Budhi Kunderan

 

Nana Patekar is no more, screamed the headlines. No, no, he is very much with us. In the hearts of millions who value spontaneity, originality and versatility. He was no actor playing a role. He was a real character on celluloid. These men do not perish. They stay with us forever. Nana was to Indian films what Budhi Kunderan was to Indian cricket. Both have remained my eternal favourites.

 

 Let the Kunderan story begin…

 

Against West Indies in 1967 at Eden Gardens, Kunderan mis-hooked a Wes Hall bouncer, top-edging the skier to the 3^rd man region! Skipper Gary Sobers from 2^nd slip ran sideways about 60 yards near the boundary rope and got his hands to the ball, only to drop it.

 

Only Sobers could have tried it. None else. It was not a catch by any means. The ball was in no-man’s land. But the issue here is that the batter Budhi patted his raised bat to applaud Sobers’ effort. Amazing indeed. This approach set him apart. To Kunderan, there was little difference between Test and picnic cricket. He loved to be both a participant and an audience.

 

We all want to go back to our school days. No cares, no responsibilities. None to impress. Simple pleasures of life. Budhi retained that innocence till his last days. He never really wanted to grow up. He never did. He had the spirit to continue with the carefree approach of a child. He achieved what we all wished to do and were not able to do so.

 

Unknowingly, Budhi Kunderan became an entertainer first and foremost. He had little care for any win-loss result. He was a showman, a stage artiste. A man born to give delight to the onlookers. Whichever profession he would have chosen, he would have been basically an entertainer.

 

 In a sport known for its traditions and customs, Budhi Kunderan appeared to be a man who had lost his way. He was the first to change the contours of apparel for cricketers. Cricketers of his time in the 1960s were so used to flannels, gaberdine and cotswol outfits that we could not fathom any need for any change of textile. But Budhi, the heretic, thought otherwise.

 

In a Test match he actually batted wearing a collared tee-shirt! It was the Fred Perrie-designed cotton tee, highly popular in the 1950s and 1960s, particularly among the tennis fraternity.

 

Unusual happenings and Budhisagar Krishnappa Kunderan were rarely away from each other. He played for his country even before playing first-class cricket! Only a handful has done so. It was said that so impressed was Lala Amarnath, then a national selector, by Kunderan’s daredevil antics in inter-railway matches that he decided Budhi was ready to play Tests! If Lalaji had decided, no one would have dared to raise his voice in Indian cricket at the time in the 1950s.

 

For sheer versatility he has had few equals. He played for India as a specialist wicket-keeper. He played for India as a specialist middle-order batsman. He played for India as a specialist opening-batsman. As if these were not unusual enough, Kunderan even opened the bowling for India in a Test match in England where the pitches are, as we all know, highly conducive to pace bowlers. So we may well presume that Kunderan was selected for that particular Test match to do the specialist’s job of pace bowling as well! He was an outstanding fielder as well in the deep: agile, acrobatic, swift.

 

But even these unusual happenings lose their significance when we have a look at his most successful series as a Test cricketer. England, then M.C.C., had come under Mike Smith in the winter of 1963-64. The first Test was at Corporation Stadium, Madras. Prior to the start of the opening day’s play, the players were warming up and Budhi Kunderan, one of the reserves, was helping out at one of the nets.

 

About twenty minutes before the toss, the first-choice wicket-keeper, Farokh Engineer, was writhing in pain having suffered a nasty injury to his finger while at practice. The selectors had no option but to ask Kunderan to be ready to play. Within minutes not only was Budhi playing, he was actually putting on his pads to open the innings for India!

 

Those days cricketers played in flannel shirts and in full sleeves. But Budhi had no time for orthodox mode or manner. He strutted out in a white, half-sleeved, tight-fitting shirt and tight drain-pipes! It was considered a sacrilege to wear such an outfit even in first-class matches at the time. But Budhi was no respecter of persons or things; or of customs and conventions.

 

Next to no time he was Dennis the Menace in person. He stepped out of his crease to hook David Larter’s bumpers to the long-leg fence! Went down on his knees and slashed Barry Knight over cover-point. Began sweeping away-going spin and, to add sauce, drew away to the leg side to cut square off the top of the bails. It was sheer bravado, if not outright madness. No normal player would dare to even contemplate such a display of complete disdain.

 

Budhi Kunderan went berserk as did the crowd. Cricket connoisseurs shook their heads in disbelief, but the spectators loved every moment. Whatever it was, it was certainly not the cricket as we knew it. It was pure mayhem. Was his attitude not the precursor to the T20 approach to batting?

 

England’s much-vaunted professionalism, ‘scientific’ field-placing, ultra-defensive tactics went through the window in next to no time. Budhi the heretic had no time for heritage. The hurricane called Kunderan was in no mood for security or style, convention or custom. He was at a race. A race to highlight gay abandon.

 

A race against orthodoxy; a race against grumpy faces; a race against theorists. When the hurricane finally subsided, Kunderan had raced to 192. It was an innings of sheer dare-devilry, sheer audacity. For sheer belligerence that innings has rarely been bettered.

 

By then Kunderan had earned crowd support. They had received their money’s worth. To a man they admired his guts, his sense of adventure. Medium of height, slight of build he was an unlikely hero. But the handsome chiseled features of the ebony-complexioned man made people sit up to take notice. He had taken convention by its throat and put it to rest in a most audacious manner.

