So much has been written about the Nawab of Pataudi after his death that it seemed pointless to write more about him. Yet, the few memories I have of him, most of them in my impressionable teenage years , kept resurfacing .The memories of a lithe fair(with a reddish glow) personality gliding in (not walking) to the crease, cap rakishly angled to one side, bat held casually as if it was an instrument of grace rather than force, were too compelling to keep it bottled up.
I have seen all my cricket matches only at the Eden Gardens in erstwhile Calcutta. Those days it was an open stadium with shamianas and tarpaulin strung above certain stands. The matches were played from one year to the next, starting on the 29th December and ending after the New Year, with a now extinct Rest day thrown in..In the morning, it was invariably misty, with many cricketers in their pullovers. There would be a breeze flowing in, from the High Court end from the river Hooghly which was just a stone’s throw away. The wooden stands would be a little wet from the morning dew and would creak every time you changed positions. Water was available from taps and the bottled mineral water bottles had not even been thought off. Ladies would actually knit during the day and the comments were piercing and entertaining.There was a distinctive smell in the ground found nowhere else in the world, of cigarette smoke and chanachur and Jhal-Muri and anticipation and excitement. Like many things of childhood, that smell has also disappeared. The incisive comments have been replaced by mobile phone conversations.
It was in this situation that I saw him first in 1969 in the match against Bill Lawry’s Australian side. Graham Mckenzie destroyed the Indian top order on a typical Eden morning swinging the outswinger late enough to touch the outside edge of the bat of the opening batsman Ashok Mankad. One drop Ajit Wadekar also snicked one to the Australian slip cordon. Gundappa Vishwanath endeared himself to the Calcutta crowd forever with two classical fleetfooted cover drives off Mckenzie. Then Farook Engineer nicked Mckenzie to the slips to leave India 22 for 3.There was a sudden hush in the crowd . The Nawab is coming—the whispers became stronger and sure enough came Tiger Pataudi.
The word “Mejaj” in Bengali has no equivalent in any language.Call it charisma , stature , presence but you will never convey the appearance of an Indian batsman who looked more English than the Englishmen, only infinitely more handsome, by any other word than the Royal Mejaj. There was an impatient tug at the pads, and then a stylish flick for a couple. Vishwanath and Pataudi added 42 for the 4th wicket before the gangling Ashley Mallett induced Pataudi to play for a turn that was not there and Ian Chappell clutched on to the catch. The Nawab departed to a collective sigh from the disapponted crowd, walking well before the umpire’s decision.”Should have stayed a little longer”, muttered my grizzled face neighbour.”He has to make it up next innings”. The Nawab walked off, head a little bowed, perhaps a little shy that he had failed before his in-laws(He had of course married Calcutta girl Sharmila Tagore).
When Australia came into bat, all eyes were on him as he led the Indian team on to the ground. He walked a few paces ahead of his men, and his directions were simple and authentic. The Indian opening attack consisted of Subroto Guha ,the Bengal swing bowler playing probably his second or third test, and the athletic but strictly medium paced left handed Eknath Solkar. Bill Lawry and Keith Stackpole were a cut above them , but we could never forget the magical bowling of Bishen Bedi as he looped, spun, outthought and outfoxed batsman after batsman to finish with 7/98. Throughout it all, Pataudi maintained close catching fielders in Solkar and Wadekar, never discouraging his bowlers to flight. And in the covers he prowled like a Tiger, swooping down on his prey (the cricket ball) with precision and surety. His returns were hard and thumping well into Engineer’s gloves and when he chased, he did it with style and elan.
Australia garnered a lead of 120-odd runs. The Indian reply was a disaster. The hero of the first innings, Vishwanath departed for 5, and when Pataudi joined Wadekar,the score was 90 for 4. Connolly and Freeman were swinging and cutting the ball prodigiously, so we waited with bated breaths for a Royal innings. Lawry brought on Ashley Mallett and with a sense of relief, the Nawab tried to sweep him but missed. He surveyed the field once again. Mallett tossed it up again on middle-leg and the Nawab in a classical English response(he after all had played most of his cricket there) swept him high and handsome straight to Alan Connolly at deep mid wicket. He had made 1 and India were half the side down staring at an innings defeat. There was a collective growl from the crowd. Irresponsible, foolish, casual were some of the nicer epithets showered on him. My grizzled neighbour just scratched his head ad said, “He backed himself to clear the field.That’s the way he has played all along—his way, his mejaji way”.
