Mushtaq Ali’s Unique Popularity           

 

The first time I saw Mushtaq Ali was at the Eden Gardens in the ‘Defence Fund Match’, which was held following the India-China war in 1962. At the time in the early 1960s, Mushtaq Ali was nearing 50 and most certainly was out of cricket for more than a decade.

 

In my childhood days, I had heard of Mushtaq Ali’s magnificent exploits from my father. He would mention how Mushtaq Ali would step out of his crease to even fast bowlers and glance, flick or cut with ease. That was supposed to be his trademark stroke.

 

To be honest, it was difficult to believe that such strokes were at all possible. Why should a batsman step out to a fast bowler? And even if he did, why would he do so to glance, flick or cut the ball?  It sounded incredible. I used to think that since my father belonged to Mushtaq Ali’s generation, he was merely exaggerating the hero worship of the generation’s idol.

 

Now I was watching the 50 year old former opener against the fastest bowler in the world at the time, Roy Gilchrist of West Indies!  A fast bowler of frightening pace and ferocious nature. As Gilchrist, arms flailing, thundered in to deliver, Mushtaq Ali actually stepped out of his crease! He must have stepped out at least two yards!

 

Gilchrist, flabbergasted, did not release the ball. He ran down the pitch to Mushtaq Ali’s end, glared at him for a while and made a sign of the cross on Mushtaq Ali’s chest, as if marking the target before turning back to bowl the next ball. Mushtaq Ali merely smiled and made a gesture of flicking a speck of dirt from his fluttering flannel shirt.

 

The whole episode was the height of showmanship. But this was no theatre. A spark had been ignited between the world’s fastest bowler and the world’s most adventurous batsman. The stark reality of antagonism was palpable. The crowd was on the edge of their seats. We realized that there would be no quarters given; certainly none asked for.

 

The intervening moment throbbed with excitement: a fuming Gilchrist walking back to the top of his distant bowling mark; and Mushtaq, nonchalant and graceful, leaning on his walking-stick of a bat for support!

 

The next ball from the fearsome Gilchrist scorched the earth but the old man was again out of his crease in no time and flicked the rising delivery off his chest over square-leg to the fence. It was a combination of raw courage, superlative co-ordination of hand and eye. And a rare sense of adventure.

 

 Realised there and then, the reason why my father’s generation of cricket lovers idolized Mushtaq Ali. He was not only a marvellous batsman, full of strokes and full of bravado. No, no, he was much more. For him cricket was not only a game, but an adventure. An adventure to be enjoyed and to be lived to the full.

 

If the adventure did not end in glory, there was no failure involved. It was just a matter of challenge. It was the sense of attempting the impossible that set him apart from others. Never before or since has a batsman stepped out to the fastest of bowlers to pat the ball over slip cordon or to glance or to flick. None would dare because of the physical risk involved. In fact that was precisely the reason why Mushtaq Ali patented those strokes of his: because those were very difficult to execute and because those were highly risky.

 

In 1977 I played against his son Gulrez Ali in a Duleep Trophy match at Jaipur. He had his father’s easy bearing, relaxed smile and cultured manner. There, however, the comparison ended because there could never be another graceful and gracious Mushtaq Ali, not even among his own progeny. Genes of geniuses, I guess, end with them.

 

In 1993 Mushtaq Ali had come to Calcutta at the invitation of the Voluntary Blood Donors’ Association to meet the blood donors at Eden Gardens, of whom I happened to be one. I had taken a copy of his autobiography Cricket Delightful and requested him for his signature. Flashing a wide smile, he put down his signature and wrote, “Hope one day you play for India.” It was very embarrassing and so I told him, “Sir, I am 43 and have given up active cricket more than a decade back.”

 

Without any hesitation he smiled again, “You never know. You look fit enough. They might call you for some Veterans XI.” Believe it or not, by the end of that year I was actually in the India Veterans team!

 

After the blood donation camp was over, I invited Mushtaq Ali to the CAB indoor stadium – named after the mercurial sports-official Pankaj Gupta – to meet the Bengal Under-16 team members, who were my trainees. There even before we could request him, he volunteered to bat.

 

He was nearing 80 at the time! Still ramrod straight and without an iota of excess fat, his statuesque bearing evoked instant admiration. Most of the bats he found rather heavy, as contemporary bats were. Finally he picked up a comparatively lighter bat and was ready to face the bowling without any protective gear. I asked an off-spinner to bowl. Again he stepped out of his crease and this time he late-cut the ball with immaculate timing!

 

 It was not the rapier thrust of a cut. No, it was a whipping action of steely wrists. Simply amazing the stroke was. At the age of 80 in totally alien conditions how did he manage to time the ball is beyond my comprehension. But he did it. We saw it and were mesmerized. Never before had he played under artificial lights. Never before had he played on artificial surface. Yet he revealed to us what genius really was.

 

Now after almost 30 years, my trainee-friend Sounak Das still has vivid memories of that day, “I shall never forget the way he returned the ball to the bowler to a delivery that was going outside the leg stump. He stood still at the crease, with just the right-hand (bottom hand) he picked up the bat, took it behind his body and hit the ball back to the bowler from behind his legs! Sheer genius.” Yes, only a genius could have tried and succeeded with that behind-the-body, one-handed tennis volley. As if he was swatting at an irritable fly. Showmanship at its best, even at the age of 80 plus!

 

Yes, those singular acts signified the man. He played for enjoyment, not only for his own but more so for the enjoyment of others. He loved to venture into the unknown. He loved to risk his talents against the elements. He loved challenges. As swift and as supple as a gazelle, the graceful gentleman was.

 

Later, I requested the handsome genius to advise me and my trainees. The modest man smiled, “My philosophy is: enjoy your cricket and give enjoyment to others. I have nothing else to say.” It was brilliant. Just brilliant. In a nut-shell, he told us what the philosophy of sport was all about.

