I was fielding at point and I was scared I would be next and was ready to run to the safe confines of the dressing room if the intruder came towards me. Up to this point, no security personnel had done anything to stop the intruder from disrupting things in the middle. It was only when the Indian captain was being manhandled that security finally came onto the ground to drag the spectator off. It was a serious security lapse, yet the organizers seemed hardly perturbed. The truth is that it was much more than a cricket match that was being played between the two teams. The political history of partition has always cast a pall over India–Pakistan cricket and it was my first taste of this unfortunate reality. The next day we were even more astonished to find the Pakistan press suggesting that the intruder had actually been trying to congratulate Kapil Dev on playing his 100th Test match. The issue of Srikkanth’s torn shirt didn’t merit a mention by the local media.
All at sea
On the second day of the match, Pakistan were all out for 409, with skipper Imran Khan scoring 109 not out. Finally, it was our turn to bat. The pitch was lively and we didn’t get off to a good start. We were soon reduced to 41–4, with Srikkanth, Navjot Sidhu, Sanjay Manjrekar and Manoj Prabhakar out cheaply. Wasim and Waqar were bowling really fast and it was a trying time for every Indian batsman. I hadn’t quite anticipated what awaited me out in the middle when I went out to bat at number six. There’s no harm in admitting that I was all at sea against Wasim and Waqar in my first innings in Test cricket. I was trying to be aggressive to almost every ball, as that was how I had always played the game. I was trying to get on top of the bowlers, but more often than not I was comprehensively beaten. The pace was far greater than I had ever faced and the skill on display was of the very highest standard. The guile of both bowlers left me thoroughly confused.
An account of one Wasim over will give an idea of my plight in the middle. I was on strike to him for the third ball of the over, which turned out to be a vicious bouncer. Having studied Wasim’s bowling, I was convinced the next ball would be a yorker and was mentally prepared for it. It turned out to be another bouncer, which I left. While I kept expecting a fiery yorker, balls five and six also turned out to be bouncers, and at the end of the over I said to myself, ‘Welcome to Test cricket.’ Not without reason is it acknowledged as the most challenging format of the game.
My stay at the crease was short and not sweet. I had lasted only twenty-four balls, at least half of which I had missed. I had hit two boundaries but not for a moment had I felt comfortable. It was only a matter of time before I was dismissed. I was finally bowled for a rather lucky 15 by another debutant, Waqar Younis, and on my way back to the pavilion my mind was riddled with self-doubt.
It was a very important moment in my career. I had come to the international stage after blazing my way through domestic cricket. I had managed to score a hundred on debut in the Ranji and Irani trophies, but here I was on the international stage unable to put bat on ball. I was struggling, plain and simple. The difference in standard between domestic and international cricket was colossal.
I batted only once in that first Test match, which ended in a draw, and in the following days I approached our coach, Chandu Borde, and a number of senior team-mates to discuss what I needed to do to improve. I had a long chat with Ravi Shastri, already an established star at the time, who advised me to be patient for the first fifteen or twenty minutes, which were bound to be uncomfortable. Ravi was of the opinion that once I had played out the initial burst from the Pakistani bowlers, things would turn easier. The key was to spend time in the middle. But would I be given another opportunity to do so? I could easily have missed out on the second Test, not only because of my low score in the first but also because of the way I had batted.
It came as a huge relief to see my name in the playing XI for the second Test at Faisalabad.
Second Test, Faisalabad, 23–28 November 1989
I knew it was a chance I could not afford to squander; it would be a big test of my ability and temperament. What made the task considerably more difficult was that Pakistan won the toss on a green-top and put India in to bat. The stage was set. All through my career I have relished these moments of adversity. It is no good just performing on a docile track against weak opposition. A cricketer gets true satisfaction only if he is able to perform in difficult conditions against the best bowlers.
Once again we lost early wickets and I went in to bat with four top-order wickets down for 101. This time around, although it really wasn’t my style then, I forced myself to stay at the wicket for the first fifteen minutes to get used to the conditions. I have no qualms about confessing that it was difficult. The bowlers were definitely on top at the start of my innings, but with time things turned easier. I was able to adjust to the pace and bounce of the wicket, and my confidence was gradually coming back.
