Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar

I first saw Kiri bhai on the television, in the semi-final and final of the 1983 World Cup. He was one of the chief architects of that victory and a hero for all of India, me included.

One of the earliest lessons I learnt in my formative cricketing years – that too first-hand – was that wicketkeeping was a tough and thankless job. I was once leading in a game at Shivaji Park when the wicketkeeper was injured and had to leave the field. None of my teammates wanted to stand in for him, and so I had no option but to do so myself. As it turned out, I was hit on the face, just below the eye, by a ball that reared off the pitch. I had to be carried off the field and the wound had to be stitched up.

Wicketkeepers are noticed only when they err, but rarely when they take a great catch or affect a superb stumping. They tend to be taken for granted. Hence, they have no option but to shut out all the noise and be mentally tough.

Kiri bhai made a tough and thankless job look very easy. He started his career standing up to great spinners like EAS Prasanna and B.S. Chandrasekhar, his seniors in the Karnataka and later Indian team. Subsequently, he aided and abetted Kapil Dev, Karsan Ghavri and all those who took the new ball for India, with his anticipation and penchant for flinging himself on either side to take incredible catches.

He was also an underrated batter, who essayed many crucial innings in pressure situations and scored a couple of Test centuries. Has there been a better ‘supporting act’ in cricket history than Kiri bhai’s unbeaten 24 against Zimbabwe at Tunbridge Wells in the 1983 World Cup? He arrived in the middle with India 140-8 and stayed till the end, by which time the score was 266-8. Imagine getting to watch Kapil Dev’s explosive innings from a distance of only 22 yards! The rest, as they say, is history.

I never imagined that I would get the opportunity to play against Kiri bhai, but I got a chance in a Duleep Trophy semi-final between west and south zone at Rourkela in January 1991. Interestingly, both of us scored centuries for our respective teams in that game and I was the one who ended his stay at the crease. Getting him out meant that I had something in common with the likes of Dennis Lillee, Richard Hadlee, Imran Khan, Ian Botham and Kapil Dev, among others. All of us had dismissed Syed Kirmani in first-class cricket!

I was exposed to Kiri bhai’s sense of humour when I played some benefit matches with him in the early 1990s. The participants in these games would spend a lot of time together, traveling by train and later sharing space in hotels and the dressing-room. I would make it a point to be around when he would regale his contemporaries and friends with hilarious tales from his playing days.

The fact that Kiri bhai played first-class cricket with distinction from 1967-68 to 1993-94, speaks volumes for his discipline and professionalism. That is something all youngsters who want to make it big in cricket should learn from.