Monotosh Roy (top) & Monohar Aich (above)

The body-building awards are purely subjective issues at the competitive level. There are no set standards. Although the statistical figures are taken into account, it is a matter of the judgment of judges on whom the decisions rest. The judges rely on bearing, deportment, muscle-movement and proportion as much as on the attributes that can be measured and evaluated.

The art of body-building held a great fascination for every society in the ancient world. The Greek sculptors eulogized the body-beautiful concept. Pheidas’ Zeus is a classic example. So is the Italian genius Michaelangelo’s David.  Comparatively contemporary names like Charles Atlas and Eugen Sandow have gone into folklore because of the beauty of their physical proportions. Truly it is said that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.

In 1951 when Monotosh Roy, a jeweller from Calcutta, returned from USA with the Mr Universe title, people were aghast. Not only around the country but even in his hometown of Calcutta, the general populace had little idea of what the title meant. No one could visualize that an Indian could be capable enough to compete with the world’s best and become a world champion at a physique-display contest.  They took time to regard his championship-winning title seriously.

Thankfully Amrita Bazar Patrika of Calcutta – a newspaper involved with the nationalist movement since the pre-independence days – highlighted the news item to show that Indians were in no way inferior to any other nationality in the world. We actually had a world champion in an individual event with us. The Olympic hockey gold medal we were used to, but a world champion in an individual contest, especially body-building, was beyond belief.

The title of ‘Mr Universe’ is now known as ‘Mr World’. In our country the male body-building contests are not very popular.  But around the world the masculine body-building contests are followed by millions. Very deservingly the body-builders get a whole lot of media coverage. Sponsorships and patronage are readily available abroad. Unfortunately in India we have little regard for physical development and consequently body-building is not a popular pastime.

Body-building was not conceived in India as a sport activity. In its early days in the late 19^th century many akharas (gymnasiums) had emerged to enable young men to develop their physique so as to put it to use in the freedom movement of the time. Many of our nationalist leaders advocated the ‘healthy body, healthy mind’ concept. In Bengal the akharas were the hot-beds of politically-minded revolutionaries who wished to free the country from the grip of the Britons.

Body builders are men of remarkable dexterity. They develop themselves in such a manner that they can take part in various related activities. Body-builders have been associated with weight-lifting, with power-lifting as well as with yogic exercises. They reflect the masculine form in the best manner possible.

When Monotosh Roy returned with the Mr Universe championship title, he actually inspired a whole generation of Indian youth in Bengal, if not around the country. Born in 1916 Monotosh Roy spent a life in total devotion to his worship of the masculine physical self. He knew and preached that a healthy body meant a healthy mind. Just as Rabindranath Tagore and Narendranath Dutta (later famous as Swami Vivekananda) had practised physical culture in their youth and in time advocated its benefits.

In the following year in 1952 another man from Calcutta decided to try his luck at the world championship. Diminutive Monohar Aich created a sensation in US in his first outing. He walked away with the Mr Universe title with ease. Extrovert and demonstrative, he held the audience in awe.

Monohar Aich was just under 5 feet. Initially the judges were not too impressed because of his height. But when he began to display his marvellous physical self, the crowd went into raptures. The judges were unanimous in granting him the title. The media began to call him ‘Pocket Hercules’. The name stuck and even today people identify him more by his nickname than his actual name of Monohar Aich.

In the 1991 general elections, actor Victor Banerjee was a candidate for the parliament from one of the constituencies of Calcutta. At an election campaign when the late BJP politician Tapan Sikdar was told that Monohar Aich would precede him as one of the speakers, he politely asked who the gentleman was. One man told him, “Tapanda, ooni amader Pocket Hercules.” Sikdar was taken aback but instantly recovered, “That’s great news. He was my boyhood hero. Sorry, I had forgotten his actual name.”

Both Monotosh Roy and Monohar Aich were responsible in highlighting the image of their motherland to other nations which were not quite familiar with India’s propensity towards physical development. The foreigners were amazed to observe at first-hand about the physical development culture that existed in the sub-continent.

The American print media deserves our praise for giving very enthusiastic publicity to these world championship victories. They did not cringe in their coverage. On the contrary their media reports were much more than what was reported in the Indian sports pages. Apart from Chennai-based The Hindu’s Sport & Pastime and the now defunct Calcutta-based newspaper Amrita Bazar Patrika, no other Indian print-media did justice to the two world champions. The western media were full of accolade for India and caused quite a flutter around the body-building world.

This was in the early 1950s, in 1951 and 1952. It is to the great credit of Monotosh Roy followed by Monohar Aich to convince Indians that we can compete with the best and have the capability to beat them, even in physique-development.

Thankfully today Indians have realized that the ‘body beautiful’ concept helps in keeping one healthy in mind and body. People are now very seriously into walks, into cycling, into hiking. These activities are certainly not body-building in reality and should not even be thought of on similar lines. But the idea of raising the issue is just to say that we have understood the value of physical exertion in our everyday life-style.

Monotosh Roy continued coaching young body-builders in the art at his gymnasium in north Calcutta. The jeweller in him had an eye for gems. In body-building too he identified genuine gems and trained them to higher honours. Among the many outstanding body-builders who came to the fore with his tutelage was his son Moloy Roy.

Moloy Roy emerged as another exemplary Asian champion. Moloy Roy went on to receive the prestigious Arjuna award in 1978, an honour that was denied to his father who expired in 2005 at the age of 89 guiding his generations of pupils till the last.

