Khashaba Dadasahab Jadhav

Indians use sports for political mileage, commercial gains, for social recognition but we hardly ever acknowledge the real value of sports and the contribution of sportspersons. As sports education is almost totally absent, the culture of sports stands diluted in our society.

 

A stunning example is the life and career of Khashaba Jadhav. In a country where an Olympic medal in the individual category is as rare as a yeti, this poor villager from Maharashtra saw to it that the Indian national anthem was sung at the medal distribution ceremony at Helsinki Olympics in 1952.

 

Khashaba Jadhav won the bronze medal in the bantamweight category of free-style wrestling in 1952 at Helsinki Olympic Games. Between Norman Pritchard (silver in 1900) and Leander Paes (bronze in 1996), he is the lone Indian to have graced the medal podium as an individual. Such is our callousness that one influential author on Indian sports history mentioned the bronze medal to be ‘silver!  Another ‘prominent’ author thought it was a ‘lower category’ medal!

 

Four years earlier in 1948 at the London Olympiad, Jadhav competed in the flyweight division and was ranked a creditable 6^th out of 42 wrestlers. The western world was a culture shock for the rustic wrestler from interior Maharashtra.  He was bewildered to learn that the rules of international wrestling differed from those prevalent in India. None in India had the farsightedness to inform him. Moreover for the first time ever he was to grapple on mat instead of the familiar mud-pit back home.

 

But he came across Reese Gardner, an American wrestling coach, who took him under his wings for 7days. The London Olympics of 1948 was a learning process for this indomitable youth.  Four years later when he stood on the victory stand, Jadhav was grateful enough to acknowledge the contribution of Gardner, his coach and mentor.

 

Back in India political profit was extracted as endless receptions followed. But within days he once again became a non-entity. No award, no recognition came either from the central or the state government. No private benefactor acknowledged his mighty achievement. Since 1952, nearly 70 years have passed yet the name of Khashaba Jadhav does not even figure in the list of lifetime-awardees! In an age when average sportsmen receive national awards, the treatment meted out to Jadav is a national shame.

 

Born in Goleshwar village in the Satara district of Maharashtra, Khashaba learnt the rudiments from his wrestler-father, Dadasahab. From Tilak High School at Karad, he went to Raja Ram College at Kolhapur, where Professor Manik Rao patronized wrestling contests. Here under the conscientious guidance of Professor Khardekar, the latent talent of Jadhav began to bloom.

 

Those days the selected sportsmen had to pay their own travel cost. Poor Jadav realized that he had no chance to make the trip. But Prof. Khardekar was not a person to beg and borrow. He actually sold his house to pay for his protégé’s trip. Magnanimity at its height. No other Indian patron or sponsor has ever come close to the professor’s sacrifice.

 

Today when sponsors come forward with cheques, they do not do so with any interest for national causes. They come for their own commercial interest. The case of Professor Khardekar is as unique as Khashaba Jadhav’s is.

 

It required an academic to assist a sportsman for a national cause! Apart from –inevitably enough – the Maharaja of Patiala, no king, no politician, no bureaucrat, no industrialist came forward to help the country by sponsoring him. They all lined up to gain publicity the moment he returned with the Olympic medal around his neck. And again they vanished just as they always do.

 

During his lifetime no one thought of giving independent India’s only Olympic medal winner any financial support. Nor did he get award either from the State of from the nation. It gave a distinct impression that to get something one had to beg and plead.

 

Khashaba Jadhav was not born to beg or plead for awards and financial assistance. He was the champion wrestler who gave independent India – yes, our motherland – the first-ever medal at the Olympics in 1952 in an individual event. But, very distressing to relate that in a nation of no genuine sports culture he remained a perpetual pariah.

 

 He was born in abject poverty and lived his life in perennial penury. Where were all the sports ministries and sports policies? Where were all the patrons and sponsors who were supposed to be contributing for the nation’s welfare? They were nowhere in sight when Khashaba Jadhav needed them the most. It appears that he was competing in the Olympics in his individual capacity and not as an Indian representative bantam-weight wrestler.

 

Actually the real truth is that in our country we do not have any genuine interest in sporting activities. We cater to only those sports disciplines where we can reap easy money and media attention. Politicians, bureaucrats, parliamentarians, corporate leaders, sports administrators and media moguls are all in the same boat. They do not have the national interest at heart.

 

Mediocre performers with below-average results are earning in millions today because they have learnt the tricks of the corrupt trade in sports. Commissions and kick-backs are the order of the day. Self publicity has become a way of life. Entertaining the media is a very unfortunate off-shoot that has taken over Indian sports and sportspeople.

