Bengal representatives who first went to his native village to sign him in.

But Balaram was not at all keen to leave his parents and village to settle down in a major city and so he politely declined the offer. This was by itself a distinct departure from the usual norm. Those days no football player would refuse the offer of the Calcutta clubs because they were the only ones who would pay the players handsomely.

As the East Bengal recruiters departed, Mohammedan Sporting officials pounced on him. Now Balaram’s mother had to intervene! She impressed upon her son the need to go and play for a ‘big’ club in the busy metropolis of Calcutta. As some of Balaram’s mates played for Mohammedan Sporting, he too opted to play for the club as well. But his football friends of Mohammedan Sporting told him that he would fit in much better at East Bengal because of his diet and life-style.

 Balaram on his own came to Calcutta with his Mohammedan Sporting friends and went to meet Jyotish Guha at his residence! This approach itself must be unique in the context of Indian sport. Jyotish Guha, known for his extremely stern manner, said, “The offer is no longer on.” Balaram pleaded, “Sir, Please give me just one more chance. I will never let you down.”

“How much do you want?” Guha raised his eyebrows.  

“Sir, I need only accommodation and food. Nothing else. Please consider my request.” Guha’s stern exterior softened, “Well, I shall decide on the payment later. Take your bag and go to our club mess.” Later Jyotish Guha told a fellow administrator, “One day this boy will revolutionize football in our country with his skills and manners.”

At the Rome Olympic in 1960 India played fabulous football, especially against the top teams like France and Hungary. The results 1-1 and 1-2 respectively hardly reflected the real picture, as the famous cricket writer Nevile Cardus had once observed ‘…the score-board is an ass.’ The Indians, under coach Rahim and captain PK, played delightful, inspired football. Balaram was at his devastating best.

Foreign critics were amazed to find the pride of world football – France and Hungary – being dazzled by the footwork of a group of spirited non-entities from south Asia. They went raptures over Balaram, PK and Chuni. Ultimately it was the lack of international experience and exposure that stopped India in the group league stage. One minor mistake of a well-known defender cost India the vital point but Balaramda differed, “No, no one player was responsible. We played together. We lost together.”

So typical of this selfless genius. We thought champions had massive egos. How wrong we were. Or, was he a rare exception? He did not have a selfish bone in his body. The lanky man of soft features hardly looked like a soccer player. He never possessed a robust physique. His manner was all charm. He gave the distinct impression of being a poet far away from the humdrum world of reality.

Sukumar Samajpati – outstanding player, superb musician and corporate-topper – said, “Just by watching Balada we learnt so much about football, about life. He would not force you to do anything. He would do wonderful things with his feet, body, head and mind. He made everything look so simple. We wanted to copy him, only to realize how difficult those were.” Only an outstanding person like Sukumarda can elaborate so modestly and candidly.

Balaram’s mother wanted him to get married in 1963. Balaram promised he would marry but only after the 1964 Olympic Games at Tokyo. In between he would spend hours at the maidan honing his undoubted skills. Suddenly one day, a mild cough developed into dreaded pleurisy. Balaram’s energy ebbed. He could hardly move. Those magical feet began to totter. He knew now Tokyo was an impossible dream.

His mother insisted that this was the right time to get married. But Balaramda being Balaramda simply said, “No, Ma, I cannot. I do not want to offer a patient to my wife!” He remained a bachelor and most surely a philosopher to be marvelled at.

Complimenting every contemporary came naturally to him. He could only see their strengths. When coaxed about Chuni and Peekay, he closed his eyes and reflected, “We three had distinctive styles. We enjoyed beautiful understanding. We complemented each other. They were exceptional. But please do not forget Arun, Jarnail, Yusuf Khan, Ram Bahadur, Kempiah, Thangaraj, Samaj. Each was magnificent as a player.”

Once my friend Ajoy Ghosh – abroad for more than 50 years – observed, “Raju, once East Bengal, always East Bengal. Balaram was, is and always will be my ‘guru’.” What affection, what reverence for a person even after 5 decades.

Calcuttans loved him. He reciprocated wholeheartedly. Today Ma Kali has literally brought him close to Her. Opposite the Dakshineshwar temple on the other side of the River Hooghly is the residence of my retired hermit, Balaramda. A saint in every sense of the word. A man of the world yet not quite in it. What a soul we have with us on earth. A champion on and off the field. He was born to be an inspiration to future generations.

Chandra, my Chandra…

 In this platinum jubilee birth anniversary of India’s greatest-ever match-winner, a tribute to our all-time favourite Chandrasekhar.

He was someone special. Rare vintage. Unique of flavor; extraordinary of essence. Never in the long history of cricket have we come across a player with such unusual characteristics as Chandrasekhar’s.

