CK Nayudu

Sorabjee Colah had threatened to throw him overboard the ship-deck in 1932. In England in1936 Baqa Jilani abused him publicly and was rewarded with a Test cap for it by skipper Vizzy. Yes C. K. Nayudu evoked manic emotions in players under him.

 

Mushtaq Ali and the Holkar players worshipped him. The young Vijay Merchant was enchanted as he saw Nayudu pulverize MCC with 11 sixes at the Bombay Gymkhana ground in 1926. Lala Amarnath received his unstinted support as he raced to his Test debut century in 1933-34.

 

The person was none other than the legendary CK Nayudu. For Cottari Konkaiya Nayudu, cricket originated in ancient India and he always maintained that the supple and strong wrists oaf the Indians made them naturally adept at this game. Let it not be forgotten that Nayudu spoke of undivided India, an India which extended to Peshwar in the north-west periphery.

 

How true his reading was. Visualize the names of Fazal Mahmood, Hanif Mohammad, Zaheer Abbas, Majid Jehangir, Imran Khan, Javed Miandad, Sarfraz Nawaz, Wasim Akram in the company of our greats. Actually if petty political considerations had not partitioned us, undivided India would have ruled international cricket most certainly from the 1960s at least.

 

This was the dream that Nayudu had dreamt. At a time when Hammond, Hobbs, Bradman, Hutton, Headley and Constantine dominated world cricket, it took some guts to say that the sub-continent players were naturals and consequently the best. But then raw courage was his talisman, a constant companion.

 

Majestic CK Nayudu was a figure from the pantheon of cricketing gods. Over six feet in height, lissome of build, strong of arms. From his dark chisselled face radiated a halo that engulfed Indian cricket as no profile has done before or since.

 

In 1926 Arthur Gilligan brought a strong England (then M.C.C.) team to India to play a series of matches including unofficial Tests. At Mumbai against the combined Hindus team, Gilligan's men in exemplary fashion raced to 363 and then had the opposition Hindus in disarray at 84 for 3. In walked the ram-rod straight figure of C.K. and proceeded to play an innings which for sheer fire-power has had no equal.

 

C. K. reached his individual hundred in 65 minutes and then for good measure thrashed his way to 153 runs in just 115 minutes out of 187 runs added since his advent! A minor matter it was of 13 fours and 11 sixes against an attack that had Tate, Geary and the top professional bowlers of England at a time when English cricket ruled the world. Yes, you read right, no less than 11 over-boundaries.

 

It was not the statistical figure that had the Indian crowd walk ten feet tall. Nor the amazing speed of scoring. But the regal manner in which he unmasked the supposed superiority of the British Raj.

 

Like other subject people in Asia and Africa, the people of our sub-continent had come to believe in the invincibility of the White-Man, in thrall as they were for centuries. Perpetual servility had crept in, as it were. The Britons were far superior to ourselves, was the accepted notion.

 

In this context, the mayhem carried out single-handedly by CK Nayudu was a page out of the Mahabharata epic. If a singular act of defiance had raised the self-respect of Indians in those days of subjugation, this was it. Yes, CK Nayudu was the first Indian cricketer who made his own people believe that they could be just as aggressive as the best.

 

From that magical moment Indian cricket was no longer the same again. The morale of the Indian cricketers rocketed sky-high. The great barrier of the Englishman's invincibility had been broken down by one of their own and that too by one who was not of princely lineage but of ethnic stock.

 

Nayudu was born in an erudite Telegu family of Nagpur in 1895. The precocious talent for almost every ball-game was evident very early while still at Hislop Collegiate High School. His family encouraged him in every possible way and instilled in the young boy the sterling qualities of steadfastness and positive thinking, attributes which were to be his pillars of strength throughout his life in every endeavour.

 

It is commonly believed that while a youth he was encouraged by Ranjitsinghji, his father's colleague at Cambridge, to be more aggressive instead of being the plodder that he supposedly was at school. This appears to be apocryphal. For Ranji was no friend of Indian cricket and never encouraged any Indian cricketer.

 

Then again, CK was regularly hitting hundreds at school and surely no mere plodder could be reeling off hundreds and yet be regarded as a child prodigy. Lastly, later even when CK was at his best against the English in England or in India in the early 1930s, there was never a word of encouragement or admiration from the great Ranji.

 

Actually CK Nayudu was born and bred in India and was indeed fortunate that no foreign influence could curb his natural style. By 1915 at 20, he was selected to play for the Hindus in the Quadrangular tournament.

 

 On his debut against the strong Europeans he played as medium pace bowler and when the opportunity arose, he smote a six as his first scoring stroke. The bowler was Frank Tarrant, the brilliant Australian all-rounder who had come down to India to coach. It was no bravado, no desperation; just a hint to herald the positive nature and undoubted skills of this stupendously self-confident young man.

 

A man of great moral strength and physical courage, his penchant for physical training and constant practice had prepared him for an active first-class cricket career that spanned 48 years! From 1915 to the ripe old age of 66 in 1961 he virtually dominated the Indian cricket world.

 

 Like his famous peer Professor Deodhar, CK Nayudu too was in the habit of scoring double centuries in first class matches at a brisk pace while in his 50s and that too against the top-quality Indian bowlers. And so today when we hear that cricketers of the past were not physically fit enough, we can only smile at the ignorance of the uninitiated.

 

Indian selectors of the past however were no different from today's ‘jokers’. In 1932 for the tour of England the mantle of captaincy did not fall on the most deserving CK Nayudu because it was felt that only 'blue-blooded’ men had the ability to lead! Porbandar was elected to lead with Limbdi as his deputy. Disregarding the silly ideas of the national selectors,  both Porbandar and Limbdi were magnanimous to withdraw and allow Nayudu to lead in the inaugural Test at Lord’s in 1932.

 

 CK was magnificent as a leader and the team exhibited brilliant cricket earning genuine praise from all quarters. Nayudu at 37 scored a brilliant 40 on Test debut and made 1603 runs on tour, a landmark, including 5 centuries and was hailed by the cricketers’ Bible  “Wisden Cricketers’ Almanack" as one of its five cricketers of the year. Thus Nayudu was the first among Indians to be so rewarded.

 

Unfortunately not every Indian cricketer of the time appreciated his disciplined way of life. They found him a martinet who believed in total regimentation. In this we must readily admit they were not always wrong. For Nayudu, himself a product of elitist India, could not fathom the carefree nature of the simple rural India (Amar Singh) or the bonhomie of liberal education (Shute Banerjee). He rebuked Nissar for slackness in fielding but could have shown a little more restraint considering the fact that Nissar was bowling his heart out match after match.

 

Moreover Nayudu at a later period did himself no credit when he declined to play under Wazir Ali under a minor pretext. Yes, Nayudu, the master tactician that he was, had an Achilles' heel when it came to man-management. In CK's days, as of now, bias and prejudice have remained the bane of Indian cricket.

