In my early days as a cricketer another person who helped me considerably was Hemant Waingankar. Hemant, a student of my father’s, knew me as a child and has followed my career from start to finish. It was at Hemant’s initiative that Anil Joshi, Vijay Shirke and Sanju Khamkar of Sungrace Mafatlal, a well-known Indian company, came forward to support both Vinod and me with cricket equipment. I am glad that our friendship, which is now close to three decades old, continues even today.
My Sir
Looking back at these years of cricket, I must say I owe a lot to my coach Ramakant Achrekar – as well as his assistants, Das Shivalkar and Laxman Chavan. Had it not been for Sir, I would not be the cricketer I turned out to be. He was a strict disciplinarian and did everything he could for me.
On certain days he would even drive me all the way across Mumbai on his scooter to get me to matches on time. Even though I loved cricket, there were still occasional days when playing with my friends at home was such fun that I would conveniently forget I was supposed to go to the nets. If I didn’t turn up, Achrekar Sir would jump on his scooter and come to find me at Sahitya Sahawas. Inevitably, I would be outside, engrossed in some game or other with my chums. Sir would spot me in the melee and virtually drag me to our apartment. I would come up with excuses but he would have none of it. He would get me to change and put on my shoes and then I’d ride pillion with him as we headed off to Shivaji Park. On the drive he would tell me, ‘Don’t waste your time playing inane games with these kids. Cricket is waiting for you at the nets. Practise hard and see what magic can transpire.’ At the time, I hated being dragged off but as I look back I feel sheepish about my actions and can only admire Achrekar Sir’s farsightedness.
Sir also punished me on one occasion when trying to teach me a very important lesson. Shardashram English and Shardashram Marathi schools had made it to the finals of the Harris Shield and the match was to be played at the Wankhede Stadium. I was at that stage a Giles Shield player and had nothing to do with the Harris Shield. Knowing that I’d want to go and watch the game, Sir had arranged a practice match for me and warned me not to miss my own match and go off to the Wankhede. However, I disobeyed and went along to the final, not anticipating that Sir would be there. He was as angry as I’d ever seen him and he said it wasn’t for me to come and watch other people play, for if I practised hard enough, one day people from across the world would come and watch me play.
Achrekar Sir has undoubtedly made a significant contribution to cricket in Mumbai and India. I am by no means the only pupil of his to go on to represent India; others include Lalchand Rajput, Vinod Kambli, Pravin Amre, Ajit Agarkar, Sanjay Bangar, Balwinder Sandhu, Chandrakant Pandit, Paras Mhambrey, Sameer Dighe and Ramesh Powar. Not for one moment has he been interested in financial gain, however. Quite the opposite, in fact – there were many occasions when he would help out those who were so poor they could not even afford the few rupees normally charged for his summer school.
Throughout my career, before each tour and each series for India, I would make four visits that were very important to me: to two temples in Mumbai, the Ganesh temple in Shivaji Park and the Siddhivinayak temple in Prabhadevi; to my aunt and uncle; and to Achrekar Sir.
My short career as a fast bowler
My first good season for Shardashram earned me a trial place at the MRF Pace Foundation in Chennai in 1987 under the legendary Australian fast bowler Dennis Lillee, who was head coach there. The MRF Pace Foundation had been set up with the explicit aim of grooming local fast-bowling talent, something that we have always lacked in India. Coaches from across India had been asked to name talented youngsters and my name was suggested by Vasu Paranjpe, veteran Mumbai cricketer and one of India’s best coaches. Vasu Sir has always been extremely supportive of my efforts and has been a kind of mentor to me. Though the camp was primarily meant to identify talented fast bowlers, Ajit advised me to take my full kit to Chennai. The thought was that if I wasn’t selected as a bowler I could benefit from batting in the nets there. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given my build and height, I didn’t stand out as a potential international pace bowler and Dennis Lillee jokingly advised me to focus on my batting instead. As it turned out, I was always a batsman who wanted to learn the art of fast bowling.