Bhagawat Subramanya Chandrasekhar came into the cricket scenario to show polite contempt for all the established norms. He rattled the conventional theories. He abhorred orthodoxy. But he was not rude in his manner. On the contrary, he kept smiling his way into the hearts of cricket lovers as one orthodox view after another collapsed.

Within three months of making his first-class debut for Karnataka, he was selected to play against England at Mumbai in 1963-64. Critics, including former Test cricketers, who had sniggered that his non-rhythmic  run-up would tire him out early, fled from the ground as he bowled 40 overs for just 67 runs! In between, however, he confounded the ‘technically correct’ English batters with four wickets.

Experts, who claimed he bowled too quick to gain sufficient spin, gasped as he spun a web around Bob Simpson’s Australia in 1965, throttling them to submission at Mumbai with 4 for 50 and 4 for 73.

The cynics were still not convinced. Again they had to make a hasty retreat as he tormented West Indies at Mumbai in 1967 with 11 wickets in the match. Among his victims were batsmen of the caliber of Conrad Hunte, Rohan Kanhai, Garfield Sobers and Clive Lloyd.

Now how would you describe a man who did everything that was not written in the text book and still emerged a champion? Yes, he had too long a run-up for a spinner. Yes, he ran in too quickly for a genuine turner. His action was ungainly. But then he was no believer in conventional theories or orthodox methods.

He was a free bird; not a caged pet.  His spirit soared to the skies. He was all spontaneity. Years ago before a Duleep Trophy tie at Chennai in 1973, I stood behind the south zone practice net trying to decipher his spin from his highly deceptive action. Gopal  Bose whispered, “Raju, play him as an off-spinner. If the ball turns from the leg, even Sir Don would be beaten!”  Absolutely to the point Gopal was. What a tribute to a great bowler.

My elder brother Deb, former Bengal batsman, who had got runs against Chandra in an university match on matting wicket always suggested, “Play him as a medium pacer who brought the ball in. In that way one would be prepared for the pace and the extra bounce that he generated.”

Yes, that’s it. It was the bounce that was astounding. No spinner could match him as his whiplash action would give nightmares to batters and force them to succumb.

But the arm-chair critics, even prominent former cricketers, were far from convinced. They were on the lookout for his failures abroad. Unfortunately for these so-called experts, that never occurred. On his first visit to England in 1967, on a dismal tour by Pataudi’s Indians, he took 16 wickets in only 3 Tests.

Then again in UK in 1971 under Ajit Wadekar, he had 13 victims in 3 Tests with 8 wickets at the Oval to help India win her first Test and series on English soil. Chandra’s magical spell in the 2^nd innings at the Oval, after England had taken a lead of 71 runs, had the England batters mesmerized. No such blitz had England encountered since Hitler’s aerial attacks.

From his first tour of Australia in 1968, Chandra returned with an injury. Went back with Bedi’s Indians in 1979 and gave India two victories with 12 and 8 wickets respectively at Melbourne and Sydney.

To West Indies he went just once. That was good enough to fetch India a historic win at Trinidad in 1976 where with 6 and 2 wickets in the match he surprised the might of Viv Richards, Alvin Kalicharran, Lawrence Rowe and Clive Lloyd. He ended the series with 21 victims in just 4 Tests.

He served India like a real champion. Between 1963 and 1979 he played 58 Tests claiming 242 wickets at 29.74. His victims would make a superlative World XI of prominent batsmen.

 He had no fancy for any particular captain. He was as comfortable with Pataudi and Bedi as he was with Wadekar. He received excellent support from his close-in fielders which included Solkar, Abid Ali, Ajit Wadekar and Vankataraghavan. Not that he desperately needed them for he was as successful with Karnataka without any of these world-class catchers for support. He worked in tandem with all his famous contemporaries Bishen Bedi, Erapalli Prasanna  and Srinivas Venkataraghavan without any particular fancy.

Very early in life an attack of polio severely affected his stronger arm, the right arm. Never was he able to use his right arm for throw-ins from the deep. Not to be outdone by such a grave handicap, he began to throw with his left arm. Such was his determination that the weaker left arm developed adequate strength and control and he actually used it for flat throw-ins from the boundary! I doubt if any fielder anywhere in the world has ever thrown accurately from the deep with the weaker arm. Really extraordinary. Even the best of fielders have not been able to do what Chandra achieved.

Chandra defies description. The sheer unpredictability of the man made him an unique sportsman. He not only detested batters, it seemed he also detested batting!  A whole lot of zeros against his name on the score-card is sufficient proof of this. But once at Eden, to humour us with his unpredictability, he added 50 runs with Bapu Nadkarni in 1963.

