Earlier today, my friends
received a pornographic video, purportedly from my FB account. Before any of
you buy the book, let me give you the disappointing news that there is nothing
racy in Third Man, except for some references to maiden overs and long legs.
First, about the title Third
Man. I chose it to show off that I was the third off spinner in the country for
a while, definitely in the South Zone, after the great bowlers Prasanna and
Venkataraghavan. I wore that distinction like a badge of honour, and if the
title gives the impression that it is my expression of any disappointment, it
was far from my intention.
Why did I write this book? Mainly
because nothing happened in my career till I reached cricketing old age, and
then there was a miraculous change in my fortunes. Much of what happened, both
good and bad, was stranger than fiction. For several years after my playing
days, I insisted on regaling (or boring) my friends with stories cricketing and
off the field. I was lucky enough to play with and against some fine cricketers
and wonderful personalities. The stories I told were sometimes enriching and
uplifting but almost always funny. My friends repeatedly asked me to put all
those stories into a book. And I eventually succumbed to the temptation. I
actually started writing Third Man some 30 years ago, but shelved the project
as I was preoccupied with eking out a livelihood.
It took the constant
persuasion of my friend and fellow author Krishna Shastri to make me take the
plunge. After writing it, I am convinced that there is a book in almost every
cricketer, and I hope some of my friends will start recording the highs and
lows of their careers. That is what I have done, and in addition to some
hilarious anecdotes, the book tries to document the crucial twists and turns of
a cricket journey. I thought long and
hard about including the unhappy moments in the narrative, because I did not
want to be seen as complaining, but decided to go ahead, as it would not be an
honest book otherwise. I have spared you some of the gorier details, but I
believe it is important to say it like it is, to provide a true account of a
cricketer's life.
The book is also my attempt
to remember and salute the many cricketers I have played with and watched,
those who supported, encouraged and mentored me. The cricket ground and
dressing room are among the most egalitarian spaces you can imagine. For
instance, I have always called our chief guest VV, not Sir or Mr Kumar as we
tend to do older people in any other walk of life. In the Hyderabad team I
played in, the former Nawab of Pataudi and champion cricketers like Jaisimha
and Abid Ali evoked awe and respect with the quality of their cricket and their
wisdom, not because of their seniority or social position.
A few words about VV Kumar.
He was quite simply the greatest Indian leg spinner I have seen and played
with. I did watch Subhash Gupte, but I was too young to appreciate the finer
points then. VV's magic was something my generation of cricketers knew
intimately.
He had all the tricks of the trade of Shane Warne, except the huge
leg break, which VV did not fancy. He had two types of googly, while Warne was
not known for his wrong ún.
He played only two Test matches and was unfairly
omitted thereafter, and though he was all the time improving as a bowler, the
genius of the freak spinner Chandrasekhar blocked his re-entry into Test
cricket. I am very sure that had he had a long run in international cricket, he
would have achieved great feats and merited comparison with Warne. At a vital phase of my career, he gave me
advice which I never forgot, and which stood me in good stead. The great
Hanumant Singh was another whose guidance shaped my bowling.
I was once able to share my view
that VV was the best leg spinner after Gupte with Sir Garfield Sobers, when he
asked some of us our opinion on the subject. Sobers was then helping VV out at
his spin academy, and he nodded in agreement. "Even today, he bowls long
spells in the nets, and he is better than all his wards," he said.
Though I pride myself on
being computer savvy, I have realised during the production of this book that I
am far from that. During the numerous exchanges of email between me and the
editor of the book, Karthik Venkatesh, I managed to lose a few chapters of the
book. It is a mystery I have not been able to solve, since I deleted much of
the contents of my outbox. I regret the omission of these chapters and hope
there will be a second edition so that I can restore them.
One of the chapters was a
poignant one, recalling an emotional moment. During a conditioning camp for
Indian probables before the 1977-78 Australia tour, I learnt at the very ground where we were training,
that I had not been included in the South Zone squad to play the Duleep Trophy
before the tour. Every one of the other 32 players was picked and actually
played in the eleven for his zone. The young wicket keeper Bharath Reddy felt
so bad about it, he brought the South Zone skipper S Venkataraghavan to my
hotel room late that afternoon. Venkat told me I should have been in the team,
explaining that he had not been part of the selection committee and apologising
to me. His caring gesture softened the blow.
Another chapter I managed to
lose was on GR Viswanath, my favourite cricketer. Vishy figures in the book more
than once, and I have expressed my admiration for him, but I feel my tribute to
this extraordinary cricketer should have been more complete.
Finally, also missing is the
story my late cousin Raman, who played competitive cricket and loved the game
enough to watch Tamil Nadu win the Ranji Trophy in 1987, knowing that his days
on earth were numbered. He proudly watched my brother Sivaramakrishnan play a
key role in that match.
I deliberately omitted
several stories involving my friend Meher Baba that Inspector Clouseau among
cricketers with his unintended humour. I would have certainly included them if
he had not died in the prime of his life. I know Meher, wherever he is, won't
mind if I tell one of his stories here. Shivlal Yadav, Shahid Akbar, Meher and
I, all members of the South Zone team, were walking past the Sachivalaya
building in Mumbai with its national flag and Ashoka Chakra, when Meher turned
to me and said, "Look Ram, Indian Embassy." I said, what are you
saying, Meher? He realised his gaffe, smote his forehead with his palm and
said, "Oh God, that is in Delhi, isn’t it?"
Music has been an important
part of my life, and I now edit an arts magazine. There were always musicians
of varied capabilities around in my playing days, including the late Ravi
Kichlu my Rajasthan Club teammate in Calcutta and P Unnikrishnan in Parrys in
Chennai. You will find them both in Third Man.
Many, many thanks to the
Madras Book Club, Ms Jayanthi Ramesh of Westland, Mr Muthiah, Mr Rajan, My daughter Akhila, my brilliant colleague
Ramkumar Shankar who so readily agreed to critique the book for us today, my wife Gowri, and
the great Mr VV Kumar, whom it has been my privilege to know and play cricket
with.
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your presence here this evening.