 

Mushtaq Ali’s contribution to cricket and cricketers can never be judged by statistical facts and figures. He belonged to a different genre. A breed that evoked passionate love for the game among cricket followers. The top three of the rare breed most certainly would be Mushtaq Ali, Keith Miller and Salim Durani. They risked their fame and fortune to give entertainment to generations of cricket lovers. They never cared for statistics. Their talents were enough to achieve phenomenal popularity.

 

Both Miller and Mushtaq shared a rare platform. They were brought back into the national side by the direct intervention of cricket lovers. Keith Miller, at the time the leading all-rounder of the world, was dropped by the Australian selectors which included Sir Don, from the South African tour of 1949-50. The press and public outcry at the injustice reverberated all over the world, particularly in Australia. Later the Australian selectors had to bow down to public opinion and reinstate him.

 

So with Mushtaq Ali. More than 70 years ago at Calcutta he was dropped by the national selectors, one of whom was Duleepsinhji. The emotional Bengalees were up in arms. They demonstrated in front of Eden Gardens holding placards proclaiming: “No Mushtaq, no Test”. This was against Lindsay Hasset’s Australian Services team in 1945. Mushtaq Ali was promptly brought back to his rightful position in the XI.

 

Never in the long history of cricket has a cricketer been idolized by the kind of spontaneous love that Mushtaq received. Believe it or not, some cricket lovers heckled and even manhandled the selectors! It was a spontaneous reaction. The patriotic, knowledgeable Indians would not allow an injustice when the country's honour was at stake. This was in the pre-independence era, when the country came ahead of self.

 

 This was indeed unique. Never before or since in the annals of cricket have we had a player brought back into the playing XI because of public outcry. Such was the love and admiration that cricket lovers had for the magnificent man.

 

Every entertainer nurtures a dream that he be adored. Whether a sportsman or an artiste his highest accolade comes from the affection that he receives from the audience. No amount of money, no award, no publicity can quite compensate the spontaneous adulation of admirers.

 

Every worthwhile cricketer aspires to this kind of genuine appreciation. But such wholehearted love comes only to the true artistes whose contribution is not measured by mere statistical performance but by qualities which elevate the spectators to rarefied realms beyond the humdrum of facts and figures.

 

Syed Mushtaq Ali was not a player whose records proliferate in the statistical books. He was a genuine artiste with the conviction that his sole intent was to do anything possible for the delight of the masses.

 

An entertainer par excellence. A person who would do the near impossible with the greatest of ease. A cricketer who would play for the sake of the game without a thought for the consequences. Records, awards, fame, money never furrowed the handsome brows of his broad forehead. The Padmashree award was just another trophy in the cupboard.

 

Unfortunately selectors are proverbially short-sighted when it comes to evaluating class; still more unfortunately the selectors have elephantine memories when it comes to taking revenge. Mushtaq Ali, the doyen of artistes among cricketers, was never given a moment's respite after this unique crowd-involvement incident.

 

 He was overlooked for the tour of Australia in 1947-48 even though he made himself available after he had initially declined to go because of his brother's death. In his place a leg-spinner opened India's innings in all the 5 Tests with disastrous consequences!

 

 Even later, when the West Indies team arrived in the winter of 1948-49, Mushtaq Ali was hounded by crass officials. Omitted from the first two Tests, he made a scintillating comeback at Eden with a century (54 & 106). Whenever they gave him the opportunity, he was an instant draw with the crowds. All over the country, the crowds just loved him for he not only gave enjoyment to the spectators but he himself always seemed to enjoy playing the game.

 

He was indeed a marvel. A man for the centre-stage. Tall and erect, lithe and strong, the handsome man was God's gift to Indian cricket. Born at Indore, he came under the influence of Abdul Aziz (Salim Durani's father) and C.K.Nayudu very early in life. And like C.K.'s proteges, Mushtaq, the most prominent of them all, was daring personified.

 

Mushtaq would dance down the wicket to the fastest of bowlers and then with a subtle turn of the wrists send the ball thudding to the square-leg fence or, if the desire took his fancy, he would rock back and coax the ball to the third-man boundary over the slip cordon with an elegant wristy under-pat.

 

Almost impossible to categorize him. He had all the conventional strokes and a few more that defied the accepted norms. If the country needed, the elegant batter would play a defiant, defensive role; but even in defence he was never dour. Therein lay his greatness. He was forever innovating. Forever seeking novelty. Forever restless. Hallmarks of a true artiste.

 

Mushtaq Ali scored his first Test century at Old Trafford in 1936 and with his famous partner Vijay Merchant was involved in a double century partnership. Later in the limited opportunities of those days he reeled off centuries against Hasset's Australians and Goddard's West Indies.

 

No less than 17 Ranji Trophy centuries unfolded from his entertaining willow. Yet some people still feel that he was not consistent enough; not reliable enough! Began as an orthodox left-arm spinner with impressive performances. Later developed his batting potentiality to such an extent that as an opening batsman he received acclaim from far and wide. As a fielder he was magnificent in any position.

                  

The backbone of his, which would arch so elegantly to meet the deliveries on the field, was ramrod straight off the field. Never stooped to anyone and consequently played only 11 official Tests in the feudal fiefdom of Indian cricket. He had the guts and the gumption to write in his autobiography that AG Ram Singh, Kamal Bhattacharya and Nirmal Chatterjee were victims of rank injustice.

 

The ready smile, the easy manner, the graceful gait hid a man of tremendous courage, determination and resolve. Even in 2005 when he expired at 91, the usual stoop of the ageing adult was yet to catch up with him. Man of perpetual youth. In body and mind.