 

Back in India skipper CK duelled at par with Jardine, with whom he had a lot in common. Whereas Jardine had a disciplined brigade to handle, CK was in the midst of petty politicking throughout his tenure with mediocre mandarins perpetually carrying out cloak and dagger operations. On the 1936 tour yet again he scored more than a thousand runs with a magnificent 81 in the last Test. Even at 40 he was good enough to get runs against top international opposition.

 

But the petty officials at home finally did him in. Once he was invited to play a Test and on the morning of the match he was dropped for no apparent reason. The man who had given self-respect to the Indian cricketers was humiliated by stooges who craved for power even at the expense of the motherland.

  A man of charisma. Of presence. An embodiment of courage. Even in portraits he radiates an aura of respect.

 

 

Prof Deodhar

 Dinkar Balwant Deodhar was born in Pune in1892 and from an early age was exposed to the legendary exploits of Shivaji Chattrapati. A staunch Hindu of impeccable credentials, to Deodhar cricket meant merely another route to attainment of salvation.

 If Pavri and Baloo, primarily by their exploits on tours to England, had fired the imagination of youth in those hoary days, it was left to Deodhar to give the Indians the taste of success first-hand. For the first time ever, a representative team of the colonial masters was subjugated by an Indian on Indian soil in full view of his countrymen. It appeared that Deodhar’s mission was to prove to the ruling Britons that the Indian subjects were capable of surpassing their best players at their own game.

 If any single Indian player can claim to have taken the country to official Test match status, it was most certainly the erudite Sanskrit scholar from Pune. On a winter morning in 1926, the grassy Bombay Gymkhana pitch laden with fresh dew beckoned the great fast-medium bowler Maurice Tate to exhibit his mastery as the India team faced the daunting task of facing Arthur Gilligan’s England (then MCC) team. This was the occasion for which the 34-year old Sanskrit pundit was waiting for years.

 Combining doggedness with exemplary strokes, Deodhar relentlessly went on and on. The imposing MCC total of 362 was passed and only then did the Sanskrit scholar allow his stupendous concentration to flag. He contributed a masterly 148 out of the team’s total of 437, a distinct lead of 75 runs over an England team comprising prominent Test cricketers.

 No longer would the Englishmen in India make fun of Indian cricketers; no longer would there be sniggers; no longer would anyone dare to take the Indians lightly. That day he was not only batting for his team, he was writing the script of self-respect of a people subjugated to indignities and worse. His innings would have made Kautilya proud.

 Skipper Arthur Gilligan, gentleman to the core, was enchanted by Deodhar’s innings of character and skill. Gilligan went back to England and took personal initiative to propose that India deserved to be among the nations playing official Test matches. Thus India came to join the Imperial Cricket Conference as an official Test team and made her debut in 1932 against England at the Lord’s.

 But such is the irony of this game that the man, who was primarily responsible to elevate India to official Test match status, never got a single opportunity to play Test cricket himself. When India went on her inaugural Test tour of England in 1932, the name of Deodhar was missing. An act of sacrilege, if ever there was one. By 1932 the cricket crusaders had given way to cricket conspirators. The new breed of administrators publicised that Deodhar at 40 was too old to play for the country.

 Yes, at 40 a cricketer may have been thought to be old by conventional standards. But Deodhar was not a man to conform to stereotype patterns. He was actually physically fitter than most not only in 1932 but also in 1936 when the second India team went to England. At that time he was a regular player for the Hindu team in the Quadrangular and Pentangular communal cricket tournaments as well as for Maharashtra in the Ranji Trophy. His prolific performance in the first-class cricket in the 1930s was far superior to most of the men who played for India at the time.

 He actually was a victim of conspiracy. This educated man was a free-thinking, liberated soul. He never formed groups. His individual streak and love for his own province forbade him from joining the service of the influential maharajas. Thus his erudition and upright character became a noose around his neck.

 However, it is to Deodhar’s credit that he took his fate in his firm strides. He played for Maharashtra till the age of 54! Even at that age he was prolific in his batting performance. At the age of 48, he scored 246 against Bombay and ultimately led his team to victory over Madras in the Ranji Trophy final.

 As if this was not unique enough, he scored a century in each innings against Nawanagar at the age of 52! Such is the irony of destiny. That a man who was eminently successful in his endeavours, had to remain a silent spectator because of the conspiracy and intrigues of his own countrymen.

 After retiring from the game, Deodhar was a very responsible national selector. Here too he left his imprint. He did not allow Anthony D’Mello, the Board President at the time, any favours. He was firmly opposed to D’Mello for trying to meddle in the selection of the national team. For this courageous approach of his, Deodhar suffered but then he could not be enticed to compromise with his principles. He was responsible for the rise of some of our genuine world-class players like Vinoo Mankad and Vijay Hazare.

 For a man’s of Prof Deodhar’s deep erudition and strong character, it was not the result but the effort that mattered. Rarely, if ever, we have seen such a karma-yogin on the cricket ground.

 Every Indian cricketer, of whatever hue, owes an eternal gratitude to these magnificent pioneers of Indian cricket. They laid the path and paved the way so that others could have a smooth passage. Let us not forget these immortal souls. Our very existence as cricketers and cricket lovers is because of their supreme sacrifices.

                                               I met Prof Deodhar just once. Way back in 1973. Bengal had just been beaten by Maharashtra in a Ranji Trophy quarter-final tie at Pune. That was our skipper Chuni Goswami’s farewell match for Bengal and the last match of my debut season.

 Inside the pavilion sat an elderly man with eyes glued to the match. Chunida asked me, “You always keep blabbering about cricket. Can you identify the gentleman sitting on the cane chair?”

I had a good look and asked, “Will he be Prof Deodhar?”

“Good. Then come I will introduce you to him.”

“But does he know you?” I asked.

Chunida gave a sidelong glance, “Everybody in India knows me.” Typical of Chunida, my captain.

As we went near the man, the elderly gentleman looked at Chunida and said, “Chuni, happy to see that you are still playing.” Chunida nodded and shook hands with him.

 The moment Chunida introduced me, the man said, “Good technique and temperament, but poor physique. Will never play for India.”

I was stunned by his assessment. Had a very successful debut season and played a fairly responsible innings in this match too. Yet the gentleman was so very discouraging. But, to be honest, he was dead correct. My physique was never strong enough. Suffered from a congenital heart ailment.

 Immediately I said, “Sir, I do not crave to be a Test player. I want to be like you.”

“What do you mean? Like me, in which way?”

“Sir, I want to be an academic first and only then a cricketer.”

The elderly gentleman smiled and grasped my hand, “That’s the spirit I like.”

That grasp was not the limp handshake of an 80 year old man. It was the Maratha grip that finished Afzal Khan. Full of steel and rock.