 

After that attacking near double-century Budhi became a certainty for the rest of the series. He opened the batting in his own unconventional way but was extremely consistent, ending the series with yet another century. He was the highest run-getter as well as the leader in the batting averages. Not that he cared. Nor did he ever bother to remember, not even after retirement.

 

He was a desperado in the best sense of the term. Being of the attacking mould, he played with fire and took grave risks, often leading to suicidal dismissals. Security and orthodoxy were alien concepts to this man. He loved challenges. He embraced risks. He was a fighter pilot in the garb of an Indian Railway cricketer.

 

It was this defiant attitude, this aversion towards convention, this allergy to dull monotony that endeared him to the cricket lovers. His exciting personality permeated that excitement among the onlookers. When Kunderan walked out to bat, we did not expect match-winning innings. Nor did we hope for match-saving graces. We wanted action; we wanted adventure to lead us to thrills we did not get in everyday life. And in this Budhi hardly ever failed to disappoint us. Surely his approach to cricket inspired people to think in terms of T20 matches.

 

He was primarily an entertainer from top to toe. Everything about him was unusual. He would not wear loose cricket trousers, but ‘drain-pipes’! He would open for India with the approach as if he was the no. 11 in the batting order! He would walk as if he was on a modelling ramp. This is not to be construed a criticism, but a compliment to his fun-loving, exciting persona, whom we adored.

 

In looks he resembled the handsome Rohan Kanhai. In batting too his approach – not the skill: none can match Kanhai’s creativity – matched the world numero uno of the 1960s. If Kanhai was the epitome of individualism in a highly individualistic West Indies side, so was Budhi Kunderan in the India team. In Calcutta we the Bongs adored him for his individualistic streak. But Budhi’s inconsistency of performance went against him in selectorial eyes.

 

Once at Edgbaston in 1967 he opened India’s bowling attack. When asked by the umpire what he would bowl, Kunderan replied that he would have to bowl one delivery to find out! And then, promptly bowled a bumper to Geoff Boycott, who was so taken aback that he had to duck to avoid it. Yes, that was typical Kunderan, the non-conformist.

 

He happens to be one of the few batters who have been called back by the opposing captain after being given out. This happened in the Mumbai Test against West Indies in 1967 when Lance Gibbs appealed successfully against him for a catch at short leg by Gary Sobers.

 

But Sir Gary, the sportsman that he was, withdrew the appeal and Budhi stayed back. Budhi took the opportunity to score a brilliant 79 against the deadly combination of Hall and Griffith; Sobers and Gibbs. This can only happen to cricketers who are genuinely loved by their opponents. Yes, Budhi was surely one of these rare birds.

 

Kunderan’s greatest fans would agree that his keeping of wickets was too flashy to be consistent. He had a tendency to grab, a weakness he never even tried to remedy. If he tried, then he would not have been Budhi. We liked Budhi because he was so unpredictable, so unusual and so individualistic. He was an innocent child in the garb of an adult. We just loved his innocence, his child-like nature.

 

While discussing unusual incidents on the cricket field, former Test umpire Samar Roy once mentioned to me, “Jaisimha and Kunderan used to chat while taking runs! Against Mike Smith’s MCC at Eden, I remember Budhi, while taking a run, say ‘One, Jai’ and Jai replied ‘Right ho, Buddy’. Mind you, Raju, all this was happening while taking a single in a Test match!”

 

Only extraordinary artistes could do so with such spontaneity and casual manner. What showmanship! They were real entertainers with not a care of the morrow.

 

I met him just once. In 1992 in Scotland. I was the coach of Kailash Gattani’s Star Cricket Club. During the course of a match at Aberdeen I was walking around the ground where hardly 10 people had gathered to watch. Suddenly I noticed an Indian face which looked very familiar. Walked up and asked, “Excuse me, are you not Mr Budhi Kunderan?” The face smiled and nodded. Took me to a boundary-adjacent canopy for coffee and we conversed and conversed.

 

When I told him about his own cricket exploits, his eyes became moist. He was frozen in time. I mentioned all his unique, non-conventional traits and mannerisms. He was happy, extremely happy. I realized that he was missing his homeland having married a British lady and having settled down in UK. He had come to watch his son play that particular match for the Scottish team.

 

He expressed no regrets, no recriminations. Did not criticize, nor did he condemn. He kept all his frustrations to himself. Whenever I tried to raise a few unsavoury issues, he said, “Well, that’s life. You win some. You lose some.” When I tried to pay for the coffee, he took out his wallet and said, “Please let me remain an Indian. You are in my hometown.”

 

My last parting shot actually staggered him. Told him, “In 1964 you snicked John Price and began to walk before wicket-keeper Binks could even appeal. Then you flung your bat high in the air and as the bat descended you caught the bat one-handed and strode away to the pavilion. Never seen such magnificent showmanship on a cricket field. You should have been on stage or ramp.”  Hindustan Standard had published the picture on the first page.

 

He ruminated for a while, “Were you actually there? You saw that happen? You still remember it so well. I had forgotten the incident. Never quite thought about it. Certainly had not rehearsed it. It was a spontaneous gesture.” Absolutely to the point, he was. Budhi Kunderan was a spontaneous showman who used the cricket field as his stage.  

 

Kunderan actually was born 50 years too early. He would have thoroughly enjoyed the slap-bang variety of T20 cricket of today. He would have given tons of thrills and loads of enjoyment to the spectators.