A fascinating aspect of Chandra was that whereas he should have been used as a shock bowler, he volunteered to take the load of a stock bowler as well. And yet managed not to suffer from over exposure as had happened to Sonny Ramadhin of the West Indies.

Every time he turned his arm there was a hushed silence on the stands. An aura of suspended suspense. Perpetually on the attack he was. Once in 1974 at Eden Gardens he brought a phenomenal victory to India against Lloyd’s team from the jaws of imminent defeat. Thanks to Tiger Pataudi’s faith in him, Chandra was man inspired that morning as he scythed through the extremely strong batting line-up.

Though his figures are extraordinary, there is always a fear that his real capability might be submerged by mere statistics. He was all magic. No opposition ever had any rest from him. His tentacles were always around their necks.

 Once as the non-striker I thought I heard a humming sound from the bowler Chandra. Asked the umpire for confirmation. Piloo Reporter smiled, “Did you not know that Chandra hums Mukesh tunes as he moves in to bowl!”  Here too he was an original; someone special. Ever heard of a match-winner humming tunes while bowling?

No other India has given us as many Test victories as Chandra has. Out of 58 Tests he had a major contribution in no less than 14 Tests. Never before or after has there been a match-winner like our silent-assassin Chandra, everyone’s perpetual favourite.

The only time Bradman set foot on Indian soil was in 1953 on his way to UK with wife.

Here at DumDum airport lounge they are seen with Pankaj Gupta and Khokon Sen.

Probir Kumar  Sen (Khokon)

Today if one walks into the CAB club house at Eden Gardens, one would come across a wall in the central lounge where a list of Test players from Bengal appears. The list begins with a glaring error. The first name itself is wrong! Just goes to show how much of pride and interest we have in our own selves! Of course, there are a whole lot of other wrong names in that list, as well.

Over the last 15 years the list with the embarrassing errors has stayed on despite repeated requests to alter. No CAB president, neither Jagmohan Dalmiya nor Sourav Ganguly, has shown any interest in having the list rectified. Complete ignorance?  Or, sheer indifference? Dalmiya once defended, “The names on the lists were as guided by a foreign-returned cricket-scholar!”

Unfortunately even an erudite man like Sunil Gavaskar fell into the trap and once commented in his television broadcast that the first Bengali Test player was Shute Banerjee! Sunil of course was relying on the piece of information available to him in the official site of CAB. Shute Banerjee’s name is prominently displayed on the CAB lounge to mislead the whole world.

Shute Banerjee was representing Bihar when he made his Test debut for India in 1948-49 at Bombay in the 5^th and final Test of the series.

The first Bengali player to play for India was not Shute Banerjee , but Probir Kumar Sen, popularly known as Khokon. In 1947-48 he went with skipper Lala Amarnath’s team to Australia as the second wicket-keeper to Jamshed Irani. But after two Tests the team management realized that they had made a blunder by omitting Sen from the first XI.

Khokon Sen’s career was a massive mass of misunderstanding. People enjoyed his company but ridiculed him behind his back. He was always thought to be pompous because of his very close rapport with royalty. Actually he was an extrovert with the softest of souls. Just as he was close to the maharajas so was he to the masseurs.

Khokonda nicknamed Jeevan Paul, the humble masseur of the Bengal team, ‘Stanley’ after the famous publisher of cricket books, Stanley Paul. He was as comfortable with ‘Bhaya’, the Maharaja of CoochBehar.

The Maharaja of Cooch Behar, Jagaddipendra Narayan Bhup Bahadur, who was very popular as ‘Bhaya’, was an elder brother to Khokonda. They were very thick friends on and off the field. Bhaya captained Bengal in the Ranji Trophy in the 1940s while Probir Sen took over in the following decade.

Khokonda’s hearty laughter was as appealing as his big heart. Hailing from a wealthy family, the generous persona loved having people around him to relax and regale. With Bhaya, he would be seen at social clubs, palaces, angling expeditions and shikaars. He enjoyed the best of liquor and was voracious with Continental cuisine, particularly crabs and prawns, but made no effort to feel defensive about either.