 

 The conversation with the living legend was enlightening. I did not want to let him go. He also seemed to enjoy my company. When I asked him about his cricket career, he merely said, “It is for others to judge. I was happy to have kept my backbone straight throughout.”

I quipped, “Sir, your protégés have answered on your behalf.” Furrowed his eyebrows and nodded.

“Sir, please consider me to be your Ekalavya.”

Did I see the suggestion of a strange smile cross his face? Did not say anything beyond, “In that case you will lose a lot.” When I touched his feet, he was visibly touched. Just said, “If you remain straight, God will always be with you.”

 He got up and strode out. Sturdy and strong. No support. Not even a walking stick. Every inch a philosopher-warrior. I had met my boyhood idol Chhatrapati Shivaji. The silhouette left, leaving behind an ever-lasting impression. He left just as he had spent his life. In splendid isolation.

 

 

Palvankar Baloo

The first India born and bred cricketer of international eminence was a Harijan, a social outcaste. His name was Baloo Palvankar and he hailed from Dharwad, an obscure corner of Maharashtra.

Born in1875, his poverty-stricken family soon migrated to Poona. The young Baloo had to leave school early in life to augment the family income. His first job was with a Parsee cricket club where he rolled and swept the ground.

By 1892 however he got employment in the exclusive environment of Poona Gymkhana, where he was required to assist the chief groundsman. He also in his spare time bowled to the European players at the nets. One European Jungly Greig (more on him in another article) was the first to discover his exceptional talents.

Word soon spread that the young Harijan groundsman possessed outstanding bowling skills. But the high-caste, conservative Hindus of Poona would not even contemplate giving him a trial. In the caste-ridden ambience of Poona at the time, the low-born Harijan had little sympathy and less opportunity. Fortunately around this time Baloo’s father went to Bombay, where the cosmopolitan clime afforded him comparatively a little easier social mobility.

Here too, at the Hindu Gymkhana the orthodox elements were initially not in favour of playing with a ‘low-born’ Harijan. But then regular defeats at the hands of the European and Parsee oppositions compelled them to include Baloo in their team.

Using all his skills he was an immediate success in the local matches, which made him an automatic choice for the combined Hindu team in the triangular tournament where the Hindus competed with the Parsees and the European expatriates. Immediately the Hindus began to win matches and titles. The primary reason was the fantastic exploits of the social pariah, Baloo.

From 1907 to 1920 he was the best bowler in the land. Left-arm spinner of phenomenal performance and remarkable consistency. Even though he was winning them trophies, the Hindus did not allow him to sit beside them even to have his cricket lunches!

Despite opposition from his own community to his leadership, late in life Baloo had the satisfaction to lead the Hindus to victory in the Quadrangular of 1920. This was most certainly a rare achievement. For a “low-caste” Hindu to give leadership to the supposed higher castes was indeed a major breakthrough in the social fabric of the Hindu community at the time.

For the sake of self interest and convenience, the upper class Hindus accepted a social outcaste to play alongside them. The man, who was judged to be an untouchable because of his birth, now became a hero because of his genius. In 1911 when the Maharaja of Patiala decided to take an all-India cricket team to England, Baloo was an automatic choice.

 In England, Baloo created havoc match after match. He did not worry about the cold, blistery weather. Nor did he find any time to bother about the ever-changing conditions and the varying pitches on which he had no experience earlier. The social pariah made no discrimination in his opponents as he teased and tormented the English batters.

He exhibited to the caste Hindus and the world what a social outcaste from an obscure village in India was capable of, if given the right opportunities. Later Baloo was joined in the Hindu team by his three brothers – Shivram, Vithal and Ganpat – each a brilliant performer in his own right. These four brothers made the Hindu team the best in the land.

 On his triumphant return from England in 1911, prominent social activists like Gokhale, Ranade and Tilak hailed his greatness in public announcements. Even Bhimrao Ambedkar, then a young student, became a self-confessed ardent fan of his.

 Whatever he got from cricket was not for his own benefit but for the benefit of the upper class Hindus. He and his brothers were merely pawns to be exploited and forgotten.

Baloo did not change his religious belief to Buddhism in response to a call from his friend and fan, Ambedkar, who was convinced that the ‘untouchables’ had no future within the Hindu community and so he wanted all his fellow ‘untouchables’ to convert themselves into Buddhists.

Baloo did not change his religion as he felt that with Mahatma Gandhi’s emergence and influence the status of his community would improve and that they would become an important part of the mainstream.

The contradiction in approach between the two friends drew them apart. In 1937, despite reluctance on his part, Baloo was coerced to fight an election against the formidable Dr Ambedkar and, as apprehended, lost the contest.

He died in 1955 in penury, thoroughly forgotten by the very men he had helped to prosper. Every Indian cricketer owes him an eternal debt. He is the first ever Indian cricketer who heralded the superiority of Indian cricketers to the world at large. He is the man who opened the door for the modern cricketer to earn respect abroad.

No national award, no national recognition, no financial benefit was ever granted to this dignified genius. He left behind the memory of a legend that should make every Indian cricket lover feel guilty of having forsaken him.

 

 

 

Mehallasha Pavri     

Indian cricket owes a deep sense of gratitude to two scholarly individuals. One was Mehallasha Edulji Pavri and the other, Dinkar Balwant Deodhar. Pavri was a doctor by profession; Deodhar a professor of Sanskrit. Although their high noon was separated by about three decades, they were the real pioneers of Indian cricket who paved the path for posterity.

 

Pavri belonged to the Parsee community. Born at Navsari in 1866, he was drawn into the vortex of cricket in Bombay at a time when the mercantile Parsees were more than eager to befriend the ruling British community. For them cricked provided an avenue to socialize with the colonial masters. Learning the rudiments of the game from watching the Britons at the Bombay maidans, the Parsees decided that they too would have their own teams and play against the white men on equal terms.

                                 

It was easier said than done. The Britons in India did play against the Parsees but they were sarcastic, condescending and downright insulting at times. The affronts made the Parsees more determined than ever. They made up their mind to learn the game and compete as quickly as possible.  

 

Even as early as 1886 the Parsees went across to England to adapt themselves to the varying conditions and pitches. Only the elder cricketers of the community, who could afford to pay their voyage fares, went. Obviously enough, the team fared disastrously against the English who, at the time were certainly the best in the business.

 

Young Pavri was not in that 1st Parsee team which went to England in 1886. But by the time the team for the next tour of 1888 was selected, Pavri was an automatic choice by virtue of his stupendous performances against the Europeans in the Presidency matches on the Bombay and Poona maidans.

 

On English wickets he was a man inspired. He unleashed his thunderbolts with nagging accuracy. Stumps cart-wheeled with monotonous regularity. A natural athlete, he kept his ears and eyes open as he picked up finer skills from the masters of seam and swing, especially Lockwood. He added the break-back to his repertoire and felt equally at ease with the old ball as with the new.