 

Mushtaq Ali will always remain a hero to those who love adventure. His over-playing with fire is what youth is all about. In a country of servile mentality, where we are perpetually engrossed with copying others, his presence was a refreshing change. Never bothered about the English model or the Australian style or the Caribbean approach.

 

He wanted to remain an Indian, displaying the genius of his race. He was a creative artiste, a man in pursuit of untraversed oceans.

 

Incomparable he was; the nostalgia remains... an adventurer supreme. 

 

RAMAKANT DESAI

 

He was a celestial gift to India and to the Indians. For nearly 25 years we had not one pace bowler who could put the fear of physical injury in the opposition. The Indians had become downcast, dispirited, dejected.

 

Ever since the advent of Mohammed Nissar in the 1930s not one fast bowler of note emerged. It was indeed a gloomy, disheartening period of Indian cricket. Foreigners made fun of our weakness, passed offensive remarks. Actually the Indian cricket lovers began to lose faith in themselves. Such was our disenchantment that we took it for granted that we would never be able to produce a single bowler of terrifying speed.

          I

Then in the winter of 1958-59 as the West Indies cricketers were making merry — as cats among pigeons — winning Test after Test, our self-respect took a heavy battering. Not only for losing by wide margins, but more so for the way we succumbed. Injuries abounded; wickets were gifted away for fear of pace; players made themselves unavailable; some even retired. It was a ridiculous scenario: Kafkaesque at its best. Self-esteem had taken a plunge deep into an ocean of disappointment.

 

It was at this hour, all on a sudden and without any fanfare that a man appeared to bring us back to a semblance of respectability. In the final Test at New Delhi the Indians put up a grand show under the astute and courageous leadership of army-man, Hemu Adhikari. His principal weapons were two young men: Chandrakant Borde and a 19 year-old debutant Ramakant Desai.

 

When Ramakant began his run-up to bowl the first ball, many in the stands smirked, passed derisive remarks. They thought that they had good reasons: how could a man barely 5'5", frail and puny, pack the punch to be a fast bowler? How could the tiny physique have the necessary strength and stamina that a pacer must be blessed with?

 

By the end of the Test Match, serious cricket addicts realized that their long, fervent prayers had finally been answered.

 

'Tiny' Desai— yes, that was his nickname, christened by the erudite commentator Vizzy — bowled with rare venom on a dull, dead wicket without a trace of grass at Feroz Shah Kotla ground in New Delhi. He earned the respect of Conrad Hunte, Kanhai, Collie Smith, Sobers, Basil Butcher, Joe Solomon and company, who feasted on genuine fast bowling in the Caribbean.

 

One particular photograph of that match is still etched in my memory, 60 years after the event. The picture of the brilliant Collie Smith ducking to avoid a bumper from Ramakant Desai. The illustration appeared in The Hindu’s Sport & Pastime magazine, the predecessor of Sportstar.

 

For me that particular photograph is a photograph as memorable as any of the last 60 years. It has a special significance. A world class ‘hooker’ of the calibre of Collie Smith found no answer to the pace of an Indian on a lifeless pitch. That very fact revealed a treasure of no small significance. It highlighted an evidence of self-respect of a nation.

 

On his debut on that lifeless Delhi pitch, Desai captured the scalps of world-class batters like Rohan Kanhai, Garfield Sobers, Collie Smith and Jack Holt. Following year in England the list included Peter May, Colin Cowdrey, Mike Smith, Ken Barrington among others. In India Neil Harvey, Norman O’Neil and Peter Burge were castled. Against Pakistan Desai had Hanif Mohammed, Saeed Ahmed, Javed Burki and Imtiaz Ahmed in considerable agony.

 

The fact that a short and lean young man could even think of bowling fast on inhospitable terrain and of developing himself to generate the kind of pace that had the West Indies men in discomfort spoke volumes of the heart of the man. This was like Bal Gangadhar Tilak taking on the massive British Empire without a thought of the magnitude of the problem or its consequences.

 

 Likewise this Maharashtrian hero decided that he would, if need be, single-handedly take up the cudgels of self-respect and rebellion. He reminded us to think big; to think in terms of speed. He made us realize that we too can flex our muscles and make others fret about us.

 

Since that day in 1959, Desai for the next ten years bowled with his heart and guts, and without any conceivable new-ball support. He was nicknamed 'Tiny' after the apparent size of his physique. Actually he should have been called 'Lion' for that was exactly how his deliveries reared at the batters.

 

 He had a big heart and an attitude that roared for blood. The lean frame packed considerable muscles. The tiny body was just to remind us that the world of reality was far, far different from the world of impressions; mere physical-build being no substitute for spirit and skills.

 

Ramakant Desai came forward to upset every conventional view of fast bowling. For a man of his small physical stature he was an unlikely candidate for fast bowling. Yet he bowled quick, real quick. Today when every trundler is described in superlative terms and rated to be fast, Ramakant was much faster than most. Between Nissar and fast-medium Kapil, Dev, he was our only torch-bearer of genuine pace bowling.

 

His long arms enabled him to gain considerable leverage and his perfect co-ordination of physical movement provided him with the sharp edge of the sword. But from where did he get his stamina? Was it the rhythm of his run-up? The unyielding spirit? The co-ordination of body and mind?

 

 Ramakant was remarkably similar to Harold Larwood and Roy Gilchrist in this respect. All of them were short (Desai being the shortest of them) and not heavily-built. However all three of them had long arms, were loose-limbed and possessed an instinct for aggression. They had a beautiful rhythmic run-up, a very clean action, a full follow-through. Perfect co-ordination of mind and muscles.

 

Whereas Larwood was carefully handled as the prime shock bowler and Roy Gilchrist was cruelly cold-shouldered, our Ramakant was sacrificed on the altar of expediency. Captain after captain made him work overtime. Not one to refuse the call of duty, he obeyed his captains' requests and bowled day in, day out; match after match.