Moloy Roy’s fantastic physique was not lost on the iconic film-maker Satyajit Ray. Ray cast him in a longish role in his award-winning film Joy Baba Felunath, where Moloy Roy left an ever-lasting impression on the audience about physical culture by emphasizing, “The body is a temple. Respect it. It is a work of art.” Just goes to show the high regard that the great film director had for sports and sportsmen.        

Monohar Aich too continued with his worship of ‘body-culture’. Observing his dedication hundreds of young men began to congregate at his gymnasium. A distinct culture of ‘body beautiful’ emerged. Till his death Monohar Aich enjoyed doing his yoga postures as he gave enjoyment and cheer to generations of young body-builders. Monohar Aich maintained his amazing body till his last breath in 2016 at the age of 104.    

We owe them our gratitude for their pioneering zeal to uphold India’s honour. They had no sponsor, no patron and no assistance from any government or private agencies. They relied totally on themselves, on their friends and families for support.

Thankfully their sacrifices were not in vain. In 1988 a 33–year old body builder from Gurdaspur in Punjab, Premchand Degra, repeated their feat and went on to win the Mr Universe title. Today when we see filmy heroes and young men spending time in gyms, we fondly remember the names of two men who first became world champions in this sphere, Monotosh Roy and Monohar Aich.

Both Monotosh Roy and Manohar Aich were not recognized by the Government of India for their exemplary service to the nation. Both gave a distinct respectability to the culture of body-building in India by winning the world’s most coveted crown. But their contribution went unheralded. The Indian media found no time or inclination to honour our genuine world champions. What are the sportsmen in the influential political circles doing today, apart from making money at the tax-payers’ expense? Shame on us for ignoring our genuine world champions.

 

  

 

Henry Rebello

Henry Rebello is a long-forgotten name in the world of Indian sport. Ironically in a nation devoid of world-class athletes, we have failed to remember the first top-quality athlete of independent India. Rebello flashed across the Indian sky as a comet.

As a strapping 19 year-old triple jumper (called ‘hop, step and jump’ in earlier eras as the jump literally is) just prior to the London Olympic Games in 1948, Henry Rebello of India caused a sensation. The callow youth was consistently crossing 50 plus feet during the previous one year. He had no competition in India. His 50 plus feet placed him among the top triple-jumpers of the world.

In a tournament in the United Kingdom just before the London Olympic in 1948 he was again at his best. The athletic experts predicted a certain medal for India in the triple jump event. On current form there was little doubt that an athletics medal was awaiting India. Never since Norman Pritchard – a former Calcutta Xaverian – in 1900 at the Paris Olympiad did any Indian athlete create such an expectation.

On the day of the triple jump Henry Rebello easily crossed the qualifying marks in the morning and was among the best jumpers waiting for the final event later in the day. He began his warm-up exercises to get ready for his first of three jumps in the final elimination round.

Just as he was ready and about to begin his run leading to the jump, he was asked to wait for a medal ceremony that was being held in close vicinity. Henry Rebello had no option. He had to wait for the ceremony to be over. He put on his track suit back again. Then suddenly without any notice the Olympic officials asked him to go for the jump.

Now there was no time for any further warm-up. Young and inexperienced Henry had no one beside him who could have helped him to deal with the officials. Without warming-up, an athlete taking a jump is unheard of. That, too, in the Olympic Games! But that is exactly what happened. Henry Rebello was forced to go for the first jump without any further preparation.

Teenager Henry Rebello with the typical adventurous spirit of youthful energy went for the jump with the maximum effort. Airborne, he heard his hamstring muscle snap and he fell in a heap. He had to be carried out on a stretcher. His Olympic dream was over. India’s best medal prospect was let down through sheer inexperience and the cold, blistery London weather.

The interval of the wait had a disastrous effect on the young man’s physique. In those vital 15 minutes, the warmed-up body lost the effect of the warm-up exercises. The cold and biting-breezy conditions of London got through to him. In the warmer Indian clime the effect of the warm-up exercises would have stayed much longer. Used to Indian environment, the inexperienced youth did not realize that the body would become stiff in such a short while.

If he was experienced enough or had a proper coach beside him, he would not have given much effort in the first of the three jumps. He would have taken the first jump easy because there were two more jumps available to him. After the first jump he could have warmed up and prepared himself for the following jumps. This is what experience and guidance are all about. It was too much to expect from an inexperienced, excited youth in his teens. For these umpteenth subtle reasons one needs a genuine coach.

Ultimately the gold went at 50 feet six and a half inches; the bronze at 49 feet three and a half inches. Both these figures our Henry had crossed so many times. A supremely fit Henry never had the slightest of muscle strain in his career yet at the decisive moment he was laid low. On such slender margin depends one’s destiny.

Henry Rebello’s life and career reveal the general callousness of our sports officials in India. With only a few exceptions, people who have handled Indian sport have not done justice to the responsibility bestowed on them. It is precisely these issues that separated Pankaj Gupta –   India’s versatile cricket and hockey manager from 1936 to 1952 – from the others who managed Indian teams. Where were the India team’s athletics manager and coach when Henry Rebello was being pushed out and pushed in at the time of the decisive jump? Nobody would ever know. Nobody would ask. Nobody would be accountable. That’s the typical Indian sports scenario.

As a youngster Henry Rebello was a most reluctant sportsman. He was more into studies, as is the normal trend in India among the educated middle-class. But his school headmaster in Bangalore was very particular that every student must take compulsory part in sporting activities. Henry had to follow the school rules.

Within a year he was actually showing enormous talent as a triple jumper. Every record was his at school, district and State levels. At 18 he was the national champion. So far ahead of the rest was he that his competition was against himself.

