Wishing for Chandra

When, some years ago, I saw Sunil Narine bowl in the IPL for the first time, I thought of Chandra.  I do not know why, for there is little in common among the two spinners, but then you know how the human mind is, connecting dots when it shouldn’t and often ignoring the obvious.  Perhaps it was the odd way in which Narine did his stuff. Or it possibly was the befuddled look on the face of the batsman as he played and missed at a ball that was defying the interpretation of a seasoned pair of eyes.  And, every year since, watching Narine, I think of Chandra.

My generation was the first really to be obsessed with cricket to the point of distraction, where each of us wanted to grow up and be one of them – the hallowed eleven who turned out in white, to the cheers of a million fans.  I was, of course, no different, yet amongst my peer group, I was mocked for not wanting to be a batsman or a fast bowler, but for my fascination with Bhagwat Chandrasekhar, arguably India’s greatest freak-cricketer. 

Afflicted with polio in childhood, his right arm and wrist had the capacity to rotate and twist in surprising ways.  Since he was besotted by cricket, he fought his way past superstition and belief and first tried unsuccessfully to become a fast bowler.  Switching to leg spin, Chandra discovered a rather simple fact – he was often un-playable. Batsmen had no clue which way the ball would turn or just how fast it would spin off the track and, he would argue, he agreed with them.  He played a bit for a Bangalore Club and then a bit for Karnataka and, then, bang, he was in the India team in 1964, a few months before I was born.  

Chandra, though he had the typical features of a Kannadiga,  was a bit of a wild-looking chap, thin as a reed, with long sideburns and a big mop of hair that tended to lean to his left temple.  While he had an easy, smiling demeanour, there were moments when that yielded to a hasty, butcher-like gleam in his eyes when he was on a roll.  Chandra bowled his best when India attacked and a good captain – Wadekar was the perfect example – knew just when to bring him on. Unleashing Chandra on the opposition at such moments was the modern day version of the Roman Arena.  As he moved in to bowl, batsmen would fidget and shift uncomfortably, their eyes betraying discomfort, confusion and, at times, fear.  He’d come bounding in, much like a bear who has been on a diet and now wants to catch up, and fling-over – no word actually comes close to describing the action – the ball at the batsman.  He could generate uncomfortable pace with his top-spinner and get the ball to rear up to the batsman’s eye, all without any particular intent to harm. 

The 1960s were a difficult period for India: war, food crises, political instability and an absymal sporting record combined to produce few real heroes.  Into this vacuum stepped India’s spin quartet – Bedi, Prasanna, Venkat and Chandra – four heroes amongst whom, Chandra, the underdog of sorts, was not just a star, he was the star.  Here’s what Giridhar and Raghunath wrote in CricInfo of those magical days :

"....leggie for whom we have a special place in our hearts is the one and only Bhagwat Chandrasekhar who won nearly a dozen matches for India with his bowling.  Immortalized for his heroic role in India's triumph over England at the Oval in 1971, Chandra was a sight to behold when in full flow.  Sleeves buttoned down at the wrist, shirt tail flapping, unruly hair flying, a brisk bounding run, a hundred thousand spectators at the Eden Gardens in Kolkata chanting "Chandra! Chandra!" and five predatory close-in fielders waiting like vultures around the bat...cricket, when Chandra bowled, had an electricity that has never since been matched.  In the series against England at home in 1972, such was Chandra's domination that he took 35 wickets, while the rest of his bowling comrades put together had 40 wickets.  He had the Englishmen in such a trance that he even got a batsman caught at short leg of a bouncer, a delivery that Chandra did unleash once in a while."

The spin quartet ruled the late ‘60s and ‘70s, alongwith another quartet, The Beatles.  Chandra, like George Harrison, was the quiet one, the enigma, the one who would come on in the middle to do a breathtaking solo and then move silently away leaving us wanting more.  Yet, he had a sense of humour: once, after a series of futile appeals for leg-before-wicket against a New Zealand batsman, he bowled him.  As the batsman stared despondently at his shattered castle, Chandra appealed.  The umpire asked him why he was doing so, when the batsman was clearly bowled. Chandra apparently replied, “I know he is bowled, but is he out?”

In those days before television,  I’d keep newspaper cuttings and action photos of matches for years and, during a match, carry my radio around the house while Chandra’s spell was on, for you never knew – never ever knew - just what would happen; he could at times bowl a terrible over, in which case a sensible captain would take him off and give him a rest.  Yet, no Captain held it against him for such was his demeanour and such was the empathy for the Hand that could spin a web when it mattered most.  Each of his two hundred and thirty odd wickets were picked up by confounding the best of the best of batsmen the cricketing World has ever seen – the Lloyds and Richards, the Greigs and Boycotts and the Chappells. 

  

Around the time I turned thirteen, Chandra’s decline began.  He had a terrible tour of Pakistan (as indeed the team did) and, one day, was not in the team anymore.  A while later, he stopped playing for Karnataka and faded away into the mists of memory of a generation that was now enamoured by fast bowlers.  Unlike the three of the famed quartet, he chose obscurity, emerging a couple of years ago to speak against polio in a touching two minute film. 

Watching Sunil Narine bowl, I get my ‘Chandra-feel’, a sense of excitement and anticipation and a deja-vu.  In my mind’s eye, I see a teen walking around the house with the radio in his left hand, devouring every word that the commentators had to say in Hindi or English.  I see this teen filling in the gaps and creating the imagery needed to complete the picture.

…because, the best part is, I never actually saw Chandra bowl.