 

 In this way our prime shock weapon became a stock bowler through over and inconsiderate use. Desai was such a fine gentleman that he could not ever refuse to go flat out when asked to turn his arm round.

 

Eden Gardens held a peculiar fascination for him. It was here that he at least received a semblance of greenery on the pitch, for assistance. He was a hero to the thousands who thronged Eden Gardens on those winter morns to watch Test Matches. They came with bugles and drums, oranges and sandwiches. They knew their cricket and could see through facades and imposters. They never had two opinions about their hero, Ramakant Desai, whom they idolised.

 

As Desai began his lovely run-up, the emotional crowd would chant, "Baba Taraknath-er Charan-ey Seva Lagey, Mahadeeeeeeevvvv". It was heady stuff; stuff that sends a shrill down one's spine. So charged would our Ramakant be that inevitably he would bowl beyond himself at the Gardens.

 

Another feature of the presence of Ramakant Desai at the Eden Gardens was the man with the kasor-ghonta, the Bengali version of the brass-band. This gentleman — Hemanta Roy — would keep beat with every single step of Desai's run-up. For every Test that Desai appeared at Calcutta this gentleman without fail kept up his way of paying homage to his hero.

 

 Hemanta Roy did not attend a single Test after Desai retired. A former Azad Hind Fauj soldier, Hemanta Roy found resonance with the aggressive intent of the lone warrior. Unbelievable, yes; but true. That was the kind of feeling we had for our lion-hearted hero. Wonder if any player anywhere on earth ever had such personal hero-worship?

 The love for Desai was something special. Far beyond the confines of cricket. This was the spontaneous love of the Bengalees for the lone fighter, the under-dog, the rebel who fought for of principles and self-esteem. Invariably enough Desai, too, in response kept his best reserved for the Eden Gardens crowd.

 

In 1962 Ted Dexter led a formidable England team that included Ken Barrington but at Calcutta the trio of Desai, Borde and Durani brought off a magnificent win. On the last afternoon Desai’s deceptive bouncer surprised the prolific Barrington as his mis-hook went straight to Durani and with that wicket India prised open the door to a remarkable victory.

 Earlier still in the 1961 series against Pakistan, at the Eden Gardens Desai caused much discomfiture to even Hanif Mohammed, at the time the premier opening batter in the world. Hanif, who was at home to the fastest bowlers from every country, had considerable problems when confronted by Desai, especially his bumpers.

 

Desai's lean build belied his pace. And moreover the bounce that he was able to extract from lifeless wickets was indeed unusual. But what most of us failed to take into consideration was that he had a beautiful wrist action and at the point of delivery his wrist was like a cobra with its hood raised. His long limbs gave him adequate leverage and his fitness was such that his stamina never suffered even at the end of a long day.

 

Ramakant Desai played 28 Tests for India capturing 74 wickets at 37.31. On the England tour of 1959 he was very nippy and in tandem with Raman Surendranath’s controlled swing had England in no end of trouble. At Lord's he took 5 for 89 off 31.5 overs – his best figures overseas – and nearly upset England’s apple-cart. When England were tottering at 100 for 7, Desai had 5 wickets in his pocket. But poor catching skills in the slip cordon let him and India down ultimately.

 

In West Indies in 1962 he was adequate on a tour where disaster followed disaster. But in 1967-68 when he was taken to Australia, ‘Tiny’ Desai was well past his prime and only a hazy shadow of his real self. Even then with a broken jaw he batted bravely to score 32 not out and helped India win at Dunedin against New Zealand.

 

During Desai's days in the sun there were not too many tours, certainly not as many as there are now. So for the major part of his career he had to bowl on sun-baked, dry Indian wickets of little bounce and no pace. The game trier that he was, he slogged on and on; and so most of his successes have been on placid Indian soil.

 

It is frequently forgotten that Ramakant Desai could use the willow authoritatively.  Once in December 1960 against Fazal Mahmood's Pakistan at Brabourne Stadium, he scored a whirlwind 85 and added 149 runs with Nana Joshi. That still remains an Indian record for the 9th wicket. He was a hard hitter of the ball and frequently made useful contributions.

 

Unfortunately Desai, the man of integrity, was not an articulate person and so his tenure as the chairman of the national selection committee was his poorest contribution to cricket. In the treacherous atmosphere of selection committee meetings, this simple man was a total misfit. A wrong man at the wrong place. Very unfortunately, he happened to be the only national selector to have expired while in office.

 

His sad, untimely demise at 59 in 1998 due to cardiac arrest proved that his heart was in the activity of cricket and not in its auction. A brave-heart, a popular figure among peers, Desai remains a perpetual favourite of Eden Gardens and an outstanding soldier of Indian cricket.

 

 

Mohammed Nissar & Amar Singh

 

In American slang, they were ‘pistol-pardners’. As partners, they haunted and hunted in pairs. Their weaponry sent tremors down the spine of their victims. Their expertise was beyond compare.

 

Mohammed Nissar was a reticent giant with soul of an innocent child. Amar Singh Ladha was a bohemian, full of bonhomie and laughter. Gripping the ball in massive palms, both looked at the batters from 6 feet plus with benevolent eyes, perhaps expressing sorrow for the missiles they were about to unleash. 

 

In contrasting styles Nissar and Amar complemented each other. While Amar winked and whispered, Nissar was fast and fearsome. They belonged to different provinces, different communities but both knew that they belonged to the same nation. They were proud Indians who believed that to gain self-respect from foreigners one had to show one’s power. 

 

The untimely death of the duo left behind poignant memories. Both were born in the same year 1910. Amar left at 30, Nissar at 53. Nissar played just 6 official Tests; Amar one more. Amar was lucky not to have seen the partition of his motherland; not so Nissar as he died in his homeland with a changed name!

 

Mohammed Nissar was India’s best-ever fast bowler.

