RIP, Tiger Pataudi

I was hardly eight when my father took me on his Lambretta to the Ferozshah Kotla ground at Delhi to show me what a Ranji Trophy match was.

It was a Delhi-Bengal tie, and the touring team, led by the famous Pankaj Roy began disastrously, losing their celebrated captain for a duck off the first ball of a Rajinder Pal over. But i had no eyes for the Bengal opener, even though he held a world record batting partnership with another celebrity,Vinoo Mankad. All this trivia was being fed to me by my father, who probably never played any cricket but knew quite a bit about the game.

The only person who caught my attention and fancy was this fair, very fair and slim young man who walked with a lazy langurous air, yet looked very assertive on the field. The only thing about him that I couldn't understand was the rakish angle at which his cap was perched atop his head. It was almost pulled right over his right eye.

"He plays with just one eye", my father clarified. And i wondered, just how did he manage? Because by now I had started hearing from the cricket fans sitting around us in the pavilion class stands. About his great batting ability. About his famous late cuts, his square drives, his hook shots. And his tiger-like movement on the field when confronting a ball hit by a batsman. His great intuitive abilities as a leader, his attempts at bringing commoners on the same platform as the lordly men who dominated the game in those days.

He was the first international cricketer that I had set my eyes on. And what a man to idolize? My father turned around, craned his neck a bit and then asked me to turn around and look at the pavilion. Sitting there was a royal looking lady who it turned out was his mother and was popularly known as the Begum of Bhopal.

The young man we are talking about was called by many names. Those days he was simply Pataudi. My father elaborated that he was actually the Nawab of Pataudi. But he was fondly called Tiger by all, because of his demeanour and his character. He was later addressed as Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi, when the privy purses were abolished. But for me he was always a Nawab. A royal man among so many lesser mortals.

I remember, sitting later in the day with my father at Wenger's at Connaught Place, digging into my first cutlet and listening to a Rafi Saab number on the juke box, the royal gait of this very handsome man in flannels. I decided that very day that I would be a cricketer. And that i would pull my cap right over my eye, at that rakish angle.

A couple of years later, when a long distance relative of ours landed up at Delhi as the manager of the South Zone Duleep Trophy team, he took us inside the dressing room at the Willingdon Pavilion of the Ferozshah Kotla. And I set my sights on my hero. He sat with a cup of tea and a cigarette, and in a deep and very impressive voice, spoke to his Hdyerabadi colleague and fellow batsman Abbas Ali Baig. He spoke so well, he spoke so majestically. The perfect Nawab. And along with the likes of people like Jaisimha, Durrani, Baig and Hanumant Singh, he brought grace and glamour to the game, like never before. I am sure the Dhonis and Yuvrajs of today would have found stiff competition from these legends.

With captaincy suddenly thrust on him during a horrific tour of the West Indies, with the scary injury suffered by captain Nari Contractor, Tiger went on to cement a team that had once consisted of many brilliant individuals but never a squad that wanted to win as a group. He won for India for the first time a series abroad. He fought for the inclusion underrated cricketers who went on to justify their inclusion. Even as a wounded tiger with a chin injury he faced the likes of Holder and Roberts to ward off defeat. All in all a perfect gentleman, yet a majestic tiger.

His book Tiger's Tale has many interesting sidelights on the game. His editorship, after retirement from the game, of a fine magazine called Sportsworld, was another high spot of his career.

He spoke less but spoke tellingly and with absolute command over the subject.

No wonder he was the heartthrob of many and lived a life of dignity. His death will leave a void. There aren't many Princes left in the game now.

RIP Tiger. You will be remembered for long.

Of course, you were the first ever cricketer I set my eyes on. And someone who inspired me to pick up a bat and a ball.