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A republican prince

Pataudi was a legend when he started. His pedigree, flair, and epic disregard for his handicap, spoke to the anxieties and aspirations of a young India and to its hunger for heroes

Mukul Kesavan

September 23, 2011

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The Nawab of Pataudi Jr, Mansur Ali Khan
Pataudi: like Shammi Kapoor and the Beatles, his heyday was the sixties © Getty Images
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Mansur Ali Khan, the Nawab of Pataudi, was that curious hybrid: a republican prince. Both parts of his personality came together to create the larger-than-life legend that he became, first as an active cricketer and then through the long afterlife that is the lot of every famous sportsman.

His father, the eighth Nawab of Pataudi, was the ruler of a minor principality but a cricketer of considerable distinction. It was a very colonial distinction: educated at Balliol College, Oxford, Pataudi Sr played first for Worcestershire and then for England as the princely subject of a far-flung empire. Before India's independence, in 1946, when his son was five years old, he achieved the double distinction of playing Test cricket for two countries: he captained India against his old team, England.

His son had much to live up to as he came of age in the first decade of the young republic. Born into great privilege (his mother was, in her own right, the Begum of a much grander princely state, Bhopal) he was orphaned early. He was schooled for the most part in England, where he broke all of Douglas Jardine's batting records at Winchester - which gave him particular satisfaction because Jardine and his father had had a famous falling out over the ethics of Bodyline bowling. He gave notice that he wasn't just the son of a famous man but a cricketing prodigy who was likely to eclipse his father.

India in the fifties was a proud young republic, but for its middle classes an education at a famous English public school and thereafter at Oxford still had great cachet. Certainly one reason why Pataudi became India's Test captain after Charlie Griffith broke Nari Contractor's head in the West Indies was because he had captained both Winchester and Oxford. He was absurdly young, just 21, the youngest Test captain in the history of the game. In terms of Test match experience someone like Chandu Borde had the larger claim, but Pataudi's lineage, his English exploits and the fact that he had scored a fifty and a hundred in his first Test series against England persuaded the selectors that he was fit to lead.

It was an extraordinary gamble, the risk mitigated perhaps because the selectors knew they were betting on an extraordinary man. All the runs Pataudi had scored in his young Test career had been made with one functional eye. At the age of 20 he had damaged his right eye in a car accident. He wasn't just a prince; he was already a hero who had overcome a career-ending disability with such savoir faire that the selectors probably felt he could do anything. And they were right.

So from the very start of his Test career, Pataudi was a kind of legend. Schoolboys in the sixties spent inordinate amounts of time trying to work out whether his right eye was real or made of glass. He was the debonair one-eyed prince who had out-Englished the English and who was going to help India master this great colonial game. His pedigree, his poshness, his flair, his epic disregard for his handicap, spoke to the anxieties and aspirations of a young republic, and to its hunger for heroes.

Pataudi played 46 Tests and he captained India in 40 of them. It's hard to believe his career was more or less over before he was 30, so completely did he dominate India's cricketing imagination for a decade. The last series of his eight-year run as captain (before he was replaced by Ajit Wadekar) was the five-Test thriller against Bill Lawry's Australians in 1969, which India lost 3-1. It was the year he married one of Bombay cinema's most celebrated heroines, Sharmila Tagore. Pataudi's considerable charisma was now gilded with stardust.

Like Shammi Kapoor and the Beatles, Pataudi's heyday was the sixties. Between 1962 and 1970, he captained India in 36 Tests, of which India won seven - not, on the face of it, a remarkable record as captain. What the figures conceal is the panache and flair with which he led sides that ranged from middling to poor. He led India to their first series win abroad, against New Zealand, a notable achievement for a side that had always travelled badly.

Faced by a famine of fast bowlers, Pataudi rejected the orthodoxy of a "balanced" bowling attack and bet the house on attacking spinners. His greatest legacy was the golden age of Indian spin bowling, featuring that remarkable quartet, Bedi, Chandrasekhar, Prasanna and Venkataraghavan. To back them up he helped create the best cordon of close-in fielders Indian cricket had ever seen: Eknath Solkar, Wadekar, Venkatraghavan and Abid Ali. He led by example; he was India's best cover fielder right through his career.