He needed neither costumes nor dialogues to enthral the audience. Just a stage was all that he ever required. Whether playing in Tests or in exhibition fixtures, the man was always at his peak form. Motivation he never lacked; hence his skills never betrayed him. The   “Star of India” logo on his cap was sufficient motivation for him to bowl at tottering knees.

 

He was a greatly feared opponent and as respected. People feared him not only because of the ferocity of his pace, which of course he had in plenty, but more so for his destructive skills: vicious in-dipper, rib-cage bounce and nerve-wrecking bumper.

 

Mohammed Nissar was among the great fast bowlers of any era. He was a Royal Bengal tiger whether on the prowl or in pause. Power reeking through those bulging shoulders and massive physique. Glided as a gazelle as he ran in to bowl. Had muscles of iron and wrists of rubber.  His cocked wrist resembled a cobra as the ball leapt and struck. Venom turned the victim blue.

 

For all his proclivities towards violence, the giant had the heart of a child. Never even once at any level of cricket did he aim to maim a batter. Once when goaded by his skipper Wazir Ali to bowl at CK Nayudu's body in a Pentangular championship match, Nissar declined saying that he did not play his cricket that way. It is indeed amazing for a fast bowler of blinding pace to refuse to intimidate batsmen. Unique in cricket history, it is.

 

Nissar was unarguably the first Indian cricketer who would have walked into a World XI. Sir Neville Cardus, the doyen of cricket writers, considered Mohammed Nissar to be the fastest bowler in the world in the 1930s, especially his initial 5 overs.

 

Pace like fire he surely possessed, but more than sheer brute pace it was his vicious in-swing bowled at the rib-cage that had people gasping. His fast break-back at a disconcerting pace would have batters drawing away from the stumps. He had a ferocious bouncer and an accurate yorker to send hapless men to their doom. But all this he achieved without the least show of rancour or vengeance.

 

Nissar did not need to browbeat opponents, never stooped to curse opponents; had no time for vulgar gestures; had no inclination to abuse. He had no reason to take recourse to any kind of gamesmanship. He was very sure of his abilities. He had faith in his own skills; pride in his own methods. Such was his aversion to gamesmanship that he would rather accept failure than twist the fair name of cricket to gain an undue advantage. Yes, in today's perverse terminology he would not be considered a wise man.

 

He was in reality a Rolls-Royce among fast bowlers. No bowler except Ted McDonald – and later Ray Lindwall, Graham McKenzie and Michael Holding – had a run-up as smooth as he had. His 30-yard approach to the bowling crease was sheer poetry: full of rhythm and poise. The massive man was so very nimble on his feet that not a thud could be heard as the silken-smooth movement took shape. The action was a sight for the gods: majestic and handsome.

 

Appropriately enough he made his Test debut at Lord's in 1932 in India's inaugural Test. Within the first 5 overs he gave England an idea of a blitzkrieg that Adolf Hitler would unleash on them in the years to come. Herbert Sutcliffe was beaten by sheer pace as his stumps went flying; Percy Holmes' citadel cart-wheeled as he had no clue to Nissar's poisonous break-back.

 

The gin and tonic brigade in pin-stripes and top hats in the Lord’s Long Room went open-mouthed in disbelief. They had come to watch the slaughter of innocents. Had not just 10 days back this same Yorkshire pair of Sutcliffe and Holmes scored a world record score of 555 runs against Essex, they asked themselves. Who is this colonial upstart to wreak havoc on British Rule?

 

Nissar added three more wickets in that debut innings and immediately came to be respected as among the top fast bowlers of the world. No other cricketer has ever received such universal admiration and status so very early within the first day of his Test debut. Yes, no other cricketer ever, not even Trumper, Bradman, or Sobers received instant confirmation of their exceptional abilities.

Only Nissar, the lion-hearted Indian, came to be rated as among the best on the very day he made his debut in Test cricket.

 

On that tour he was consistency personified. He scalped 71 victims. Had a strike rate of one wicket every 6th over, which, by any standard, is superlative striking-power. But in Nissar's case we must not forget that most of his wickets came from bowled and leg-before-wicket decisions as he was very badly let down by his close-in fielders. But never was Nissar known to have expressed displeasure at his butter-fingered fieldsmen.

 

Back in India he faced Douglas Jardine’s men once again. At the Bombay Gymkhana ground he had another 5 wicket haul and at Eden Gardens just 2 wickets as catches went down galore in the slips cordon. Those days so very few Test matches were played that even at one’s peak, one got hardly any opportunities. Hence any comparison with the moderns is obviously misleading. The great pacer's career did not extend beyond a mere 6 Tests.

 

His last tour abroad was again to England in 1936. Again he was his usual outstanding self. At the Lord's in tandem with the magnificent Amar Singh he had England on the mat for 147 all out. Nissar (17-5-36-3) and Amar Singh (25-11-35-6) conclusively proved that they were the leading fast bowling combination in the world at the time.

 

At Old Trafford he had 2 wickets in the only innings and then in the final encounter at Oval he was at his magnificent best with 5 wickets off 26 overs. Uprooted the stumps of Hammond and Leyland. Halved the stumps of Worthington. Had Allen and Verity fending risers to wicket-keeper Dilawar Hussain. That was his swan-song in Test cricket. Wonder if any other fast bowler began his life and finished as well with 5 wicket hauls.

 

Although his Test bowling average of 28.28 is very impressive, more so his strike rate in unofficial Tests and first class matches which are 16.51 and 19.02 respectively, yet there is every fear that the magnificence of his endeavour may be submerged in the mass of statistical data.

 

Nissar was born at Hoshiarpur in Punjab in 1910. Learnt his cricket in the tough school of Patiala, where for the first time he was introduced to flannels for cricket instead of the flowing salwars that he wore.

