Playing It My Way: My Autobiography (6 page)

To be honest, all the talk passed me by. I just wanted to do well for India and score a lot of runs. Other than that, everything else seemed unimportant. That was natural enough, because everything had happened rather quickly in my life. Just five years after I took to playing competitive cricket, I had become a part of the Indian squad – it was a pretty quick move from school to international cricket.

On arrival in Pakistan I didn’t sense any tension and went out for regular meals in the evening with some of the other cricketers. Their friendly approach helped put me at ease and it was not until we reached Lahore that a curfew was imposed on going out in the evenings. On my travels around India I had always bought gifts such as sarees for my mother and aunt and shirts for my father and uncle, and so in the first few days in Pakistan I did the same. This time I bought them some local shoes and slippers.

There was tension within the squad, however, as a result of a dispute that had blown up before the tour between the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) and the players over the issue of players’ involvement in a few unsanctioned matches in the United States on the way back from the West Indies tour in 1988. The matter had gone right up to the Indian Supreme Court and was eventually settled when the court lifted a ban imposed on the players by the BCCI. The other controversy that arose on the eve of the tour was over the issue of match fees. It had escalated into a serious dispute, with the players opting to give up their match fees altogether as a mark of protest. Fortunately for the junior players in the team, skipper Krishnamachari Srikkanth instructed us to stay away from the problems and concentrate on the job at hand, which was to evolve a strategy to tackle Imran, Wasim, Waqar and Abdul Qadir.

I had a good start to the tour and in one of the two games before the first Test, against the Pakistan Board Patron’s XI in Rawalpindi, scored 47 before getting out to Iqbal Qasim, a left-arm spinner who played for Pakistan in fifty Tests. It was a decent innings and I received a standing ovation from the crowd. I began to feel I had a slim chance of getting into the Test team and dared to dream of my first Test cap. I finally heard the news of my inclusion in the playing XI from skipper Srikkanth on the night before the first Test in Karachi.

It is very difficult to describe the feeling. I was part of a band of eleven fortunate men who had been given the duty of representing close to a billion Indians. It was an honour every aspiring cricketer lives for, to play for his country against the best of world cricket. And with the honour came responsibility. I was going to be accountable to the cricket fans back home and was expected to give my best for them. In fact, I could imagine nothing more significant than doing something worthy for the national team and the passionate Indian cricket fans.

I was sharing a room with Salil Ankola, the fast bowler who has now gone on to become an actor. Salil was bowling well at the time and was also making his Test debut. Neither of us could sleep the night before the match. We were both about to start a new chapter and were aware that it was an opportunity that could change our lives for ever.

Pakistan won the toss and opted to bat first on a greenish wicket so I didn’t have long to wait to walk onto the field for the first time as an India player. My life had taken a giant leap and it is a moment I will always remember. It also happened to be Kapil Dev’s 100th Test match and we were all excited for him. Only Sunil Gavaskar and Dilip Vengsarkar had achieved the distinction before.

My first day of international cricket wasn’t without drama and one incident in particular left an unpleasant feeling. In the post-lunch session a bearded man clad in salwar kameez entered the field and went straight up to Kapil Dev, abusing him for being in Pakistan. Kapil, who was preparing to bowl at the time, later recounted to us that he asked the fellow to leave him alone and allow him to continue with the game. After his exchange with Kapil, the intruder then went over to mid off, where Manoj Prabhakar, our top fast bowler on the tour, was fielding. He abused Prabhakar before moving on to skipper Srikkanth – and with Srikkanth he got physical. In those days, with the sport far less commercialized, players could choose what kit to wear. Most of our team preferred T-shirts, but Srikkanth liked to wear a buttoned shirt and this was torn open in the scuffle.