His amazing consistency resulted in reaching the Olympic qualifying mark with ease. He had a natural style and flair. Not coached, he developed his own technique. He was hailed by the critics to be a certain Olympic medal prospect in view of his consistency and form.

After the disastrous injury, Henry Rebello concentrated more on his career in the Indian Air Force and gave exemplary service to his country. After retirement he was the first director at the National Institute of Sports. He was an all-round sportsman and had shown remarkable dexterity as an administrator.

While other Olympic non-medalists were repeatedly brought into public focus through various forums, our first-ever world-class athlete was totally ostracized. Surprisingly he never got any worthwhile mention in the Indian media. We hardly ever heard of him when we were young. No one seemed to have known anything about him. No one cared to remember him. Unfortunately he was destined to lead a life in obscurity.

I was indeed fortunate to have had a Jesuit priest in our Calcutta St Xavier’s College, Reverend Cecil Leeming SJ – himself a national-level athlete during his youth in the 1930s – to tell us of the magnificent exploits of Henry Rebello.

With his fantastic sports and scholastic background Henry Rebello should have been an ideal role model for the Indian youth in the post independence era. Instead he became a non-entity. No awards. No national honours. Perpetually ignored, his name still resides in some obscure foot-note of Indian athletics history.

That an athlete of genuine world-class should be neglected and ignored is just a reflection of the status a world-class sport champion has in Indian society. Why can we not honour them posthumously at least?

 

 

Henry Rebello

Henry Rebello is a long-forgotten name in the world of Indian sport. Ironically in a nation devoid of world-class athletes, we have failed to remember the first top-quality athlete of independent India. Rebello flashed across the Indian sky as a comet.

As a strapping 19 year-old triple jumper (called ‘hop, step and jump’ in earlier eras as the jump literally is) just prior to the London Olympic Games in 1948, Henry Rebello of India caused a sensation. The callow youth was consistently crossing 50 plus feet during the previous one year. He had no competition in India. His 50 plus feet placed him among the top triple-jumpers of the world.

In a tournament in the United Kingdom just before the London Olympic in 1948 he was again at his best. The athletic experts predicted a certain medal for India in the triple jump event. On current form there was little doubt that an athletics medal was awaiting India. Never since Norman Pritchard – a former Calcutta Xaverian – in 1900 at the Paris Olympiad did any Indian athlete create such an expectation.

On the day of the triple jump Henry Rebello easily crossed the qualifying marks in the morning and was among the best jumpers waiting for the final event later in the day. He began his warm-up exercises to get ready for his first of three jumps in the final elimination round.

Just as he was ready and about to begin his run leading to the jump, he was asked to wait for a medal ceremony that was being held in close vicinity. Henry Rebello had no option. He had to wait for the ceremony to be over. He put on his track suit back again. Then suddenly without any notice the Olympic officials asked him to go for the jump.

Now there was no time for any further warm-up. Young and inexperienced Henry had no one beside him who could have helped him to deal with the officials. Without warming-up, an athlete taking a jump is unheard of. That, too, in the Olympic Games! But that is exactly what happened. Henry Rebello was forced to go for the first jump without any further preparation.

Teenager Henry Rebello with the typical adventurous spirit of youthful energy went for the jump with the maximum effort. Airborne, he heard his hamstring muscle snap and he fell in a heap. He had to be carried out on a stretcher. His Olympic dream was over. India’s best medal prospect was let down through sheer inexperience and the cold, blistery London weather.

The interval of the wait had a disastrous effect on the young man’s physique. In those vital 15 minutes, the warmed-up body lost the effect of the warm-up exercises. The cold and biting-breezy conditions of London got through to him. In the warmer Indian clime the effect of the warm-up exercises would have stayed much longer. Used to Indian environment, the inexperienced youth did not realize that the body would become stiff in such a short while.

If he was experienced enough or had a proper coach beside him, he would not have given much effort in the first of the three jumps. He would have taken the first jump easy because there were two more jumps available to him. After the first jump he could have warmed up and prepared himself for the following jumps. This is what experience and guidance are all about. It was too much to expect from an inexperienced, excited youth in his teens. For these umpteenth subtle reasons one needs a genuine coach.

Ultimately the gold went at 50 feet six and a half inches; the bronze at 49 feet three and a half inches. Both these figures our Henry had crossed so many times. A supremely fit Henry never had the slightest of muscle strain in his career yet at the decisive moment he was laid low. On such slender margin depends one’s destiny.

Henry Rebello’s life and career reveal the general callousness of our sports officials in India. With only a few exceptions, people who have handled Indian sport have not done justice to the responsibility bestowed on them. It is precisely these issues that separated Pankaj Gupta –   India’s versatile cricket and hockey manager from 1936 to 1952 – from the others who managed Indian teams. Where were the India team’s athletics manager and coach when Henry Rebello was being pushed out and pushed in at the time of the decisive jump? Nobody would ever know. Nobody would ask. Nobody would be accountable. That’s the typical Indian sports scenario.

As a youngster Henry Rebello was a most reluctant sportsman. He was more into studies, as is the normal trend in India among the educated middle-class. But his school headmaster in Bangalore was very particular that every student must take compulsory part in sporting activities. Henry had to follow the school rules.

Within a year he was actually showing enormous talent as a triple jumper. Every record was his at school, district and State levels. At 18 he was the national champion. So far ahead of the rest was he that his competition was against himself.