 

 The modern media with its penchant to highly emphasize characters would have found in him an ideal target. He would have made an ideal model for merchandise with his looks, mannerism and personality.

 

One particular incident at Eden Gardens I still shudder to relate. Standing on his left toe, Kunderan hooked David Larter and in one reflex action swung his right leg over the stumps! Yes, his heels were just about 2 inches above the bails! I do not think anyone before or since has done such a fascinating act. It was ala Kanhai’s falling sweep. Irresponsible, we thought. But to the irrepressible man it was spontaneous, instinctive A born entertainer, if ever there was one.

 

Budhi Kunderan was all youth, all adventure, a total non-conformist, a total misfit in Test cricket. But we loved him nevertheless. Akin to his close buddies Durani and Jaisimha, Budhi Kunderan revived the seed of glamour in post-war Indian cricket.

 

As I got up from my seat and extended my hand, the soulful face uttered, “In life nothing actually adds up. Nothing remains at the end.” I was stunned. The sensitivity of Shyamal Mitra’s tune rang in my ears: Jibon khatar proti patay jotoi lekho hishab nikash, kichhui robe na…(In life no matter whatever calculations you make, nothing will remain…).

 

Budhi Kunderan was the ultimate sannyasi: totally carefree without a single complaint against anybody for all the trials and tribulations he had to face. Is this Budhi, the innocent child? Or, Kunderan, the philosopher in disguise?

 

He did not extend his hand to clasp mine. He got up and hugged me! Two totally different personalities, who knew not each other were locked in an embrace high up in the Scottish Highlands! Now it was my turn to shed tears…

 

Different paths lead to the same goal: thanks to Bhagwan Shri Ramakrishna.

 

 

 

 

Arati  Saha: who’s she?

At a time when Indian sportswomen are doing wonders around the world, we seem to have forgotten the woman who pioneered the movement.

 The youngest Indian to take part in the Olympic Games was Arati Saha. At just 11 and half, she was a part of the Indian swimming squad at the Helsinki Olympics in 1952. The first Indian woman sportsperson to make international headlines was this young girl long-distance swimmer from Bengal, Arati Saha.

Unfortunately the name does not ring a bell any more. Such is the sports culture in our country that our real champions are forgotten overnight.

At 11 she was an Olympian. She beat all the favourites to be in the Indian swimming team for the 1952 Helsinki Olympic Games. For a young girl yet to reach her teens, to be an Olympian as well as to keep winning gold medals in domestic senior national championships still remain unique feats. Amazing, indeed. But more amazing is that we in India have forgotten her and heroic achievements.

At the 1952 Helsinki Olympic Games although the 11 plus year-old did not win any medal – she was not expected to – in the Olympic village she created a flutter with her natural exuberance and graceful demeanour. Swimming coaches of the other nations predicted a great future for her provided she got the best of training and facilities. Most unfortunately at the time here in India even the very basic facilities were lacking and social inhibitions were heavily loaded against women participants.

The lissome, graceful lady was the cynosure of all eyes in the 1950s. She created waves in the male-dominated Indian sports scenario as she splashed her way to become the first woman from Asia to swim the English Channel in 1959.

Born in 1940, at the age of 5 the child prodigy kept winning medals in various swimming championships in her home state of West Bengal. By 11 she had won numerous events in the senior level national championships with ease.

 Arati Saha was fortunate that her parents, especially her paternal uncle popularly known as Saha-kaka, encouraged her to utilize the swimming pool of Matt-khola Club near their north Calcutta residence. The coach Sachin Nag realized that he was handling a prodigy and thankfully did not try to change her style and approach. Nag and Saha accompanied the young swimmer to the River Hooghly every week for serious swimming practice from the age of 5!

Arati did not disappoint. By 11 she was the national senior champion and an Olympic athlete. While growing up she had heard of the reports of Mihir Sen’s early attempts to conquer the English Channel. But Mihir Sen was away in England. Instead her role model was Brojen Das, certainly among the best long-distance swimmers in the world.

Brojen Das (1927-1997) was from the Bikrampur district of Dhaka. Dhaka at the time was a major city of ‘undivided’ Bengal in pre-independent India. But after independence in 1947 and the dreadful partition of the sub-continent, Das’ family stayed on and thus he became a citizen of Pakistan. Although Das’ family did not cross the border to settle in India, Brojen Das planned to cross the English Channel. The strongly-built swimmer from Dhaka crossed the English Channel in his first attempt in August 1958 in the second position and became the first from Asia to achieve the feat. His timing was a record for a first-timer.

Brojen Das between 1958 and 1961 crossed the English Channel six times. Appropriately enough he became very popular in the sub-continent. Young Arati too was highly captivated by the daring exploits of Brojen Das and Mihir Sen as well as the wide publicity given to English Channel conquerors.

Young Arati after consulting with her guru decided that she too would make an attempt. With Brojen Das (31) crossing the Channel in August 1958 and Mihir Sen (27) a month later in September 1958, the 19 year-old Arati Saha decided that she would wait no longer!

In 1959 at the young age of 19 before setting off for UK to attempt to cross the English Channel, Arati married Dr Arun Gupta, who also accompanied her as the manager.