I was fielding at point and I was scared I would be next and was ready to run to the safe confines of the dressing room if the intruder came towards me. Up to this point, no security personnel had done anything to stop the intruder from disrupting things in the middle. It was only when the Indian captain was being manhandled that security finally came onto the ground to drag the spectator off. It was a serious security lapse, yet the organizers seemed hardly perturbed. The truth is that it was much more than a cricket match that was being played between the two teams. The political history of partition has always cast a pall over India–Pakistan cricket and it was my first taste of this unfortunate reality. The next day we were even more astonished to find the Pakistan press suggesting that the intruder had actually been trying to congratulate Kapil Dev on playing his 100th Test match. The issue of Srikkanth’s torn shirt didn’t merit a mention by the local media.

On the second day of the match, Pakistan were all out for 409, with skipper Imran Khan scoring 109 not out. Finally, it was our turn to bat. The pitch was lively and we didn’t get off to a good start. We were soon reduced to 41–4, with Srikkanth, Navjot Sidhu, Sanjay Manjrekar and Manoj Prabhakar out cheaply. Wasim and Waqar were bowling really fast and it was a trying time for every Indian batsman. I hadn’t quite anticipated what awaited me out in the middle when I went out to bat at number six. There’s no harm in admitting that I was all at sea against Wasim and Waqar in my first innings in Test cricket. I was trying to be aggressive to almost every ball, as that was how I had always played the game. I was trying to get on top of the bowlers, but more often than not I was comprehensively beaten. The pace was far greater than I had ever faced and the skill on display was of the very highest standard. The guile of both bowlers left me thoroughly confused.

An account of one Wasim over will give an idea of my plight in the middle. I was on strike to him for the third ball of the over, which turned out to be a vicious bouncer. Having studied Wasim’s bowling, I was convinced the next ball would be a yorker and was mentally prepared for it. It turned out to be another bouncer, which I left. While I kept expecting a fiery yorker, balls five and six also turned out to be bouncers, and at the end of the over I said to myself, ‘Welcome to Test cricket.’ Not without reason is it acknowledged as the most challenging format of the game.

My stay at the crease was short and not sweet. I had lasted only twenty-four balls, at least half of which I had missed. I had hit two boundaries but not for a moment had I felt comfortable. It was only a matter of time before I was dismissed. I was finally bowled for a rather lucky 15 by another debutant, Waqar Younis, and on my way back to the pavilion my mind was riddled with self-doubt.

It was a very important moment in my career. I had come to the international stage after blazing my way through domestic cricket. I had managed to score a hundred on debut in the Ranji and Irani trophies, but here I was on the international stage unable to put bat on ball. I was struggling, plain and simple. The difference in standard between domestic and international cricket was colossal.

I batted only once in that first Test match, which ended in a draw, and in the following days I approached our coach, Chandu Borde, and a number of senior team-mates to discuss what I needed to do to improve. I had a long chat with Ravi Shastri, already an established star at the time, who advised me to be patient for the first fifteen or twenty minutes, which were bound to be uncomfortable. Ravi was of the opinion that once I had played out the initial burst from the Pakistani bowlers, things would turn easier. The key was to spend time in the middle. But would I be given another opportunity to do so? I could easily have missed out on the second Test, not only because of my low score in the first but also because of the
way
I had batted.

It came as a huge relief to see my name in the playing XI for the second Test at Faisalabad.

I knew it was a chance I could not afford to squander; it would be a big test of my ability and temperament. What made the task considerably more difficult was that Pakistan won the toss on a green-top and put India in to bat. The stage was set. All through my career I have relished these moments of adversity. It is no good just performing on a docile track against weak opposition. A cricketer gets true satisfaction only if he is able to perform in difficult conditions against the best bowlers.

Once again we lost early wickets and I went in to bat with four top-order wickets down for 101. This time around, although it really wasn’t my style then, I forced myself to stay at the wicket for the first fifteen minutes to get used to the conditions. I have no qualms about confessing that it was difficult. The bowlers were definitely on top at the start of my innings, but with time things turned easier. I was able to adjust to the pace and bounce of the wicket, and my confidence was gradually coming back.