 

By dint of his outstanding personal success, the profile of his team improved by leaps. Whereas in 1886, the Parsees had won just one match, losing 19 out of 28; this time the equation read : 8 victories and 11 losses out of 31 matches. A remarkable progress by any yardstick.

 

For Pavri, England was a revelation. In India the Britons had scoffed at the Parsees’ efforts, but in England the Britishers were genuinely generous with praise and guidance.

 

Pavri's extraordinary performance of 170 wickets at only 11.66 earned respect and plaudits. In a particular encounter with the Gentlemen of England at Eastbourne the Parsees left the Englishmen with hardly 120  runs for victory after being forced to follow-on. But that small target was enough for Pavri. His whiplash action bundled the Gentlemen for only 56 runs, claiming 6 wickets in the process. This was the match that heralded the rise of this magnificent bowler, the embryo from which Mohammed Nissar, Kapil Dev and company were to flower in the following century.

 

Such was Pavri's domination over Vernon's 1890 team in India as well as over Lord Hawke's 1892 side that he was invited to play for Middlesex in the county championship in 1895. Thus Pavri became the first Indian cricketer to have played in the county championships in England.

 

Ranjitsinghji is excluded from this category as he learnt and played his cricket basically in England. But then Ranji too first played county cricket for Sussex in the same year as Pavri, although Ranji had got his Cambridge 'Blue' in 1895.

 

Pavri played serious cricket till 1912 and then concentrated on his medical profession. Meticulous and methodical as befits his profession, he was a rare deity in the pantheon of Indian cricket. He authored an excellent book on cricket in India at the time.

 

His deeds heralded to the world that the Indians could well learn the game of cricket on their own and be as good as any in the world of men.

 

 

 

The superlative contribution of the Anglo-Indian community to India's Olympic hockey history                                                                                        

When India decided to send her hockey team to the Amsterdam Olympic in 1928, Great Britain the defending champion withdrew their team! It seemed that Great Britain was afraid of their prized-colony beating the master at the latter’s own game.

Prior to 1928, twice the hockey event was held at the Olympic Games, first in 1908 at London and then at Antwerp in 1920. Both the times GB was the winner. It was indeed surprising to find the defending champion GB withdrawing at India’s participation. Was it a political defeat at the time of India’s nationalist movement? Strange are the ways of politicians around the world.

In 1928 at Amsterdam in Holland, debutant India won all her five matches by convincing margins. While Dhyan Chand and company were doing wonders up ahead, the citadel was in the safe custody of the Anglo-Indian community.

Apart from Dhyan Chand the core of the team were all from the highly versatile Anglo-Indian community. According to David Wallechinsky, the authority on Olympic history, out of 14 members there were no less than nine Anglo-Indians from Bengal, Punjab, Central Provinces and United Provinces in the gold-winning combination: Eric Penniger (deputy captain), Richard Allen, Michael Rocque, Leslie Hammond, William Cullen, Rex Norris, Maurice Gateley, George Marthins and Frederic Seaman.

The tough and talented team of diverse backgrounds showed the world what fortitude meant. Not even one goal was scored against India in five matches! Wizard Dhyan Chand’s men scored 29 goals.

The outstanding goalkeeper from Calcutta, young and fearless Richard Allen began the trend of attack from the goal-line itself. The strong, swarthy man was a stumbling block which no power in the world could penetrate.

Eric Penniger of Punjab was the link between the defence and the offence. He was a master in the area of distribution. Matured and a natural leader, Penniger wore the mantle of deputy-captain with dignity and pride. Central Provinces’ Rex Norris was the pivot in the mid-field. He was an outstanding play-maker with all-round skills. An excellent game-analyst, he was a born mentor of players.

Thankfully the India hockey team to Amsterdam in 1928 combined very well and began a tradition of unity in diversity. A lot of credit should go to the manager AB Rosser, an Anglo-Indian from Bengal, who was firm yet friendly and totally unbiased. He stamped his authority in no uncertain manner and skipper, the highly-connected Jaipal Singh, had to leave the team during the course of the tournament.

In the following Olympic in 1932 at Los Angeles, there were eight Anglo-Indians in the Indian Olympic squad. Carlyle Tapsell, Frank Brewin, Richard Carr, William Sullivan and Arthur HInd joined the experienced Allen, Hammond and Penniger. The very knowledgeable, mid-field exponent Rex Norris was no longer around. Up ahead, Dhyan Chand’s younger brother, the brilliant Roop Singh was an automatic choice.

Again Dhyan Chad was not given the captaincy. The curse of ‘royalty to lead’ remained. Surprisingly Eric Penniger, who was the deputy captain at Amsterdam four years ago and was being thought of as the ideal person to lead the team, was eased out. An average player of influential background Lal Shah Bokhari arrived from UK and was asked to lead!

In his first Olympic in 1932, an Anglo-Indian from Calcutta Carlyle Tapsell gave the world a notice of his class and composure. He was simply superb in his defensive role. India let in just two goals at Los Angeles in 1932, while scoring 35 in 2 matches. The man guarding the goal happened to be the one and only Richard Allen. He exuded confidence and inspired his mates from his goal-line with constant encouragement.

At the Berlin Olympics in 1936 the candidature of Dhyan Chand as the captain could no longer be suppressed. In any case he was the undisputed leader of the team since 1928, but now he also became the formal captain. With Roop Singh around there was little reason to worry about the attack.

In defence, the presence of Tapsell once again gave one the reassurance of old. This time too there were eight Anglo-Indians serving India: Allen, Tapsell, Earnest Cullen, Joseph Phillip, Paul Fernandes, Lionel Emmett, Cyril Michie and Joseph Galibardy.

And of course guarding the citadel with pads on was the master, Richard Allen. Along with Dhyan Chand, Allen held a permanent place in the India Olympic teams from 1928 to 1936 (3 Olympics). Unfortunately the legendary Allen has not been remembered in India today. No one has the time and the inclination to worry about a sportsman who won 3 gold medals for India at the Olympics!

First heard about the grand performances of Allen and Tapsell from my father in the late 1950s. Later in 1967 from our school games-master at St Xavier’s James Brown, the former goalie with Calcutta’s BN Railway (now South Eastern Railway). He missed the India colours only because of the perennial presence of the great Shankar Laxman.

At a time when we in India are bending backwards trying to highlight the non-medalists as well as mere participants at Olympic Games, we have little interest in the exploits of men who brought glory to the nation in the Olympic Games in the past.

Apart from the immortal and legendary Leslie Claudius, no other Anglo-Indian hockey player has been shown an iota of the gratitude that he deserved. The exceptional Claudius – a product of post-independent India – with three gold and one silver medals in four Olympic Games is an all-time role model for any sportsman of any sports discipline. He was too important to be ignored.