 

 Did wonders for the Muslims in the Quadrangulars and the Pentangulars as well as for Southern Punjab in the Ranji Trophy. Graduated from the Government College at Lahore and was gainfully employed by Bengal Nagpur Railway.

 

His untimely death in 1963 at 53 cast a pall of gloom all over the cricket world for he was a much-respected, much-loved cricketer all through his life.

 

India has produced many outstanding batters, spinners, all-rounders, wicket-keepers but no greater fast bowler than the one and only Nissar. He still remains our all-time best genuine fast bowler at the world stage.

 

****

 

AMAR SINGH was surely India’s first world-class all-rounder.

If his run-up was short, so was the tenure of his life. If his action appeared ungainly, so was his casual approach to life.

 

 But there was nothing untidy about his bowling. Immaculate in accuracy and disconcertingly penetrative in pace and guile. In Walter Hammond's view Amar Singh "came off the wicket like the crack of doom."

 

In his brief career he had established himself as one of premier pace bowlers of the world. The tall, dark, sinewy man from Rajkot was an athlete in every movement of his. His lithe grace and easy manner made him highly popular wherever he played the game.

 

Amar Singh was destined only to be a fleeting comet. He arrived on the cricketing scene all on a sudden and after a fleeting moment of brightness went into the unknown at the youthful age of just 30. Not much has been fathomed about his early life. Little that is heard is that his elder brother Ladha Ramji, the burly fast bowler of the Hindu teams of the 1920s, brought him over as a raw, callow youth to play local cricket in the state of Kathiawar in West India.

 

In England Amar Singh was a man possessed. He would swing and cut the ball either way at a disconcerting pace much to the bewilderment of the professional, hardened English county cricketers.

 

In his debut Test at the Lord's, Amar Singh gave glimpses of the genius that lay dormant within his massive frame. In tandem with the fiery pace of Mohammed Nissar at the other end, he formed as lethal a combination we ever possessed. He returned figures of 2 for 75 off 31.1 overs and 2 for 84 of 44 overs. The 4 wickets included the legendary names of Herbert Sutcliffe, Walter Hammond and Leslie Ames. In the 2nd innings, while fighting for a lost cause, he scored 51 and was associated in an 8th wicket stand of 74 in just 40 minutes against Bill Voce, Bill Bowes, Freddie Brown, Wally Hammond and Walter Robbins.

 

After Amar Singh’s return from UK in 1932 he made his debut for Western India in Ranji Trophy as well as for the Hindus in the Quadrangular Tournament in 1934. He was the spearhead of the Hindu sides in the 1930s. Against the Europeans in his first match for the Hindus he had figures of 6 for 42 and 4 for 50. For bonus, he hit a breezy 90 to enable his team to inflict a crushing innings defeat on the Europeans.

 

By now, of course, he had built a reputation as an outstanding bowler. He never relied on frightening pace but concentrated on movement and accuracy. His powerful wrists allowed aim to give the bill a firm tweak. Coming as it did at his medium fast pace, the batters the world over experienced a horrifying encounter. His leg cutter was deliberately a little slower with the flick of his fingers which very few bowlers have been able to master over the years.

 

When the maharaja of Nawanagar decided to field a team for the Ranji Trophy in 1936- 37 among his first acquisitions was Ladha Amar Singh. Amar was now a full-time professional cricketer in the best sense of the term 'professional’. He helped Nawanagar to win the Ranji championship in that very year with the assistance of Albert Wensley, the Sussex pro and a young 19- year old named Vinoo Mankad.

 

During the off-season Amar Singh would go over to England to play in the Lancashire League for Colne. In England his magnificent performance gave him an awesome reputation. His carefree life-style and his easy manner made his as highly popular in the leagues as he was with the Indian crowds.

 

The next Test he played was on Indian soil. Once again against Jardine's England in 1933-34. As a bowler of world class he was, as usual, in his elements. 14 wickets he captured in just 3 Tests. At Madras he had an analysis of 7 for 86 in 44.4 overs and 1 for 55 in 25. Promoted to no.4 from no.11, he hit an explosive 48 to cement his growing reputation as one of the premier cricketers in the world.

 

So popular was he that in 1936 his Lancashire League club Colne permitted him to play the Tests for India in England during his league assignments. Again he was India's premier bowler with 10 wickets in 3 Tests.

 

Bohemian Amar Singh, the flamboyant character that he was, never believed in predictability. He made the ball talk in whispers. Swinging the red cherry either way was passé for him. When the mood beckoned he would cut the ball off the seam and then suddenly decide to bowl a genuine leg cutter. Just to keep everyone guessing he would actually bowl medium paced finger spin as well! Never bothered to mark his run-up as Keith Miller and Salim Durani would often do years later. Would bowl in various styles too!

 

Amar Singh was a man of the soil. No pretensions inhibited him. He was a natural sportsman. Full of life and bursting with freedom. Shackles of seriousness disturbed him. He could not fathom why cricket should be played with rancour and the will to win at any cost. To him cricket always remained game to be enjoyed. A spectacle to entertain others.

 

Amar Singh, free and careless, became a victim because he could not and would not compromise with what nature had bestowed on him.

 

With Mohammed Nissar, the maverick Amar Singh Ladha formed India's finest fast bowling combination ever. In the 6 Tests together they did extremely well to be ranked among the best in the world. Unfortunately death at the age of 30 broke the partnership in 1940.

 

Today when our fast bowlers work in harness and cause discomfiture to the opponents we feel that the spirit of the great duo is on them. This is the best possible homage the country can pay to those two magnificent soldiers, now resting in peace in the Elysian Field.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Polly Umrigar: my homage to the most magnanimous soul.

 Polly Umrigar was the chief architect who laid the stolid foundation of modern Indian cricket. He had time for every cricketer from the junior-most trainee to the senior-most former player. Nothing in Indian cricket was beyond his knowledge and extreme involvement.             