As a batsman he hit half a dozen centuries and 16 fifties for a respectable average, 34.91. Did he count as a batsman? Yes he did. There were the two fifties he made against Bob Simpson's Australians that helped India win the Bombay Test in 1964. There was the fifty and the hundred in a losing cause at Headingley in 1967. India lost every Test in that series, but listening to Test Match Special on the BBC's World Service, Indians were content that their hero had top scored in India's first innings and then hit a wonderful 148 out of a total of 510 to avoid a follow-on. (India lost respectably, by six wickets).

 
 
Schoolboys in the sixties spent inordinate amounts of time trying to work out whether his right eye was real or made of glass. He was the debonair one-eyed prince who had out-Englished the English and who was going to help India master this great colonial game
 

Listening to John Arlott and Brian Johnston speculate about the batting heights Pataudi might have scaled with two good eyes, his countrymen forgave him all the innings when he had scored nothing and hadn't seemed to care. Best of all, there were the two fifties he hit against the Australians in the Melbourne Test of 1967-68, where, literally hamstrung, he hit 75 and 85, "with one good eye and on one good leg… " (Mihir Bose, A History of Indian Cricket). India still lost by an innings, but Indians were used to finding individual consolation in collective failure and the thought of Pataudi, hobbled but heroic, hooking and pulling his way to gallant defeat, was consolation enough.

He wasn't part of the history-making team that won away series against West Indies and England in 1971, having been dropped as captain and replaced by Wadekar. To add insult to injury, by the end of that landmark year he wasn't a Nawab either: Indira Gandhi abolished princely titles and the privy purses that went with them.

With hindsight, he should have retired then but didn't. He returned to Test cricket to play part of a series under Wadekar's captaincy against a touring English side, and then made an unexpected comeback as captain, when Wadekar retired after a disastrous tour of England in 1974, having lost everything. Pataudi led India in four of the five Tests during West Indies' 1974 tour, and though the rubber was a thriller (West Indies won 3-2), he personally had a terrible run with the bat. The swansong was a mistake; he was too slow for the game at the highest level and it showed.

But given his achievement, this was a minor misjudgment. When Pataudi took charge of the Indian team, it was a team that didn't believe they could win or bowl the opposition out twice. He left them ready to hold their own against any opposition, with the self-belief necessary for success.

In retirement he dabbled unsuccessfully in electoral politics, edited a sports magazine, and briefly became an expert commentator. He had a brilliant television manner: sharp, sardonic, and occasionally rude. When Asif Iqbal led the Pakistan team to India, Pataudi chatted to him on camera. He asked Iqbal, deadpan, if he planned to change countries again. Asif Iqbal had migrated to Pakistan as a 17-year-old after playing cricket for Hyderabad, Pataudi's first-class team, and the great man hadn't forgotten. The audience drew in a sharp breath, Asif, to his great credit, smiled, and the moment passed. It was a quintessentially Pataudi moment.

Luckily he didn't make it a living and his fans didn't have to watch him age into a television hack. A natural reserve also had him keep his distance from India's cricket establishment, except for a brief, ill-fated stint with the IPL. He remained untouched by the squabbles and sleaze that attended cricket's transformation into big business in India. As a consequence, death finds him happily embalmed in fond radio memories: still tigerish in the covers, still a prince amongst men.

Mukul Kesavan is a novelist, essayist and historian based in New Delhi

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Posted by krik8crazy on (September 26, 2011, 16:43 GMT)

I never watched him play but heard his commentary on TV. He used to be the expert commentator chiming in briefly with his comments. I think the last time I heard him was during the 1994-95 India-WI series in India. His voice was crisp and clear and his opinions were concise, insightful and to the point.

