Murugan Bhai

My friend Abdul often spoke of his visits to Palani, the abode of Murugan, the Tamil deity symbolizing simple living and high thinking. Still, it never occurred to me that he was a devotee of the lord of the hills. I put it down to his great love of nature and travel, his concern for the ecology of the hills, constantly under threat from mindless development. I was more than a bit surprised, therefore, when one day last month, he expressed his disappointment at his inability to place his wedding invitation card at the lord's feet at the Palani temple.

"Somehow, I couldn't get the card ready in time. I, however, promised to bring my wife on my next visit, provided, of course, that I could persuade her to visit a Hindu temple," he told me, to my growing surprise. Abdul had always been fascinated by the mythology of Subrahmanya, he explained. There was nothing unusual about his interest either. Back in his hometown, there is much intermingling between the two communities, who not only respect each other, but also participate in each other's festivals to an extent. During the annual temple chariot festival, the honour of being the first to pull the car is by tradition reserved for the head of the Muslim community.

It was his wife Salma's turn to spring a surprise, soon after the wedding, just when Abdul was about to broach the subject of the promised temple visit to her, knowing that she was a devout Muslim.
"I have a confession to make," she said, "My father has vowed that he will take me to the Tiruchendur Murugan temple after my wedding, even if you won't consent to go there with us. Do you think, you could accompany me just this once?' Abdul was thrilled. He was quite convinced that it was Providence that had brought him and Salma together. And to think that he had been so reluctant to get married, that too through the old-fashioned route of arranged marriages! Abdul reminded me of an old conversation we had had on my own religious beliefs or lack of them. I had told him I was no great temple-goer, though I sometimes enjoyed visiting old, not so wealthy temples that attracted few devotees. Listening to my wife sing a couple of songs before the sanctum on those occasions had been an elevating experience, I had told him, maybe because of the spirit of surrender in which these offerings were made, embellished as they were by the superb acoustics that invariably featured these temples. I had described how moved I had been by the tears that ran down the cheeks of a priest as he listened to her rendering of 'Varadarajam upasmahe', a song in praise of the daily object of his puja. Abdul told his new bride how lucky he thought he had been to marry someone with such a wonderful, eclectic outlook as hers.

"But I also expressed my one regret in my happiest hour," he told me, "I told her how much I regretted not being able to listen to her sing at a temple." Salma's reply stunned him: "Oh, I have learnt Carnatic music. I haven't sung for years, but I'd love to take lessons again, practise hard, and sing for you one day at the Tiruchendur temple," she assured him.

At the Tiruchendur temple, Abdul who performed an archanai as he had done many times before, sidestepped the priest's usual question as he always did, by saying, "Please do it in Swami's (the lord's) name." But this time, the priest insisted on full disclosure of the names of the beneficiaries of the archanai! "Abdul and Salma," my friend said and then added their parents' names as well, fearful that the priest might take umbrage. Nothing of the sort happened, and the priest listened with a straight face. And after doing the puja, he blessed both of them, extracting an assurance that they would come back with their baby next time.

My Mother

Rukmini Venkatraman 
(13 December 1927-23 February 2020)

Rukmini Venkatraman, my mother who passed away on Sunday, 23 February, at the age of 92 at her daughter Dr Sarojini Parameswaran’s home in Kilpauk, was for a major part of her life a resident of the Alwarpet-Abhiramapuram quarter of the city. Born in a highly literate Tamil family in Kerala, she came to Chennai in 1945, when she married PN Venkatraman, a son of scholar V Narayanan MAML, and Sarada, daughter of Justice PR Sundara Iyer, one of the most distinguished of the legal luminaries of Mylapore.  

Tiny, soft-spoken Rukmini then came to live in Suprabha, a two-storeyed house on Murrays Gate Road, a house shared by her husband, a bank officer, and his elder brother PN Sundaresan, the cricket correspondent of The Hindu. She was a talented woman, trained in Carnatic music and blessed with a sweet voice, and academically brilliant—until the household responsibilities of a joint family that straddled Murrays Gate Road and Eldams Road meant she had to be content with completing Intermediate, the equivalent of today’s class XII. 

