It was not at all shocking when the news of Virat Kohli’s sacking as the 50-over captain filtered in last week. In Indian cricket, this is nothing new. I have just finished reading 'Not Just Cricket: A Reporter’s Journey Through Modern India' and the author Pradeep Magazine talks about this ‘musical chair’ the Indian cricket board keeps playing every now and then.
From the days of MAK Pataudi, Kapil Dev, Sunil Gavaskar to Sourav Ganguly, the writer shares intimate details of such charades succinctly. Tales of suspicion and intrigue dominate the narrative while discussing some of India’s great cricketers, some of whom were given the mantle of captaincy too.
It goes back to the days of one of India’s greatest captains, Pataudi. This was prevalent during Gavaskar’s and Kapil's reigns too. It continued during Mohammed Azharuddin and Sachin Tendulkar's time also and finally exploded during Ganguly and coach Greg Chappell’s forgettable era.
The writer’s words on Ganguly’s ouster from the team in 2005 is quite poignant but could have been about any captain: “But the Indian captain from Bengal, who had redefined India’s gameplay and given new respect to the country in the cricketing world, was now an outcast, dumped and humiliated by the BCCI.”
“Pressure, man, pressure”. These words may sound ordinary but when uttered by one of the greatest batters of our times, West Indian Brian Lara, at the height of his prowess, it captures the world we live in and a telling depiction of human frailty.
“A few minutes later, Lara was escorted to the car, the press and television cameras still chasing him. He slumped on the back seat as soon as he got in. When he took off his sunglasses, I saw his face had turned pale and he was breathing so heavily that I thought he was having a heart attack… In panic I asked him, ``What's wrong?” He only said, “Pressure, man, pressure.” It might be a brief interaction as the writer had to get out of the car, but enough to churn an endearing story out of it with sensitivity and poise.
Though the central theme of the book is cricket, the writer’s passion, it is also a journey into the socio-political fabric evident during those days. It captures all the epochal moments in sport and juxtaposes it with the political and social upheavals of the time. He seamlessly sneaks into one epochal moment in history and merges into another with effortless ease.
The book keeps readers engaged with exciting revelations and myriad experiences that logically thread into something both amusing and captivating. When he talks about the tussle between Kapil and Gavaskar, or the bitter fight between Ganguly and Chappell, there is no pretense. Everything is based on observations and facts.
At times when he gets personal during those intimate moments in Kashmir, political upheavals in the country or during his visits to Pakistan, he manages to bring out the beauty of human relationships and bonding that transcends religion, caste, creed and ethnicity.
The opening of the book is symbolic of everything that Kashmir has turned into. “The house in Karan Nagar had crumbled from neglect, having been uninhabited for nearly two decades. The roof of the three-storey building had caved in at many places and the stairs inside were on the verge of collapse… For me the place held multiple layers of tangible and intangible memories…” His Kashmiri pundit identity defines the man and his yearning to go back to his land of birth only shows how much he misses home.
To be honest, reading the book was a breeze. Magazine is privy to some conversations not well known outside the Indian dressing room or the team and he paints the canvas with honesty.
The writer's exuberance is vivid when he talks about his childhood hero, Pataudi, whom he got to know while working on a potential biography. His recollection of Pataudi’s conversations gives us a fascinating account of his hero and his times. “Pataudi gave me the impression of being a reluctant player and a reluctant captain. From the long conversations I had with him it became obvious to me that he rarely enjoyed his cricket, especially after the loss of one eye in a car accident in England,” he writes.
Even though match-fixing was unheard of during Pataudi’s time, the former captain recollected one incident that was shocking. It was during the 1979-80 India-Pakistan series, with India leading 2-0 after five of six Tests. The last Test was played at Eden Gardens and G Viswanath was the stand-in captain after Gavaskar opted out. “’He told me that Asif Iqbal had approached him and suggested that regardless of who wins the toss tomorrow, he will declare that India has won the toss,” recalled Pataudi. “This offer of toss-fixing had naturally shaken Viswanath…” There are beautiful anecdotes of Pataudi chronicled in the book.
From Pataudi to Kapil, there’s a remarkable change in his approach. He started his career as a reporter after dabbling briefly with radio commentary. The narrative gets more personal. His closeness with Kapil and the access to players from north India give us a glimpse of a cricketing world that’s still a mystery to many.
The Kapil-Gavaskar saga is gripping. The accusations and denials form part of a larger picture. He talks about how Kapil, despite his immense respect for Gavaskar, felt “that the world’s finest batter was undermining his leadership by refusing to open the batting”. And this mistrust could have developed during the 1983 World Cup when Gavaskar was dropped a couple of times.
Nothing, though, compares to the bitter tiff between Chappell and Ganguly.
At another level, the book traces the evolution of the game. The money involved and how it turned into a money-making behemoth post the economic liberalisation and its pitfall; the changing dynamics within the board and the power-play by the mandarins. As always he is quite critical about the power games in the BCCI from the time of Raj Singh Dungarpur, Jagmohan Dalmiya, N Srinivasan and Lalit Modi.
He could sense the dangers of the Indian Premier League (IPL). For a man who first flagged match-fixing in the game way back in 1997, he was always skeptical of the franchise-based league. He was the first to highlight the menace of potential match-fixing in his “Not Quite Cricket”. But no one took it seriously. Like he confessed, “The book would have generated little interest had not the Hansie Cronje tape come up almost a year later.”
The conflict of interest of players in today’s cricket troubles him and the role of agents. He talks about the probes and the commissions — Mukul Mudgal to RM Lodha — with whom he interacted. The heading of his chapter “The board in need of fixing” aptly describes where we are even now.
The book is a lot more than cricket and the world around us. Pradeep Magazine has managed to capture the life and times along with the sport that turned into a religion, honestly and truthfully.