Kanhai: the lonely creative genius

Very difficult to write on a person whom you consider to be your all-time favourite. But I shall give it a try, knowing very well I will not be able to do justice. Let’s try…

Post 1958 hundreds of Indian babies were named ROHAN. Not for no reason. Intelligent parents who value genius, realized that they wanted their child to be named after one such. Today thousand of Rohans are a living symbol of our homage to a creative artist. Before 1958, dear readers, you would not find a single Rohan in the sub-continent! What a superlative remembrance, far ahead of any international award.

In 1958-59 arrived Gerry Alexander’s West Indies cricket team to India. They left behind glorious memories on the field. Cricket watching in India underwent a huge metamorphosis. We were used to other Test-playing nations and their characteristic styles but the men from the Caribbean islands were totally different. Their movements elastic and mannerisms egalitarian.

Free-flowing, fun-loving, these players were not only cricket players from distant lands, they were actually entertainers who made even a 5-day Test worth watching. Loose-limbed, acrobatic, forever smiling they enjoyed their game just as they gave enjoyment to others.

However two men in the team were different in looks and manner. They were mahogany and not ebony as the others in complexion. They were much shorter, much less quieter in comparison. They were Sonny Ramadhin and Rohan Kanhai.

Both were descendants of immigrants whose families migrated years back from eastern India, particularly Bihar, to Trinidad and British Guiana (now Guyana). Ramadhin had already been a world-beater in the early 1950s but sadly as the years passed the spinning fingers were no longer supple enough.

But the other brown man was young, strong and audacious. Determined to express his individuality in a white and black dominated society. Ever since his debut he was surrounded by a plethora of batting giants, all black and massive: Weekes, Walcott and Worrell followed by Hunte, Collie Smith, Basil Butcher, Seymour Nurse and the world record holder Garfield Sobers. The East Indian in the West Indies team began as a wicket-keeper and soon enough impressed upon the West Indies selectors his potential primarily as a batter.

Highly temperamental in his youth, through sheer indiscretion he sacrificed his wicket on numerous occasions. But with age came a transformation. Always neat and stylish in appearance, now the debonair man had his shirt buttoned at the cuffs and a handkerchief around his neck. The moody man’s transformation into maturity was remarkable.

 Even at the age of 40 in 1975 he was found indispensable to the exceptionally strong West Indies batting line-up, the perpetual champions of the 1970s. In the inaugural world cup in 1975 he played a stellar, sheer-anchor role to help Clive Lloyd’s team, which included Gordon Greenidge and Viv Richards, to win the coveted cup.

 Apart from his brilliant batting genius, Kanhai’s fielding prowess whether in the slips or in the covers never lost its brilliant sheen. Even at 40 his magnificent fielding did not suffer in comparison to Lloyd and Richards. That’s real genius. They have no age bar. No class bar. In fact, no bars at all. They exist in splendidly in isolation just as well in company.

Kanhai played professional cricket all over the world. Wherever he went he left behind exemplary memories as player, as coach and as manager. Truly an ambassador of cricket. He met and overcame social disparity and racial disparity right from his youth. But no repressive restriction could defeat the audacious artist. He strode the cricketing world in style and splendor.

In the first two Tests in India in 1958, he was yet to find his touch. Subhas Gupte called him ‘my bunny’ after getting his wicket twice at Kanpur. Kanhai gave him the look of Parasuram and remembered the insult. At Eden he had Gupte scurrying for cover and was never the same threat again. He finished the careers of Dattu Phadkar and Ghulam Ahmed forever.

But he did not do it as the axe-carrying Avatar would. Kanhai’s method was the method of Leonardo Da Vinci. When the Mona Lisa was created, the artist did not jump with exhilaration. There was no scene of triumph. The genius Da Vinci merely left it for others to comment on it.

Through sheer artistry the handsome young batter had the Eden Gardens crowd applauding every stroke of his exquisite drawing of an innings. He did not explode. Did not exaggerate; did no exhibitionism. The audience seethed with excitement; the audience erupted; went into ecstasy. Enthralled at the evolution.  An ethereal moment it was. Came and went. Left behind a memory to treasure and savour.

In his hands Kanhai held a paint-brush as a bat. Did not reveal any rancour on the easel’s canvas. Just left the Indian fielders standing as his deft placements bisected the gaps. Not a single sizzling ‘sixer’, every boundary neatly etched reached the fence leaving an imprint on the emerald-green turf of the iconic Eden.

The bowlers knew not what to do with an inspired artist at the other end. 203 unbeaten runs flowed from the genius’s bat on Day 1. World-class spinners like Gupte and Ghulam were made to look like pedestrians through cultured strokes of an artist with pads and gloves on. The bat was his brush and Eden’s manicured carpet his canvas.