Amma, who had learnt to play the veena in her teen years, surprised all of us in her forties by acquiring some proficiency in the sitar. She also took Sanskrit lessons well into her seventies, passing a couple of exams in the language. My father passed away aged 73 in August 1992, and Amma then took over as our sole parent, shepherding her six children, their spouses, grandchildren and great grandchildren with love, generosity and total impartiality through good times and bad. She was the magnificent rock of support we all leaned on until her very end. She was one of the most popular members of the PR Sundara Iyer and R Sivaramakrishna Iyer families, two formidable clans that produced many an achiever in a wide range of fields.

The Gentle Man of Steel

Vishy. The very name sends thousands of Indian cricket fans into ecstasy, reliving memories of Little Master GR Viswanath's wristy artistry, often placing the pleasure he gave them above the mastery of the other Little Master Sunil Gavaskar that invariably gave Indian batting solidity. Yet Vishy recently said,"I hail from the Bhadravati region of Karnataka with its steel plant. I am made of steel," the kind of statement you do not associate with this gentle little giant. Speaking on the same occasion, the belated offer to him of honorary membership of the Madras Cricket Club late last year, I recalled his brave 124 and 33 against the West Indian quicks on a nasty Chepauk wicket back in 1978-79 despite being bruised black and blue. R Mohan who spoke later remarked that those used to be Vishy's favourite colours in a cheeky reference to the colours of a couple of iconic labels. Was it a coincidence, then, that Viswanath was an acknowledged walker like Johnny?

During my felicitation speech, I narrated another Vishy episode that had the audience in splits. My book Third Man has a picture of me taking a return catch to dismiss Viswanath after a scintillating 67 in a Ranji match at Bangalore's KSCA Stadium. During the Hyderabad launch of the book, my old friend VM Shamraj who had been our team manager during that game in 1976 asked me,"Do you remember what Vishy said to you that night at dinner?" I did not remember, but Shamraj very kindly refreshed my memory. The audience at MCC had another good laugh when I said, "Being ever the perfect gentleman, Vishy said, "Well done, Ram! You made an easy catch look difficult." Later, in a display of his soft side, the man of steel denied having made the statement.

I first watched Viswanath in action in two Duleep Trophy matches back in 1968. In the first, he showed his class against Dilip Doshi and company of East Zone at Eden Gardens, and in the second, he gave a mature display of defiance and correct batsmanship against a quality North Zone attack led by Bishan Bedi. they were both little gems that exuded class. Teammate Tiger Pataudi must have been impressed, for not very long later, Vishy made his Test debut at Kanpur against Australia. He was not very well known in Madras then, and the Physical Director of my college had a dig at me when Vishy failed in the first innings after I had gone on and on about his great promise. "Enna saar, unga hero cipher adichuttare!" (I don't think this needs translation) And I'm proud to say I shot back, "Wait pannungo, second inningsle hundred adippaan!"

The first time I faced Vishy on a cricket field was an SBI inter circle match between Madras and Hyderabad. GRV was leading a strong Madras side that included Test cricketers AG Milkha Singh and VV Kumar. At the end of the match one of my Hyderabad teammates said, "Vishy, how did it feel captaining the team for the first time?" Pat came the reply, "It was great. I led from one end, and VV led from the other", referring to the leg spinner's reluctance to part with the ball.

Much has been written about Vishy's batting and qualities of head and heart. Of his batting I can only add that he had at least two shots for every ball. Listen to the words of my late Hyderabad teammate Vijaya Paul describing that knock of 67 I mentioned earlier. "Our medium pacers, especially veteran Syed Abid Ali, attacked him with three slips and a gully as he came in to bat. Abid was bowling some beautiful outswingers, which Vishy imperiously despatched to the midwicket boundary with his wrists of steel. Soon the slips came out one by one, and before long, the onside was packed with defensive fielders. The master then quickly came up with a delightful Plan B. With hardly any obvious change in his approach, he started working the outswingers through the now-depleted slip cordon for fours while seeming to look towards the onside!" I also remember John Arlott's wonderful gravelly voice drawing the listener's attention to "little Viswanath's" forearms. "Strong like those of an ironmonger," he said.

