The Lala got less than he deserved

Historically, The Lala’s place was assured. But if he was remembered for nearly half a century after he played his last Test match, it was as much for his flair as for his contributions to the game. He wasn’t a tall man, yet he seemed to fill a room when he walked into it. He wore a cravat, and and hat, and in later years carried a walking stick; a Toff, you would have said if you didn’t know better. But he was no Toff, as the first syllable from his mouth would testify. He was a Punjabi, born in Lahore, and no more typical son of the soil played the Englishman’s game with such flair.

He was a destructive batsman, a medium-pacer who, according to contemporary reports, thought like a fast bowler, and a wicket-keeper when the need arose. Was there anything he couldn’t do? Yes. He couldn’t suffer fools gladly — hence his much-publicised banishment from the 1936 tour of England, one of the most shameful incidents of Indian cricket.

He was a natural; and it is possible to draw a line stretching from him through Mushtaq Ali, Dattu Phadkar, Salim Durrani, Farokh Engineer, Kapil Dev, Krish Srikkanth: the Errol Flynns of Indian cricket. Players who had panache. If they failed, they failed heroically.

This is one of the three broad types of Indian players. The others being the inspired magician and the determined professional.

Amarnath’s other major contribution to Indian cricket, was, of course, his sons, Surinder and Mohinder — the one with his flair, and the other with his determination. “Think of the Lala as a combination of Surinder and Mohinder, and then some more,” Hemu Adhikari once said. Adhikari was on Amarnath’s first tour of Australia, and later captained India.

If an artist were to depict the history of Indian cricket on canvas, he would use bold brush strokes and powerful colours to represent Lala Amarnath. For he was a bold man, and one of the most colourful. He had a fund of stories and the true racanteur’s gift of making it different each time. To everyone’s delight, he didn’t understand what being politically correct meant.

The last survivor of the first Test on Indian soil is no more. Greatness is its own memorial — but Indian cricket owes Lala Amarnath much more than it has cared to give.