Unfortunately his gregarious nature, his easy laughter, his practical jokes were thought to be of a man yet to mature. His Bengal team mates which included Nirmal Chatterjee (Bengal’s best-ever all-round sportsman) and Badal Dutt (Bengal captain and Cambridge University Blue) as well as the Test cricketer Montu Banerjee loved and adored him. Even the great Indian contemporaries like Vinoo Mankad, Vijay Hazare and Polly Umrigar found him to be excellent company. The fashionable man would wear Barkat Ali suits with felt hats tilted stylishly. Those were the days…

But generally the cricketing community, particularly the officials, found his ever-cheerful nature reprehensible. For them an ideal sportsman was expected to be a teetotaller, a person who would not talk or contradict, a person who would perpetually kowtow to officials. Khokonda most surely did not quite fulfil criteria and thankfully never bothered to. In fact he was exactly at the opposite end. Ultimately his cheerful nature became a noose but little did he care.  

Sen began at Melbourne and was an instant success with his wicket-keeping. He was an extrovert character who just could not keep quiet. He would chatter constantly from behind the wicket with the fieldsmen and the bowlers. He would liven up a dreary, boring afternoon on the field with his incessant fund of stories.

It is said that Bill Ferguson, the famous scorer, once told Sen that he reminded him of the England wicket-keeper George Duckworth who also had the habit of constant chatter. Sen turned round and told him, “I don’t just talk and talk. I guide. I give encouragement.” And then in his typical camaraderie embraced Ferguson and went for a round of beer. No wonder the Indians were very popular as tourists those days.

Sen had a very happy tour on and off the field. Being a superb mixer, he became the toast of the evenings when the Indians would spend a lot of time with Don Bradman for advice. In a match against an Australian XI he stumped Bradman and was delighted to be praised by the latter for his speed and ability.

On that tour of Australia, every Indian cricketer was offered the scope to say two sentences over the long-distance phone that had just been introduced between India and Australia. Almost all the players said that they were fine except, of course, the one and only Khokon Sen. When his turn came, he shouted, “Dadu, send money. Nothing left!” That was typical of him: no other message worthy enough! He endeared himself to all those who played with and against him.

Sen played for India against West Indies in 1948-49 then went to England in 1952 as well as was a regular in the national team at the time. Although a regular member the opportunities were sadly limited to only 14 Tests.

The highpoint of his career was the victory at Madras in 1951-52. Skipper Vijay Hazare’s team defeated Nigel Howard’s MCC very convincingly with Roy and Umrigar getting hundreds and Vinoo Mankad capturing 12 wickets. They were the prime architects of the victory.

But one man made headlines from an unusual position. That was Khokon Sen. He had a hand in 5 stumpings. This was exemplary wicket-keeping no doubt but what was more appealing was the man’s stage-craft. One moment he would be throwing the ball up and juggling with it. Next moment he would start to roll on the ground to the cheers of the crowd. And in the very next instant he would be running around the pitch with the ball in hand like a goal-scorer in football. Sen captivated the audience and the media lapped it up. He was indeed a born showman.

I met him just once. Was the year 1970? I distinctly remember the date 26^th January for many reasons than the obvious one. I was a member of the Mohun Bagan team which went to Kalighat Club ground to play an exhibition match. Our captain was the mercurial Chuni Goswami.

Just prior to the match, our dressing room vibrated with the laughter of a diminutive, stocky man of around 45. Unmistakably Khokon Sen. He was cracking jokes with Chunida, Shyamuda and my elder brother Deb when his eyes fell on me. “Who’s this?” he furrowed his eyebrows. Someone mentioned, “Deb’s younger brother.”  “Deb’s brother?” he fumed, “Unshaven. You must try to look like a cricketer.”

Like most precocious college youth, I had little respect for persons who had no time for me. I coolly uttered, “Sir, have you not heard of WG Grace?” There was pin-drop silence. Stunned, Khokonda instantly recovered, smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, “Son, why hide your handsome face with a beard?” I forced a smile in return. As Khokonda left our room, my brother was furious with me for my silly response.

Little did we realize that the famous man had come to take an active part in that match. He had come in cream flannels and had his India blazer on. He was well past his prime and had not played at all for a decade. Why did he decide to play that particular match will for ever be a question that would go unanswered.

Later that evening we heard that Khokonda was no more. After the match he had some spurious rum that burnt his gullet. What a dreadful death for a cheerful man. I happened to be his last victim as a wicket-keeper. He held my ‘edge’ – a simple, straight forward catch – and then leaned to his right, allowed the body to fall gently and rolled over in front of second slip! For ever a showman. A lovable joker. A wonderful human being.

I have the highest regard for him because he was a true sportsman: modest, humourous, determined, chivalrous and highly talented. Khokonda was incapable of hurting anyone. A man who had given endless hours of mirth to all around him.

Fifty years have gone since Khokonda’s death. Grateful to Jayanta Chatterji for reminding me.