I close with another story involving GRV and Abid Ali. During the Ahmedabad Test against Sri Lanka in 1976, Viswanath played a ball to midwicket and found Abid charging down the wicket even as Vishy was shouting "No" at the top of his voice. Abid stopped close to Vishy and asked,
"Kya bole?"

Many happy returns, Vishy. Thank you for all the wonderful cricket you played.

Iconic Hanuman 0f Kalakshetra

August 2019 was a relentless month, claiming the lives of outstanding individuals from different walks of life in quick succession. Just as we were recovering from the sad news of the death of music director Khayyam, albeit at the ripe old age of 92, came the shattering blow of the passing of another brilliant artist whose impact on dance aesthetics and standards spanned six decades. Veteran Bharata Natyam guru CK Balagopalan succumbed to a cardiac arrest at his Chennai home days just eleven 11 days before his eightieth birthday on 4th September. Till the very end, he was teaching, and rehearsing for his performance in Kumarasambhavam slated to be part of Kalakshetra’s forthcoming December Art Festival. "Balan Anna" was a dancer and dance teacher I admired ever since I first saw him on stage some 45 years ago. It was at what is now called the Rukmini Arangam inside Kalakshetra, then an open air theatre, where you sat under the moonlit sky and watched the magic wrought by Balagopalan and his dedicated band of colleagues unified by their devotion to their art, Kalakshetra and their ‘Athai’Rukmini Devi Arundale. Balagopalan was a magician on stage, mesmerizing succeeding generations of audiences in a wide variety of roles. A tiny little man, thin as a reed, dressed in a simple white shirt or jibba and veshti, he looked mild and unprepossessing in real life, though the mischief in his eyes often hinted at hidden depths. Once on stage, he assumed a veritable viswarupa, whether he was playing Hanuman, Krishna, Sakuni or Bharata. Of all these varied parts, Hanuman was his favourite character. He once said, "My fortunes changed dramatically once I started playing Hanuman. Anjaneya's grace led to many people helping me start my own dance school after retirement from Kalakshetra." Onlookers forgot his small frame as he brought the monkey god alive so magnificently. It was Balagopalan's unshakeable faith and devotion that helped him to cause the involuntary suspension of disbelief in the rasika to whom he appeared larger than life, a veritable giant. With his expressive eyes and mobile face honed by his Kathakali training under his first asan Chandu Panikkar, he stole the hearts of Kalakshetra's sophisticated rasikas in a phenomenal range of roles including Lakshmana, Bharata, Ravana as the kapata sanyasi, Kannappar (one of his most poignant presentations) and Maha Vishnu. A scouting mission by Kathakali asan Chandu Panikkar at the behest of Rukmini Devi brought him and his friend VP Dhananjayan from Kerala to Kalakshetra. Balagopalan preferred football to books during his early years at Kalakshetra, and as he progressed as a dancer, Bharata Natyam to Kathakali. Panikkar's main pupils were Balagopalan, Dhananjayan and Kunhiraman, each a towering figure in the institution in the years to come, though Dhananjayan and Kunhiraman left Kalakshetra for other pastures, while Balan and a younger star pupil, Janardanan, stayed back till their retirement. Balagopalan never forgot to thank his many gurus from Asan and Rukmini Devi to other, younger teachers like NS Jayalakshmi, Pushpa Shankar, Adyar Lakshman, Vasantha, and the perfectionist Sarada Hoffman. A Sarada or Peria Sarada Teacher was a major influence on all the students. Balagopalan had the honour of seeing his biography published in his lifetime. Written by one of his disciples, Eliza Louis, a nun who teaches Bharata Natyam in Paris, France. Titled Leap of Faith, Mesmeric Hanuman of Kalakshetra, it has a literally and metaphorically apt picture of the artist as an airborne Anjaneya, A painstaking and moving tribute from a devoted sishya and believer of another faith, the book, released on Balagopalan’s 79th birthday, is a true symbol of the eclecticism that inspired the founder of Kalakshetra and her followers. His wife Leela gives us a glimpse into Balagopalan's personality, with particular reference to his occasionally short fuse. "If you are patient at the time of his outbursts, he'll just surrender to you later." Their children Pranesh and Prithvija trained to be dancers under their father's watchful eye. The talented Prithvija continues to pursue a career performing and teaching Bharata Natyam with great commitment. Pranesh is involved in filmmaking and recently worked as assistant director in Puducherry-based Kirubhakaran Kaarthikeyan’s maiden feature film His Father’s Voice, in which Balagopalan played the role of Janaka in a brief but poignant enactment from the Ramayana. Balagopalan's refined abhinaya easily set him apart from most dancers of his time. His iconic interpretation of the role of Hanuman was the crowning glory of his career. Rukmini Devi said of him that the small man could "fill the stage with his presence and make everything else seem puny." I watched him once injure himself seriously during one of his breathtaking entries leaping and flying as Rama’s lieutenant, only to resume dancing after receiving some serious first aid and medical attention from Sydney-based Dr P Janardanan, who happened to be in the audience. He was confined to bed for months afterwards. Typically, Balagopalan blamed himself for the relative lack of rigour in his usual pujas in the run-up to that production. His biographer said, "All through his growing years, and even today in his seventies, he has not lost the wonder and inquisitive nature of a child." He loved nature and animals, even reared a squirrel and a mongoose as a boy, and once rode a donkey on the beach—with disastrous results, as his lifelong friend Dhananjayan remembers. “Balan Anna’s” splendid lifetime commitment to his art always reminded me of these words of George Bernard Shaw: “Life is no 'brief candle' for me. It is a sort of splendid torch, which I have got hold of for the moment; and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations."

