Once in the stands, we jostled for the seats to get a good view. (Representative image)
Credit: PTI Photo
It was January 11, 1975. The event was the Madras test between India and West Indies. I was a strapping young boy; a few months shy of my thirteenth birthday. It dawned as a usual Saturday, and as I was reading the sports page of The Hindu, my friend from across the road surfaced and asked, “Will you be willing to come to the test match? I have an extra ticket.” For a second, I did not know what hit me and overcome with joy, ran to my mother to seek her permission. With her consent in place, with some food and water, both of us set off in a jiffy.
Once in the stands, we jostled for the seats to get a good view. With Gavaskar not playing, the team’s batting depended on skipper Tiger Pataudi and the Little Master, G R Vishwanath aka Vishy, to a large extent. I must confess that GRV had the status of a demigod in my realm of things, and I was hoping that I could get to see him bat. I got my wish fulfilled, and how!
The Little Master waged a lone battle keeping the West Indian pace attack at bay on a spicy wicket, playing the cuts, flicks, and drives in his own inimitable style. Wickets fell, and soon, the Indian tail started, and just when everyone thought that the end was near, the tail started wagging, and wag it did, in style. In the company of Bedi and Chandra, Vishy progressed, farming the strike admirably and inching towards the nineties. Just as the crowd was getting expectant, Andy Roberts got Chandra, and Vishy was stranded on 97, the century eluding him, much to the disappointment of the large crowd. What a standing ovation he got both from the crowd and from the entire West Indian team as he returned unbeaten on 97 after conquering the demons on the pitch and taming the West Indian pace bowling.
Soon after, play ended, and we walked all the way back home, savouring the moments of the day, especially Vishy’s batting, and this, in essence, was my first brush with Test Cricket. I realised that I could boast for years to come that I had seen one of the finest exhibitions of batting against a genuine pace bowling attack.
Later, I came to know that some planning had gone in for the tickets, which my mother wanted to be kept as a secret from her sons so that a surprise could be sprung on them. And what a pleasant surprise it was!
The memories came flooding back when I recently read about the golden jubilee celebrations of Vishy’s historic innings in DH.