But what about the rest from the Anglo-Indian community of the pre-independence era? Penniger, Hammond and Tapsell have won two gold medals each for India in two outings. Richard Allen improved on that to get three gold medals in three Games. Yet how many of our country’s youth have been told of their contribution to the national cause?

The Anglo-Indians played hockey not for money. Their progeny are not asking for financial assistance. Not even bothered about awards and recognition.

The Anglo-Indian community in India displayed superlative hockey skills and established India’s credentials as world champions. If we have any sense of gratitude, then it is our obligation to acknowledge their contribution. By honouring them today, we would merely be rectifying a wrong done and continued for so many decades.

Why can we not give them some kind of recognition in posterity? Why do we not rewrite our sports history by acknowledging that the Anglo-Indians helped to make India the world hockey champions? Who is stopping us from spilling out the truth? Why are we dishonest to our own selves? What have we gained by not heralding the glorious achievements of these champion athletes?

So low is our self-esteem that today we like to glorify sportsmen who are mired in controversies; we eulogize sportsmen who are lackeys of political parties and we love to honour those sportspeople who are close to the seats of power and influence.

This happens to be the sports culture of modern India. Shall we live to see a turnaround?

 

On yet another person who left a deep impression on me: Rajan Bala

Rajan Bala was his own enemy. Totally disoriented and totally disorganized. Highly unreliable; lacked any semblance of discipline. Then why were so many people so very fond of him?  So very attached to him? Therein lay the magic of Rajan Bala.

Exceptionally knowledgeable he could speak on any subject worth mentioning. English literature, religion, history, politics, economics, medicine or sports came alike to him. The depth and orbit of his learning cannot be described. What a communicator he was! One had to meet him to realize and appreciate the magnetic appeal of the man.

Highly sensitive, he could make one weep with his emotional rendering of Rabindrasangeet. He did not have a melodious voice but he made up for it through his spontaneity and sentiments. Highly emotional, he was prone to extreme behavior. Highly intelligent, he was impatient with people who had problems following him. He summed himself very appropriately, “I am a proud Bong by being born and brought up in Bengal and a proud Tamil for having Tamil parents.” He would not stoop to mention his caste and creed, but even his critics realized that he belonged to the highest breed in any society because of his exceptional attributes.

Rajanda was a very bad judge of men. Invariably he fell for flatterers. As a born extrovert he loved mixing with players. Because of his gregarious and generous nature, he became too close to most players. Little did he realize that most of the players and administrators who mixed with him so very closely were only there for their own personal interest.

Players who had ‘used’ him during their playing careers dropped him the moment he retired. This was a regret he nursed till his last days. During his heydays so very obsessive was he with some of them that he would overlook their weakness and defend them at all cost. Never quite understood that they were not true friends but fiends.

He was involved with the Bengal players of the 1960s. They were his college-mates and fellow club cricketers. When he became a journalist, he left no stone unturned to help them gain all-India publicity. Quality players of the calibre of Ambar Roy, Subroto Guha, Gopal Bose and Dilip Doshi were particularly close to him. No doubt they were excellent cricketers but without Rajan Bala’s constant and vociferous media support they would not have received the regular and massive coverage they received at the national level. He wrote on them constantly till the selectors woke up to take notice. I know of no other journalist who has done this kind of selfless work. Unfortunately hardly anyone of them acknowledged the debt.

However Rajanda’s status at the all-India level lay untarnished. Pataudi and Jaisimha were his special pals but no less were Chandrasekhar, Prasanna and Bedi. In fact Rajanda ‘ghosted’ the books written by Pataudi, Chandra and Prasanna. He was especially close to Tiger Pataudi. They spent hours discussing cricket and cricketers. Pataudi was not a garrulous person but he had a lovely dry wit. He enjoyed Rajanda’s constant chatter on anything and everything under the sun. Pataudi certainly appreciated his friend’s wide and deep knowledge of cricket among other subjects. Theirs was an association based on reciprocal respect for each other’s outstanding qualities.

At the wedding ceremony of the glamorous couple Tiger Pataudi and Sharmila Tagore, apart from Rajan Bala no other sports journalist was invited. Among the players were only Ambar Roy and my elder brother Deb Mukherji. Wanting to gossip, I asked Rajanda about the location of the ceremony at Calcutta. Typically he replied, “How will I remember? It was not my wedding!” Then as an after-thought he added, “May be at Nizam Palace, somewhere near Camac Street. I remember Satyajit Ray presented the couple with reels of Ray’s films where Sharmila Tagore had acted. Bechu Dutta Ray, the national selector, who was supposed to be ‘very close’ to Tiger was not among the invitees,” he signed off with a hearty laughter. Later very pointedly mentioned, “Raju, let me assure you Tiger had no time for cronies or for corrupt administrators.”

Rajan Bala’s image abroad never waned. He wrote as a freelancer for the best of magazines and newspapers in foreign lands. He commentated on BBC Radio in his impeccable diction but never made any hue and cry over it. The tenor and tone of his voice made him highly popular among the cricket aficionado. His knowledge and analyses were at par with the best the world could offer. No wonder BBC Radio relied on him for years even after his retirement for expert comments to cover the Test day’s proceedings. Men of the eminence of John Woodcock, Christopher Martin Jenkins, Dicky Rutnagur among others considered him to be their friend. His reputation as a writer as well as a commentator was well deserved.

As a radio commentator he was unparalleled. Although very close to Tiger Pataudi and Ambar Roy, no radio-listener would have been able to make out any bias in his comments. He was as critical of them as he was of the others. Today when you hear words like ‘momento’ and ‘inning’ over the air with constant regularity you realize why sensible listeners keep the volume at zero. Thirty years ago these mediocre commentators would not have been given another opportunity.

But having said all this, I would add at the same time that his books were a disappointment to me. For a man of his knowledge, understanding and contacts his books should have had far more depth in his analyses; far more details into intricacies. He was at the centre of Indian cricket for the better part of three decades. But it seemed that many very serious issues completely eluded him. This was not the Rajan Bala I was familiar with and highly admired. He seemed to be in a hurry while writing his books. Never did justice to his talents as an author of books.

While he was such a hard-hitting journalist who cared for no administrator either of BCCI or CAB or AIFF or any other sport associations in his regular columns for three decades, why was he so different in his books? Rajan Bala the writer of articles and Rajan Bala the author of cricket books were entirely two different personalities. Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde. Why was it so? No one has yet been able to give a convincing answer. I only wish some publisher would get hold of his articles and publish those as ‘collected works’. That title would be a bestseller. Full of incidents, full of anecdotes, full of aggression, full of characters, full of technicalities. But then Rajan Bala was not a person who would collate and keep his articles together. Wonder where his fantastic collection of sports books has gone.