His amazing consistency resulted in reaching the Olympic qualifying mark with ease. He had a natural style and flair. Not coached, he developed his own technique. He was hailed by the critics to be a certain Olympic medal prospect in view of his consistency and form.

After the disastrous injury, Henry Rebello concentrated more on his career in the Indian Air Force and gave exemplary service to his country. After retirement he was the first director at the National Institute of Sports. He was an all-round sportsman and had shown remarkable dexterity as an administrator.

While other Olympic non-medalists were repeatedly brought into public focus through various forums, our first-ever world-class athlete was totally ostracized. Surprisingly he never got any worthwhile mention in the Indian media. We hardly ever heard of him when we were young. No one seemed to have known anything about him. No one cared to remember him. Unfortunately he was destined to lead a life in obscurity.

I was indeed fortunate to have had a Jesuit priest in our Calcutta St Xavier’s College, Reverend Cecil Leeming SJ – himself a national-level athlete during his youth in the 1930s – to tell us of the magnificent exploits of Henry Rebello.

With his fantastic sports and scholastic background Henry Rebello should have been an ideal role model for the Indian youth in the post independence era. Instead he became a non-entity. No awards. No national honours. Perpetually ignored, his name still resides in some obscure foot-note of Indian athletics history.

That an athlete of genuine world-class should be neglected and ignored is just a reflection of the status a world-class sport champion has in Indian society. Why can we not honour them posthumously at least?

 

Kousik Saha

He was a collector of neck-ties. At the same time he tied people into friendships. He was a bachelor, but was married to cricket. He would keep scores and statistics but his life was all melody.

Kousik crossed the Ganges tributary of River Hooghly and swam into my life. He brought with him a whiff of Dutch influence from his home-town Chinsurah. Impeccably attired, forever smiling, his punctuality and dedication to his chosen profession were lessons to imbibe. Cool, capable and composed he was a role-model to follow.

Our first meeting was at the iconic Eden Gardens way back in the mid 1990s. I happened to be handling the Under 16 Bengal hopefuls while he was designated by BCCI to be the official scorer of the match. Since then for more than 25 years he was the premier scorer from eastern India. How many Tests, internationals, and first-class matches Kousik has ‘scored’ would be mind-boggling to note.  Best would be to ask his protégé Sanjoy Dutta for the exact statistics.

As is the habit of most grey-beards, I remember telling the young scorer who came to me and self-introduced himself, “Well, I hope you understand the value of a scorer. A scorer is the original historian: he records all the details of a match from the first ball to the last. If you make a single mistake the facts of the match would alter and cricket history would change.”

I need not have told him anything at all. At the end of the 1^st day itself the young scorer Kousik gave me every indication of a sincere man full of innovation and enterprise. Apart from doing his very responsible BCCI job, he gave me a few sheets of paper with very relevant statistics relating to my Bengal team. I was astounded by his approach. Never before had I seen any scorer going beyond his duty to this extent.

In time the friendship strengthened. He kept giving me songs in a pen-drive by thousands. He kept me busy with unending supply of notes and stats to ease my job. In effect he was the man I looked up to the most. Although at least 20 years junior to me, I kept my ears and eyes open whenever Kousik was around. I can say with utmost sincerity that Kousik taught me the magic of statistics and how to derive benefit from it.

Once when I was upset with the late arrival at a match of a young player from a nearby district, Kousik called me aside, “Sir, there is a ‘rail-roko’ on. Samrat is probably held up on the way.” Samrat did reach the ground before the toss and played a dream innings. This is the kind of person Kousik was. Forever helpful but never seeking any credit.

Kousik began with pencils and erasers. In time he introduced coloured pens of varying hues. Then when the opportune moment came he was fully into digital systems of scoring. Nothing seemed to be a problem with him. No one ever heard Kousik complaining. No matter the poor facilities; no matter the awkward view of the ground; no matter the callousness of officials. Nothing ever perturbed this superlative scorer. He was the ‘go to’ man for any problems for scorers. He would help without ever thinking of getting anything in return.

Whether International matches or IPL encounters Kousik was an automatic choice as DLS manager. He had figures on his finger-tips. A magician on the computer. Despite hundreds of Tests and international appearances, to Kousik even an ordinary club match would evoke equal attention. Never believed in any casual, relaxed approach. Taught the art of scoring to whoever approached him for help and with queries. An absolute gem of a person, my dear friend Kousik was.

 Once when two young BCCI umpires were being misled by a former Bengal cricketer (Junior Bengal coach at the time) regarding the concept of a tie-match in an inter-state competition, scorer Kousik called me from the ground mentioning the mistake that was about to be perpetrated. Kept Kousik’s request and called to inform my match-referee colleague of the correct decision. Without Kousik’s intervention on time, can you imagine the uproar that would have occurred around the country?

Kousik hardly ever wore ties but he had a fabulous collection. Gave him some and promised him many more in time to come. He did not give me the time. Left us suddenly about two years back leaving me with a deep sense of regret.

Kousik, you were a pioneer in many respects. Excellent talents followed you to the scorers’ table from Bengal, particularly Gautam, Raktim, Bishwajit, Sanjoy and Ananda. You and your five peer-musketeers brought about a silent revolution in the art of scoring in Bengal. We shall always remember the yeoman service of these pioneers.

There was a time when only a handful of reliable scorers were available at Calcutta club circles. Many did not know even the basics. Thankfully today we have outstanding scorers at every level in Bengal, thanks to the coaching sessions at CAB.

Pioneer Kousik, you were the initiator of this fantastic transformation. Your contribution to Bengal cricket will never be forgotten. God will always be with you.