 

Today why can our sports-policy makers not think of some posthumous pensions for the family of these great performers? During their prime we neglected these outstanding sports performers. Now that they are no longer alive, why not try to make some amends to the evil that we perpetrated?

 

Why not try to help those families who are in need of financial support. That would be paying a real homage to the soul of our own past greats who brought fame to our motherland. We have the time and the money, but do we have the will to think of others? Do we have the wish to give any effort to help others?

 

 It is high time that instead of sitting in parliament and other high offices, I wish our famous former sports personalities who have had the benefit of earning in millions, do something worthwhile for their sports grandfathers. If one cannot do anything concrete and constructive for these greats of yesteryears while holding prominent positions in the government as well as in the corporate sector, what is one actually there for?

 

The eternal problem with us is that we are totally self-oriented. We cannot think or visualize beyond our noses. As long we are getting fame and fortune for ourselves, we talk in terms of helping others. But the moment we realize that there is nothing available for our own selves, we very quickly lose our interest. We of course still keep talking a whole lot of nonsense but do precious little in concrete terms.

 

In 1988 independent India’s first Olympic medallist died in a road accident, unlamented and unheralded. This in a nut-shell is the sports culture prevalent in our country. Que sera sera…

 

Rev CK Leeming: A Bridge between the School and the College

At Xavier’s no one took Reverend Cecil Leeming seriously. Nor did he care to take anyone with any seriousness. In fact he did not take anything in life seriously at all. His life was full of relaxed wit, full of silent service, full of warm affection. Never cared to make impressions. Never bothered about formalities. If Fr Bouche had implicit faith on him, Fr Joris had no less. He seemed to be an invisible bridge between the school and the college.

Fr Bouche relied on him for all the appointments of sports teachers at the school. No wonder we always had exceptional former sportsmen as our sports teachers. Fr Joris depended on him for the recruitment of young sports talents at the college. No wonder outstanding sportsmen emerged from Xavier’s during his long tenure.

I doubt if any other priest or teacher enjoyed the same wave length with both the school as well as the college authorities. He was extremely popular with the students as the in-charge of the Christian Hostel. At the same time our sports-ground personnel like Barnabas, Lakra and Mathais literally worshipped him.

Reverend Fr Leeming left a distinct impression on all those fortunate enough to have spent time with him. The well-built, handsome priest was extremely sturdy and mentally alert even in his 80s. His gait gave the impression of a man of sport who faced the world bare-chested on the open field. His was a transparent life-style: he had nothing to hide. The mobility of his physique gave his mobile face a distinctive identity.

Actually he was a top-flight sportsman in his youth. He was nationally acclaimed as an athlete and would have gone for higher honours unless the call of the Church in the 1930s steadied him to a life of priesthood. Fr Leeming’s passion of sports was however not lost on the church authorities.

 As a priest, his life alternated between Calcutta St Xavier’s and Darjeeling St Joseph’s.  He had a long tenure at Calcutta St Xavier’s to supervise the sports activities of the college as well as to take charge of the Christian hostel. He was destined to spend decades between North Point and Xavier’s imparting, imploring and encouraging young men to be active on the sports arena. He combined the Nihil Ultra (“Nothing Beyond” of St Xavier’s) with the Sursum Corda (“Lift Up Your Hearts” of St Joseph’s) like no other.

Cecil Leeming was a self-effacing gentleman who thrived on witticism. He just could not hold a conversation without peppering it with a whole lot of sauces. Once as he emerged from his room on the ground floor of the hostel building, a lady pleaded, “Fr Leeming, I desperately need your help.” Without a moment’s hesitation he straight-faced, “Ma’am, the correct name of the priest is LEE MING. He has chinky eyes and is totally non-emotional. He is perpetually praying inside the room. He is a very holy man, extremely grave in his bearing. Please do not disturb him. However, can I assist you, ma’am?” Goes without saying the request was immediately approved and he went off looking for some other prey!

“But Father, why did you mislead the lady for no rhyme or reason?” I asked, stunned.

“Well, well. You characters never praise me so I thought I would do the job myself! People must know that Leeming is a very pious priest!”

Once a prominent young cricketer, Rana Mukherji (twin brother of Indian School Boys’ team captain Raja Mukherji) accompanied me to his room for admission to Xavier’s. Fr Leeming, without even glancing at him, said “Yes, son, you look stupid enough. What is your lowest score?” Rana was taken aback; did not know what had hit him. He somehow mumbled, “I think my lowest score is 17.”