My Chunida

He seemed born to blend. Unwittingly he bridged the divide between bangal (east bengalee) and ghoti (west bengalee) in an exemplary manner. His presence led to rapport between the cricketers and the footballers of Bengal. He possessed a magical mass appeal that gave him unprecedented popularity among the populace. His popularity even in the non-television era of his time would have dwarfed many a current cinema star.

Born and brought up in the liberated Murapara zamindary (now in Bangladesh), my maternal link, where he was preceded by Sarojini Nayudu, Bhanu Bandyopadhyay and Nripati Chattopadhyay, the young Chuni utilized his sports talents in the path of reconciliation of differences between the two artificially divided parts of Bengal.

Destiny too willed so. While he was showing off his undoubted football skills to his Tirthapati Institution friends at Deshopriyo Park, a distant pair of eyes watched with awe and wonder. Walked across, asked him his father’s address and by evening was knocking at the door. The elder Goswami instantly recognized the boxer-footballer Bolai Chatterjee and was too happy to allow his son to be at the Mohun Bagan ground the following morning for a practice session. As the cliché goes…the rest is history.

Former players were wide-eyed in amazement to see the talent exhibited by the child prodigy. Within the course of the year he was the shining star of the club and state teams. By 1958 at the age of 20 he was scoring goals for India.

Under Syed Rahim’s coaching he flowered beside the magnificent duo  of PK Banerjee and Balaram and held India‘s flag high at the 1960 Rome Olympics. He went a step further at the 1962 Jakarta Asian Games when India won the gold under his leadership. This was best-ever era of Indian football. The most successful period  when men of the calibre of Arun Ghosh, Jarnail Singh, Peter Thangaraj, Simon Sunder Raj, Mario Kempiah and Yousuf Khan among a host of others dominated the Asian football scenario. Apart from PK and Balaram, the evergreen glamour of CG stood out in the glittering panorama.

Chuni Goswami led India in the pre-Olympic qualifying match at Calcutta’s Rabindra Sarovar Stadium in 1964. As a 14 year old enthusiast, I remember attending the 1-month camp every single day as a spectator. Unfortunately the brilliant Rahim was replaced by an English coach named Wright. Chunida scored the lone goal as India lost 1-3 to Iran with my favourite defender Arun Ghosh denying the opposition a dozen goals. Never again was India good enough to qualify for Olympic football.

Lack of guidance held him back from accepting a foreign assignment with Tottenham Hotspur in his heydays of 1960s. This was a typical scenario in our football context. While cricketers were going abroad and taking up assignments in the English cricket leagues, our football players never received any encouragement from our ‘frog in the well’ administrators, who were content with their clubs’ politics, personal prominence and media flatterers. Thankfully Chuni Goswami had the talent to seek other avenues.

He was deeply attached to cricket since his school days. He represented Monoharpukur Milan Samity at cricket while a student at Ashutosh College. He also represented Calcutta University at cricket while doing wonders and winning championships on the football ground.

Chuni Goswami made his Ranji Trophy debut under the strangest of circumstances. At the peak of his football career he was selected to play against Jaisimha’s Hyderabad in the Ranji Trophy semi final. The year was 1962-63 the season when four West Indies fast bowlers came to India. Roy Gilchrist the fearsome fast bowler held little terror for the debutant as he most courageously gave support to this skipper Pankaj Roy who scored two hundreds in the match. Thereafter he played very irregularly for Bengal as he was busy with his football commitments for club, state and country.

In the Ranji final against Bombay in 1968-69 he played two glorious knocks of 96 and 84 displaying his leanings for cross-batted strokes, particularly the sweep. His fantastic speed between wickets is still in the memory of people who have seen him bat. Chunida’s lone first-class century came against Bihar at Jamadoba in 1971-72 when he promoted himself to bat at number 3.

The highlight of his cricket life was of course the fantastic victory of Central-East Zone combined team under Hanumant Singh which inflicted the 1967 West Indies team to an innings defeat at Indore. Chunida took 5 and 3 wickets and in tandem with Subroto Guha had the powerful Caribbeans on the mat. Skipper Wes Hall top-edged a high skier towards mid wicket. Goswami ran almost 30 yards from mid-on, lunged forward to hold the one-handed and then actually went on a victory lap around the ground! Skipper Hanumant’s cultured voice, “Chuni, we are not playing football” was drowned by the thousands who had come to see their soccer hero playing cricket. That was the kind of popularity and affection he enjoyed.

In 1971-72 the Bengal cricket captaincy crown was on his head and he led Bengal to the final. The following year – my debut season – he led Bengal for the last time and announced his retirement. This idea of when to call it a day is a splendid example that he has set for others. At 34 he realized another few years of cricket would be a waste of time as he would be curtailing the prospect of a deserving youngster. He had left international football at 26 and now first-class cricket at 34. A master-stroke: a great lesson for most sportsmen.  