The first break
All the hard work under the watchful supervision of Sir finally paid off when I was picked in the squad to represent Mumbai in the Ranji Trophy on 14 November 1987. The Ranji Trophy, the premier domestic competition in India, was started in 1933–34 and named after the famous KS Ranjitsinhji, Indian cricket’s first global figure, who played for England against Australia in 1896. It is an important platform and consistent performances in the Ranji Trophy can earn a player a national call-up. In the 1980s it was played on a zonal basis. First-class teams from each zone, West, North, South, East and Central, played each other before the top teams advanced to the knock-out stage.
Despite making the Mumbai squad, I did not make it to the final XI in any of the matches. This meant I narrowly missed out on playing alongside Sunil Gavaskar, who retired from all forms of cricket after the 1987 Cricket World Cup, a few months before I made the Ranji squad. When I was growing up, Mr Gavaskar’s thirty-four centuries for India had always served as a huge inspiration. It was the ultimate benchmark for a batsman, and not to have played alongside him remains a regret. However, that season I did get a little taste of the Ranji Trophy, as a substitute fielder – and also of international cricket, while fielding at the Brabourne Stadium for a Pakistan team against India!
It was a festival match and two Pakistan cricketers, Javed Miandad and leg-spinner Abdul Qadir, had gone off the field at lunchtime. I was asked to substitute and was deployed at wide long on by skipper Imran Khan. Within minutes Kapil Dev hit a skier and, despite running in 15 metres, I wasn’t able to reach the ball. I remember complaining to my friend Marcus Couto that evening on the train home that I could have taken the catch if I had been positioned at mid on instead of long on. I don’t know whether Imran Khan remembers the occasion or has any idea that I once fielded for his Pakistan team.
One incident I remember from my Ranji Trophy debut season took place when we played in Baroda in one of the West Zone encounters. I was just fourteen then and was sharing a room with Suru Nayak, a former India international. The team had reached Baroda a few days in advance and on one of the days we had dinner a little earlier than normal. Afterwards Suru Nayak asked me to go to bed, suggesting that I should take some rest while the other players went out to offer pujas at the local temple. I had no reason to disbelieve him and went off to sleep in my room. Only later did I find out that the other players had gone out partying at night and because I was only fourteen I had been conveniently left out.
I wasn’t always so well behaved, of course. In 1987 I remember playing for the Mumbai Under-15 team at Cuttack in Eastern India. We were staying in a college dormitory and there were fifteen beds aligned in a row. Next to the dorm was a balcony and beyond it lay the college sports field. Two of my friends in the team were Jatin Paranjpe (who went on to play one-day international cricket for India) and Vinod Kambli, and together we had planned that after lights-out we would sneak around and gather up all the other players’ shoes, including their spikes. With the dorm pitch-dark, we started throwing them at Kedar Godbole, one of our hapless team-mates. Other players were also in our line of fire and before they could figure out what was going on they were hit by a barrage of shoe missiles. When they started throwing them back at us, we ducked and their shoes flew over our heads and over the balcony into the adjoining field. Finally, at two in the morning, the whole team was down on the ground looking for their shoes and chappals!
Ranji Trophy debut
The following year, I was watched closely by Mumbai captain Dilip Vengsarkar in the Cricket Club of India nets when the Indian team came to play a match against the touring New Zealand team. Vengsarkar was impressed with the way I pl
ayed against Kapil Dev and sometime later, on 10 December 1988, when I was fifteen, he told the selectors that I was ready to play for Mumbai against Gujarat, giving me my first big break. Vengsarkar himself was busy with national duty and I filled in for him. In my debut match I scored 100 not out and in the process became the youngest Indian to score a century on his first-class debut. I finished the 1988–89 season as Mumbai’s highest run-scorer and made half-centuries in six of the seven matches I played. Mumbai lost a hard-fought semi-final against Delhi and I ended my debut season with a respectable batting average of 64.77. In the semi-final, Madan Lal, former India fast bowler and coach, was playing for Delhi and I remember playing a straight drive to him that was much talked about that evening. It was a shot that got me noticed, adding to my stock at the time. Everything about the shot was perfect – balance, head position, timing – and the ball raced to the boundary.
