Winter in
the sixties had a festive feeling. There was a strong chill in the air
throughout the months of December and January. Every Sunday, truckload of
picnickers headed for cosy and tranquil destinations far from the city’s
jostling crowd. Central Calcutta (Kolkata was not a part of English lexicon)
looked glamorous with exotic decorations for Christmas and New Year. Circus troupes from all over the country and
beyond came in droves to entertain the city’s kids. The maidan would be
crowded with dozens of fairs and exhibitions.
And, there
was cricket; test cricket of course. ODI’s and T-20’s were not even invented.
Eden Gardens, considered the second best cricket ground in the world, next only
to Lord’s, was a mandatory venue. The players
of the touring teams used to be thrilled and fascinated by its lush greenery,
bouncy pitch, fast outfield, early morning dew and the sporting crowd. Cricket
was essentially a winter sport, played in a cheerful, relaxed atmosphere. Today’s
fans would probably be horrified to learn that a test match lasted six days
with a day of rest in between.
Often a
match was scheduled at the Eden Gardens during the Christmas New Year week. It was this venue where, in the year 1961 on
30th December to be precise, a starry eyed sixteen year old,
ventured out to experience the flavour of the regal game at its highest level;
a test match.
I was a
student living in a hostel on a strictly controlled budget. Gathering the
courage to plunge into an unknown territory was the first challenge. An early morning queue to earn an entry to
the coveted enclosure was the second. A daily ticket for a seat at the Ranji
Stadium was Rs. 2 apiece. The total budget for the day was a princely sum of
Rs. 5.
It has been
more than fifty years since but I still remember the exhilaration I felt when I
stepped inside the Eden Gardens for the first time in my life. The ground with
a capacity of ninety thousand was almost full. Very soon, it would be packed to
the brim. The fourth test match between India and England, led by Nari
Contractor and Ted Dexter respectively, was scheduled to start shortly. As far
as India’s prospect was concerned, there was nothing much to look forward to.
India had a dismal record those days having received consecutive drubbings
against West Indies (3-0) in 58-59 in India; England (5-0) in England
subsequently. A freak victory against Australia in Kanpur thereafter triggered
nationwide celebrations.
However, for
the cricket loving city crowd, a victory did not amount to much; they just
wanted to watch a good game.
India was
led by Nari Contractor. There was no “local boy” in the Indian team. Pankaj
Roy, the darling of the city had retired a few years earlier. However, that was
not an issue to dampen the spirit of the fans at the Eden Gardens. Ironically,
the only player with a Calcutta connection was Ted Dexter, the captain of the
England team. His wife Susan was the daughter of Tom Longfield, captain of the
first Bengal team that won the Ranji Trophy in 1939.
There was
thunderous roar as the two captains walked in for the toss. Contractor flipped
the coin and Dexter called. Both the captains bent down to have look.
Contractor raised his right hand. Another roar bigger than the previous ensued;
India had won the toss.
There was no
giant TV screen anywhere to have a close look at the captains. In fact, there
was no TV those days. The cricket lovers, away from the scene of action, stayed
glued to their radio sets devouring every word of the running commentary
broadcasted by All India Radio. It was known as ball-to-ball running
commentary. Some of commentators were so skilful in the act that one could
actually feel the thrill of the game in spite of being thousands of miles away.
Two legendary commentators, Pearson Surita and Berry Sarbhadikari hailed from
the city of Calcutta. Being cricketers themselves, their narration was just
brilliant. Bengali commentary of the game of cricket rendered by Ajay Basu,
Pushpen Sarkar and Kamal Bhattacarya were part of the city’s cricket folklore.
They carried the spirit of cricket to the remotest hamlets of the state. It is
generally believed that the idea of running commentary in any game started from
the Calcutta station of All India Radio soon after its inception. The first
ever commentary, in English, was during a soccer match between two city teams
of yore.
I was
accompanied by my cousin, a few years senior to me. I asked him in whisper,
lest others discover my naivety, to identify the high court and the maidan
ends, the terms I often had heard on the radio from the commentators whenever a
bowler walked up to one of the ends to begin his run-up. The pavilion was
across the pitch, hence there was no “pavilion end”.
England
innings collapsed against the onslaught of Chandu Border, Salim Durrani,
Ramakant Desai and Vasnt Ranjane. The only batsmen who stood their grounds on
both the innings were the England skipper Ted Dexter and the opener Peter
Richardson. They were both greeted with standing ovations by the sporting fans
of Calcutta.
There were
no man-of-the-match awards those days. But the man, who won the heart of the
crowd, was a young Nawab from the state of Pataudi. He had returned home from
Oxford and donned the Indian cap in Delhi a few weeks earlier. He enthralled
the crowd with his well measured lofted shots that fell just beyond the reach
of the fielders. The Nawab, just a week
short of his 21st birthday scored 64 in the first innings and 32 in the second.
Destiny would pass on the mantle of captaincy to this young man during the next
series in West Indies following a deadly delivery from Charlie Griffith that would
end Nari Contractor’s career.
I probably
was the lucky mascot for India because the team won the match convincingly
setting a lead of 1-0 in the series. The feat would be repeated in Madras a few
days later ending the series with a 2-0 victory in India’s favour.
Within a
couple of years, I had the privilege of watching another England team in action
in 1963-1964. India was led by the Nawab of Pataudi and England by Mike Smith. It
was a different venue. I could feel from day one that there was something
amiss. It was also a test match with big names representing each side. I was
puzzled as I failed to feel the frenzy I experienced at the Eden Gardens. Then
suddenly the realization dawned in my sub-conscious mind. It was the passion
that was lacking. No other crowd can be as passionate for the game as the
Calcutta crowd.
Long live
Eden Gardens.
****
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