Celebration, more than grief, has been the overwhelming emotion in the wake of the news of Salim Durani's demise early on Sunday morning. Don't get it wrong, there is great sorrow at the passing of one of India's first cricketing superstars, but speak to those that played with him and you can hear the joy in their voices, you can sense the smile in their hearts. You can imagine the twinkle in their eyes, the awe and admiration and respect on their faces. Salim Durani was that kind of a man.
It might be tempting to refer to him as an individual of many layers, and while he was multi-faceted and outrageously versatile, he was the quintessential simpleton who enjoyed the good things in life, lived life without regret and stayed true and humble to his roots. He was at home with commoner and king alike, equally comfortable hitching a ride on a two-wheeler as sliding into the back seat of a high-end car. He was cricketing aristocracy, if you like, competing for eyeballs with Tiger Pataudi and ML Jaisimha, but like his two extraordinary teammates, he had time for everyone, and everyone had time for him.
It's hard not to imagine this exceptional trio having a ball now that they have been reunited all over again. Through birth and upbringing, Tiger and Jai were infinitely more sophisticated, but through sheer presence and unbridled charisma, Durani commanded the same reverence and awe as the duo that had a ball playing for Hyderabad and South Zone and India.
Tall and angular and blessed with insanely good looks, Durani was an instant hit with the masses. He touched a chord in them; he was human and fallible, which was relatable, but there was a streak of the genius in him that evoked admiration and perhaps a teensy bit of jealousy. How could one man be gifted with so much ability? Why couldn't the riches have been spread around?
Durani wore his genius lightly. If he was aware of the great flutter he set off in the hearts of millions, it reflected neither in his countenance nor his behaviour. Dashing and debonair at the batting crease, he responded to demands for sixes -- at a time when hitting in the air was considered a crime, if not a sin -- with elan, smiting the ball long and hard and rejoicing in the delight he provided to those whose calls he had answered. "My game was like that," he once acknowledged. "Sometimes, I would hear the crowd chant and get into the mood."
Tales of Durani's soul-stirring exploits have been narrated with gusto by his admiring colleagues. Attacking left-hand batsman, yes, but also an outstanding left-arm spinner who had the ball on a string, so to say. Savour this from Gundappa Vishwanath, who writes in his autobiography Wrist Assured of Durani's contributions to India's first win in the West Indies, in Port of Spain in 1971.
"I remember the Port of Spain Test fondly not just for the result, not just for Sunil's (Gavaskar) career-defining half-centuries, or for Dilip's (Sardesai) second successive hundred," he recalled. "I also fondly recall, with a big smile, the genius that Salim Durani is."
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Vishy continued: "West Indies had reached 150 for one in their second innings on the third evening. That night, Salim bhai told Ajit (Wadekar, the captain) that if he was thrown the ball, he would guarantee his skipper two wickets. Not just that, Salim bhai also nominated the batsmen -- nothing special, just two big left-handers named Clive Lloyd and Sir Garry Sobers.
"Ajit was too shrewd to pass up this dare. So, early on day four, he summoned Salim bhai's left-arm spin, after Roy Fredericks was run out for 80. True to his word, Salim bhai bowled Sir Garry neck and crop for a duck with a ball that turned in sharply; a few overs later, he forced Lloyd to chip to Ajit at short mid-on. Between them, the two batsmen had contributed just 15.
"At the end of the over in which he got rid of Lloyd, Salim bhai tossed the ball to Ajit and told him, 'I have done my job, no more bowling'.
"Salim bhai was an absolute genius of a cricketer. He was so laidback that to the casual observer, he might have bordered on the lazy, but to watch him in action was exhilarating. I never fancied myself against his left-arm spin, he was a killer. His biggest threat was being bored to distraction due to the lack of a challenge, but if he made his mind up, he was something else. If he wanted to trouble you, he would torture you endlessly. He had a beautiful, easy action, all languid grace and total control, and he could turn the ball on any surface, anywhere in the world. As a batsman, he was attacking and imposing, and didn't turn a deaf ear to demands for sixes from the crowd. In the 1960s and 1970s, he had 15 sixes in 29 Tests. Need I say more?"
This tribute, from a man 15 years his junior and teammate for far less than that, encapsulates the awe Durani sparked in colleagues and rivals. There was never a dull moment when he was around, a riot was guaranteed and even when he spoke about himself, with reluctance, it was self-deprecatingly, as if what he did on the cricket field was no big deal.
Durani was more than just a cricketer, however. Long before the PR honchos swung into action and hype became the byword, he was an emotion. An organic, natural, abiding, enduring, endearing emotion.
He touched hearts by being himself, whether on the cricket field or during his brief foray into acting where the ethereal Parveen Babi, none other, was his co-star. He hobnobbed with the acting elite, from Ashok Kumar in Bollywood to Sivaji Ganesan down south, just as he regaled the also-rans, many of us among them, with his ready, easy wit and the rare gift of laughing at himself.
Salim Durani was the ultimate entertainer who lived life the way he deemed fit, and who has now left behind a zillion smiles and a fair few broken hearts. If he were the sort, he'd say that on balance, that's not a bad bargain at all, but bargaining was one of the few things that didn’t come naturally to him. Thank goodness for that, we say. Rest in peace, Salim Durani, in whichever world you are now lighting up.
(R Kaushik is a cricket writer and co-author of GR Vishwanath's and VVS Laxman's autobiographies)