 

 

 

Karni Singh, the rifle-shooting legend

India’s first gold medal in an Olympic individual event came in rifle-shooting. Abhinav Bindra achieved the ‘impossible’ at Beijing in 2008. Earlier at Athens in 2004 Rajyavardhan Singh Rathore became the first Indian to claim an Olympic medal (silver) in rifle shooting for India. Both were exceptional achievements in a nation where rifle-shooting has never been a popular sport.

Jaipur, Udaipur, Jodhpur and even Jaisalmer are the major ports of call in the land of Rajputana. But when it comes to rifle-shooting it is however Bikaner that is at the pinnacle of the crown. The Rajputs have displayed exemplary standards of bravery over the centuries. We have been brought up on the stirring heroic deeds of Rana Pratap and his equine companion Chaitak. It stands to reason that Rajputana would produce India’s first hero at the rifle-shooting range.

The man happened to be none other than the erstwhile Maharaja of Bikaner, Karni Singh. He lost his State at the time of merger of Indian princely States to the Indian Union. He lost his ‘privy purse’ when the concept of royalty was abolished for good. Yet no obstacle seemed to deter the determined raja. Karni Singh was a maharaja in the real sense of the term. The gentleman was the monarch of all that he surveyed at the shooting-range as well as off it.

His presence breathed of royal lineage at its best. Humble and genteel of manner, the strong and handsome man spoke in a soft, cultured tone. He gave the distinct impression of a man who was in no hurry or worry. Nothing, just nothing could leave a crease on his broad forehead. His immobile face hid a man of passion, a man of conviction, a man of utmost gentleness. No one ever saw him betray any emotion. Impassive in bearing; highly charged in action.

When he held the World Championship runner-up trophy, did we see a faint suggestion of a smile? When he had the Asian gold medal around his neck, did we notice a tear of joy? When he lost a hard-fought struggle in a competition, one would think he was the winner in the way he would walk upright and confident to his opponent to shake the latter’s hand. He would give a courteous nod to the officials and leave the range. No emotion would surface from the erstwhile royalty of Bikaner, Karni Singh.

It is said that when Karni Singh travelled abroad with the Indian contingent to participate in international competitions, the rifle-shooters appeared to be the most cool and composed group. Karni Singh was their mentor, guide, captain and compatriot. He drilled into his team the concept of ‘India first. India last. Nothing in between.’ Rarely, if ever, did the Indian rifle-shooters let the country down.

The patriot in Karni Singh drilled into his team members that every contest was a fight in the nation’s honour. There would be no compromises. Even defeat would be valiant. Karni Singh’s men never even whispered any excuses for their losses. They went down fighting with grace, dignity and valour. Karni Singh, who was used to living in palaces and in regal comfort, was totally at home in the Olympic villages with his fellow participants.

Karni Singh represented India in no less than five Olympic Games between 1964 and 1980. This by itself is an achievement very, very few would ever achieve or surpass. Whether the event was trap and skeet or clay pigeon, he was a master in every discipline.

He was the undisputed champion of India as he  left our shores for Rome, Tokyo, Munich, Montreal and the Moscow Olympic Games. He figured in as many as five World championships as well. In between he was a perpetual winner at the numerous Asian Games and Commonwealth Games he contested.

 When we were young and not so young the name of Karni Singh of Bikaner seemed to reverberate in our ears. The swarthy shooter’s right chin resting on the rifle-butt and his left eye closed as he aimed his weapon at the target was a familiar picture in our favourite weekly magazine Sport & Pastime. He was the man everyone looked up to for a certain medal. Hardly ever did he disappoint his countrymen.

According to sports researcher Kishin Wadhwaney, in 1962 at Cairo in the 38^th world championship, after a series of marathon duels it was a tie for the first place (295/300). Unfortunately in the shoot-out tie he missed the bull’s-eye. The world title slipped from his firm grasp literally just by a whisker. In time he was to win numerous international contests, but the world number one title eluded him forever.

But that did not deter him in the least. On the contrary like a true sportsman he concentrated more and more on his skills and on his training. No palace luxury ever beckoned or distracted the strongly-built Rajput warrior. At his Bikaner palace he, of course, was fortunate to have had his own shooting-range, where he would spend hours in absolute isolation.

 But just to have the best of facilities is not enough, one has to have many more sterling qualities to become and remain a champion. That is precisely what this erstwhile maharaja had. He knew no rest. He practiced and practiced.  Never believed in lolling in luxury. Or in lecturing others. He hated sermonizing. Rather like a true gentleman he concentrated on his own practice and helped whoever needed his support. Indian shooters have received his help in more ways than one can mention. His personal shooting-range was always kept open for anyone who wanted to use it. It was claimed that he had lost the key to the entrance gate!

In the early 1970s he dazzled the rifle-shooting world by claiming three elusive crowns in one year: Welsh Grand Prix, North World Cup and North Western Cup. According to the late scholar-sports-writer Kishin Wadhwaney, he happens to be the only shooter to have achieved this phenomenal feat of claiming these three highly coveted international titles in one year.

Readers would be delighted to learn that Karni Singh Bikaner was a great advocate of women’s liberation in independent India. He joined no marches. He made no radical speeches. Did not believe in media support. He acted in style and splendor. He was the first person in the world to select a lady in a team-event along with men in an international rifle-shooting event.

In the Asian Championship in Seoul in 1971 he picked the young Bhuvaneshwari Kumari of Kotah to partner him and Maan Singh in the Indian team. They won the bronze medal in the clay-pigeon team event. Thus India became the first country in the world to have a lady in the national team, which till then was considered to be an exclusive male preserve. This phenomenal issue has hardly been highlighted.

