Immigrant song

“Abhi confirmed tickit mil jaayegi,” the small figure of a mere 5’3” droned on,pointing to a grinning coach-buddy from the Indian Railways who could turn the wait-list into a berth seat,as if lending menacing credence to his threat-spree. The now comprehensively admonished found enough taller team-mates to go disappear behind,while the headmaster-like coach settled his heaving.

Such unmitigated rage these days,is famously called kolaveri in his native tongue — Tamil. But Punjab’s basketball coach Dr S Subramanian summons colourfully fractured Punjabi at will,the only Tamilian-twang evident when he sprinkles ‘you fool!’ into his harangues. Nobody answers him back,not in any manner or speech.

The Madurai marrauder

The 73-year-old credited with Punjab’s spectacular resurgence in national basketball — which culminated in the state hoopsters reclaiming the national title after a dozen years this winter — is in fact,a modestly-built man from Madurai. In a clear reversal of the typical migratory trend from north to south of the flying cranes or failed Bollywood damsels,this tactician of human-flight in basketball,went headlong into the heart of Ludhiana,and for 40 years (first as a kinesiology expert at NIS,Patiala,and later as Ludhiana Academy’s coach) has desisted from cribbing about north India’s chill.

The ultimate privilege

In turning over 20 aggressive,well-built teenagers from Punjab into skilled ball players representing India at all age-levels (half of the current 12 India internationals come from his academy),the Doc with the phys-ed degree,has earned the ultimate privilege. They reverentially call him ‘Subramanian Singh’. The wide-eyed,long-limbed beginners stick to ‘Doctor Sir’.

Indian basketball — despite its stagnant results in Asia — attracts small but raucously loyal in-stadia crowds,none louder than in Punjab,where the sport competes with kabaddi and hockey for that sort of localised nutty following. In Punjab Police,the state also had one of the most legendary institutional teams till the 90s,with Parminder ‘Happy’ Singh (Sr) hulky 6’10’’ frame stomping about as the last of the titans.

But Services,Railways and Tamil Nadu perenially snapping at Punjab’s heels had shunted out the traditional hub into mid-table finishes as the big legends developed brittle backs and cracked knees. Around the same time — as the 90s wound down — Dr Subramanian was done with his NIS stint and coaching the Services,and prepping to head home.

Home was also where the heart singed. “The best part about Punjab winning the title after 12-odd years is that we beat Tamil Nadu in the finals. And in Chennai,most satisfying,” Subramanian says,laying bare a wound that stung him immensely when his enthusiastic home-going was rudely rejected by the state officials. “When I went there,I was told I was not good enough to coach a senior team,” Doc Sir says,adding,“I returned to Punjab and became a part of their rebuilding.”

He drew up a blueprint for the academy at Ludhiana,and went scouting deep into remote villages in Punjab,warming up to their affectionate hospitality,even as an impressive training-school for basketball came up in a state where boys grew tall and broad-shouldered and this coach commanded respect and discipline. “I never missed home,” Subramanian says. His own embracing of Punjabi took a while,and provided comic relief from his military-styled disciplining. “Not only were my pronunciations very accented,but many phrases had double meanings!” he admits.

Present Basketball Federation of India president RS Gill,as in-charge of armed police in Jallandhar back in early 2000s,had approached several NRI Punjabis to help out with funding. Harjinder Dhanoa,a food packaging businessman from England had offered an initial grant of Rs 3 lacs every year. Half of India’s international basketball squad now comes from a self-funded Rs 10 lac academy.

A maple wood-flooring was swiftly imported for the indoor stadium,some basic but clean dorms set up in an adjoining building as Dr Subramanian embarked on his head-hunting. Criterion: The head needed to measure at least 6 feet 2 inches on the wall-scale at age 15 (it’s now 6’4” min.),and flexibility was welcome. Attitude,Subramanian Singh insisted,would be drilled in; forcibly if needed.

‘Wanted’ adverts

The Doc brought in his years of bio-mechanics expertise while studying the nuances of speed,jumping power and sprinting ability in contenders. Many responded to annual newspaper-ads placed by the police calling upon all tall boys to land for trials. Police stations were asked to keep as keen an eye on wrong-doers as on beanstalks from the vicinity.

As a firm believer in pushing youngsters through,he started taking the tough calls and ruffling things up by forcefully removing jaded players from Punjab Police and BSF. “There were revolts,but I knew I was on the right path.”

The much-dreaded ‘Suicide Drills’ were pulled out of bootcamp manuals by the man who had once served in the country’s intelligence agencies in the 60s — the innocently-named Aviation Research Centre,one wing of the erstwhile RAW. “We’d interact with many American air-force pilots then at Cuttack,and they were great ball players. I learnt most tricks playing with them after we set up a court at airport hangars.” He’d also received advanced coaching training form East Germany — and became proficient in German,as part of an interesting group of sports-scholars who studied the comparative styles of Indians and Germans in hockey and basketball in the 70s.

When Punjab played for the first time minus their hulking ‘Happy’ Singh,and his equally lethal shooting chums Sunny and Vicky,a rare spurt of freshness had burst into the game where every youngster was trained to be an all-rounder: play inside the ring and rocket shots from outside.

A state that had never missed sending youngsters for any national championship since the 1930s,now had an assembly-line,even if coaches of other teams like Railways and cash-rich ONGC snapped up the entirety of the first flock. “It was a cycle of getting excited about new talent,and then rueing losing them,” says Gill. “Now,the doctor is producing new talent every year and we have ready back-ups.”

Still,despite many being picked for the Indian squad — the national title eluded them for a dozen years. Four close defeats in finals,including one when a player had frozen mid-pass with one basket needed to win,and relayed it to the wrong team instead,leaving Jagdeep Singh unmarked and flummoxed under the basket. “I was always taunted as being an India captain,not good enough to win the national title,” Jagdeep remembers.

So it was almost a relief to win this December in Chennai. Doc Sir,who was aided by BSF’s Ashwini Kumar for tactical nous on court,watched with approval as his new batch bossed over Tamil Nadu. Perhaps his loftiest achievement,standing at 7 something,is Satnam Singh,who has already begun early murmurs of optimistic talk of an Indian in the NBA.

From picking Amritpal Singh (Jr) from a kabaddi mudpit in Fattuwal village to gently goading their talismanic leader Jagdeep to shift from hurdles,Ludhiana now has more than 10 agile hoopsters hovering around 6’7’’,ready to be unleashed on the best in Asia.

Punch-drunk success

Now despite the incessant poaching,the Punjab ranks rarely look depleted — not with the team’s soul staying together 10 years and putting in monkishly single-minded hours. Doc Sir’s iron-fisted discipline when controlling this batch — some of who don’t mind their Patiala pegs — has its origins in his first loss in a decade as the Services coach when a group of smug and punch-drunk defending champions stood lead-footed and could simply not execute a man-to-man defence.

“Now I expect perfect discipline. Although it’s tough to keep them away from the occasional drink,I know that they are still scared of being caught and are wary of a scolding,” he says. At times,the punishment is a return-ticket,the threat drawn out in chaste Punjabi from this stern Tamizh mama.