My performances for Mumbai got me selected for the season-opening Irani Trophy match at the beginning of November 1989. The Irani Trophy, between the Ranji Trophy champions and the Rest of India, is a key component of the Indian domestic cricket calendar and is a major opportunity to get noticed. Playing for the Rest of India, I scored a hundred against Ranji champions Delhi in my first Irani Trophy game and it was during this match that the Indian touring team for the much-awaited tour to Pakistan in November–December 1989 was announced.
Before I knew it, at sixteen years of age, I had been picked to play for India.
3
MY FIRST TOUR
I had always dreamed of playing cricket for India. Getting an opportunity to fulfil my dream at such an early age was indeed very special. What made it even more significant was that we were playing Pakistan in Pakistan and their bowling attack included fast bowlers of the quality of Imran Khan, Wasim Akram, Waqar Younis and Aaqib Javed, not to mention the leg-spinners Mushtaq Ahmed and Abdul Qadir – quite a test for any debutant.
It was baptism by fire. So much so that after my very first innings in Test cricket, during which I was all at sea against Wasim and Waqar, I began to doubt my ability to bat and questioned whether I was ever going to be good enough to play at international level.
Before describing my debut series, I want to go back to that first Irani Trophy game for the Rest of India against Delhi. I had scored 39 in the first innings before I was bowled by Maninder Singh, India’s ace left-arm spinner at the time. The disappointment did not last long, however, because it was that evening when I learned I had been named in the Indian squad for the Pakistan tour. Ecstatic at my inclusion, I was determined to make a mark in the second innings.
The occasion was particularly special because my brother had come to see me play. In fact, since I was a minor and could not sign the tour contract, Ajit had to sign it on my behalf. Vasu Paranjpe had also mentioned to my father that morning that I would surely get a hundred and said that he should come and watch me bat. My father did just that and, to his satisfaction, what Vasu Sir had predicted came true. However, the century would not have happened but for the contribution of Gursharan Singh, the Punjab batsman who later played a Test match for India against New Zealand in 1990.
Gursharan had fractured his finger while batting against the bowling of Atul Wassan, a Delhi fast bowler who also made his debut for India against New Zealand in 1990. He was sitting in the dressing room injured and there seemed to be no way he could play a further part in the match. I was batting well and was unbeaten on 86 when our ninth wicket fell. Knowing that Gursharan couldn’t bat, I started walking back to the dressing room, assuming it was the end of our innings. Just then I saw Gursharan walking towards me, ready to bat one-handed.
It was later revealed to me that Raj Singh Dungarpur, then chairman of the national selection committee, had asked if he would go out and help me get to my hundred. In an exemplary show of courage, Gursharan had agreed. In fact, when we met at the wicket I felt distinctly embarrassed seeing him there in such severe pain. I told him that it would be perfectly understandable if we called off the innings. Showing tremendous grit, he told me, ‘Ab to tera hundred kar ke hi jayenge.’ (I will get back to the pavilion only after you get your hundred.) He doggedly stuck to his task, and I’m glad to say that his bravery was respected by the opposition bowlers, who did not resort to bowling bouncers.
It was a favour I would never forget. It was a show of remarkable resilience by Gursharan and I tried to repay the debt by doing what I could at the time of his benefit match in Delhi in April 2005. I had promised him that as long as he gave me a few days’ notice, I’d turn up to play, no matter where I was. I am glad I was able to keep my promise.
India in Pakistan, November–December 1989
Encouraged at having got a hundred against India’s domestic champions, I headed to Pakistan soon after feeling reasonably confident. Maybe because I was still a teenager, I didn’t feel any extra pressure about playing against Pakistan. The whole political baggage of India–Pakistan cricket meant nothing to me. I was simply treating it as my first tour, which was challenge enough. In any case, no one really expected me to be a part of the playing XI at such a young age, certainly not in any of the Tests. Some thought I might get a chance in one of the one-day games, depending on the team’s performance in the series, while others believed I was there only to get a feel of international cricket.
