Debonair from Kabul to Jamnagar via Karachi

Salim Durani (1934-2023)

He played a bit of cricket very well, but he was better at life, and that’s how Salim Durani would want to be remembered.

‘Prince Salim’, who passed away on Sunday from age-related illnesses at 88, would not want to be typecast into a reductive mold as someone who could change the course of a Test match in minutes with his left-arm spin or hit sixes on demand from the crowd.

Yes, the cricket, the skills and the life it brought was fine, but he would prefer to be known as someone who could rid his well-fitting whites for a garb so suave, he could slide his frame in on couches with actors, royalty and administrators.

His choice of clothing couldn’t hide his personality, though, as he strolled into conversations with liquor store vendors, drivers and everyday people - in the same garb mind you - as if he hadn’t played 29 Tests for 1202 runs (including one century and 7 fifties) and 75 wickets (including three fifers).

It was so easy to forget that he had played a big part in India winning their first-ever Test win against the then mighty West Indies in 1971 in Port of Spain when you saw him flowing from space to space with those sharp eyes behind polarized glasses. Oh, and then there was the rest of his handsome face on a model’s physique. Little wonder Bollywood came calling. Perhaps why he practiced such humility.

Or it could have something to do with being born in Kabul, raised in Karachi and then moving to Jamnagar in Gujarat. He never let on during interactions if he questioned his national identity or if he worked especially hard to make everyone feel like he was one of them. But, the fact is everyone who interacted with him felt like he was one of them, while still making room for all of his debonair.

Even in 2018, when he was in Bengaluru to be felicitated by the Board of Control for Cricket in India for being the first and only Afghan-born Indian cricketer, his charm ironed out the wrinkles on his face and shook away the tiredness in his eyes. He still had the ‘it’.

“He was such an excellent cricketer, so elegant,” says Chandu Borde, who was Durani’s room-mate in his debut Test against Australia at the Brabourne Stadium in 1960. “He was a soft-spoken man who did everything gracefully. He enjoyed life, and I think we all learned how to enjoy life because of him. He didn’t worry about anything, he simply lived. He lived as well as he could and he had no regrets. I have not criticised him once, a cricketer or a person. He was all about laughing and having a good time for himself and for those around him.”

Fans were so fond of his joie de vivre that the Indian team was almost stopped from playing England at Brabourne in 1973 for leaving the all-rounder out of the team. Placards with slogans like ‘No Durani, No Test in Bombay’ were seen everywhere, and rumour has it that he was slotted into the squad to appease them. It didn’t. Durani was included in the playing XI at the last minute, and he went on to score 110 runs in two innings as India drew the game.

He was no Borde or Ajit Wadekar or Polly Umrigar when it came to skills, but he sure did have that something, that ‘it’ that brought crowds to throng stadiums for the likes of Tiger Pataudi and ML Jaisimha. “He had so much style and so much swagger,” remembers Brijesh Patel. “I didn’t play much with him but you could tell he was different. He had it all.”

As time passed on, he didn’t. He spent time at the bottom of liquor bottles, eyeing life through smoke rings, on the back of rusty Lambrettas, and in perpetual financial crisis, but that didn’t stop him from living. Until now.