Pitch perfect

S Giridhar and V J Raghunath's book makes you want to watch Test cricket again, says Dhruv Munjal

They say the endearing charm of Test cricket is dying; it is being ousted by a rollicking three-hour circus that is punctuated by cheerleader dancing and cameras parachuted from the sky right on to the middle of the pitch. If there were ever a time for W G Grace, Victor Trumper and Herbert Sutcliffe to turn in their graves, it would be now — they did not nurture this elegant sport with their grind and gentility for it be overthrown by a bunch of maniacs trying to slog every ball into orbit. 

Others argue that there has been a minor departure from this widely circulated, “farcical” theory — Test matches are actually making a comeback. If the past few weeks are anything to by, then they have a strong case. Wildly engrossing Test matches in India and Australia in the last month have left the nerves jangling and the crowds hugely entertained. There may be hope for Test matches, after all. 

Lala Amarnath

Perhaps fittingly, then, S Giridhar and V J Raghunath’s second book, From Mumbai to Durban: India’s Greatest Tests, comes as an emphatic endorsement for cricket’s original format. Giridhar and Raghunath, both club cricketers in their youth, map out a pleasing journey of India’s most memorable Test matches, from the halcyon days of the 1940s to the hyper competitiveness of the new millennium, from the dexterous wizardry of Vijay Hazare to the brute force of Mahendra Singh Dhoni — all told with a genuine affection for the sport. 

If the duo’s first book, Mid-Wicket Tales: From Trumper to Tendulkar, was an agglomeration of several haphazard instances in cricket history, From Mumbai to Durban solely focuses on the beauty of Test cricket and its myriad vacillations: the seaming new ball, the dilemma of enforcing the follow-on, the drama of the fifth-day pitch, among other things. 

The Brabourne Stadium, with all the gorgeous specks of colonial architecture that bedecked it, in what was then called Bombay, was the scene of several historic Test matches during the 1950s and the 1960s, and almost invariably, that is where Giridhar and Raghunath kick start the journey of the Indian Test team. 

The tale of Lala Amarnath’s side coming up agonisingly short of the target set by a John Goddard-led West Indies at Brabourne in 1949 warrants little recalling for the jingoist Indian fan, but Giridhar and Raghunath narrate that story splendidly. With victory just one hit away from Dattu Phadhkar’s bat, the umpires decided to call stumps with two minutes remaining — the chapter elaborately explains how the unbearable tension dictated the umpires’ decision to call time on a day that would have otherwise helped 

India register its most significant Test match win. 

But this part of the book — which also features the epochal 1959 Kanpur Test win against Richie Benaud’s Australia — is undone not by its contents, but by a startling omission: Subhash Gupte. Gupte does manage to find a place in the introduction but none of the matches featuring him make the cut. 

Sachin Tendulkar’s valiant 136 in the second innings couldn’t help India over the line against Pakistan at Chepauk in 1999

Gupte’s story is one of unfathomable genius and terrible injustice — a legendary career cut short by a teammate’s idiocy. Described by the three “Ws” — Clyde Walcott, Frank Worrell and Everton Weekes — as the greatest spinner they ever faced, Gupte, given the opportunity, would have spun his leg-spin square even on Wimbledon’s Centre Court. 

The events that do manage to find greater mention include the astuteness of Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi against New Zealand in 1965, the controlled belligerence of Dilip Sardesai at Sabina Park in 1971, and the mystical spells of Bhagwat Chandrashekar against England during the Oval Test of 1971 — all captured in vivid detail. 

While the prose is largely uncluttered, it is, in some parts, also unimaginative. Once you’re fully awash with all the sentimentality and actually manage to segregate the nostalgia from the book’s contents, most of it reads like a series of match reports. But just to build up a mild defence for the authors, this was perhaps the best way for fans to relive India’s finest Test match moments. 

Where the book truly enthralls is its second part, “1981 to 2000: Everyone’s Game”. The 1990s are particularly enjoyable, with the authors successfully unearthing the true paranormal nature of the one-man assault team that was Sachin Tendulkar. Talking of the master’s dismissal against Pakistan in the 1999 Chennai Test, they write: “One of the finest innings in Indian cricket had come to an end. Tendulkar walked off to a sending ovation, lasting many minutes, from an adoring audience.”

The innings was probably Tendulkar’s greatest ever. Combing deft power with satiny touch, he implanted the most stunning 136 runs on the Chepauk canvas. The brightness was just right, no colour was spilled. In the end, as India fell 17 runs short, it turned out to be one of the many ’90s masterpieces that he conjured up in isolation. 

Towards the end, Giridhar and Raghunath use the 2001 Kolkata Test between India and Australia for great climatic effect. Describing it as “The Greatest Game Ever”, they skillfully dissect the performances of VVS Laxman and Rahul Dravid, and more important, the mind of a beleaguered John Wright, India’s coach at the time. They conclude it with anecdotes from some of India’s most impressive wins overseas : Adelaide in 2003, Nottingham in 2007, Perth in 2008 and Durban in 2010. 

What From Mumbai to Durban does beautifully is evoke a strange romance: of cricketer worship, of Indian fans queuing up outside stadiums in the 20th century despite being resigned to their team’s insipidness, of unknown heroes like Jasubhai Patel and Hanumant Singh who form such an intrinsic part of Indian cricket folklore, and of fervid followers who saw India go from hapless duds to world-beaters. It makes you want to watch Test cricket again. And, in this day and age, there can be no greater compliment.

The victorious Indian team in Multan, 2004