“Sorry, cannot take you. You have not played enough cricket.” I quickly intervened, “Father, no, no, his lowest score is zero.”  Typically Fr Leeming replied, “Ok. We will take you. But try not to improve on your lowest score! Now get out of my sight!” Interview over; job done.

Generations of sportsmen have benefitted from his peculiar brand of humour and encouragement. Bhaskar Gupta (first former SXCS student to play for Bengal in Ranji Trophy), Shivaji Ray, my elder brother Dev Mukherji, Subroto Guha, Rusi Jeejeebhoy, Suprakash Som and Dilip Doshi to mention a few represented Bengal in Ranji Trophy while studying at Xavier’s College and being at the receiving end of Fr Leeming’s brand of earthy leg-pulling. His affection for Premjit Lal and Vece Paes knew no bounds.

Once I had asked him,” Father, who do you think was the best cricket talent to emerge from St Xavier’s School?” Instantly he replied, “Best bowler Shankar Bose, without doubt.” “What about batsmen?” I pestered. He smirked, “They were all rubbish.” Shankarda (batch probably 1961), of course, was an exceptional bowler who could bowl medium paced leg-cutters with terrific control, a rarity even in international cricket. He opted for engineering; a serious loss to cricket.

Generally, we thought, Fr Leeming ignored the school boys who practised cricket on the space in front of the then gymnasium and the chemistry lab. In 1966 the school team recorded a resounding victory by 8 wickets over a depleted college side which however had the Bengal stars Doshi and Som playing for them. Mike Carlos (1966 SC batch) might remember the match for he played an outstanding innings for the school team. At the end of the match, Fr Leeming’s very short speech to the college lads was a revelation, “Hard luck, girls. Try your best next time.” The embarrassment of the college lads was a sight indeed.

But that particular encounter had a significant impact on my equation with Fr Leeming. Whenever he saw me on his regular walks from the hostel to the college building, he gave me a wry smile! Once, after I had crossed over to the college for my graduation course, he told me very casually, “You look bright but you are as stupid as all other cricketers. Why do people play cricket in the burning sun for 6 hours, God only knows! Silly fools, nothing less.” Honestly, I had no answer.

On another occasion Xavier’s defeated our perpetual rival Ashutosh College – a very strong unit comprising current Bengal players – in a close match. Rather unusual for him, Father Leeming had come to the University ground at the Maidan towards the end when the see-saw battle was at its height. When debutant Arjun Mukherji and I returned to the pavilion we had brought off a very delicate win by a mere 2 wickets. End of the match after all the usual back-slapping and cheers, the professor-manager of Ashutosh College requested Fr Leeming to say a few words of encouragement.

Microphone or not made no difference, Fr Leeming was always on form. More so on that day. He said, “The better team lost. The namby-pamby jokers of Xavier’s come to play cricket only because of the lunch provided! Now we will have to organize another lunch for the next match. Unnecessary expenses which could have been better spent on poor people.”

After the Ashutosh  College players had gone, Rana (who else?) told Fr Leeming that skipper Raju did not allow anybody to have lunch that afternoon because of our poor performance in the first session where we allowed our opponents to build a big total. Fr Leeming just asked, “What was in the luncheon menu?” Rana mentioned, “Chicken stew with sliced bread, vegetable chop and salad.”

Instantly the grave voice bellowed, “This is the problem with our idiot of a captain. Who appointed him captain? He does not even know what a proper cricket lunch should be. Go and ask the canteen man to make fried fish and mutton chop for all. Rana, you go and get hold of an ice-cream-wallah and order ice-cream all round.” He gave me a teasing smile and said, “It’s difficult not to get a decent score against this weak opposition!” That’s Fr Leeming for you and me. Thoroughly unpredictable but fabulously warm-hearted.

Little did we realize that Fr Leeming kept his eyes and ears open for the sports talent available at St Xavier’s School. This I came to know from our school sports teacher Mr Brown, an outstanding hockey goal-keeper in his youth. Mr Brown always maintained that Fr Leeming was the invisible bond between the school and the college. This aspect of Fr Leeming has hardly ever been recognized. His easy manner, his carefree humour and his relaxed life-style created an impression of being light in the head. He got far more recognition outside the gates of SXC than he got inside. Father Leeming bridged the chasm between the school and the college with his brand of Irish humour: a strong message with an icing of easy wit ala Bernard Shaw, his native countryman.

Once he took me to the priests’ dining hall on the first floor for breakfast! I was a little apprehensive, “Father, suppose someone raises an objection to my presence?” He merely looked at me and flexed his right forearm muscles!