I managed to play 172 balls en route to my first half-century in Test cricket and was finally dismissed by Imran for 59. I was involved in a 143-run partnership with Sanjay Manjrekar and though I hit only four boundaries, the innings gave me a lot of satisfaction. It also taught me a good lesson: there was no point in trying to blaze my way through every innings. Most importantly, this knock convinced me that I could actually cope with international cricket, though I knew I still had a lot to learn. In the second innings I ran myself out for eight, sacrificing my wicket for Mohammad Azharuddin, who was nearing a well-deserved hundred. In the end, we managed to thwart a Pakistan victory. After two Tests the series was still drawn and it was evident that Pakistan were feeling the pressure. Many had predicted a 4–0 scoreline in their favour and it was starting to play on their minds.
Third Test, Lahore, 1–6 December 1989
From Faisalabad we moved to Lahore for the third Test. Unable to venture out of the hotel in the evenings, the players and the touring Indian media were feeling a little restless and this called for some original thinking. For the first and only time in my career the media and the players got together for what was decreed a ‘Sunday Club’. It was to be an evening of stories, music, food and fun and everyone had to wear something fancy. It turned out to be a very successful experiment, but sadly it hasn’t been repeated since. It definitely helped to create a bond between the team and the media, so necessary during an arduous away tour.
I wore a blue pullover to the Sunday Club and that’s where the often published picture of me with a thick moustache, Aussie fast bowler Merv Hughes-style, was taken. The food served that evening was unbelievable. Lahore is a foodie’s delight and I wolfed down all the delectable kebabs on offer and I loved the haleem (a stew of meat and lentils). In fact, I had a voracious appetite throughout the tour. My body was still growing and I ate huge amounts. On non-match days I used to eat keema parathas (mincemeat parathas) and lassi (yogurt drink) for breakfast and by the time I went back to India I had put on a few kilos and had also grown much stronger.
The Lahore Test was local hero Javed Miandad’s 100th and in a change from the first two Test matches in Karachi and Faisalabad, we were faced with the flattest of batting decks, which had obviously been prepared to help Javed score a hundred, which he duly did. Even after five days, the first innings of both teams had still not been completed.
At the start of my innings in Lahore I misjudged the bounce of a straight delivery from Imran, which hit me on my biceps. I was furious at allowing myself to be hit on a flat pitch. The point of impact instantly turned numb and my first instinct was to step out and dispatch the very next ball over the boundary. However, the lesson learnt at Faisalabad came to my rescue and I reined myself in.
I had worked my way to 41 off ninety balls when I tried to play an on drive to Abdul Qadir and was bowled. I had been batting well and I regret not going on to play a long innings. It was an opportunity missed. It has to be said, though, that the match, a tame draw, was not the best advertisement for Test cricket.
Sweet dreams
The fourth and final Test of the series was at Sialkot and we knew that we’d be given a green-top, which offered Pakistan’s best chance to take the series. By now they were desperate to win; a draw would have been considered a series defeat for Imran and his team. When we arrived at Sialkot, I was invited to the MB Malik bat-manufacturing company. Sialkot has quite a tradition of bat-making in Pakistan and at the time I didn’t have a contract for my bats and could pick up any bat and play. I went to the factory with a few of the other players and chose two or three bats for myself.
I was so excited about my new bats that I even dreamed about them one night. Apparently, it was around midnight and I walked straight out of my room asking for my bats. Maninder Singh and Raman Lamba saw me advancing down the corridor and said to me, ‘Tere bats to tere pass hi hai.’ (Your bats are with you only.) When I didn’t respond, they realized that I was sleepwalking. They helped me back into the room and put me back to bed. By that stage of the tour, Raman and I had struck up a good friendship and spent many hours together discussing the nuances of batting. He was fun to be with and it was absolutely tragic that he died after being struck on his head by a ball while fielding during a first-class match in Dhaka in 1998.
Fourth Test, Sialkot, 9–14 December 1989
What made the Sialkot Test special was that my brother Ajit had travelled to see me play. It was an added incentive to do well and both Ajit and I still remember the kindness the locals bestowed on him the moment they became aware that he was from India and had come to watch cricket.
As expected, the wicket was green, but the December weather was also heavy, resulting in a lot of early-morning fog. So much so that play never started on time and it ended early each afternoon. This meant the four Pakistani fast bowlers could come at us all day, hoping to roll us over and secure the upper hand. In the first innings I played pretty well for my 35 and was feeling good before falling lbw to Wasim. I wasn’t so uncomfortable at the start of my innings and the initial apprehension was no longer an issue. I hit some pleasing shots and scored at a good clip in the course of my 51-ball stay at the wicket.
India managed a 74-run first-innings lead, with Vivek Razdan, a fast bowler who played two Tests for India, picking up 5–79 in the Pakistan first innings. We had bowled them out for 250 and understandably Pakistan came back at us hard at the start of our second innings. We lost a cluster of early wickets and I went in to bat at 38–4, with a day and a half still to go in the match.