Once while working on the former Test-cricketer of ‘bodyline’ fame, Jack Fingleton as journalist, Rajanda asked me for a particular copy of Sport & Pastime of 1960. Had no option but to tell him that all my S&P copies of 20 years were borrowed by a research scholar and not returned.

Rajanda’s instant reaction was, “You mean he took the entire collection and vanished?” I said, “Well, he claimed that I had gifted 20 years of Sport & Pastime copies to him! And he had sent those to USA!”

Rajanda was dazed, “Ah! So our famous researcher-turned-journalist felt that a cricket-book collector would part with rare copies of S&P of the 1950s and 1960s for no rhyme or reason. Of course, none can touch him as he has always been an Establishment man. He has tricked many over the years.” Then he added, “However let’s give him his due. He has even tricked the BCCI and CAB president. That certainly deserves a gold medal!”

I had kept in constant touch with Rajanda over the decades. Wherever he would be – Mumbai, Chennai or Bangalore – I would make it a point to visit him and marvel at his genius. His equation with my wife Seema and me would be of a parent beside his son and daughter-in-law. We were very attached to him. So much so that we could even at times try to ‘guide’ him. He would indulge us with a smile, but all to no avail. No ‘guidance’ could curb his self-destructive ways of life. His final years led to serious health problems and he seemed totally drained of all physical energy. But there no stopping the fount of knowledge. It flowed with all the exuberance of youth…

I first met Rajan Bala during a friendly cricket match between St Xavier’s College and St Xavier’s School in 1966. The college team, although not at full strength, had their best bowlers Dilip Doshi and Suprakash Som in the playing XI. Ironically, in a one-sided match, it was the school team which actually defeated the seniors by 8 wickets!

At the end of the match a man of immense bulk came and congratulated us on our victory. He happened to be Rajan Bala. He was with The Statesman at the time and had come to interview Dilip Doshi, then a rising prospect of Bengal. But when he saw the schoolboys in action, so impressed was he that he willingly spent time to talk to us for quite a while.

Honestly I wasn’t too impressed by him that day. Found him too pompous, too preposterous. Years later Rajanda told me that he found me too serious, too determined and too confident!  I believe I had told him, “If we get such trash bowling, we shall thrash them again!” Rajanda instantly had pointed out, “Yes, Doshi tried his best to get you boys out and couldn’t.  But don’t forget, apart from the first two overs, Suprakash did not bowl at his full pace because of the dicey matting pitch. You must learn to judge merit from various angles. If he had bowled fast some of you may have got injured. Supi is a very decent gentleman.”

Actually our opening batsmen Jayanta Chatterjee and Babul Mitter showed real gumption to deal with Som’s fearsome pace early in the innings. On loose matting, the bounce was disconcerting, no doubt. Michael Carlos and I were lucky that Som had bowled to us with a shortened run-up. Today I well remember that having heard Rajan Bala, I walked up to Suprakash Som and thanked him for not injuring us. Suprakash Som, ever smiling, shook my hand, “No, no, I tried my best but could not get you or your partner out. Congrats.”

Realized there and then why cricket was known as a ‘gentleman’s game’. This was the first time that I had such an experience and it was all due to Rajan Bala opening my eyes to the niceties of the noble game. Thanks, Rajanda, for pinpointing to me what gentlemanliness on the sports arena actually meant.

In time Suprakashda became my first captain with the Calcutta University team. We played together for the championship-winning Mohun Bagan for 3 years, 1967 to 1969. He represented Bengal in Ranji Trophy but never got the appreciation he deserved. He was a rare individual. Full of talent but was perpetually ignored. Smiled his way through a very short life without ever showing any remorse. The product of Hazaribagh St Xavier’s taught me a very vital lesson of the noble sport of cricket but the problem was that cricket had ceased to be a ‘gentleman’s game’ by the 1970s with sledging, cheating, match-fixing, betting, bribery, ball-defacing, pitch-tampering, pressurizing umpires, throw-bowling, etcetera gradually making headlines.

I was very fortunate that during my formative years the formidable personality of Rajan Bala was dominating the Calcutta maidan with his presence and penmanship. Very unusual for a sport editor, he would personally cover even club matches, first with The Statesman and later with Hindustan Standard (precursor to The Telegraph). I am sure it was his strong, eye-opening articles that helped me to climb the ladder to first-class cricket.

He attacked administrators and selectors with facts and figures and made them open their eyes and ears for the betterment of Bengal cricket. Although Rajanda was Ambar Roy’s best friend, none else but he advocated Chuni Goswami as the Bengal captain to replace Ambar Roy in 1970! Chunida’s 2-season tenure as captain brought a breath of fresh air to Bengal cricket and with it came regular success.

Rajanda just could not settle down at one place. He changed jobs and cities as quickly as one would change one’s tooth-brush. Almost every top media house in India had the benefit of his service. His freelancing for All India Radio and Doordarshan too did not last long, although he was considered among the best in the business. His approach was much too aggressive for most. He was far ahead of his times. He was a restless visionary who did not have the patience to adhere to the general slow pace of the period.

While with The Indian Express and The Hindu at Chennai, with whom he had the longest tenure, he nursed and nurtured a group of trainees who went on to become jewels in the Indian sports media. All them became authors of serious books, held prominent positions in India and abroad and were very highly rated as journalists. Among them happened to be Gulu Ezekiel, R Mohan, Suresh Menon, Joe Hooper and others. At Calcutta his protégés were Subrata (Rana) Sirkar and Arijit Sen, both of whom were acknowledged to be among the finest sports journalists in the country.

Without Rajan Bala’s liberal attitude, constant encouragement and opportunities galore these young journalists would not have attained the fame that they did in a very short while. Rajanda allowed his assistant journalists to be themselves. This approach enabled others to flower, to reach beyond themselves. He gave them full liberty to do things their own way.

 I worked with him just once. He had professionally left Calcutta for good by the time I was seriously into freelance-journalism by early 1980s. Later once he had come to Calcutta to cover a Test match at Eden Gardens for Deccan Herald.  He had the former Test legend Bhagawat Chandrasekhar accompanying him to add some extra touches to the Test coverage. And Rajanda with Moti Nandi’s permission asked me to write a daily column for DH evening edition apart from my regular daily match coverage for ABP in Bengali.

It was an experience of a lifetime. Totally non-conventional. To begin with, Rajanda had convinced DH to have an evening supplement for its readers. So we would have to cover the Test till tea-break and send the report by telex. Fair enough. Something new for me but luckily everything clicked.

Then we found Chandra missing after lunch on the 2^nd day! He had left the press box at the luncheon interval and did not show up. Rajanda appeared least worried! He wrote his own piece and then Chandra’s as well! When I went through Rajanda’s report and then “Chandra’s” piece on Rajanda’s typewriter, I was staggered. Rajanda’s own article contained impeccable reporting with his usual literary flavor while “Chandra’s” had technical analysis in simple English. Only the genius of Rajan Bala could manage to write two separate columns in two totally different ways in a matter of two hours.