Au revoir, Sultan Saleem (1946-2019)

Au revoir, Sultan Saleem (1946-2019) A former teammate, and friend of 48 years, is no more. Sultan Saleem passed away at Hyderabad on 21 August, exactly 27 years after my father, succumbing, it seems, to very similar complaints. Saleem was expected to become an international cricket star after he scored 201 and 312 in the same match for All Saints vs. Aliya in an inter-school final over 50 years ago. Saleem was one of the State Bank of India stalwarts to champion my cause and stand with me during my years of struggle to establish myself as a spin bowler of merit. He, Nagesh Hammand, P Krishnamurti and Abid Zainulabuddin were my mentors during those early years, though each of them was just about my age or younger. The year was 1971, when a young pocket marvel called Sunil Gavaskar was making waves on India’s tour of the West Indies, led by Ajit Wadekar. All five of us, my mentors and I, worked and played for the bank, and, unfortunately, I am the only one still alive. And each of us also played under the late Wadekar’s captaincy for State Bank. After that flash of precocity, Saleem had a relatively quiet Ranji Trophy career, in and out of a talented side, which had a batting line-up that often included Abbas Ali Baig, Jayantilal, Abdul Hai, MAK Pataudi, ML Jaisimha, Abid Ali and Narasimha Rao. Saleem scored prolifically for the bank’s team in the Hyderabad league, the SBI inter-circle matches and tournaments like the Moin-ud-Dowla Gold Cup. His batting technique won him many admirers among his seniors, and with his slim physique, uncreased flannels and elegant batting, he was no way behind the Test stars in the glamour department. A natty dresser off the field, he was often seen at the Fateh Maidan Club, drinking tea (yes, he was that rarity in Hyderabad cricket, a teetotaller) and nonchalantly tipping his ever present cigarette in the overflowing ashtrays of the club. He rode his motorcycle at a majestic pace, and gave the impression of a matinee idol trying to please his adoring audience with his immaculate appearance. Saleem went away to the United States in the 1980s, and came back to Hyderabad some tears ago. Ever the loyal friend, he kept in touch with a monthly phone call or two, calls that lasted long, like a Cheteshwar Pujara innings, but text messages or email did not seem to work for him. The calls were invariably warm and full of concern for you and your family. Nostalgia was a strong point with Saleem, for whom old was indubitably gold. Saleem had strong views on almost everything under the sun. While most of us were bilingual if not trilingual in the dressing room, Saleem preferred the Queen’s English. His food choices too were fairly fixed: he once told me he didn’t want to risk a tummy upset when I offered him some curdrice at lunch. He was a film buff, if I remember right, his constant companion at the movies another close friend of mine, all rounder CR Chandsran, who was perhaps one of the first of my Hyderabad cricket contemporaries to die young. The list is long: Krishnamurti, Mumtaz Hussain, Abid Zainulabuddin, Nagesh Hammand, Murtuza Ali Baig, Vijaya Paul, and of course our seniors Jaisimha and Pataudi. All those who played with Sultan Saleem will surely bemoan his failure to go on to the big stage in cricket after his sensational start at the school level, but will always fondly remember his elegance on and off the field, his toothy smile, his perfect manners, and his insouciance in challenging situations. To me personally, he was a steadfast friend.

