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V Gangadhar

My wicket, wicket ways

I think it was in Madurai that I perfected my late cut. Throughout my cricketing career, I relied on two strokes to fetch me runs. The late cut and the cross-batted heave over mid-on. Now, this was a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde approach to batting because the late cut is one of the most elegant shots and the heave, the ugliest. As I tried to cut everything pitched on the off and middle stump, one of the boys used to remark, "Action good, idea bad." Yet I continued to late cut, deriving immense pleasure on the occasions when the ball whizzed through the slips.

How did we play cricket? The pitch was a stretch of rough turf where the ball did many unexpected things. Sometimes it bounced chest high, other times shot through. Since trousers were unknown then, we played wearing dhotis and occasionally, shorts. Most of us had no footwear. The dhoti was tucked up over the knees and we had no pads, gloves or abdominal protection. Sometimes, a full pitch delivery landed on our toes and we jumped up and down in agony.

Fortunately, I do not remember anyone of us getting hit in the more sensitive parts of the anatomy. The Chokkikulam team played matches with other clubs. Stumps were common but each side had to have its own bat and ball. One of the players from the batting sides officiated as the umpire but there was hardly any dissent, except the occasional glare from a departing batsman!

Where did we move next? Madras again for four months and then Vellore. At the Mahant high school, the headmaster at the start of the Monday prayers, prostrated himself full length and sought the Lord's blessings. It was 1949, the Dravidian movement was as its peak. My classmates were more interested in viewing films scripted by Annadurai and writing reviews. Some of the brahmin boys did play cricket, but before I could join them, we were transferred once again.

Vellore to Fort Cochin was a big jump, so was the switch over from Tamil to Malayalam. Kerala was a haven for football and boys hardly played any cricket. We lived very close to the magnificent parade ground adjoining the famous Church where Vasco da Gama was buried. The ground and the trees around it made one think of Worcestershire or Hampshire.

The Santacruz high school which I attended produced champion football players who were more than a match for our traditional rivals, St John De Britto high school. The matches between us evoked passions which could be matched only by those generated during the Mohan Bagan vs East Bengal clashes. During my days, the Santacruz lads always slammed the arrogant Britto boys.

Back to cricket. In our huge bungalow which was actually a Portuguese fortress, I practised alone, throwing a tennis ball against the wall and whacking it with a broken bat. Shades of Don Bradman who did the same using a golf ball and a stump! Adjoining our bungalow was the Cochin Club which was restricted to foreigners. The leading firms in Fort Cochin were still managed by British executives, many of whom banded together to form the cricket club which took part in some of the local tournaments. It was an all-white club with possible exception of their best batsman, Timmins, who was an Anglo-Indian.

Since I was the son of the deputy collector who virtually ruled over Fort Cochin, I was allowed the privilege of practising with the Cochin Club players.

They were an interesting lot. Captain White had played for the Europeans in the Pentangular. A thoughtful bloke, he opened the innings and occasionally bowled show offbreaks. Some of the other names are still fresh in my mind. Peacock and Hutton bowled at a lively pace, Timmins, who later played for Kerala in the Ranji Trophy, was a magnificent one-down batsman while Earl kept wickets well and was a stylish left-handed batsman.

One morning, the club displayed a brand new player just arrived from England. Towering over six feet and built like Hercules, Hickey bowled medium pace offcutters. But more important, he hit the ball all over the place, often lofting them for enormous sixers which damaged quite a few tiled roofs of the houses around the ground.

The Englishmen did not mind losing and played cricket for the sheer pleasure of it. They attacked all the time and laughed even when they dropped catches or did something silly. The wives and children were present at the ground in full strength and it was more like a picnic. I had several pleasant memories of sitting under the shades of the trees surrounding the picturesque ground and watching cricket, which often assumed a Pickwickian character!

Since we lived in Fort Cochin, and I had to travel more than an hour by boat to Ernakulam to Maharaja College where I was a student, it was difficult to try for the college team. Cricket was still a princely sport in the college and most of the players belonged to the royal families who lived at Triponatura town, about 10 miles from college. Many of them had the surnames 'Varma' or 'Thampuran' associated with the royals. There was one pace bowler, Omanakuttam, who, I think, qualified to play for the state team.

Kerala, of course, was at the bottom of the South Zone league and lost every match it played. But there was one batsman, Balan Pandit, who managed to score some runs against the much stronger Madras, Mysore and Hyderabad teams. Pandit, I think, belonged to Pune and had settled down in Kerala. Later on, he even scored a double century against Andhra in the Ranji Trophy.

I did not get to play much cricket at Fort Cochin. My serious involvement with the game as a player began at Palakadu, where we settled down after my father's retirement. Finally, I made it the Victoria College cricket team and began to play regularly.

Illustrations: Dominic Xavier