If Subimal was his first name, surely his middle name was Flambuoyance. Both the names were destined to stay in the background. Glamour and Chuni Goswami became synonymous. Reeking of glamour, Goswami was a revelation in a world of introvert Indian sportsmen. Most of our champion sportsmen in the pre 1960s were quiet, confident men who avoided controversies and publicity. Not so Goswami. He reveled in his extrovert form. He loved crowds, companionship and constant media coverage.

To my generation of sports lovers, Chuni Goswami was a magical name. Handsome of bearing, glamorous of manner the man had a distinct individuality. Smiling, waving, chatting he seemed to be in perpetual motion. Extrovert to the extreme, he brought the Bengal cricketers out of their shells. With Chunida as captain the Bengal team learnt to take on the opposition eyeball to eyeball. Within the typical easy-going exterior of Bengal team mates, he planted a tough approach to the job, which obviously did wonders for the state  in the future. This was a distinct contribution of his.

He seemed destined to bond people. Following independence and partition the differences between the Padma migrants and the Bhagirathi residents were distinct and definite. Hilsa and Chingri. Bangal and Ghoti. Only the Mir Jafar’s sat on the fence as far as loyalties were concerned. In such a precarious scenario emerged a young lad with eastern Bengal tastes and lingo to become the hero of the western Bengal bhadrolok. Without meaning to do so, his approach and actions actually assisted to bridge the yawning chasm between two extremely strong loyalties. So popular was he that I remember praying with all earnestness: Let Chuni Goswami do well but East Bengal win! I am sure there were many school boys of the 1960s with similar prayers.

*** 

A long association of about 60 years has come to an end. Our childhood hero is no more. Chundai has left the maidan for the Elysian Field.

 The last time I met him was on his 82^nd birthday at his Jodhpur Park residence on 15 January this year. The Philatelic Bureau issued a stamp in his honour that day. The ever-jovial face was in distinct discomfort. To enliven him I recounted to him of his own glorious days; his magnificent contributions; his unique brand of witticisms. A tear or two welled up as he smiled his enjoyment. But no words emanated from the brilliant raconteur. Sad sight; sadder still to relate. Really unfortunate.

 For an extrovert like Subimal Goswami, universally popular as Chuni, to be sofa-tied and tongue-tied was indeed a dungeon-like existence. Boudi, Bubli, his wife and Chunida’s endearing grandson gave him the best of companionship possible but the inevitable was near at hand. Though extremely saddening, perhaps his ‘passing-away’ was, in a sense, a blessing in disguise. No one would have liked to see his ever-cheerful face in that posture.

***

My elder brother Deb was a regular opener for Bengal and Mohun Bagan in the early 1960s and so I was quite a frequent visitor to those matches. Saw Chunida often enough and was thrilled to get his cheery smiles. Once he offered me and my friend Bapi toast and tea at the Mohun Bagan canteen when we were waiting for a lift from Deb. That year I also attended his wedding reception as the guest of his elder brother Manikda, who played club cricket with me at Milan Samity at the time.

However the first genuine meeting was in December 1967 when I attended the Mohun Bagan net after writing my final school exams. With Chunida and his very witty elder brother Manikda around, the net sessions were full of laughter and humour, repartees and wise-cracks. Chunida warmed me up with, “Oh! No, another Mukherji. Oh! No, another with specs.” I was too stunned to think of a reply but realized that I had gained acceptance at the Bagan household.

Never before I had met anyone with his peculiar brand of speech and humour. However I realized that he had a funny peculiar way of speaking: a statement in the form of a query. Had a fantastic sense of humour. He would keep us in splits.

“This pitch is a pace bowler’s graveyard.”  Before the star pace bowler could take another breath, the Bengal captain replied, “Please take rest today. I need soldiers who will fight for his team.”

That was a typical straight forward Chuni Goswami repartee. He had no time for excuses, vague comments or for the soft-hearted. He himself led from the front and expected everyone to follow. Chunida did not believe in unnecessary theories. He always maintained that if you cannot motivate yourself, no one can motivate you. Absolutely to the point.

Once he admonished a prominent batter, who complained about the size of the sight-screen after being dismissed, “Watch the ball and forget the sight-screen? Did you get sight-screens in school, college and road-side matches?”  He gave cent per cent and more to the cause and expected others to do so.

He received accolades and recognition from every possible platform. Arjuna award was followed by the Padma Shree. A whole lot of honorary posts were created for him. Influential people queued up to shake his hands and be photographed.