People of the previous generation in my family explained his greatness and I was in awe of the man. Playing top class cricket without a helmet with his eye sight issue is just unimaginable in today's world. Captaining India at 21 and with distinction is another remarkable achievement. Bearing the burden of a young nation's hopes at such a young age and transforming the mindset of Indian cricketers deserves the highest respect. MAK was a man of destiny who changed his country's cricketing destiny forever.

He is an inspiration to Indians to hold their head high and take on the toughest challenges with confidence and self esteem.

Posted by aarpee2 on (September 25, 2011, 17:24 GMT)

Truly a Prince.-a skipper who turned the gentle Chandra into an aggresive bowler and a match winner-I remember him throwing the new ball to Chandra and letting him have a go at the best .He will remain an alltime favourite of mine and several others -he brought pride and joy into the hearts of Indian fans with his skills in leaderhip,batting and fielding

Posted by afs_talyarkhan on (September 25, 2011, 9:48 GMT)

@crocker as we have seen recently the standard of indian cricket is nothing to get too excited about. As for Pataudi not being selected in the current side because of his disability - please remember that Pataudi was the best fielder and the best batsman in the side - his electrifying cover fielding would have put the geriatric antics of some of the current Indian test fielders to shame. Also try to remember what it must have been like for Pataudi's generation to face bowlers of the callibre of Wes Hall and Charlie Griffith without headguards, then try to recollect the heroism of Pataudi's hooking and pulling Garth Mckenzie on a juicy Melbourne pitch "on one good leg and with one true eye". In the land of overpaid, underwhelming two-eyed rookies clueless against the shortpiched projectile despite being shielded by armour befitting a medieval knight, the one-eyed centurion with his trusty sabre is king.

Posted by   on (September 25, 2011, 8:58 GMT)

HE WAS LAST NABAB. GREAT MAN PASS AWAY.HE WAS ASSETS OF INDIA.INDIA LOST HIS ASSETS.ONE MAN CHANGE WHOLE INDIAN CRICKET TEAM.MD ATIF RAHMAN

Posted by   on (September 25, 2011, 6:27 GMT)

God doesn't make such heroes anymore. He redefined determination and self-belief for our people by leading from front. People like him have the ability to change the way we think and act....a true inspiration

Posted by   on (September 25, 2011, 5:34 GMT)

Brilliantly written article Mukul. Thanks for giving such wonderful words to my memories of the Tiger; from my teen days. Nawab's charisma was such that even in defeats Indian team under him looked heroic. He presented a fighting face of Indian cricket that made me proud Indian cricket fan for ever; losses including. I remember his tongue-in-cheek comment on TV when some one asked about Indian selectros I think after India won World cup 1983 (or Championship of Cricket in Melbourne, 1985): "Indian team is good not because, but inspite of them..". Sad to see him go so early...

Posted by   on (September 24, 2011, 13:10 GMT)

one i spose cant ave enough of Tiger pat!gr8 piece, mukul..rich language, romantic,poetic,factual..all rolled into one!

Posted by   on (September 24, 2011, 9:35 GMT)

I really like the sentence "He was the debonair one-eyed prince who had out-Englished the English and who was going to help India master this great colonial game." Says a lot about India in 60s...Great article Mukul

Posted by Sheela on (September 24, 2011, 6:15 GMT)

Very truly Pataudi changed the mindset of Indian team of those times from negative mindsets to positive ones. Though there were stray wins in Indian soil only earlier, definitely not because of captaincy and one Test win was solely due to brillliance of Selection Committee Chairman Lala Amarnath, Pataudi brought sense oif Indianness and will to win in Indian team. Unfortunately he was not the captain of Ranji or Duleep Trophy teams.

Posted by   on (September 24, 2011, 5:29 GMT)

Tiger not came again.he was real hero.

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Mukul KesavanClose
Mukul Kesavan teaches social history for a living and writes fiction when he can - he is the author of a novel, Looking Through Glass. He's keen on the game but in a non-playing way. With a top score of 14 in neighbourhood cricket and a lively distaste for fast bowling, his credentials for writing about the game are founded on a spectatorial axiom: distance brings perspective. Kesavan's book of cricket - Men in Whitewas published in 2007.

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