Farerwell, VB

The news of the death of VB Chandrasekhar, former Tamil Nadu and Goa opening batsman, national selector and charismatic coach in domestic cricket, especially of young cricketers, comes as a rude shock to cricketers and cricket lovers of Chennai, whom he entertained with his swashbuckling batting in the 1980s and nineties. Coming from an affluent background--with his father the late Mr Biksheswaran a successful lawyer--VB gave back to the game in great measure through his state-of-the-art cricket academy VB's Nest, and elsewhere. In his prime, he matched his opening partner Srikkanth stroke for stroke, sometimes even surpassing Cheeka in aggression and daring. A memorable example wasa his second innings, match-winning hundred in the Irani Cup tie at Chepauk in 1988, incidentally the fastest hundred in the history of first class cricket in India. In his most recent avatar as owner of VB Kanchi Veerans, a team in the 20-over Tamil Nadu Premier League, he focussed on promoting young players even at the cost of team success in the short run, such was his concern for grooming burgeoning talent. An urbane, articulate man who had the makings of an excellent TV commentator, VB had in the recent past shown signs of being drawn to spirituality, and was proud of his two daughters who are making a mark as a vocalist duo on the Carnatic music stage. I was many years his senior as a player, but enjoyed playing against him in the competitive TNCA league for some seven seasons at the end of my career. End of a colourful, exciting career as cricketer, coach and administrator. VB will be truly missed.

Farewell, VB

The news of the death of VB Chandrasekhar, former Tamil Nadu and Goa opening batsman, national selector and charismatic coach in domestic cricket, especially of young cricketers, comes as a rude shock to cricketers and cricket lovers of Chennai, whom he entertained with his swashbuckling batting in the 1980s and nineties. Coming from an affluent background--with his father the late Mr Biksheswaran a successful lawyer--VB gave back to the game in great measure through his state-of-the-art cricket academy VB's Nest, and elsewhere. In his prime, he matched his opening partner Srikkanth stroke for stroke, sometimes even surpassing Cheeka in aggression and daring. A memorable example wasa his second innings, match-winning hundred in the Irani Cup tie at Chepauk in 1988, incidentally the fastest hundred in the history of first class cricket in India. In his most recent avatar as owner of VB Kanchi Veerans, a team in the 20-over Tamil Nadu Premier League, he focussed on promoting young players even at the cost of team success in the short run, such was his concern for grooming burgeoning talent. An urbane, articulate man who had the makings of an excellent TV commentator, VB had in the recent past shown signs of being drawn to spirituality, and was proud of his two daughters who are making a mark as a vocalist duo on the Carnatic music stage. I was many years his senior as a player, but enjoyed playing against him in the competitive TNCA league for some seven seasons at the end of my career. End of a colourful, exciting career as cricketer, coach and administrator. VB will be truly missed.