Even as late as 1982 at the Delhi Asian Games, Karni Singh Bikaner was a member of the team that bagged the silver medal. Still his appetite was not satiated. In 1984 he ran through the much younger and fitter opposition to win Welsh Grand Prix and the North West Cup yet again! Again another first in the world to repeat the feat.

How did he manage to traverse a period of over two decades in a highly competitive sport is a matter of wonder. No condition upset him. No opposition troubled him. No situation was beyond him. Amazing indeed to find how he overcame fitter and younger players. How did he adapt to the changing techniques is a matter of serious conjecture.

In 1982 he wrote a book From Rome to Moscow. One so-called researcher borrowed my copy and vanished. Unfortunately the book was not well distributed. Copies are difficult to find. If any reader can help me with a copy, I shall remain ever grateful.

Once when asked about his phenomenal performances, the modest and reticent Bikaner gentleman could only say, “The love of sport has taken me around the world on the wings of Air India, the airline that loves sportspeople!” Can sport and India think of a better ambassador?

The Tughlaqabad Rifle-Shooting Range has been renamed after the erstwhile Maharaja of Bikaner, Karni Singh, by the Sports Authority of India in a most befitting tribute to a legend who is synonymous with rifle-shooting in India. In 1961 he was also the first recipient of the Arjuna Award when the award was given to men of genuine distinction in sport.

Apart from his exceptional ability as a sportsman of international eminence, Karni Singh was an academic doctorate and later served the nation as a Member of Parliament. He was a brilliant orator; perpetually highlighting the causes of women and the economically distressed. Never shirked his responsibility as a parliamentarian. When asked about his regular and active presence, his gentle reply was, “Well that’s my job. I am only trying to do justice to the faith the people have reposed on me.”

A role-model, completely forgotten in the land of his birth and achievement. My salute to him.

 

 

 

Nandu Natekar

In 1954 Free Press Bulletin, a prominent newspaper in Mumbai, conducted a poll to elect the most popular Indian sportsman. The poll generated great enthusiasm around the country. At this time Indian hockey was at its zenith with Olympic gold medalists like KD Singh Babu, Balbir Singh and Leslie Claudius in prominence; Vinoo Mankad and Vijay Hazare were considered among the premier cricketers of the world and Tenzing Norgay had just conquered Mt. Everest.

Badminton star Nandu Natekar surprised one and all with the maximum number of votes. To have won the poll in the presence of such super-stars was indeed an indication of the popularity that he commanded. It is actually amazing to note that this popular appeal of his was even before he had defeated the world number one Erland Kops of Denmark at Cricket Club of India (CCI). For the record, Nandu Natekar won the national championship six times in the 1950s and was the runner-up in four.

At present Indian shuttlers have become household names in the world of badminton. This is certainly a matter of great pride for all Indians that both our men and women are holding the centre-stage around the world. The man who laid the foundation of this glorious era was none other than the Bombay-man Nandu Natekar in the 1950s.

The first people to play badminton in India were the British army officers posted here. That was in the 1870s. The native Indians however began to play seriously much later, only in the 1940s. However within a short span India unearthed some talented players, who displayed excellent technique and temperament.

According to sports administrator-writer Anthony D’Mello, in 1947 Devinder Mohan and Prakash Nath went to UK to participate in the All-England championship, then the premier badminton tournament in the world. Both played beyond all expectations and reached the quarter-final round. Being in the same half, they were billed to play against each other. They decided not to compete between themselves. Prakash Nath gave a walk-over to Devinder Mohan, who was the reigning national champion. Devinder won his semi-final match and ultimately became the losing finalist. As a pair they became also the doubles runner-up.

This was a brilliant beginning, without any semblance of doubt. International badminton critics were surprised as much as the Indians themselves. But in time our performance at the international level was not very consistent. Perhaps it was too early to expect us to produce any player of world-class.

 Our status in world badminton was average. We would take part in the Thomas Cup but we just could not break into the big league, which was dominated by south-east Asian countries, especially Malayasia and Indonesia, as well as by Denmark.

In that scenario a stylish man from Bombay, Nandu Natekar – neat of composure and conduct – won the coveted title of Selangor Cup in Malayasia and repeated the feat in the King’s Cup championship in Thailand in the 1950s.

To win two international championships against world-class opponents raised quite a few eyebrows. Still the Indian populace could not come to terms with Natekar’s magnificent victories. Ignorant as we were, we were in doubt of the importance of these championships; the significance of these victories. We were uncertain of our own ability.

To prove that these victories were no fluke, Nandu Natekar demolished the current world champion Erland Kops of Denmark at CCI in 1958. It was a super-human effort without an iota of doubt. This magnificent duel with the world champion gave Nandu Natekar a permanent place in the honours list of great Indian sportsman. Almost overnight, Indian badminton began to earn world-wide respect.

Natekar was quiet and confident. A master in the art of strategy and planning. He concentrated not on flashy strokes and exhibitionist tendencies. On the contrary Natekar was technicality personified.  In the words of Kishin Wadhwaney, the sports-scholar journalist, “He was the Vijay Merchant of Indian badminton...” Every step of his was in conformity with conventional methods.

On the court Natekar relied not on smashes but on placements and on minimizing errors. He had the stamina of a horse. He relied on rallies and wore the opponent down with deft placements and continuous returns. Although strong-silent, he was goaded to mention, “To me badminton is a touch-sport…Waste no energy. Stick to basics. Play the ‘waiting’ game and try to minimize errors. Let the opponent lose his stamina by playing aggressively.” This was impeccable advice considering the Indian physique and psyche. He himself did as he believed. Extremely bright, he knew what he was saying.