Another not to be forgotten evening was at the Governor’s House. Those days in the 1960s the Calcutta University “Blues” were presented their certificates by the Chief Minister Siddhartha Shankar Ray in a lovely ceremonial manner with all the players of various sports disciplines and distinguished guests present. During his speech, SS Ray – the first Xaverian to be a chief minister – mentioned the exemplary contribution of Fr Leeming to school-college-university sport in Calcutta. A standing applause greeted the announcement. Fr Leeming, for a change, looked stumped. The pink complexion turned beet-root red. He was actually blushing! It took a man of SS Ray’s stature to give the deserving sportsman-priest his due. Ray signed off, “Reverend Father Leeming, wish you were in-charge when I represented Calcutta University at cricket in the 1940s.”

Thankfully being Calcutta-based I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to be in constant touch with him over the next two decades. Then suddenly one day I came to know that he was at the infirmary on the top floor of the priests’ residence building. The sight was a shock. Although the mental alertness remained, the strong physique had given away quite suddenly. A limp body lay on the bed. A male nurse and I helped him to the balcony to sit on an easy-chair. He looked happy but also distinctly uncomfortable. Happy to have someone in front of him. Uncomfortable to be in a chair. The body was just not willing. Yet the humourous spirit remained, “If I become a ghost, Raju, I shall come and haunt you. Ok?” He smiled; I wept.

Once way back in the early 1970s, Fr Leeming took me to an orphanage. He held my hand as we went round. Within minutes, I told him that I could not take it any longer. He kept holding my hand as we walked back. On the way back he just said, “Just think how lucky you and I are.” No more words were needed. That short sentence gave my life a new meaning.  Forever in debt to a self-effacing sage who refused to take himself or anyone seriously. He taught me that life was only a short, temporary halt in a very long journey to the unknown.

We sat on the balcony for just about 30 minutes. He seemed to relish the stories that I was telling him of his own glory days. Then he tried to clasp my hand, but it was only a feeble touch.

The touch was a blessing that has lingered on and on… and it surely will till my last breath.

  

 

Rao Raja Hanut Singh

If Bikaner laid the foundation of competitive rifle-shooting in India, then the credit for playing serious polo would surely go to another princely State of Rajputana. This was Jodhpur and the person who put India on the international polo map was none other than the raja himself, Rao Raja Hanut Singh.

The game of polo has a special significance in the world of sport. Here it is not a combat between man and man. Here the combat takes an altogether different significance. Man and horse combine to coordinate and combat. The understanding between the two living creatures is an example of ultimate civility of man and animal. It requires extreme mutual affection, understanding and respect between the pair to forge a winning partnership. The majesty of this equestrian sport has to be seen to be appreciated and admired. A stirring example would be Rana Pratap’s bonding with his equine partner Chaitak.

Polo is a game of kings. Exclusively for people who have the wealth and the leisure to devote to its niceties. Commoners, unless heavily sponsored, cannot even visualize actively participating in a game of polo.

To begin with, one needs to own a stable of horses, nothing less. Unless one is provided with a bevy of handsome horses, one cannot even think of becoming a polo player. The exclusivity of the sport of polo has a charm of its own. It was, to paraphrase a cliché, designed by the rich, for the rich and of the rich. However no matter how fabulously wealthy one happens to be, one still has to learn and master the skills of the royal sport to become an international champion.

It was in such an environment that Hanut Singh was born and brought up. Through remarkable perseverance, the young prince prospered. The Jodhpur prince, who became the raja in his teens, was a genuine lover of horses. He knew how to take care and how to handle a colt. He was a man who appeared to be drawn to the lovely animal ever since he could crawl. Once a very young Hanu was supposed to have said, “Don’t call my mate an animal. He is a human being in a different form!” He could ride a horse backwards, it is claimed. Such was his mastery over horsemanship.

Ever since he began in his early teens, the Jodhpur prince Hanut Singh was a stickler for equipments. He would be very particular about its maintenance. With utmost care the Jodhpur prince would personally look after his mallets, trousers, riding-boots and every other tool of the trade. Not a single kit in the horse’s regalia would be out of place.

The word ‘jodhpurs’ in the English lexicon owes its origin to the Indian princely State of Jodhpur. Raja Hanut Singh’s team would wear trousers that were loose above the knee and tight from the knee to the ankle while riding. The design of the trousers became popular around the world as it was a great help to generations of horsemen. Thankfully the English language was quick to grasp its importance and magnanimously named those typical trousers ‘jodhpurs’ after the State of Jodhpur. Just goes to show the kind of thought and preparation that happen behind the scene for a sport to evolve.