Next few days were no less awkward. Rajanda as usual held court at the press box. He was perpetually talking, writing, guiding and getting involved with all and sundry. When  CAB's big-boss came to the Press Box to enquire about the packet-lunch served, Rajanda, fully aware of my equation with CAB, was nonchalant as ever, “Haven’t tried. Moti, Dicky and I are enjoying Raju’s ham sandwiches and chicken patties!” Later when he found that Chandra was having trouble in keeping his eyes open after lunch, he told Chandra to go back to the hotel room for a proper slumber!

As if this was not enough, he asked me, “Raju, today why don’t you do Chandra’s copy?” My ABP sports editor Moti Nandi, sitting beside me, immediately objected, “No way. Raju is nobody’s ghost-writer.” Rajanda, perhaps had anticipated what was coming, laughed, “Of course, in Bengal you don’t have any bhoot. All of you are adbhoot!” The class and maturity of the verbal exchanges of two outstanding personalities made life worth living.

In 1989 former Pakistan captain Abdul Hafeez Kardar had come to Chennai to witness the India-Pakistan Test at the invitation of BCCI. The evening before the match Rajanda and I met the suave Kardar at the Connemara Hotel lounge and kept chatting well beyond midnight. My room-mate was the ABP senior photographer Nikhil Bhattacharya.

Nikhilda, who was waiting for me to go back to our hotel together, got very upset after a while, “Rajan, please let Raju go.  The curfew is about to begin, the police will take you to jail if you delay any further.” Rajanda had little sense of timing or tact. He coolly said, “Dear Nix, you carry on. If Raju is taken to jail, I shall organize the bail!” Thankfully nothing untoward happened but Rajanda’s sense of perspective or rather the lack of it was laid bare. The great captain Kardar softly quipped, “Rajan, generally I sleep at night. Shall we all retire?” The charm and wit of the Cambridge graduate, who had represented India before independence as Abdul Hafeez, eased the situation.

Once Seema and I went to Bangalore and decided to look him up as we were out of touch for a while. Luckily for us, we found him enjoying his gin and tonic at KSCA. But his appearance shattered us. The big burly man had shrunk appreciably with his eyes protruding. A palpable case of diabetes. “Hope you are keeping fine,” I asked out of habit. Rajanda smiled, “With my reckless lifestyle, am I supposed to keep fine? Don’t worry, Raju. Let’s chat about the past.” I could not say much. I could see life wasting away.

When Seema handed a Batik-printed paanjaabi (Bengal-style kurta) to him, Rajanda could not hold back his tears, “Amazing, amazing are the ways of Lord Shiva. My days are numbered and still my bond with Bengal never ends. Tagore’s Santiniketani Batik in hand in the final hours. Oh! Lord, thanks. What a life: gift of birth in Bengal; gift at death also from Bengal.”

I clasped his hands, “Please do not utter another such word.” Rajanda placed his hands on our shoulders, “Raju and Seema, you do not know how fortunate you are that you were both born in Bengal. Bengal shall always remain blessed academically, spiritually and culturally. Let us rejoice. We threesome are Bengalis by birth; our parentage may be Bengali, Marathi and Tamil but we are all Bengalis at heart. Let’s sing Gurudev’s songs and go our own destined ways…”

Within a week, we came to know that he was no more. An irrepressible genius, destined to self-destruct, left an indelible impression on me. OM SHIVAY NAMAH.

 

To have seen him at cricket was to see a master craftsman in motion. A Michaelangelo at work. Some cricketers rise above their contemporaries by the sheer weight of their performance and then there are others who achieve fame through the image they create on the minds of men.

 

 Vinod Mankad, christened Mulvantrai Himmatlal way back at Jamnagar in 1917, belonged to both the groups. If his phenomenal performance graph evoked admiration, the image of the short, strong man carrying all on his broad shoulders etched an impression that would last a lifetime and more.

 

From mid-1930s to mid-1950s his career spanned. At that time not many Indian cricketers had the spirit or the means to spend every moment at cricket. They would concentrate hard during the short season and then be forced to rust away in search of pecuniary gains in other walks of life. But Vinoo Mankad was a non-conformist in this respect. His burning ambition to be the best in the world was fuelled by Nawanagar State’s princely patronage and by the coaching of Albert Wensley of Sussex.

 

He relentlessly pursued the goal without the slightest hint of deviation. He played cricket round the year. He knew no other career; nor was he interested. From Nawanagar to Gujerat to Bombay to Bengal to Lancashire to Rajasthan wherever he went he tucked his bat and his bowling skills in those powerful palms of his. During the Indian summers he would be playing as a professional for Haslingden in the Lancashire League in UK. He was certainly the first of the true professionals that India has had.

 

Beginning from his debut season in Ranji Trophy in 1936-37 as well as against his first international opposition – Tennyson's MCC team in 1937-38 – he made a lasting impression. Then came the World War II and with it some vital years of his salad days were lost. However not one to be discomfited by misfortunes, Mankad actually used the period to hone his undoubted talents still further.

 

The 1946 tour of England was to mark his debut on the official Test scene. He took the opportunity with a bear-hug. Wherever in the batting order he was asked to bat at, however much the bowling he was asked to do, Mankad thrived with his customary tenacity. From the very beginning his sound cricketing brain convinced him that he would be both the war-head as well as the work-horse. It was the ideal situation that this man of unbounded courage, phenomenal skill and unfaltering stamina yearned for.

 

Mankad wasted no time on frills; none whatsoever on frivolities. If cricket was to be his life he would love to be a part of it every minute of his existence. So it was to be for him. He must have batted in every position from number 1 to number 11 for India. And in bowling whether India was defending or attacking he was sure to be in the thick of action.

 

In England in 1946 he achieved the 'double' (1000 runs and 100 wickets), a dream for any all-rounder. The magnificence of the debutant would be best understood when we find that since Learie Constantine in 1928 no other overseas all-rounder had achieved the enviable piece of statistic. Even the cynical English critics had little alternative but to praise the new star as the English batsmen wended their way to doom. Former England captain Arthur Gilligan rated Mankad at par with the legendary left-arm spinners Wilfred Rhodes, Colin Blythe and Headley Verity. Wisden acknowledged his greatness by naming him as one of the ‘Cricketers of the Year’ in 1947.

 

Mankad did not make the cricket pundits gape at his action. No, he was not bothered by artistry. His arm came round; not of the classically straight mould. His curve was not of whispers and gossips; his trajectory was of business. It was clinically clean, surgically pin-pointed in the accuracy. Little wonder that even at a time when close-catching was not India's forte, this marvel of a left-arm orthodox spinner had the subtlety to take no less than 162 Test Match wickets in only 44 Tests spanning over 12 years. At a time when Bradman, Harvey, Barnes, Hammond, Hutton, Compton, Weekes, Worrel, Hanif and Sutcliffe and other greats were at the other end.