During the course of the art-work he played a stroke that had never been witnessed before in the whole wide world of cricket. It appeared that he had slipped on the crease and then in one spontaneous action he banished the ball while lying on the ground. In an instant he was up and about as if nothing had happened!

Time stood still. The crowd stood in appreciation. No loud cheers. No whistles. No crackers were heard. Ripple after ripple of applause spread around the historic venue as the seconds crossed into minutes. A solemn affair: birth of a unique work of art.

 The young man of East Indian descent merely bent his head, in modest supplication to the appreciative blessings. Why did he choose Calcutta to reveal this extraordinary stroke? Surely he could not have known the city’s love for creativity and originality; the respect for art and culture. Destiny decided that Eden Gardens would give birth to Rohan Kanhai’s most creative and original ‘falling sweep’.

 This stroke was replicated many times but only by one man, Rohan Kanhai. None else in the history of cricket has been able to copy it. At par with the contributions of artistic geniuses in any field of art.

I met Kanhai just once. Way back in 1987. The world cup final was scheduled at Eden Gardens. Prior to the start of the world cup many world class former players joined a cavalcade around the periphery of Eden Gardens, the venue of the final to be.

 At Tollygunge Club, Bata’s had organized a promotional campaign with Kapil Dev welcoming us at the gate to a reception. As I entered I found a lonely man sitting in one corner. Made a beeline for him and introduced myself. He extended his hand, with forearms as thick as my thighs. Without further delay I said, “Welcome back to Calcutta. Saw you in 1958 and 1966.” He smiled and nodded,” Amazing popularity cricket enjoys here in this city.”

I: Do you know who’s primarily responsible?

K: No. Sorry, I don’t.

I: The one and only Rohan Kanhai. You.

K flabbergasted: Whaaaat? What do you mean? Are you crazy?

I: Primarily you along with, of course, Sobers, Hall and Gilchrist on a December morn in 1958 changed Eden Gardens audience forever.

K: Ah! Yes, Gilly was there. So were Big Wes and Gary. Sadly that was Gilly’s last tour.

I: But Calcutta remembers you the most. After the 1^st days’ play, when you were 203 not out, the word got around about your falling sweep. Not a single seat was left vacant in the daily seats enclosure from 2^nd day onwards. People still talk of that stroke. A crude stroke like sweep done with such subtlety and sophistication.

Kanhai was stunned. Did not touch liquor. Hardly ate. Still the graying gentleman was as handsome as ever. He said in utmost modesty, “Are you sure I am not monopolizing you?”

I: No. I have come to meet you only. To express my deepest regard.

K: The game has undergone so much of transformation. Now ODIs are more popular that Tests.

I: Even in ODI you were the first to show that 60 overs is a long time to settle down. It is not all bang, bang. In the world cup final of 1975 your stolid fifty helped Lloyd to get the century after the initial setbacks. West Indies needed your maturity. With singles you kept the score-board moving and ultimately helped to win the trophy. Wish Sunil had done the same in 1975 and not be pilloried as he is even now!

Kanhai was truly bowled. “Let me tell you something. None has analyzed me in such detail. I don’t think I could have bettered what you have done.”

I: Geniuses do not analyze. They just create. Spontaneous and inspiring.

As I shook his hand and left the place, Kanhai smiled and said,” Take care.”

Rohan Kanhai will be remembered by all genuine cricket lovers for having invented a stroke, which no one in the universe has been able to duplicate. He helped to raise the stock of the East Indian domiciles in the Caribbean. Prominent names – Kalicharran, Chanderpaul, Shiv Narine among others – have paraded the cricket arena since the advent of Babulal Kanhaiya’s only son, the one and only Rohan Babulal Kanhai.

In just a few words, discerning critic John Woodcock described Kanhai: …in full flow he came nearer to batting like Don Bradman than anyone else since Bradman retired…

In accordance with many other very serious cricket writers, Woodcock meant in complete domination of the bowling. No greater compliment can be given to any batter, any period, anywhere.

 

 

 

 

My Phulda.

In the late 1960s my very close school-mate Bapi and I were regularly at loggerheads with our diametrically opposite political views. He was all for the naxalite movement that had taken grasp. I of course was an ardent admirer of Swami Vivekananda. One day Bapi took me to a person who he claimed would give me a clear perspective of ‘leftist’ ideology.

As it transpired I met a remarkable individual. A liberal mind of immense knowledge and wide orbit. A man of charm and humour. But I am going ahead of my story…

“Raju, Bapi told me you are the captain of the Bengal Schools cricket team. But you do not look like a sportsman at all.” The debonair man put his arm around me.