In UK she had a strange experience. Arati’s route was from Calais in France to Dover in England. After swimming for about 6 hours she suddenly came face to face with turbulent weather and huge waves. Instead of trying to combat the challenge, very sensibly she decided to just float to conserve energy. Unfortunately one of the organizers thought that she needed help and inadvertently touched her. This kind of assistance was against the rules and so she was disqualified.

Extremely disappointed, young Arati was heart-broken and wanted to return to India. Thankfully she received a message from her dad saying, “My personal sorrow I can overcome. But how do I overcome your sorrow? Please try once again.” This motivated her and with her manager-husband’s encouragement she made another attempt within a few days.

This time she overcame each and every challenge that the English Channel could throw at her: biting cold temperature, varying currents, sea creatures and high waves.

When she reached the coast in 16 hours and 15 minutes she became the first lady swimmer from Asia to achieve the feat. It was without an iota of doubt a unique feat for an Asian. Commendable more so because till then only 5 other women-swimmers had achieved the feat.

Messages flowed in from around the world including the Indian prime minister. This was followed by the Padma Shri award on her return. She was the first sportswoman to receive the prestigious award. In 1970 her knowledge of the sport and her work for youngsters was acknowledged by being included in the All India Council of Sports.

She died at a nursing home in Calcutta at just 54 in 1994 after a long illness. Neither the media nor the government showed any interest. Even the swimming fraternity seemed to have forgotten their own genuine champion. Graceful till the very end, she still remains a forgotten soul in her own homeland.

My only interaction with Arati Saha was in the 1980s. Before I could introduce myself, she said, “I read your articles in ABP. I like your style.” She allowed me to touch her feet and asked me, “How do you know me? You must be much younger and could not have seen me in my active days.” I replied, “I am just 10 years younger to you, didi. But I have seen your photographs in the Sport & Pastime magazine of the 1960s which I still possess.”

She smiled and willingly answered my queries. She said that she was fortunate to have had very understanding parents, coach and husband. She added that she had very little time for friends, apart from her swimming colleagues, “Honestly, where was the time for friends and gossip? Studies and swimming took away all my time. I enjoyed both. I wish I had more nutritious diet in my early years. This is a big problem with our talented young swimmers even now. They come from poor families who can hardly afford proper food. As a sports council member we tried our best to rectify this malaise. But still a lot more has to be done.”

It was amazing that she did not want to say anything about her unique achievement or about herself. She was totally submerged into the swimming world of young talents.

I asked her a very pertinent question. She was very candid in response, “Yes, not many girls swam in my time. Primarily because of the inhibitions about swim-wear. But fortunately the people who came to watch us at practice or in competitions were very decent. No awkward remarks I have ever heard. Actually our coaches and officials had created a very congenial atmosphere. We had great fun. I really enjoyed swimming wherever it was.”

About her early life, again she was very frank and forthright, “Actually the problem was the mind-set of our society. No one thought that we women could actually play and win honours. Even our esteemed chief minister Dr Bidhan Chandra Roy discouraged me from going to UK to swim across the English Channel when I went to meet him for sponsorship. He said, ‘What is wrong with you? Swimming the English Channel is a man’s job. You go home and raise a family.’ I told him loud and clear, ‘Yes, of course, I shall go home and raise a family. But before that I shall cross the English Channel just prove many people wrong.’

“It seemed he liked my spirit and gave me my plane fare. Then he was nice enough to call up some local industrialists to help financially. But they all had the same male chauvinistic ideas. They hardly gave anything.

“Actually I borrowed money by leaving behind the little jewellery that I had. Thankfully my manager-husband was a doctor and we could make ends meet. But numerous Indian female sports talents were lost because of our silly ideas about the role of women. Let me tell you, today, that the moment we allow girls to play, the Indian girls will start winning international sporting honours.”

Her immaculate prophecy was proved absolutely correct in the last four decades when women sportspersons began to get facilities to hone their skills. Now we have world champions in various sports disciplines. Arati Saha was the pioneer champion as well as the pioneer activist among Indian sportswomen. Yet we have forgotten her and her yeoman contribution.

I mentioned the name of Brojen Das to her, “The great swimmer had come to our house in 1958 just after crossing the English Channel. He was my maternal uncle Sishir Chatterje’s school-mate in Dhaka in the 1930s.” Her eyes lit up, “You know I hero-worshipped Brojen Das. He was the first Asian to cross the English Channel. His achievement motivated me to make the attempt. Although he was from the neighbouring country, I always thought of him as an Indian because he was a Bengalee!  Am I not right?” She furrowed her eye-brows. I could only smile and nod.

When I coaxed her to relate any unusual experience of her English Channel swim, thankfully she opened up, “Abroad most of the foreigners were very supportive. They guided me in many ways regarding Channel swimming about which I had no idea. They took great care even about little details. I learnt a lot from their positive approach. However one person appeared distinctly discouraging. He said, ‘No coloured lady swimmer has conquered the English Channel.’ Immediately I softly told him, ‘Do not worry about my skin colour. Look at the tri-colour of my nation’s flag. That will flutter. It did.’ Later as the congratulations poured in, he was extremely gracious to come and apologize.”

To appreciate her genius we have to go deep into the social mores and morality of the 1950s. In India at the time hardly any woman was allowed to play. As youngsters some lucky girls would get a few opportunities, perhaps in some schools. Missionary schools advocated sports among their young girl students. But how many Indian girls went to these schools which offered sports facilities to girls? At the time the liberal approach of the Anglo-Indians and the Parsees enabled girls of their communities to play and participate in competitions. Other communities hardly encouraged any sports among women, young or old.