 Former Test cricketers have been remarkably unsuccessful as cricket administrators. Only a handful has left behind any worthwhile contribution. Most former cricketers-turned administrators generally fell prey to the machination of the officials.

There were some glorious exceptions, though. But none more convincing than the magnanimous visionary Polly Umrigar. As the BCCI secretary, closeted in his small office at an obscure corner of CCI’s Brabourne Stadium, he thought big, really big. As a serious student of cricket, he was the ultimate servant of the game. To use a cliché, he slept, ate and drank cricket.

 No, he did not stop at that. It was not oxygen but cricket that he drew in with every breath. What came out from him was all-embracing wisdom: youth coaching camps around the country, national cricket academies training of coaches and umpires, improvements in travel and accommodation for youth teams, awards for different age-groups, efforts to promote cricket in north-east India, welfare schemes for former cricketers.

 Today when former Test and first-class cricketers are enjoying the benefits of the BCCI pension scheme, little do they realize that the man who made it possible was Polly Umrigar with active assistance from Raj Singh Dungarpur, a former first-class cricketer himself. It is my great fortune that both Polly-kaka and Raj-bhai had imposed a lot of faith in me as they meddled around with the modalities of the intended pension scheme in the 1990s.

 

In the mid-1990s when Polly Umrigar was firmly in the BCCI secretary’s saddle, he conceived the idea of providing pension to former cricketers. He had all the papers and files ready with the budgets, eligibility criteria, mode of payment and other formalities for the BCCI top administrators to see and sign. When I raised an issue concerning cricketers’ widows, Raj-bhai joked, “Raju does not have me in mind!” (As all are aware, Raj-bhai and his lady-love Lataji never got to marry).

 

The BCCI administrators took eight long years to come to terms to assist people who had helped the country’s cricket to prosper. This too came about with the arrival of Sharad Pawar at the helm. Thankfully BCCI’s full-time administrator, the brilliant Professor Shetty was near at hand to show Pawar, the new BCCI president, the documents that Polly Umrigar had so lovingly prepared and preserved.

 

Unfortunately Polly Umrigar’s magnanimous approach to assist former cricketers was never highlighted in India. Even BCCI presidents, who had kept the files under wraps since the mid-1990s, took credit and shelved the name of the genuine creator from the media and the people. Today every former cricketer should take time to say a short prayer for the soul who made so many families happy. I knew I did not make a mistake in identifying my all-time hero. 

 

No schoolboy fiction was ever conceived without the wide shoulders, the clear-cut features and the booming voice which went on to make the hero’s personality. We had come to believe that such qualities were found only in story books. But in Polly Umrigar’s story, it was no fiction. It was as authentic as the city of Mumbai which had nurtured and nourished him.

 

Christened Pahlan Rattanji Umrigar, the man was a larger than life persona. The imposing frame sheltered a heart still bigger. Never, not even once, did those massive shoulders stoop. Rather, those were strong enough to perpetually carry his peers. His magnanimous presence captivated all and sundry.

 

As a child I had often seen him playing the dour role of saving India from embarrassment. But the first distinct impression that remains was that of a leader harnessing his men to victory. The year was 1961-62; the venue, Eden Gardens and the opposition Ted Dexter’s England (then MCC). Polly Umrigar was not the appointed captain. But in skipper Nari Contractor’s absence, he introduced Ramakant Desai from the High Court end and brought about the downfall of the prolific Ken Barrington. Eden’s hero Desai bounced, Barrington hooked and another Eden hero Durani, at square leg, made the difficult catch look easy.

 

That masterpiece of tactics had the floodgates open and England collapsed giving India her first-ever Test match victory at Eden Gardens. As the dignified figure of Polly Umrigar receded into the pavilion, he walked into the pantheons of cricket history. Never before or after has a deputy captain made such an inspiring move to liven up an almost dead Test match.

 

Later I met him in 1978 when he was a national selector. During the course of the Eden Gardens Test match, he and colleagues wanted to have a look at the Test prospects from East Zone. Very hastily a net session was organized. All the national selectors, except the eastern region representative, turned up as did the potential players. But none bothered to prepare the pitch for the net session to take place! 

Another selector Kisan Rungta was furious at the callousness of the local cricket administration. Polly Umrigar was shocked and sympathized, “Hope you boys are more fortunate next time.” Later as the BCCI secretary, he took every possible step for the promotion of youth cricket so that no cricket talent would be lost through carelessness. This was the kind of care he took for junior players.

Once in Bombay during the Vijay Hazare Trophy (at the time it was a over-limit under-16 inter zonal league championship), as the East Zone manager and coach I met Polly Umrigar at his Brabourne Stadium BCCI office. His first reaction was that he would come to watch the Vijay Hazare Trophy matches on various grounds.

 This attitude of a senior BCCI functionary attending u-16 matches was and still quite unheard of. But then that was Polly Umrigar. When East Zone won the trophy, Polly Umrigar was present at the ground and the wonderful group photograph of him with the boys, published by The Hindu, is still in the proud possession of all those young talents. He inspired by actions not through hollow words.

 After my cricketing days were over, I kept in touch with Polly Kaka. I would write to him very often with proposals and suggestions. Not once did he express any botheration. On the contrary he would write back words of encouragement and discuss cricket issues, which included the pension scheme for former cricketers.

                                                                  

Sir Garfield Sobers was undoubtedly the greatest of all-rounders. He was a rare 3-in-1 all-rounder; a person capable of bowling pace and spin as well as batting. But was he the first of the 3-in-1s? Surely not. That credit, arguably, may be conferred on Polly Umrigar, the most underrated of our sporting heroes. About his batting and off-spinning abilities legends abound, but his medium paced out-swingers and off-cutters did not receive the recognition those deserved.