”Why not?”  I nervously asked.

“You look like a serious student and a monk in the making,” he smiled.

“A monk?” I stood stunned.

His wife, Deepa Chattopadhyay, was a well-known badminton player at the time. I was well aware of her fame and had seen her pictures in The Statesman. She came to my defence, ”Pulu, that’s no way to rag a young 16 year old.”

The handsome man smiled again, “No, no. I wasn’t teasing him. Just a simple statement. Because Bapi had told me his cricketer-friend Raju was a devotee of Swamiji.” This is how the conversation flowed way back in 1966 when I first met Deepa-di and her husband Soumitra Chattopadhyay.

Deepa-di was at the time the champion woman shuttler of Bengal and cine-star Soumitra was the heart-throb of millions. My friend Subrata Mitra (Bapi) was almost a family member through his close association with Deepa-di’s younger sister Bulu. Phulda – as Bapi addressed Soumitra Chattopadhyay and I followed suit – was a charming conversationalist with a wide repertoire of interests. We discussed sports and politics generally, although Krishnanagar, City College, Calcutta University, Satyajit Ray, Apu, Coffee House came for fleeting references.

At the time the glamorous celebrity-couple used to stay on Southern Avenue. Bapi, my classmate at St Xavier’s School, was a vociferous supporter of Marx and Engels. He asked me to join him whenever he visited the Chattopadhyay household. Deepa-di, a vivacious lady with the softest of hearts, was the reigning queen of the badminton court in Bengal. The Lady Brabourne College graduate was forever in my support whenever Phul-da tried to rag me.

The way the couple conversed with us – at least 16 years their junior – and made us feel comfortable in their presence revealed their class and charm. Deepa-di was an admirable hostess while Phul-da was a warm-hearted, humourous raconteur, if ever there was one.

Whenever I met Phul-da at his place, he was always dressed in a long-flowing panjabi and spotless white wide-pajamas, the typical attire of a cultured, intellectual of Bengal. As we progressed into our post-graduation studies in early 1970s, Bapi came under the influence of Charu Mazumdar’s movement as were some of my other friends like Sanjay Basu Ray and Ram Gopal Mitra. Without Bapi around, my association with the wonderful couple gradually dwindled and came to a standstill.

Later in 1979 I went across to their residence, now at Lake Temple Road (previously, Satyajit Ray’s apartment), to invite them to my wedding reception. Deepa-di and Phul-da promised that they would certainly come but they would be very late! When I expressed surprise, Deepa-di settled my doubt, “If he goes on time, Raju, you would face unnecessary problems with security.” Absolutely to the point. No false modesty.

As the wedding reception neared its end, there was no sign of the glamour couple. BK Saha, the then Police Commissioner, had policemen posted at various places. Even his patience was at the end of its tether. He asked,” Do you think Soumitro-babu will really come at this late hour?” I had no doubt at all, “If he has given his word, he will keep it. That’s for sure.” BK Saha – himself an excellent table-tennis player – stayed back till the distinguished couple arrived.

Though a fitness fanatic, Phul-da enjoyed the fish mayonnaise and the lobster thermidor. True to form, Deepa-di did justice to the Bijoli Grill preparations. Mr Barick, the proprietor, was thrilled at being highly complimented. 

A week later with wife Seema, I went to their flat to thank them. Seema wore the bangles they had gifted her. Deepa-di was extremely pleased as was Phul-da. They blessed us profusely.

For various reasons we hardly met over the next few years. Except perhaps very casually at some media parties. To me it was always the Phul-da of good old days: warm and affectionate. Once his close buddy Pradip-da (PK Banerjee) was present. It was a delight to see and hear the two friends exuding charm and affection all round. Both were exceptionally knowledgeable and full of humour.

In January 2015 a pleasant surprise awaited us. Seema’s cousin-sister Tanuja flew down from Mumbai to attend a ceremony as the guest of honour to celebrate the 80^th birth anniversary of her close friend Phulu, with whom she enjoyed fabulous chemistry on and off the screen.

 While at Kolkata She enjoys her shot of Scotch with us at the Bengal Club. This time was no exception. Seema and I were invited to Phulda’s 80^th birthday function. We met Tanuja at Oberoi Grand and went together to the function at the Academy of Fine Arts. We were escorted to the ‘green room’ and saw the dashing 80 year old in his inimitable candour.

The regal bearing of the magnificent performer came to the fore. He began with a chat-show with Tanuja, followed by a superlative rendering of Tagore’s poems and finally concluded with a shruti-natya with his daughter. Incomparable in every respect. The ultimate in Bangali Bhadralok culture.