 In this environment to gain international honours in sports was surely no joke for an Indian teenage girl coming from a very orthodox background. When Arati Saha crossed the English Channel at the age of 19 in 1959 she was only the 5^th woman in the world to have done so. Exemplary achievement on all counts.

Yet she remains an ignored figure in India’s sports history. May be in some footnote her remarkable international honour would be casually mentioned. This is India’s real sports culture. We have little respect for our genuine sports heroes and heroines.

Arati Gupta (nee Saha) was a born-rebel. The pioneer sportswoman whose daring brought about a huge transformation in Indian sports ethos.

 

 

 

MS Dhoni: Champion of Champions

With not a single godfather for support, the magnificent man went on lead India to victory in all three formats of world cricket championships. Dhoni’s emergence is a unique tale in Indian cricket: non-influential cricketing State of Bihar; no previous experience of cricket leadership; no help from his own zone; and, most importantly, without a single godfather and media support.

 Despite every possible odd stacked against him, the man became a legendary figure all over the nation. How he managed to survive and went on to achieve phenomenal success is anybody’s guess. His popularity would put film stars and politicians to shame.

The start of the Dhoni story, however, has some extraordinary twists and turns.

In 2004 the BCCI began a system by which young talented cricketers around the country would be identified by talent scouts. Former Bengal first-class cricketers Prakash Poddar and I travelled to Jamshedpur to watch the east zone players in action in the one-day senior inter-state championship in January 2004.

At the end of the first day’s match, after returning from different grounds we met at the dining table. While discussing cricket, Prakashda said, “Raju, today I saw a man hitting the ball with awesome power. Never before have I seen anybody striking the ball so hard. But he is an average wicket-keeper. Since BCCI is looking around for wicket-keepers, I am not recommending his name.” Coming from a man of Poddar’s deep knowledge and wide experience, I was extremely keen to have a good look at the man’s batting potential.

Next morning, as I alighted from the taxi near the Keenan Stadium pavilion gate, I found a motor-cycle screech to a halt a few metres away. A well-built, muscular lad in his mid-20s with long hair, wearing a tight sleeve-less tee-shirt and denims parked his vehicle. Instantly two pariah dogs came towards him and he brought out some biscuits from his pocket to feed them. The speeding bike, the long flowing hair style, the bulging biceps all mitigated against the sensitive care that he took to show his affection for the road-side canines. One could make out those biscuits were brought for the dogs! I was bowled over by the young man’s sensitive nature.

When I asked the Bihar coach if he was the opener who hit the ball very hard, the coach replied, “Yes, this boy from Ranchi is an exceptionally hard hitter. He is playing first-class cricket for about 4 years. No selector has ever taken any notice of him. Even the India captain has seen him playing for Bihar. Why are you so keen to know about him?” By the end of the day, when he had scored just about 30 odd, I realized that I had seen an uncut diamond.

That evening I told Poddar that I had already recommended the name of MS Dhoni to BCCI. Poddar, after some hesitation, agreed that he also should. We decided to send our report to BCCI specially mentioning the exceptional power of the young man’s strokes. As it transpired, the responsible people at the BCCI took serious note of the report of the two talent scouts – after some frantic phone-calls from my end – and the career graph of a young talent from a neglected, non-influential corner of India took an upward curve.

Within months he was playing for India ‘A’ in East Africa. By the end of the very year – 2004 – MS Dhoni was playing for India and had done enough to cement his place. Other wicket-keepers, who hailed from favoured provinces and were being played in the national team by turns and on whims, were now vying for the reserve stumper’s post. A new star had risen on the horizon.

Dhoni’s career graph is a unique case in Indian cricket. Hailing from a family of modest financial background, he had little option but to accept whatever job came his way. The Indian Railways gave him a job based at Kharagpur. But, true to tradition, the Railway selectors decided that a man from the eastern region would not be good enough for the all-India Railways cricket team!

Since Dhoni was based at Kharagpur, which happens to be in West Bengal, he was qualified to represent Bengal in national championships. Where were the Bengal selectors – all former test and first-class cricketers – at the time? Their job was to select the best of talent residing in Bengal. Were they doing their job honestly? I have very strong reservations. Where were the national selectors, especially the east zone representative, who were supposed to act without bias and worse? Were they under some external corrupt influence? Nor did the India captain, hailing from the same zone in Ranji Trophy, had thought of him.

Dhoni, a man of few words, kept his ears and eyes open in the India dressing room to observe what Tendulkar and Dravid were doing to prepare themselves for the battles ahead. He picked up the finer points through observing the best in the business. Off the field, his cool and composed personality was the just right ingredient required for a person craving to learn the ways of the world.

Reams have been devoted to his exceptional abilities. I shall not repeat. But I would like to relate that never before have we had a leader in India – Polly Umrigar always excepted – as exemplary as the man from Ranchi. He began by leading India to the inaugural T20 world cup trophy with all the top names dropping out of the team for one reason or other! A young set of keen lads helped the relaxed captain to bring off one victory after another.

Before leading India, Dhoni had no experience of captaincy. No grooming at all. It seemed he did not need any. Players instinctively followed him for his sterling qualities of character. A distinct sign of a born, natural leader of men.