But the main accolade came from the common man on the road. His popularity in the days before television coverage was miraculous in the extreme. People stopped their cars to wish him. People at airports and railway stations stared at him and waved. Once our train was held up for more than 2 minutes at Bardhaman till Chunida came to the door of the train coach to wave at the multitude waiting to catch a glimpse of the man they had only heard of and read about.

To my generation, Chuni Goswami was all glamour and skill. Every movement of his we would try to copy. The way he walked, the way he spoke, the way he smiled. Our childhood hero was far ahead of the celluloid stars in sheer popular mass appeal. Always impeccably dressed, he spoke in an easy manner, mixed easily and genuinely enjoyed companionship.

He possessed a very rare sense of timing. He knew what to do and when. He knew when to retire just as he knew when to take up a new assignment. He knew his abilities just as he knew his limitations. His life has been a shining example to many. He never wanted to be a teacher but his life was a document of teaching.

Not only was he my first Bengal captain, he was also the man who released my first book Cricket in India: Origin and Heroes in 2004. Ten years later he penned a fabulous Foreword to my second book Eden Gardens: Legend and Romance. About three years ago, in a wistful mood one evening Chunida said, “I want you to write my obituary.”   

“Ki bolchen ta ki?” (“What are you saying?”) I protested.

In a serious vein, he just added, “I am your captain. I am your senior. I like the way you write.”

His companionship was full of humour and nostalgia; prawn and beer. I am indeed blessed to have had him as my captain.

My Incomparable Pradipda

Once in the 1980s at a seminar the Sports Minister Subhash Chakrabarty asked me to help sell wads of 10-rupee donation cards to the general public for the construction of the Yuva Bharati Stadium. He added, “Please do not worry. My men will be with you at the Moulali junction. Here the common people respect sportsmen. They will love to buy from you.” I hesitated not knowing if I would be able to do the job. Pradipda, unarguably the most popular speaker present, encouraged, “Just stand and flash your smile. The tickets will vanish in 5 minutes. When the stadium comes up, you can tell people of your contribution!” What a way to motivate.

He was a modern-day Socrates. Generously served his wisdom to all and sundry who gathered around him freely and frankly. Could hold his audience enthralled for hours on any subject. Like Plato he trained a host of teachers who made successful careers of themselves.

 Thank God he did not get the Dronacharya award. No, no, that was certainly not for him. He was not a vulgar teacher who would ask his pupils for guru-dakshina. Rather he was a replica of the Avatar Parashuram who freely gave away his acquired knowledge to all those who asked for like Karna and Drona.

Unfortunately in our country we could not find a place for Pradip Kumar Banerjee as an independent candidate in the Parliament. He would have changed the complexion of India’s sports ethos within months. He had that kind of personality, dynamism and vision. People of all age-groups, provinces, communities, class and creed revered him for his wisdom and total lack of bias. He was a kindred soul who traversed the earth alone to meet and educate people.

He was never an Establishment crony. Never gave undue respect to politicians, sponsors or the influential. He was the People’s Man. A man who always held his head high and walked tall with purposeful strides. Found time for the poor and the needy; for the weak and the ordinary. I remember once at a Blood Donation camp held at Netaji Indoor Stadium he went up and down the street to enthuse people to come and donate blood. The pedestrians followed him and the magic figure of 1000 donors was reached for the first time. When he came to my bed, he shrugged his shoulders at the blood bottle, “Oh! Raju, yours is also red! How wrong I was!”

Once when my wife Seema was hospitalized, Arati boudi and Pradipda arrived with a big box full of sweets. We protested but to no avail. Pradipda gave the attending nurse one huge sandesh and told her, “These are not for them! Keep these for the visitors who come to see my daughter!”

Mid-1970s. Calcutta Maidan. Every morning the Bengal women’s cricket team would use the Kalighat Club ‘nets’ for their practice sessions before we began ours. One elderly lady – warm, matronly and ever-smiling – would be present from start to finish. As it happened, she and I got along very well. We would discuss any and every subject possible. One day she asked me, “Raju, why do you avoid physical training?” Told her that I hated running. She laughed, “Wait, I must tell PK about your laziness.”  Only then I came to know that she happened to be the wife of the legendary football player, PK Banerjee, who at the time was riding the crest of a wave as the coach of a local football club.

Next season, as it transpired, PK Banerjee was appointed to guide the Bengal Ranji Trophy squad in physical training. As usual I would run just about two laps of Eden Gardens and find excuses to rest. Pradipda, who had developed a great liking for me (I suspect because of Arati boudi), once said, “Rajubabu (that’s how he generally called me), unless you do your physical training seriously, you will forever remain as physically weak as you are.” My Jadavpur University background surfaced: I argued that cricket was a mind game and physical training was not that important.