Prior to the show, on seeing me in the ‘green room’, Phul-da’s eyes lit up and he gave that million-dollar smile and clasped my hand with all warmth, “Arey Raju, onek din por. Tomar lekha mon diye pori. Khub bhalo lagey.” It was enough for me, coming from a person for whom I had the highest admiration as a performer and as a person.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tribute to Sir Gary Sobers: the iconic legend at the iconic Eden Gardens                                    

Just two names will appear in every cricket follower’s World XI: Donald George Bradman and Garfield St Aubrun Sobers. Forever they will be enshrined in the ultimate XI of Test cricketers.

Till 31^st December, 1958, we in Calcutta had not seen Gary Sobers. Had only known that he was the world record holder with 365 runs. And in the previous two Tests on this tour of India with Gerry Alexander’s West Indies team he scored two hundreds, 142 not out at Bombay and 198 run out at Kanpur.

At Eden Gardens West Indies won the toss and batted.  Openers Hunte and Holt left early. At no. 3 handsome Rohan Kanhai walked in. As the 2^nd wicket fell, the crowd stood up in expectation of the man they had come to watch. In the NCC enclosure where I was, the spectators began to cheer “Sobers”, “Sobers”. The huge NCC score-board too put the name of Sobers on the appropriate space.

However as an eight-year old cricket-crazy youngster, I told my mom beside me that the player was not Gary Sobers but Collie Smith! The gentleman beside gave me a condescending smile and furrowed his eyebrows. As Smith took guard as a right-hander, the score-board changed the name and the gentleman gave me a warm pat on the back.

Kanhai scored a blistering 256, followed by Basil Butcher’s 103. In the meantime one left-handed artist –this time batting at number six – remained unbeaten on 106. The style of his languid walk, the grace of his movements captivated the Eden Gardens connoisseurs and the common man. Never seemed to hit the ball, merely caressed it.

 On reaching the landmark hundred, he raised his bat but lowered his head in a gesture of utmost modesty. What a lesson to learn. The West Indies with their free flowing mannerisms and smiling faces transformed Eden Gardens forever. Cricket at Eden was never the same again. The mad rush for Test match tickets at Calcutta began with Sobers and Kanhai, Hall and Gilchrist. That was 1958-59 winter.

Next Gary Sobers arrived with Jim Swanton’s XI followed by Mohun Bagan AC’s platinum jubilee match in 1964. On either occasion sheer artistry flowed till the customary century was recorded. Wherever he went around the cricketing world, his phenomenal performance was invariably overwhelmed by his lazy elegance and graceful gait.

Next time at Eden he was in 1966-67. Before the start of the 1^st day’s play Sobers, now the captain, was having a bat-ball ‘warm-up’ knock-about on the practice pitch without nets in front of the NCC enclosure. I was close to the scene holding onto the low fencing, gaping at him. What I saw was amazing to say the least.

 One of the reserve players of Wse Indies, Rex Collymore, a left-arm spinner was bowling to my cricketing God. Sobers was softly pushing the ball back to the bowler. I was thunderstruck when I noticed he was using the narrow width of the bat! He was not using the broad blade of the bat but batting with the edge! Batting with the edge without being beaten even once! In all my experience till today never have I seen anybody else do this with such ease and elegance.

On the 2^nd day of the match (1^st January 1967), the greedy CAB organizers sold more ‘daily’ tickets than the accommodation available! The crowd went berserk. They climbed the low iron fencing around the ground and chased the police and the administrators. The day’s game had to be abandoned.

The West Indies players quite rightly were unwilling to continue the Test match because they felt insecure. The local manager of the West Indies team was Dilip Ghosh, an erudite man and superlative administrator. He rushed to Sir Frank Worrell, who was on a lecture tour at Jadavpur University.

Worrell impressed upon his protégé Sobers that the representatives of West Indies Federation had to be impeccable guests. Moreover the Calcutta cricket enthusiasts did not attack the players at all. This guidance was motivation enough. The match continued. Within months, Sir Frank was no more.

The greatness of two cricketing knights – one earlier in 1964 and one later in 1975 – showed the world what cricket and international relations were all about. They were the two pioneer personalities whose selfless sportsmanship made the West Indies men the most respected and the best cricketers in the world.

Met Sir Gary just once, at Nottinghamshire CCC in 1977. I was in the 2^nd XI while the genius had finished his superlative career with the county club in 1974. His prime message to the gathering was, “Enjoy the game and give enjoyment to others.” Wherever he went he was the foremost ambassador of cricket. His generosity, his genius and his sportsmanship are beyond words and ages.

 Sobers needed no appellation or awards. But generations bowed their heads to him and hailed him as “The Greatest”.

(This article appeared in The Telegraph the day following the legend’s death.)

 

 

 

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.