The success he achieved was really achieved by his strength of character and his wisdom. No other Indian captain – past or present – has been able to match his statistical highlights nor his popularity all over the country. In fact, has any other captain from any country been able to be the world champion in all the three formats at the same time?

Despite such magnificent achievements, the cool and composed man still remains as modest and accessible as he was nearly two decades back when he was making his debut in first-class cricket for Bihar. Far from stooping to gamesmanship, he was the epitome of the ‘spirit of cricket’ concept. His classic calling back of Ian Bell in England, after being given ‘out’ by the umpire, will forever remain a great lesson in sportsmanship. He even allowed a re-toss after having won the first toss in a world cup final. None but a genuine saint can act like he did.

Never took advantage of his position. He could have promoted players of his choice or his State but never did. He respected the selectors and allowed them to do their job. Never got involved with any publicity stunts. Never bothered to get into conflicts and controversies. Detested sledging and avoided verbal duels. Never resorted to any kind of one-upmanship. Never bothered to make the headlines with heroines. Never had cricket-cronies around him. He was and still remains a champion in the truest sense of the word. Kept the media at a distance, thankfully.

His persona was and still remains such that people consider him to be the leader, whether he is leading the team or not. He gave up his Test position in style and in isolation. Did not create any hullaballoo about it. How many men, dear reader, you know who has given up the India captaincy voluntarily without any pressure?

After being out of the captaincy throne, no other India captain has earned the respect and affection of his peers as Dhoni has. This shows the man’s actual worth. Even when not in the any seat of power his considerable aura pervades every nook and corner of Indian cricket. People from all walks of life revere the man for the qualities he has.

To have been at the top of Indian cricket without an influential patron is almost unheard of in Indian cricket. Almost every other long-serving India captain has had the blessings of men in power. Dhoni never had anyone to help him nor did he want anybody around. He was and still remains his own man. He retired from every level of cricket in his own signature style: strictly personal decision without any publicity campaigns.

No fiction writer would ever have conceived the rise and rise of Dhoni to fame and fortune. He was nowhere on the radar in early 2004 before two talent spotters from Bengal – without fear or favour – strongly recommended his name to BCCI.

By the end of the year the name of MS Dhoni was an obvious choice for the national team heading for Bangladesh. A man, who was ignored by all the concerned people for four years, suddenly became the cynosure of all eyes within four months!

Today, however, some former selectors and their cronies are bending backwards to prove that they were the ‘first’ to discover MS Dhoni!!!

Que…sera…sera

 

 

 

 

My Samajda

 Sunday 20th September, 2026 is Sukumar Samajpati’s birthday. Born in 1940 at Pabna, now in Bangladesh, since the age of 3 he has been a resident of Kolkata. In the 1960s we were told by our parents to try to be like Sukumar Samajpati.

Why was it so? That’s because he was an all-rounded personality. A role model for future generations. His orbit was wide and deep. As an academic student he excelled. As a right-winger he was good enough to be in the Indian football team during India’s golden decade in the 1960s. As a classical vocalist he was outstanding with classical tunes flowing in profusion. Rhythm and rhyme matched each other whether on stage or on the field of play.

He was truly matchless. As if these credentials were not exemplary enough, Samajda went on to become a general manager of India’s leading nationalized commercial bank. I doubt if any other Indian sportsman can match such diverse disciplines at such a high level of competence. ‘Lifetime Achievement’ awards from the Government of West Bengal and East Bengal Club were mere formalities.

He still remains the same relaxed person that he has always been throughout his life. While strumming the tanpura, his melodious rendering had the connoisseur nodding in appreciation. With the ball at his feet his dribbling and finishing had the crowds in ecstasy. When he spoke on platforms, audiences heard his erudition in awe. His forays into All India Radio football commentary earned universal admiration.

His manner of speech; his impeccable conduct; his helpful nature, his accessibility to the most simple people all combined to give a halo around his distinguished self. But he carried himself so lightly that nobody would ever feel awkward in his presence. He had time for everyone.

Never would he flaunt his talents to gain any advantage. On the contrary he was the ultimate personification of modesty. He showed paths to others; not blocked them. Grace and graciousness personified, he was hand-crafted by the Creator himself. Otherwise how would a person have so many sterling qualities?

If a popularity contest of All-Round Talents was held, he would be right on top of the chart. Self-effacing, the elegant gentleman still remains the role model that he was.

From my personal experience, I am proud to say that I learnt a lot just by observing him. First met him at Writers Buildings where the former sports minister Subhash Chakravarty requested some of us to sell tickets at street corners to raise money for the stadium-to-be at Salt Lake. I was apprehensive, had little idea to stand on the road and attract attention for donation.

Subhashda had original ideas. He said,” If popular sportspeople are on the streets, then sports-lovers would throng and donate. It is just Rs 10 per slip. Once the stadium comes up, these Rs 10 doners will be happy to think that they also contributed for a single brick! Of course the whole amount will come from the government and big corporate sponsors. But every sports lover must feel the stadium also belongs to him.” Wonderful, unique ideas, without doubt.

Samajda appreciated the idea and also understood my dilemma. He encouraged me, “Just be there. You will see what the sports loving Calcuttans would do.” Sure enough the wads of tickets vanished within minutes! Even a street-beggar bought one and shook my hand! I understood the crazy love of sport of our citizens. Thanks, Samajda, you opened my eyes.

