When it was still cricket

Watching the India-Australia final of the Pepsi Triangular Series at Delhi's Ferozshah Kotla ground the other day stirred many a childhood m...

Watching the India-Australia final of the Pepsi Triangular Series at Delhi8217;s Ferozshah Kotla ground the other day stirred many a childhood memory, I first visited Ferozshah Kotla as a nine-year-old in 1948 to watch a India-West Indies Test match. Lala Amarnath, the Indian captain, was naturally the local hero. His stint at the crease was interspersed by shouts of, quot;Lalaji, chhakka, Lalaji, chhakka,quot; from the stands. Whenever the incomparable Lala obliged by taking a mighty swipe at the ball, the spectators would break into rapturous applause. To his Punjabi compatriots recovering bravely from the trauma of Partition, the Lala provided something to cheer for.

The Pakistani cricket team under Abdul Hafiz Kardar toured India a few years later when Lala Amarnath was again our captain. The reverence with which the Lala was treated by the Pakistani players made us schoolboys wonder whether he was captain of the Pakistani team as well. During the lunch intervals, Indian and Pakistani players alike would beat the receiving end of his advice, mixed with admonishments in colourful Punjabi. When the Lala seemed really upset, Kardar would plead, quot;Lalaji, jaan dayo, bachche ne quot;Lalaji, let it be. They are kids.quot;.quot; These quot;kidsquot; included Haneef Mohammad and Fazal Mahmud, both of whom were to leave their indelible stamp on the game.

By today8217;s standards, the cricket of those days was quite a laid-back game. A scoring rate of 250 runs a day was considered safe, if not entirely acceptable. Two consecutive fours by Vijay Hazare gave rise to fears of impending doom. However, a forward defensive stroke after a four would be greeted with chants of, quot;Played!quot; No wonder Test matches ended, more often than not, in a draw. Hazare was involved in a number of match-sharing partnerships with Vijay Merchant and Vijay Manjrekar after India had been asked to quot;follow onquot;. The Indian team8217;s tendency to fare better in their second innings than in the first provoked Sardar Patel to quip: quot;India should play their second inningsfirst and their first innings second.quot;

In keeping with the best traditions of the game, it was customary to introduce both teams to the greatest sportsmen of them all, Pandit Nehru. This was done during the lunch or tea intervals, usually on a Sunday. The spectators would give a standing ovation to Panditji as soon as he stepped out on the turf. A.C.S. DeMello, president of the Cricket Control Board, would introduce the captains. The captains would then introduce their respective teams. The introductions over, Panditji would watch the game for a while, seated on a sofa placed just outside the boundary line. On one occasion he sat right through a hurricane knock of 60-odd runs by Mushtaq Ali. One of the sixers landed at his feet!

As cricket became an obsession, so did the cricket commentary on All India Radio. My friends and I would huddle around radio sets waiting impatiently for the AIR signature tune to end. Commentators like Maharaj Kumar quot;Vizzyquot; of Vijayanagram, Berry Sarbadhikari, Dev Raj quot;Davyquot; Puriand Pearson Surita were celebrities in their own right. They were our eyes. Vizzy exclaiming, quot;Oooh!quot; would make our hearts sink. Somebody who mattered was either out or the ball had just missed the outside edge of his bat. When it appeared that a top-order Indian batsman would bat through the day, Vizzy would say reassuringly that quot;he will be there till the cows come home.quot; Bapu Nadkarni, bowling one maiden over after another without taking a wicket, used to be described as quot;up and down stuffquot;. And there was the occasion when by the time Vizzy finished describing an exquisite late-cut by Nadkarni, Nadkarni was already back in the pavilion!

Those gentleman in flannels and the commentators brought so much joy and excitement into our lives. Now it8217;s over to you, Azza. Carry on, boys.