The children of royalty have a very difficult time when they are young. They are hardly allowed to mix with their peers. They are perpetually sheltered to such an extent that they grow up without experiencing the pleasures of a normal childhood. Hanut was no exception. He spent his childhood not with other children but with the stallions and the mares at the palace stable.

As he saw his father Sir Pratap Singh – an excellent polo player cum coach – and other princely families play ‘chukkars’ of polo on the well-manicured palace lawns, the bright young boy kept his eyes and ears open. He learnt the techniques and the tricks of the sport at firsthand. He grasped the nuances of how to handle the mallet – a flexible wooden stick with a large wooden head – to strike a ball through close observation and constant application. He taught himself to become an exceptional polo player.

By the time he was in his teens, he gave enough indications of his outstanding potential. Now came the time for the exhibition on the ‘big’ stage. On the polo course the young raja was second to none. He spent hours at practice. Long hours, at times even alone. Nothing could deter him from his love of hitting the polo ball with a mallet while riding a steed.

At the polo festivals organized by the princely states all attention would be riveted to the young raja of impeccable ability. Hanut Singh of Jodhpur had arrived. The young man led his Jodhpur team to victory in 1921 over Patiala. This was a special occasion because Patiala was considered almost invincible at the time with the top players of the country in its team. Victory followed victory with Rao Raja Hanut Singh now in his elements.

In time even a princely State like Jodhpur was no longer able to afford to play polo in its own territory. Jaipur took the opportunity to request Hanut Singh to come and lead the Jaipur team. In later years almost all his achievements were for the Jaipur maharaja’s team.

It is commonly mentioned that his best years were between the two world wars. So be it. But what is to be noted is that even after India had gained independence the influence of Hanut Singh as a player had not diminished. He was not only a player now but also a coach and mentor to all those who played polo.

Around this time the Indian armed forces personnel were fortunate to have the opportunity and the facilities to take part in polo contests. In time thanks to the patronage extended by the armed forces, the sport of polo was able to survive and prosper.

 By 1956 Hanut Singh was well past his prime when he actually helped his India team – Indian Polo Association – to win the world cup at Deanrilla in France. To prove it was no fluke his team repeated the victory the following year as well! By any standard of reckoning this was a magnificent performance. To win the world title twice in succession in any sporting endeavour is certainly an issue of awesome importance.

Hanut Singh was an extrovert with a dashing approach to life as well as to the game. He believed in aggression, all-out aggression. He believed in team-work and was known to say, “Team work means not only your partners but the equine mates as well.” He laid special emphasis on team meetings when team meetings were not in fashion. He could be blunt, very blunt. He would not allow any kind of slackness, not even from seniors. He was a very hard task-master. As tough on himself as he was on others.

Even at 66 he was considered a maestro. He took a team of three young players to Europe and won all the tournaments including the coveted Cowdrey Gold Cup. In December 1965 Hanut Singh achieved an unique distinction. His two sons and his 13 year old grandson played in various tournaments alongside him at the famous Ellenborough course beside The Strand in Calcutta. Three generations playing together? Some rare achievement certainly.

What is not generally understood is the contribution of Hanut Singh to the very exclusive world of polo. Nations far and wide over the years have taken his assistance as coach. He most surely is the first among Indians to coach foreign teams. He was very deservingly given the honour to be the manager and coach of the British Commonwealth team. This was another rare achievement indeed.

Today polo is a ‘discontinued sport’ in the Olympic Games. But if India had taken part before independence then Hanut Singh and his team would surely have brought honours to the nation. Unfortunately that was not to be.

Initially the Government of India did not realize the importance and the stature of Hanut Singh. He was overlooked for the prestigious Arjuna Award from 1961 to 1964. In 1965 thankfully someone sensible and of influence realized the gross injustice done to a prominent Indian sportsman. The mistake was quickly rectified. In the 1965 honours list the name of Rao Raja Hanut Singh appeared. Some thought he might refuse it for the delayed thought.

Thankfully the ‘hot-blooded man’ had developed a cool head with age. He accepted the citation in his usual grand style. He left no one in any doubt that polo was an international sport of renown and that twice he had led his country to the championship title.

The magnificent performer Rao Raja Hanut Singh’s contribution to India’s sports cause should not be forgotten. But lolling in the quagmire of corruption and worse, do we have the heart, the inclination or the time to think and reward these magnificent sportsmen? Why not some posthumous award to cover our abject indifference and ignorance?

 

 

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.