In the 1980s when I was a part of Banks Sports Board, we decided to send talent-spotters to north-eastern states to discover young prodigies. Almost every former sportsman wanted to join thinking of rewards and remuneration to follow. I requested Samajda to suggest a name of a sincere, strong sports personality among his bank employees. Without any hesitation he said, “Bhaskar Ganguly.”

Yes, that was the perfect choice of a man who was a daredevil who could not be influenced. Bhaskar came back with the name of Bhaichung Bhutia on his lips. That began a career and the start of north-east dominance in Indian football. That’s the kind of quiet visionary Sukumarda has always been.

Just a few years ago, Samajda picked me up on his way to meet another of my favourite footballer Tulsidas Balaram, perhaps India’s most-complete player ever. Balada would not let me touch his feet, so I told him, ”Then you bless me by touching my head.” He embraced. Wonderful time together with two of India’s finest gentlemen-sportsmen. Within a few months Balada was no more.

Samajda’s autobiography KHELA SURER GALPO KATHA (Ekalavya publisher) is a must-read for all genuine lovers of sport. Reveals the man and his contemporary society in totality. Available in Amazon as well. The architect of the book is his highly talented daughter, Shrijata. Shrijata happens to be a gold medallist throughout her academic career and a doctorate , no less.

Last week went to meet him at his South Calcutta residence, where three intelligent, talented generations of Samajpatis lead a happy existence. His son is the exceptionally talented classical vocalist, the renowned Sandipan Samajpati. So is his daughter-in-law, Shalma. Soma Boudi, not to be outdone, happens to be a former scientist having done her doctorate in chemistry.

Samajda’s dad was a brilliant portrait painter apart from being a quality soccer player. Now we know where highly talented family lineage came from!

My young friend Siddhartha – a professional architect, former junior Bengal cricketer and BCCI qualified coach – gave me company as a die-hard Samajda fan. Amazingly, Sid’s dad had also told him eulogies of the man we were to visit. Our parents actually thought alike! Thanks to Sid’s skills Samajda’s spontaneous embrace was clicked right on time!

We did not have his address. We did not need it. Every man on the street seemed to know where the star of the 1960s lived! I wonder how many of the present generation sportspeople will have the same response from the common man on the street.

That was Samajda’s greatness. He remained the common man with uncommon credentials of the top order. Our parents were not wrong to advise us to follow the man. One of my role-models.

Bhaktipurna Pranams, Samajda and Boudi.

 

 

 On  Rahul Dravid      part 2

In temples Rahul Dravid garlanded Hindu Deities not divas. Never hosted at home influential political personalities. Never thought of conspiring for political posts or important appointments. Never could visualize ‘fixing’ of cricket matches. In a country where even so-called ‘sadhus in saffron’ manage ‘padma’ awards for themselves, in that dungeon how did he survive and thrive still amazes me. He saw dreadful issues day in, day out throughout his playing career. But the rishi in him was far, far beyond such mundane matters.

As you are all aware, D Litt is an honorary degree given to people who leave a distinct mark in the service of society. The highly deserving man was offered one. But the modest man thought otherwise. Dravid politely declined to accept the honorary appellation.

A genuine gentleman to the core, he revealed glorious courage to refuse an honorary doctorate. In a country where so-called celebrities bend backwards to plead influential circles for official designations, political appointments, national awards and ‘unearned’ academic doctorates, Dravid’s attitude is truly exceptional. No award, no prize could rattle him. Fame and fortune he relinquished in his relaxed manner.

To refuse to accept such inducements places him at par with the greatest of rishis who have left their spiritual mark on this great land of ours. The sage in him never ran after power, fame or fortune. He remained the selfless soul right on the peak of the Himalayas.

***

An incident I must reveal to reveal the man all the more. At Mysore city, Karnataka were hosting Punjab to a Ranji Trophy tie. Manish Pandey, a young talented batter, was playing an excellent innings and remained unbeaten on 80 at the end of the penultimate day, with his team needing around 50 plus to win the tie. While they were doing their cooling-down drills, as match referee I called Pandey and asked him the reason for wearing light grey coloured shoes while batting. Skipper Rahul was more embarrassed than the culprit, Pandey. Rahul, however, asked me if it was possible to allow him to continue with those shoes as he had no other pair.

I told Dravid that if he felt it was perfect, I would allow Pandey to continue with those shoes. Rahul replied, “No, no I do not think these shoes are ok. He should be wearing white shoes. Will you please accept if he puts white plaster on the shoes while batting?” I understood the problem, “Fair enough, skip. Out of sheer respect for you, I will allow it.”

Next day Pandey got his hundred and Karnataka won the match. After the conclusion, skipper Rahul came to the referee’s room and thanked me, “You have opened my eyes. I found most of my lads do not possess proper white cricket shoes. I assure you from next match Karnataka players will wear absolutely proper white shoes.” I was stunned to say the least. Here was a captain who had the courtesy to acknowledge even a minor problem and willing to admit it in public. How many captains would have the courage to uphold the traditional values of cricket in this manner?

***

Another incident revealed another dimension of his persona. At Jaipur, Rajasthan Royals was involved in an IPL match with Delhi Daredevils in 2012. As match referee, I walked in for the toss. The commentator at the toss was Sanjay Manjrekar. He asked me, “Sir, I just want to get the pronunciation of your name correctly. Is it MUKHERJI?” He proceeded to repeat my surname so that he got the pronunciation right.