Instead of getting upset, in his softest tone he confided, “I am sure you have a health problem, Rajubabu. Otherwise a person like you will not have this wrong notion.” Much later, after 25 years, it was actually diagnosed that I had a congenital heart ailment. How was he so sure? I am certain he had a fascinating intuition which separates these men from ordinary mortals like us.

Pradipda and Boudi did not attend my wedding reception. Pradipda said, “No way, Rajubabu. People will crowd around me and spoil all your arrangements.” This was no immodesty; no idle boast. The kind of ‘traffic-stopping’ popularity that he enjoyed, his presence would certainly have caused a pandemonium.

If he was born under straitened financial circumstances, nothing in his conduct suggested so. His generosity would embarrass many a wealthy man. Larger than life in everything he did. When Arati boudi and he invited people to a meal, that would invariably be a ‘spread’ that never seemed to end. If boudi’s speciality were prawns and hilsa, she was as brilliant with the basics of rice, dal and rakamari torkari.

Innumerable meals my wife and I had at Pradipda’s residence, both at Salt Lake as well as at their Qaiser Street Eastern Railway quarters. Once after a very heavy meal of shukto, posto, prawn malaikari, keemar chop, fried chicken followed by malpoa and payesh the magnanimous hostess Arati boudi actually packed a tiffin carrier for us to take home! When I mildly protested, Pradipda’s fond reply was, “Shey ki ray, khabar bedhe niye jabi na? Kemon bamun tui? ” (What kind of Brahmin are you that you do not want to carry food back home?).

Wonder if Pradipda is the householder-rishi that Sri Ramakrishna had in mind? He was truly a saint: a karma-yogi, like Swamiji, in the most appropriate sense of the term. He was so very sincere and absorbed in his effort that the result would not cross his mind. In addition, he was the epitome of a husband and father. If he was a wonderful father to his two marvellous daughters, he was no less a father-figure to his brothers as well as to his innumerable students. He did not need to crave for respect. He earned reverence by his deeds.

Once at our Lake Road residence Pradipda brought a basketful of gifts for us. I was very embarrassed. Pradipda’s loving rebuke was, “This is for Seema, not for you. I am merely carrying out Arati’s orders.” Even today my friends have not forgotten the fabulous time he gave us that evening which stretched for hours. Our adda continued beyond midnight with not a drop of liquor involved. Just goes to show that it’s the company and nothing else that matters for a genuine, worthwhile adda.

After Arati boudi left for nirvana, Pradipda just could not come to terms with the loss. He seemed to have misplaced his soul. He tried to involve himself full steam in various social activities, but he was practical enough to realize that his salad days were no more. His daughters and the nursing staff worked wonders to keep him in high spirits as he readied himself to reunite with boudi.

Pradipda is (tense intended) very much in our midst. His life is a perpetual source of inspiration. Even people who have not met him or seen him have been motivated by his actions. His life-story is a tale of positivity and idealism. What a raconteur of incidents he was. His orbit and depth remain unmatched.

Exceptionally strong both mentally and physically, the iconic gentleman’s goodness flows in abundance:  generous to the extreme; magnanimous in praise of others; impeccable integrity; honest effort without bothering about the consequences; courage in the face of odds; completely away from petty issues; never bothered about posts and awards; never conspired for any influential position after retirement.

Once he casually asked me, “I must be your favourite football player?” I replied, “Not really.” Surprised he raised his eyebrows. I added, “Well, they are Tulsidas Balaram, Arun Ghosh and Yousuf Khan.” He patted me on the back, “Excellent choices. Where do I figure?”

I bent low and touched his toes. He put his hand on my head and, raising me, embraced. I said, “Pradipda you are not a mere sportsman. You are a Real Man. The most admirable all-round personality I have ever met.” Pradipda looked at me and just said,” I have one message for you: Just be as you are.” That has remained my diksha-mantra ever since. I have no hesitation in sharing my diksha-mantra with the world. With Pradipda’s blessings, I know it will remain that way till the last breath.

In 1955 when the teenage ‘right-wing’ recruit from Jamshedpur was running circles around defenders for Calcutta’s Aryans Club at New Delhi in the Durand Cup, from the stands the legendary India football coach Syed Rahim realized that he had found the gem India was waiting for. Next year he joined Eastern Railway and was on the flight to Melbourne for the Olympic Games to begin the 6-year chapter of India’s best-ever football era, 1956 to 1962.

 If Swamiji was his inspiration, he himself is no less an inspiration to millions. I can still feel the power and the warmth of his embrace. He is still in our midst in more ways than one. He is beyond compare.