Meeting Mushtaq

He tries giving his address but loses out to cell connectivity. Eventually, despite his embarrassment, he settles for the simpler direction: ‘‘Ask anyone and he will show you the way to Ali Manzil.’’ We ask and he — an auto driver — does.

We wait in the living room, which is a bit like watching a B/W documentary of 1930s cricket. Among the dozens of pictures, one stands out: Mushtaq Ali and Vijay Merchant walking back at Old Trafford, a few English photographers milling around with their box cameras, children cheering and gentlemen standing in ovation.

The picture is black and white but the subjects provide the colour: Mushtaq, with a knotted handkerchief around his neck, top two buttons on his flannelled shirt stylishly unfastened, acknowledges the record partnership with Merchant and his century — the first by an Indian on English soil.

And then the man himself walks in. He’s 90 but his bearing is still the same: Checked shirt, cotton trousers, ramrod straight, booming voice, eyes alive at 11 p.m.

Cricket folklore has it that Mushtaq, while batting, would leave the crease and move towards the bowler before the ball was released. It’s obviously a trick he hasn’t forgotten over the years so he asks the first question: ‘‘You are a reporter, can you provide a headline to this picture?’’, pointing to the frame that has him with Pandit Nehru. As the mind fumbles for an answer, Mushtaq obliges with a child-like grin: ‘‘Two great openers of India’’.

Over the next hour, we discover two things: one, the man has no bitterness or regret, afflictions common to his tribe, and two, he lives squarely in the present, appreciating things around him — in sport, in life — for what they are.

Oh, and a third: He still will not fall for the teasing delivery outside the off-stump. Attempts to get the standard quote about fallen moral standards in today’s game meet with no success.

The fun part of the game is lost today, it’s all about money, isn’t it, we ask. ‘‘Test cricket is never fun’’, he replies. ‘‘We too had pressure. When we walked back after being dismissed cheaply in front of a packed house we wished the earth would swallow us.’’

And the money? ‘‘Allah inko aur de, they deserve it. They face more pressure than us.’’

Talk cricket, and the floodgates open. Any technical flaws with today’s batsmen? He springs out of the sofa, takes a shadow stance and asks you to look at his feet. ‘‘One must always be on one’s toes. Most batsmen today bat with their feet almost cemented to the ground.’’

One aspect of the modern game leaves him bemused: the widespread use of dark glasses. ‘‘From what I know, with dark glasses on, one sees everything a bit dim. In my days we depended the sunlight.’’ The conversation turns to the photographs, and Mushtaq takes out three heavy albums. Another question. ‘‘Who’s he?’’ he asks, pointing to a youngster in a suit with a middle parting pushing himself into the same frame as the celebrity cricketer. It’s impossible to place the boy till one sees the caption: Zulfi. Again, the naughty grin: ‘‘It’s Zulfikar Ali Bhutto.’’

That was in Mumbai, pre-Partition. Many years later, by which time Zulfi was Prime Minister, he visited Pakistan for a charity match. ‘‘Come to our side and help our cricket’’, Zulfi said. Mushtaq, then ADC to the Maharaja of Holkar with an army captain’s rank, drew himself up to his full height. ‘‘I will come over to your side if you attack us; I will come to conquer your country.’’

One is tempted to ask him about the celebrity status current cricketers enjoy. Till he brings out his own celeb pictures: Mushtaq with Fan No. 1 Dilip Kumar, Mushtaq with Vyjayantimala and other southern beauties.

It’s now close to midnight, the cricket fan in us is satiated, politeness takes over. Mushtaq walks us to the front door, even waves for an auto. One searches for words to thank him. As usual, he’s out of the crease first. ‘‘Thanks for sparing some time,’’ he says.

Then a wave, a smile, and the Grand Old Man of Indian cricket returns to his pavilion. The crowds are cheering him on; when it’s Mushtaq Ali, they always will.