Instantly Dravid, the RR skipper, smiled, “No, his real name is not MUKHERJI. It is MUKHOPADHYAY. ” I was taken aback for a moment, then replied, “Rahul is absolutely right. Since I am in tie and jacket I call myself Mukherji. In dhoti-kurta, I call myself Mukhopadhyay.” With a smile, Rahul wagged his finger at Sanjay with the ‘I told you so’ look.

The man is really amazing. How did he come to know that the Mukherjis are actually Mukhopadhyays. For a man from Karnataka to know the origin of Bengali surnames is quite astounding. His awareness of the world around goes far beyond the comprehension of most sportsmen. Bright, erudite and articulate, the man is actually one in a million. Far, far ahead of the media-created characters around him during his on-field days.

***

Rahul Dravid is a man of gratitude. He is known to have told the world time and again that Keki Tarapore was his coach, even though he has come under the guidance of far more famous cricket personalities. I asked Shahvir Tarapore, the international umpire and Keki Tarapore’s son, about Dravid’s relationship with his father.

Shahvir said, “My father was his coach at school. Rahul never let anybody forget that. He kept in constant touch with dad even when he was busy with his very tight international schedule. Dad used to feel a little embarrassed when Rahul often praised him publicly. But Rahul always maintained that the early coaches were the real coaches for they help to lay the foundation. To have a proper structure, you need a solid foundation.”

How very true. But how many famous players (Sachin Tendulkar, always excepted) would acknowledge the fact that they should be indebted to their early coaches? Only a brave man of rare character would have the broad-mindedness to accept the truth. With mere wealth one cannot buy ‘class’. This hypocrisy of forgetting the early coaches is apparent in every bio-pic that we get to see of Indian international cricketers.

***

Captains are selected by selectors. Leaders are followed by men. Rahul was a leader, whether captain or not. As a leader of men he proved himself time and again for India, even after retiring from the game. As a captain, he won Test series in West Indies and in England. Also a Test on Pakistan soil as deputy captain. No Indian captain has achieved this rare feat, media people please note.

 Initially with Karnataka and later with Rajasthan Royals, captain Dravid kept his profile low but was highly proactive. He was their captain, their mentor, their coach. Their leader in every sense. He accepted every role with grace and graciousness. Players within his orbit progressed not only as cricketers but also as human beings. All those who have played under him whether for Karnataka or Rajasthan Royals have no qualms in acknowledging that they literally worship him.

Rahul Dravid remains the modest self that he has always been. Never a word out of place. Never an act to raise any eyebrow. Never cared for publicity. Never flirted with any controversy. Never tried to draw any attention to himself. Always remained the selfless, low-profile, intelligent and articulate gentleman.

Rahul Dravid belongs to the Age of Renaissance. He does not believe in the violent radicalism of change, but in the matured reasoning of fusion. His approach is the approach of an intelligent, enquiring mind. A mind that observes, listens, studies, absorbs and applies. A mind that is willing to probe and to question and to discuss. A mind that acknowledges the contribution of the past; a mind that seeks the path of future progress.

As a pragmatic individual, like the heroes of the Renaissance, his whole cricket is based on the fundamental values and classical ideas of the game. He bats with the full face of the bat to the ball because that was the original idea of the game. It has not changed because the width of the bat remains the same. He does not believe in snicking a ball and claiming to have guided the ball on purpose. I have seen him lower his head in disappointment and in anguish when an edged, unintended shot fetched him some runs.

When he goes forward to play, he really goes to embrace the ball close to his body. Knees and waist sufficiently bent, not in supplication but with all due concentration for the job. Like the classical exponents he wants his mind and his eyes to monitor the movement of his body to the ball. This is concentration and commitment of the highest order.

The champion cricketer belonged to the old school. Impeccable technique, both in defence and in offence. A man who carried the national flag on his shoulders. An Indian national of pride and self-respect. 

Dravid has been a marvellous ambassador for India. Erudite, articulate and sensitive, he has approached his job of playing for India from various angles. Primarily, as a cricketer and later as a coach. But, no less important, as a national representative. Whether meeting young fans or heads-of-state he has kept his perspectives clear.

 On the field, his great quality was consistency. Right from his school days his was a name that kept cropping up whenever Karnataka played. Consistency was, and still is, his forte. Consistency and commitment that come from values. Values which imbibe technique, temperament, attitude, conduct. Under every count he would get very high honours marks.

The man’s selfless service to Indian cricket would be remembered by those who have seen him. For future generations his contribution would be enshrined in diamond and platinum. Rahul Dravid’s serious mien is reflected in the frown that he wears. It is not the frown of a disturbed man, but the frown of a man of commitment. A soul, who is willing to make personal sacrifices for the national cause. What a refreshing change from those petty men who create hassles even about batting orders and bowling spells.

When he came into Test cricket in England in 1996 he looked the part from Day1. Runs came in profusion, not through non-conventional strokes but by means of accepted modes and conservative ideology. He approached cricket with intelligence as he approaches everything else in life. His has been an approach that lends credence to conventional and orthodox patterns. An approach that reassures the older generation to keep faith in the younger set.

In a cricket world that lost its innocence, Dravid’s presence was the only consolation. He upheld the spirit of cricket and its traditional values on and off the field. He was probably the last of a rare breed. A great cricketer; a greater human being.