I managed to play 172 balls en route to my first half-century in Test cricket and was finally dismissed by Imran for 59. I was involved in a 143-run partnership with Sanjay Manjrekar and though I hit only four boundaries, the innings gave me a lot of satisfaction. It also taught me a good lesson: there was no point in trying to blaze my way through every innings. Most importantly, this knock convinced me that I could actually cope with international cricket, though I knew I still had a lot to learn. In the second innings I ran myself out for eight, sacrificing my wicket for Mohammad Azharuddin, who was nearing a well-deserved hundred. In the end, we managed to thwart a Pakistan victory. After two Tests the series was still drawn and it was evident that Pakistan were feeling the pressure. Many had predicted a 4–0 scoreline in their favour and it was starting to play on their minds.

From Faisalabad we moved to Lahore for the third Test. Unable to venture out of the hotel in the evenings, the players and the touring Indian media were feeling a little restless and this called for some original thinking. For the first and only time in my career the media and the players got together for what was decreed a ‘Sunday Club’. It was to be an evening of stories, music, food and fun and everyone had to wear something fancy. It turned out to be a very successful experiment, but sadly it hasn’t been repeated since. It definitely helped to create a bond between the team and the media, so necessary during an arduous away tour.

I wore a blue pullover to the Sunday Club and that’s where the often published picture of me with a thick moustache, Aussie fast bowler Merv Hughes-style, was taken. The food served that evening was unbelievable. Lahore is a foodie’s delight and I wolfed down all the delectable kebabs on offer and I loved the
haleem
(a stew of meat and lentils). In fact, I had a voracious appetite throughout the tour. My body was still growing and I ate huge amounts. On non-match days I used to eat
keema parathas
(mincemeat parathas) and
lassi
(yogurt drink) for breakfast and by the time I went back to India I had put on a few kilos and had also grown much stronger.

The Lahore Test was local hero Javed Miandad’s 100th and in a change from the first two Test matches in Karachi and Faisalabad, we were faced with the flattest of batting decks, which had obviously been prepared to help Javed score a hundred, which he duly did. Even after five days, the first innings of both teams had still not been completed.

At the start of my innings in Lahore I misjudged the bounce of a straight delivery from Imran, which hit me on my biceps. I was furious at allowing myself to be hit on a flat pitch. The point of impact instantly turned numb and my first instinct was to step out and dispatch the very next ball over the boundary. However, the lesson learnt at Faisalabad came to my rescue and I reined myself in.

I had worked my way to 41 off ninety balls when I tried to play an on drive to Abdul Qadir and was bowled. I had been batting well and I regret not going on to play a long innings. It was an opportunity missed. It has to be said, though, that the match, a tame draw, was not the best advertisement for Test cricket.

The fourth and final Test of the series was at Sialkot and we knew that we’d be given a green-top, which offered Pakistan’s best chance to take the series. By now they were desperate to win; a draw would have been considered a series defeat for Imran and his team. When we arrived at Sialkot, I was invited to the MB Malik bat-manufacturing company. Sialkot has quite a tradition of bat-making in Pakistan and at the time I didn’t have a contract for my bats and could pick up any bat and play. I went to the factory with a few of the other players and chose two or three bats for myself.

I was so excited about my new bats that I even dreamed about them one night. Apparently, it was around midnight and I walked straight out of my room asking for my bats. Maninder Singh and Raman Lamba saw me advancing down the corridor and said to me, ‘
Tere bats to tere pass hi hai.
’ (Your bats are with you only.) When I didn’t respond, they realized that I was sleepwalking. They helped me back into the room and put me back to bed. By that stage of the tour, Raman and I had struck up a good friendship and spent many hours together discussing the nuances of batting. He was fun to be with and it was absolutely tragic that he died after being struck on his head by a ball while fielding during a first-class match in Dhaka in 1998.