He was a cerebral sportsman. Loved classical music and devoted hours to literature. It is said that Natekar never spoke beyond what was absolutely necessary but would read whatever he found near at hand. Voracious reader he was and possessed a wide orbit of liberal views. Had little time for unnecessary radicalism but was far more progressive than most in his life-style.

Once when my friend Pranay Mondkar shook his hand and introduced himself, instantly the 80 plus gentleman asked, “Are you the son of Yashwant Mondkar? What an exemplary person he was. A very close friend of mine.” Just goes to show that age could not diminish the humility and the exceptional mental alertness of the magnificent champion.

Loved to dress well. Impeccably attired, he was always neat and confident.  He gave the impression of a stylish man on the move. Always willing to help, but he would never go forward to guide unless asked for. This approach may not have gone down well with some youngsters. But ultimately this approach seemed to be the best possible option as far as Natekar’s temperament was concerned. He would never get involved with others into irrelevant debates and discussions. His philosophy was: live and let live.

 Born at Sangli in Maharashtra, young Nandu was extremely competent at tennis and cricket too. While at school, apart from being a diligent student he was an all-round sportsman with a natural flair for sport. Later after shifting to Bombay in the 1940s, he developed his liking for badminton and in very quick time made his presence felt at every competitive level.

In recognition of his service to Indian sport, the Government of India conferred on him the Arjuna Award in 1961. He happened to be the first recipient of the Arjuna Award for badminton in the inaugural year of the award ceremony. He was attached to the Maharashtra State Sports Council and left behind his mark with his matured observations and decision-making.

In time the surname Natekar stayed on as Nandu’s tennis-playing son Gaurav went on represent India in Davis Cup. Father and son duo in two different disciplines as international performers is a rarity in the world of sport. The Natekars are a rare commodity with their impeccable skills and manners. They are a credit to their schools, colleges, universities and to all other institutions they were part of.

Nandu Natekar was a self-made player. He observed his seniors and learnt from their words and actions. The intelligent young man was greatly influenced by the two of the best exponents of badminton in the world, Wong Peng Soon (Malayasia) and Tan Joe Hock (Indonesia), whom he saw at the invitation tournaments organized by Bombay Gymkhana and Cricket Club of India (CCI) at Bombay in the 1950s. Sports administrator Anthony D’Mello observed, “…Natekar modeled his back-hand play on Wang Peng Soon’s style.”

An analytical mind and the power of observation were his forte. He realized that to reach world standards he had to follow the best in the profession. Accordingly he set about his task, taught himself the art and the craft of the top players and in time showed his class to the badminton world. This approach of Nandu Natekar revealed his undoubted intelligence and adaptability.

Today when we find our modern generation of Indians doing exceptionally well at badminton at the international level, our heart goes out to the pioneers who helped to pave the way. The outstanding performance of our badminton players is a clear indication that the pioneering work of the former badminton stalwarts did not go waste.

Natekar commands an unique place in Indian sport. He is both the product as well as the seed of Indian badminton. He was the summation of the early talents in the forms of George Lewis, Jabbar Ali, Tara Banerjee, Prakash Nath, Devinder Mohan, Tarak Nath Seth, Manoj Guha and Gajanan Hemmady, among others.

At the same time he was the fount from where the magnificent products like Prakash Padkone and Pulella Gopichand, among others, flowered. The superlative lady-stars of today – Saina Nehawal, Pusarla Venkata Sidhu and Jwala Gutta, among others, – only manifest the pioneering zeal of Natekar’s Badminton India. The legend of Nandu Natekar thrives on and on…

Nandu Natekar’s place in the pantheon of Indian sport will remain forever.

 

Wilson Jones

The name of Wilson Jones is to billiards what the name of Dhyan Chand is to hockey. These words are the exact quote from scholarly, sports journalist Kishin Wadhwaney. Wilson Jones was as much a wizard at the green-baize table as was the original ‘Wizard’ Dhyan Chand on the lush-green turf.

Wilson Jones, an Anglo-Indian based in Bombay, was the person who first put India on the world billiards map. The great heritage of India in billiards and snooker began from this most amiable of giants.

His sterling attributes at the billiard table and beyond has hardly ever been bettered. From top to toe, he was a thorough gentleman: a role model for future of generations of outstanding cueists that India has produced.

India’s unheralded Wilson Jones became the world amateur billiards champion in 1958 and stunned the world with his miraculous skills and amazing consistency. He remained among the leading international players for more than six years. He regained the title in 1964. His exploits have almost been forgotten in the land of his birth.

Wilson Jones’ cue cast a magic spell on the glistening balls atop billiard-tables. The coloured shiny spheres seemed to dance to the tunes of Wilson’s magic wand. The handsome man from Bombay, ever modest and unassuming, looked relaxed and in meditation as he contemplated his moves around the table.

Billiards is a game of precision or ‘exactitude’ in Jones’ very words. Even a very small error of judgement can magnify into a gigantic mistake. One slight mistake can give away the initiative to the opponent. A minor lapse in concentration can set one back by hundreds of points. Concentration akin to deep meditation is one of prerequisite of success in this sport of very precise judgement.