 

At a time when India did not possess top-class pace bowlers, we had to rely on the incisive medium pacers of this burly all-rounder from Mumbai. Hardly ever he disappointed. On the matting wicket of Bahawalpur in 1954-55 against Pakistan he enjoyed his best spell with the new ball: 58-25-74-6.

 

No Indian cricket addict has quite been able to shed the pangs of recrimination at the way Umrigar was treated by the national selectors and the media. He was a natural leader of men. A man of dominating presence and astute thinking. At the same time, understanding and considerate. 

He was not the kind to create a halo of impregnability around himself to unnerve the uninitiated. Nor would he have a permanent nod for the powers-that-be. He belonged to neither group and invariably suffered the consequences. For his uncompromising posture, he was our hero.

 

Against Harry Cave’s New Zealand in 1955-56, Umrigar’s India won the series two nil. Next winter he went about consolidating the team as the nucleus was rapidly ageing. But constant changing and chopping did not help to cement the team’s morale against Ian Johnson’s Australia as the series was lost.  But the imposing personality never stooped not even against the marauding West Indies, who had the blistering pace of Wesley Hall and Roy Gilchrist and the genius of Rohan Kanhai and Garfield Sobers. The team, under Umrigar’s leadership, brought off an honorable draw in the first Test at Bombay but the strength of the opposition created an inferiority complex among the players.

 

Umrigar realized the problem soon enough and requested the selectors for a few changes. He wanted courageous men who would fight till the end even for a lost cause. But the selectors refused to yield and Polly Umrigar, the man of high principles, relinquished the captaincy. No Indian captain before or since has shown such sterling qualities of character.

 

However to his eternal credit he never bore grudges nor did he brood himself to frustration. Happily he co-operated with every new captain who replaced him and led India: Ghulam Ahmed, Vinoo Mankad, Hemu Adhikari, DK Gaekwad, Pankaj Roy, GS Ramchand and Nari Contractor.

 

He even willingly served under Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi, 15 years his junior, and wholeheartedly supported the young captain in West Indies in 1962. In Pataudi’s 'Tiger’s Tale’, the unhesitating help of Polly Umrigar has been mentioned. Umrigar played under various captains of very average ability but not once did he show any rancour nor did he ever try to scheme to get his captaincy crown back

 

A grave injustice was done to him by a flippant remark which went on to become an international headline. He had a dismal series in England in 1952. To compound matters it was said that he had backed away from the express deliveries of Freddie Trueman. If that was true then so were many eminent names in international cricket. Did not the Australians fall in a heap against Peter Pollock in South Africa in 1970? Did not the Englishmen draw away from Lillee and Thompson in Australia? There are numerous similar examples. Why was Umrigar singled out?

 

But the fact remains that he went back to England in 1959 and collared Trueman and Harold Rhodes and smashed an innings of 118 at Old Trafford. He took on the mighty Wes Hall in his own backyard with an unbeaten innings of 172. Where were those who had derided the callow youth on his first tour in 1952? He was never media savvy and never cared about what the uninitiated thought of him.

 

Against Fazal Mahmood’s men he had his most successful series ever. He reeled off 3 centuries in 5 Tests. No matter the opposition, no matter the conditions, Umrigar was a man for all seasons. When he retired in 1962 he had a fantastic average of 42.22 with 3631 runs including 12 centuries.

 

As a bowler he never got his due. Overshadowed by the presence of Vinoo Mankad, Ghulam Ahmed and Subhash Gupte, he was always considered to be a second fiddle. Yet when the Aussies capsized against Jasu Patel at Kanpur in 1959, it was Polly Umrigar’s 4 vital wickets, including those Neil Harvey and Norman O’Neil that hastened the disaster. As a fieldsman he was of the top bracket, whether close to or far from the wicket. A safe pair of hands, an unerring throw and an impeccable anticipation were his hallmarks. He was among the first Indians to dive and take catches. The one he took at slip off Wallis Mathais at Eden when the ball flew off the keeper's gloves is still in memory.

 

After retirement from active cricket, he was still more active in the service of the game. As coach, manager, administrator he left behind his mark in every sphere and was highly respected by all those who came in contact with him. Deep knowledge and a broad mind gave him a wider vision than usual. Remarkably open to views he would take suggestions even from laymen. Very diligently he studied and then made his recommendations to BCCI. It was primarily because of his initiative that former players, both Test and first-class, are receiving pension from BCCI in recognition of their services to Indian cricket.

 

The modesty of the man was profound. Once I met him at Sunil Banerjee’s place in Calcutta. Polly-kaka had read a piece of mine on him in Sportsworld and thanked me profusely, “Raju, that article of yours pleasantly surprised my family. They thought no one remembered me any more. Next time you come to Mumbai you must have a cup of tea with us.” With his demise, I have lost the man whom I respected the most in Indian cricket.

 

Polly Umrigar’s retirement from cricket as an active player had a unique ring about it. After scores of 56,172 not out, 32 and 60 against Hall, Sobers and Gibbs in 1962 when India was black-washed five-love, Umrigar stood tall and fearless as usual.

 

The great persona decided that he had had enough. People were aghast. They kept asking, “Why?” Polly Umrigar’s classic reply was, “Better now when they are asking ‘why’ than later when they would be asking ‘why not’. Indeed, indeed. What a lesson from a champion sportsman. His action taught us what character was; what wisdom meant.

 

He was without any semblance of doubt the chief architect of modern Indian cricket. From the day of his Test debut at Brabourne Stadium in 1948-49, he stood tall and surveyed the proceedings of Indian cricket in a manner no one had done before or since. His sterling qualities, his visionary approach, his magnanimity are unparalled. He bridged the pre-War era with the post-independent India as a statesman. On behalf of all Indian cricketers I bow down to him in eternal pranam