 

Not one to relax and ruminate over his effective bowling, Mankad's batting flowered simultaneously. A rarity again: most all-rounders first make their mark in one discipline before they embark on a broader horizon. Not so Mankad. To him both batting and bowling received equal importance because he wanted no rest!

 

 In the following tour of Australia in 1947-48, he scored two Test centuries against Bradman's all-conquering Australian attack which comprised Miller, Lindwall, Johnston, Toshack and McCool. Here in Australia he was promoted to open to confront the world’s best fast bowling attack of Keith Miller and Ray Lindwall whereas in England he was usually way down the order.

 

Such was his application and willingness to learn that he did not bat an eye-lid as his skills with the bat opened the eyes of his onlookers, wide in admiration and awe. One moment he was lifting the fast bowlers and at the next moment he would be stoutly defending against the spinners, as the situation warranted. Batting right-handed, Mankad was an exemplary cutter of the ball and would play the lifted shots with measured precision.

 

In only 23 Tests he reached his 1000 runs and 100 wickets in Test cricket. The quickest to reach the 'double' among the premier all-rounders in Test cricket till Ian Botham was to surpass him much later in 21 Tests. Most certainly Mankad was one of the greatest of all-rounders that the game has ever known.

 

India recorded her first Test victory against England (then MCC) at Chepauk in 1951-52 under Vijay Hazare. Roy and Umrigar scored centuries and laid the foundation. But still, obviously enough, to win a Test match the team had to get the opposition out twice. Here again it was none but Mankad who made the task easy for India by dismissing 7 batters. Mankad was always at the centre of every battle.

 

Vinoo Mankad is one of the few cricketers who can claim to have had a Test Match named after them. At Lord's in 1952 he opened India's batting and scored 72 and then bowled a marathon spell of 73 overs taking 5 wickets for 136 runs. As if this was not enough to whet his appetite for cricket, he went back to the crease to smack an innings of 184 glorious runs. Then when England batted for an 8-wicket victory he still found the stamina and the spirit to bowl another 24 overs! Most certainly the best individual performance for a losing side.

 

Today when one hears of players of inconsequential effort feeling tired, one is best left to smirk. This particular Test has gone down in the annals of Test cricket as the 'Mankad Test' to perpetuate the memory of a man who knew no fatigue, no frills, no frustrations. To him cricket was motivation enough and playing for the honour of the motherland was the breath of life itself.

 

Lest we forget he also happened to hold the world Test record for the 1st wicket for more than 50 years. In association with Pankaj Roy against New Zealand this premier all-rounder achieved the fabulous partnership landmark of 413 runs. Mankad’s contribution was 231.

 

 In an eventful Test career, Vinoo Mankad scored 2109 runs with 5 centuries, including two double, at an average of 31.47. His first class career spanned from 1935 to 1963 resulting in 11,544 runs at 34.87 and 776 wickets at 24.60.

 

Knowledgeable, he used his intelligence and applied himself accordingly. He asked even the opposition for guidance! He knew the art of application. His cricket was built on the rock solid foundation of basics. No diversion seeped in to weaken the firm edifice. With this attitude he won the hearts of hardened men; the plaudits of cynical critics; the respect of his mates and opponents.

 

Vinoo Mankad was a cricketer’s cricketer. A perfectionist in every department of the game. He was the man who pioneered the voodoo associated with Indian spinners along with the advent of Ghulam Ahmed and Subhash Gupte.

 

Mankad has always been associated with strange happenings on and off the field. On the tour of Australia in 1947-48 Mankad was at the nucleus of a major storm. In the Sydney Test match Aussie opener Bill Brown was repeatedly leaving the non-striker’s crease before the ball was delivered. Bowler Mankad noticed the misdemeanor, did not waste time and calmly removed the bails before delivering the ball. The umpire had no hesitation in raising his finger.

 

Although there was widespread criticism, Sir Don, the Aussie captain, defended Mankad as the latter had warned Brown earlier in the Australian XI match and more so because Mankad’s action was as per the laws of cricket. Ever since then this way of dismissal has been unofficially hailed as “Mankaded’.

 

The ‘Mankad Test’ at Lord’s in 1952 has been mentioned. What needs to be mentioned now is the scene behind that great feat. India had a disastrous start to the series in the first Test at Headingley where they lost 4 wickets for zero runs on the board. Seeing this Pankaj Gupta, the manager, was fuming because the petty-minded national selectors had omitted Mankad from the touring team! At the time Mankad was the best all-rounder in the world. India’s national selectors at the time were CK Nayudu, HN Contractor and M Dutta Ray.

 

Gupta, as the manager of the Indian cricket team to England in 1952, sent a telegram to the BCCI as a formality and without waiting for their reply selected Vinoo Mankad, who at the time was playing in the Lancashire League to play the 2^nd Test at Lord’s! Mankad went on to display one of the greatest-ever individual all-round performances in the history of cricket.

 

Without the intervention of the mercurial manager Pankaj Gupta, Vinoo Mankad – among the greatest all-rounders in the world – would not have played the Test and it is highly doubtful whether he would ever have played for India again.

 

The incident requires further elaboration. Mankad had just helped India to gain her first-ever Test match victory at Chepauk in early 1952 and then left for Lancashire to fulfil his professional commitment. In the meantime in India the national selectors were to meet to select the India team to tour UK in April 1952. The selectors suddenly decided that a trial match would be held and that every probable player would have to play to be eligible for selection.

 

Vinoo Mankad , the premier all-rounder in the world, informed the selectors that he was already in UK and might kindly be permitted to miss the trial match for otherwise he would have to pay his to and fro air-passage from his own pocket. His request was turned down! The trio including CK Nayudu gave the impression that the team would be chosen on the basis of that match only! Unfortunately CK Nayudu’s ego decided that the world’s best all-rounder would have to prove his merit in that particular ‘trial’ match!

 

Pankaj Gupta , the ebullient manager of India teams, especially of hockey, had no time for petty jealousies based on provincialism, communalism and egoism that was apparent in the logic of the national selectors. Gupta had handled Dhyan Chand’s men to three Olympic ‘golds’, where he encouraged Christians, Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, agnostics and atheists to consider themselves as ‘Indians first, Indians last’. He had no time for petty-minded men and their media supporters. It was only because of Pankaj Gupta that Vinoo Mankad got his rightful place in the India team.

 

 The best all-rounder in the world had to fight the petty-mindedness of former Indian cricketers throughout his life. So very ahead was he than most of his peers that invariably he became a lonely soul in the national side. On and off the field, Vinoo Mankad received very little support from his own mates. He remained a singular man in a plural game.

 

His iconic stature has finally been rewarded by ICC by naming him in the very exclusive ‘Hall of Fame’.