Wilson Jones, born in Poona, was brought up in Bombay. Not many people played the game at the competitive level in India at the time in the 1950s. Fewer still were the billiard facilities available. Some facilities were available at the prominent social clubs, perhaps a few more at the fashionable gymkhanas and at the top-tier hotels of the city. Not many young men had the opportunity to pursue the sophisticated sport.

Wilson Jones was fascinated by his uncle’s ‘magic touch’ very early in life. He was one of the fortunate few youngsters who got the opportunity to hone his skills on the billiard-tables at Bombay. His inherent relaxed attitude, his amazing contemplative mentality and his extraordinary sense of judgement helped him to become the national champion at 28 years of age. In the 16 years between 1950 and 1966 he won the national billiards title 12 times. During the same period he was also the national snooker champion on six occasions.

Ever since he took part at the national level, he gave the impression that he was a champion in the making. According to PN Roy of Great Eastern Hotel at Calcutta, which happened to be the centre of billiards activity in the country, “He had every possible quality one would aspire for. And something more, which is inexplicable. He was born with all the attributes to be a champion. Through sheer dedication he made himself into one. A great player. A great man.”

His hard work-ethic was not lost on the people who saw him practice. Hour after hour in splendid solitude the young man would be polishing his skills. Nothing would distract him from the work in hand. He was like a sage in deep contemplation.

No power could touch him in any way. No one could disturb him in any manner. Nothing would be an irritant as he fixed his concentration on the precise nature of his activity. Pocketing ball after ball from numerous angles and rebounds seemed the easiest of tasks. Never broke a sweat as he gracefully handled his cue hour after hour. A touch artist at his creative best. Miraculous powers of concentration and amazing sense of angles and depth, he possessed.

Wilson Jones became the world amateur billiards champion at Calcutta in 1958. He regained the title in New Zealand in 1964. Once in 1960 and again in 1962, he just missed the title losing in the final round on both occasions. To be among the very best of the billiards world for eight long years shows the man’s amazing skills and consistency. Hardly any Indian sports persona has been at the pinnacle for such a long period of time, except of course Dhyan Chand.

His credit was all the more because he hardly had any facilities in India worth mentioning. Hardly any worthy opposition as well to motivate him. There were never enough funds for experience and exposure abroad. Absolutely negligible support from the government or from the billiards federation. Every player had to fend for himself. Even the magnificent Wilson Jones was no exception.

When he became the world champion in 1958 at Calcutta’s Great Eastern Hotel, it was without doubt a great eastern achievement. No other Asian had done it before. The magnificent victory was against all odds. The favourites were Leslie Driffield and Tom Cleary. Dreffield of England was a former world champion and the Australian Cleary was defending his world title.  

Wilson defeated both the former as well as the defending world champions, Driffield and Cleary, on his road to the final. Against the Briton Leslie Driffield it was a historic fight-back. Trailing by 665 points he had just about 105 minutes remaining. According to Wadhwaney, “…Wilson translated a hopeless situation into a rip-roaring success …He won the match 2865-2729.” In the final he had a comparatively easier passage against a very talented fellow compatriot – Bombay-born, Calcutta-based – Chandra Hirjee.

By 1964 Wilson’s stature had grown. He was a towering personality with his 6-foot plus frame and an upright bearing. On the avenue to the final he defeated eight top-class players. In the final, Alfred Nolan of England could not match up to Wilson’s phenomenal supremacy and lost 874-1742. Such domination at a world championship final was rare. But Wilson Jones was indeed a rare, exceptional player and person.

Wilson Jones’ pioneering path led to the magnificent achievements of Michael Ferriera, Geet Sethi, Arvind Savur, Ashok Shandilya, Om Agarwal, Satish Mohan, Shyam Shroff, Subhash Agarwal, Yasin Merchant and the Kotharis, among others, in the years that followed. They upheld the fantastic Indian tradition at international billiards championships laid by the one and only Wilson Jones. His great influence touched one and all in the world of Indian billiards.

Thankfully the Government of India recognized his worth and paid him the best possible compliments. Wilson Jones received the Arjuna award in 1962, the first billiards player to receive it. Later he was honoured with the Padmashree in 1966. Finally in 1997 followed the Dronacharya award. No wonder he is known as the ‘Father of Indian Billiards’.

The wonderful gentleman was known around the world as the ‘Gentle Giant’. Again according to Wadhwaney, “…he once gulped 12 kulfies after a full gujrati thali meal.” It is said that he loved his food and loved to dress in formals.

Was vegetarian food his favourite? PN Roy – the owner of Great Eastern Hotel – who had known him very closely said, “No, no. He enjoyed the typical Calcutta Chinese prawn dishes as well as beef-steak which had to be ‘very well-done’. Loved nolen gurer sandesh and payesh. He had a sweet tooth. We enjoyed preparing meals for him at Great Eastern. Fascinating appetite, boundless energy. An exemplary gentleman. A genuine world champion. Our national pride.”

 He was the epitome of class. A gentleman of character. A gentleman worthy of reverence. A cueist par excellence. A man who inspired a generation of world-class billiard and snooker champions from India.

 

Phul-da.

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.

So did my Bengal Ranji Trophy team-mate Srimonto Banerjee. Later bright and witty Srimonto would regale his audience with innumerable ‘manufactured tales’ of the occasion, “Oh! Yes, I had a long and serious conversation with the intellectual couple. After all, my Ramkrishna Mission School and St Xavier’s College background made all the difference!”

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 Ful-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 Ful-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.

Generally Seema spends a lot of time with Tanuja whenever the ever-graceful heroine is in Kolkata. This time too it was no different. Seema and I were invited. We met Tanuja at Oberoi Grand and went together to the function. 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.