Perhaps he lived his life that way too—on his own terms, on his own thinking.
The second time when I saw him was in his twilight years. In 1974, Clive Lloyd led the West Indians to huge wins in the first two Tests of the 5 Test series in India. When they came to Calcutta, we had braced ourselves to another loss. India batted first and again were in trouble as the first three batsmen—Naik,Engineer and Parthasarathy Sharma departed early. Pataudi joined Vishwanath and we could see from the beginning that the pace trio of Roberts, Julien and Vanburn Holder was too much for him. They were keeping the ball just short of a length and bouncing the ball straight at the midriff. Pataudi was jumping out of the way. Sometimes with tremendous courage he got in line and fended awkwardly. You could see the frustration in his immobile face. His royal demeanour was crumbling. He must have been muttering to himself—“These guys are dominating ME!!” he went off for a walk to square leg after a vicious bouncer steepled up to his face. He swayed away in desperation. In those days there were no chest protectors,no helmets, no real finger protector gloves. When he took guard again, the watery sun came out of the overhead clouds and cast long shadows of the players over the emerald green grass. Vanburn Holder came lumbering in, pitched on off and middle and the ball rose straight at the Royal chest. We saw a movement to the leg side, then a flash of a cream bat as it swung down in a screaming cover drive that had the ball rocketing to the boundary. We clapped in amazement. The next one from Holder was similar but faster. Again there was the Nawabi sway to the legside. This time the shot was squarer, but with more velocity. The West Indian fielders grinned ruefully. Holder glared at him and then strode back to the top of his run up. He came in with a glint in his eye. This time , the ball reared up faster. Holder seeing Pataudi’s movement directed this on leg stump. Pataudi had read it well, had moved inwards and stroked the ball off the back foot to the long on boundary.The most glorious and difficult shot—a back foot on drive of an express bowler had been executed.That shot lives in my memory still, and whenever I am in a tight spot, I recollect the shot and the scene—a triumphant champion batsman putting his doubts aside and showing who was king—looking on with pride and satisfaction at a red cricket ball destined for the boundary ropes. Holder’s shoulder drooped. The next ball was of a fuller length and Pataudi drove through the covers with a grace which only he possessed.
“This couldn’t last—it just could not”, I muttered to myself. It did not. Soon after, Pataudi fell to the wily Andy Roberts who shattered his stumps. The Nawab walked off, his shoulders a little hunched, his India cap still tilted sideways as the crowd almost rose to their feet and started clapping him back. He had played an innings of Royal Mejaj.
In the first innings, Kanhai made 90 with his famous falling over sweep shot.West Indies amassed 390. India in their second innings , thanks to one of the greatest innings seen at Eden Gardens—Vishwanath’s glorious 139 got a lead of 309. West indies raced to 146/3 at the end of the fourth day with Lloyd and Kalicharan unbeaten. Chandrasekhar the mystery legspinner whose stock ball was the one coming into the batsman had been hammered severely by the West Indian batsmen. When on the 5th morning, the Nawab kept him on, there were rumblings from the crowd. After a couple of boundaries , the comments started flowing. True to his character, the Nawab kept on with him. In the next few minutes, Chandra had clean bowled Lloyd, had Kalicharan caught at slip and Bernard Julien lbw. Bedi was brought back on and the tail cleaned up. India had won a memorable Test match, unexpectedly and from behind. The Nawab had a rare smile on his face. He had been vindicated in front of his in-laws !!! Did this really affect him?? I think not, for he never believed in all this business of proving himself to others.
I never saw him on a cricket field again as a player.In all his subsequent roles—he appeared as if those were mantles on him to be discarded after some time.His real self was known to him and his family. I like to think that as rabid cricket spectators we saw him in flashes—a trifle detached, but keenly observant,a batsman of rare talent and a Captain supremo, who played his cricket in the only way he wanted to—with Mejaj.
Even now, we will raise a silent toast whenever and wherever we meet for a cricket talk, to the Royal Mejaj of a departed Captain who gave us as so often cricket does, important messages on how to live our lives the way we want to.
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