Many Indian cricketers of the 1960s and 70s, Hyderabadis in particular, must have experienced a poignant sense of loss on hearing the news of Syed Abid Ali’s death in California, says V. Ramnarayan, who owed so much of his cricket career in and for Hyderabad to Ali’s mentorship and friendship, adding that he feels quite devastated
Syed Abid Ali lived to be 83, and I hadn’t met him for well over four decades, but that does not really soften the blow. For starters, he was someone I admired from afar long before I first met him and played some of my cricket with him. And what a spectacular introduction on the world stage! He took 6 for 55 in his very first Test innings, in December 1967, bowling first change after Umesh Kulkarni and Rusi Surti, both strictly military medium. He was not express either, but was he a clever bowler, all swing and seam and variations of pace!
Abid followed up with two identical innings of 33 in the lower middle order in that Adelaide Test, the series opener. And, in the final Test at Sydney, Abid revealed yet another facet of his all-round ability by opening the innings and scoring 78 and 81, showcasing his audacious stroke play and running between the wickets. Syed Abid Ali had arrived.
Little did I know then that I would actually meet him hardly five years later. Bowling at the State Bank of India nets in Hyderabad, I was watched—and approved—by my hero after another mentor of mine, Test wicket-keeper P. Krishnamurti, had invited him to look at this recent unknown off-spinner import from Tamil country. Abid was looking every bit as trim and sharply dressed in his bank officer’s formal gear and newly grown mustache as he tended to in his cricket flannels. We did not speak to each other that evening, but we were to enjoy a nice rapport in the months and years to come, with Abid encouraging me at every stage of my burgeoning first-class career.
Abid was such an inspiring senior presence in the all-India State Bank team in the Moin-ud-Dowla Gold Cup and the Hyderabad XI in the Ranji Trophy, setting a great example of physical fitness, athleticism in the field, tireless bowling and positive batsmanship in match after match. He made the youngsters in the team feel at home with his general good cheer and unique brand of humour, not to mention his occasional spoonerisms and malapropisms. He always laughed loudest at the irreverent jokes some of us dared to crack at his expense.
My favourite Abid Ali story was told by G.R. Viswanath, the little maestro from Bangalore loved by crowds everywhere. According to him, in an Ahmedabad Test versus Sri Lanka, Abid Ali, known for his exceptional speed between the wickets, kept running towards his partner even as he (Vishwanath) kept shouting “No” for the whole stadium to hear. “Kyabole? (What did you say?)” was his classic rejoinder to Vishy when he was within handshaking distance. On another occasion, I saw him stumped off the very first ball he was facing in a match while trying to steal a single even before making contact with the bat. He should actually have been declared run out. It was his pet superstition that he must take a single with the first ball of his innings. Abid’s running between wickets was electric, but often too quick for his partner. It was alleged that he could run two while the other man was just completing one.
I was privileged to play under some brilliant captains in Hyderabad cricket: Jaisimha in the Ranji Trophy, Abbas Ali Baig and Habib Ahmed in the local league and tournaments, and Abid Ali in both Ranji and local cricket. Abid’s captaincy could be a roller-coaster ride at times, but he always had your back, to use a contemporary term that perfectly describes his unfailing loyalty to his boys. His idea of making me match-ready as a bowler, especially early in my career, was to tonk me all over the park, and then warn me that some opposing batsman could clobber me in similar fashion in the match due soon if I did not control my flight. He seemed unaware that his methods could destroy rather than boost my confidence.
In a more serious vein, Abid always came up with advice that helped the bowler to settle down to a nice rhythm, especially against strong opposition. In my case, he played a key role in my career-best performance. I took seven Bombay first innings wickets in a Ranji Trophy quarter final game in 1976. Coming on to bowl with the match barely an hour old, I was at best steady, not yet finding the ideal combination of line, length and trajectory that could create doubts in the batsman’s mind. At the start of my third over, Abid came up to me from mid-off, and said: “Ram, I think you should push the ball just a bit quicker to gain any purchase on this wicket.” I immediately followed his suggestion, and it worked like magic.
After watching Abid at close quarters as bowler, batsman and fielder, I was convinced that his statistics at the international level hardly did his class justice. He never went past his 81 at Sydney in the 29 Test matches he played for India. And he took only 47 wickets. But above all, he made a huge impact on most of us with his wonderful human qualities.
Life was not always kind to him. Migrating to the US, he never settled down in a properly lucrative career, though he was a popular coach in Californian cricket, but cricket was yet to catch on in a big way there as it has now. The loss of a grown son was a major tragedy. His aggressive brand of cricket would have made him a much sought after professional today. He certainly deserved greater success and recognition than he enjoyed back in the day.
(The writer is a former Indian first-class cricketer, editor, translator and journalism teacher. One of the main wicket-takers for Hyderabad in the 1970s, with 86 wickets in five seasons, he was an integral part of the powerful team of the era which included stars like M.L. Jaisimha, M.A.K. Pataudi, Abbas Ali Baig, Abid Ali, K. Jayantilal, Naushir Mehta, Mumtaz Hussain, P. Krishnamurthy, M.V. Narasimha Rao, Shivlal Yadav and Arshad Ayub. He lives in Chennai.)
from Webdoux