To be honest, all the talk passed me by. I just wanted to do well for India and score a lot of runs. Other than that, everything else seemed unimportant. That was natural enough, because everything had happened rather quickly in my life. Just five years after I took to playing competitive cricket, I had become a part of the Indian squad – it was a pretty quick move from school to international cricket.
On arrival in Pakistan I didn’t sense any tension and went out for regular meals in the evening with some of the other cricketers. Their friendly approach helped put me at ease and it was not until we reached Lahore that a curfew was imposed on going out in the evenings. On my travels around India I had always bought gifts such as sarees for my mother and aunt and shirts for my father and uncle, and so in the first few days in Pakistan I did the same. This time I bought them some local shoes and slippers.
There was tension within the squad, however, as a result of a dispute that had blown up before the tour between the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) and the players over the issue of players’ involvement in a few unsanctioned matches in the United States on the way back from the West Indies tour in 1988. The matter had gone right up to the Indian Supreme Court and was eventually settled when the court lifted a ban imposed on the players by the BCCI. The other controversy that arose on the eve of the tour was over the issue of match fees. It had escalated into a serious dispute, with the players opting to give up their match fees altogether as a mark of protest. Fortunately for the junior players in the team, skipper Krishnamachari Srikkanth instructed us to stay away from the problems and concentrate on the job at hand, which was to evolve a strategy to tackle Imran, Wasim, Waqar and Abdul Qadir.
I had a good start to the tour and in one of the two games before the first Test, against the Pakistan Board Patron’s XI in Rawalpindi, scored 47 before getting out to Iqbal Qasim, a left-arm spinner who played for Pakistan in fifty Tests. It was a decent innings and I received a standing ovation from the crowd. I began to feel I had a slim chance of getting into the Test team and dared to dream of my first Test cap. I finally heard the news of my inclusion in the playing XI from skipper Srikkanth on the night before the first Test in Karachi.
It is very difficult to describe the feeling. I was part of a band of eleven fortunate men who had been given the duty of representing close to a billion Indians. It was an honour every aspiring cricketer lives for, to play for his country against the best of world cricket. And with the honour came responsibility. I was going to be accountable to the cricket fans back home and was expected to give my best for them. In fact, I could imagine noth
ing more significant than doing something worthy for the national team and the passionate Indian cricket fans.
I was sharing a room with Salil Ankola, the fast bowler who has now gone on to become an actor. Salil was bowling well at the time and was also making his Test debut. Neither of us could sleep the night before the match. We were both about to start a new chapter and were aware that it was an opportunity that could change our lives for ever.
First Test, Karachi, 15–20 November 1989
Pakistan won the toss and opted to bat first on a greenish wicket so I didn’t have long to wait to walk onto the field for the first time as an India player. My life had taken a giant leap and it is a moment I will always remember. It also happened to be Kapil Dev’s 100th Test match and we were all excited for him. Only Sunil Gavaskar and Dilip Vengsarkar had achieved the distinction before.
My first day of international cricket wasn’t without drama and one incident in particular left an unpleasant feeling. In the post-lunch session a bearded man clad in salwar kameez entered the field and went straight up to Kapil Dev, abusing him for being in Pakistan. Kapil, who was preparing to bowl at the time, later recounted to us that he asked the fellow to leave him alone and allow him to continue with the game. After his exchange with Kapil, the intruder then went over to mid off, where Manoj Prabhakar, our top fast bowler on the tour, was fielding. He abused Prabhakar before moving on to skipper Srikkanth – and with Srikkanth he got physical. In those days, with the sport far less commercialized, players could choose what kit to wear. Most of our team preferred T-shirts, but Srikkanth liked to wear a buttoned shirt and this was torn open in the scuffle.
Playing It My Way: My Autobiography Page 4