Waqar was bowling from one end and it was absolutely essential to survive the initial burst. I had just scored my first run when Waqar bowled a short delivery, which I expected would rise chin-high. I misjudged the bounce of the ball. It rose six inches higher than expected and hit me on the flap of my helmet before deflecting and hitting my nose. At the time I was the only batsman besides Srikkanth not to wear a grille. It wasn’t an act of bravado; I just wasn’t used to playing with one. Ajit, who was sitting right in front of the Indian dressing room, later said to me that he had clearly heard the sound of the ball hitting my helmet and deflecting on to my nose.
My vision was blurred and my head felt heavy. After impact, the ball went towards the slips and my natural movement was to see where the ball had gone. It was then that I noticed all the blood spattered on my shirt. As I was trying to recover from the blow, I was amused by Javed Miandad’s comments. In an attempt to psych me out, he was saying things like ‘Arre tujhe to abhi hospital jana parega; tera naak tut gaya hai.’ (You may have to go to the hospital; your nose is broken.) To add to my discomfort, a banner in the stands read, ‘Bachhe ghar ja ke dudh pie kea aa.’ (Kid go home and drink milk.)
I ignored all this while our team doctor, Vishwas Raut, inspected the injury. He put some ice on my nose and asked if I wanted to go off. I did not, for I considered it a moment of reckoning. Going off would suggest I was scared. And truly I wasn’t. It wasn’t the first time I had been hit, though the impact was much more severe than anything I had suffered before. I decided to carry on and said, ‘Main khelega.’ (I will play.) It was important for my own self-esteem, and by staying in I felt I had made a statement to the opposition.
Seeing me continue, Imran asked Javed to move away and all the Pakistani players went back to their respective field positions. Soon after the resumption, I got a full ball from Waqar on my legs and flicked it to the boundary. I followed it up with a drive on the off side and felt genuinely good about myself. I had treated the balls on merit and wasn’t just being aggressive to avenge being hit. Soon it was time for tea and I had an opportunity to regroup. After the break I started to bat really well. I was feeling confident and was determined not to give my wicket away. Importantly for the team, I managed to play out the day and we were on course to force a draw.
Shortly after going back to the hotel, however, I felt heavy in the head. We had a team function in the evening but I asked permission from manager Chandu Borde and went to bed early after taking a few painkillers and having dinner with Ajit and Navjot Sidhu, which helped me calm down. When I got up the next morning after a good night’s sleep, I was feeling ready for the challenge of the final day. We were on 102–4 overnight and needed to spend at least two more hours at the crease to deny Pakistan any opportunity of winning the Test.
Navjot Sidhu and I held out until I was dismissed by Imran for 57. It was my second half-century in Test cricket. Denying Pakistan a win on home turf was a big achievement for India, especially with the kind of bowling attack they had, and it served as a major confidence boost for the team. We were all elated at the performance.
The Abdul Qadir over
After the Tests, we played a five-match one-day series in which none of the matches was played for the scheduled fifty overs. While some of them were affected by rain, the third match was abandoned because of crowd trouble after Pakistan had been reduced to 29–3 by some good swing bowling from Manoj Prabhakar. The first match was due to be played in Peshawar on 16 December 1989 and had to be called off at the last moment because of rain. However, a large crowd had braved the inclement weather and it was finally agreed between both teams that a twenty-over-a-side exhibition game, perhaps the first ever Twenty20 game, would be played for the sake of the crowd. It was a good call, as the fans deserved to be given their money’s worth. They are the ones who make the game what it is, after all, and they are pivotal to its health around the world.
Most people will agree that even an exhibition game between India and Pakistan can’t help being a serious cricket match. At Peshawar Pakistan had scored 157 in their innings, and when I went in to bat with three wickets down, the asking rate had climbed to well past 11 runs an over. Srikkanth was batting with me and suggested we should dig in and get some practice for the following games. I was determined to go for the bowling and felt we still had a chance to make a match of it if we played our shots. That’s what I suggested to Srikkanth and while he was a tad surprised, he told me to play the way I was comfortable with.
Mushtaq Ahmed, an up-and-coming Pakistani leg-spinner at that stage, was bowling and I hit him for a couple of sixes and a boundary in the first over I faced. While both sixes were hit over long on, the second went a fair distance and hit the dressing-room window, breaking the glass. The Pakistanis hadn’t expected me to hit it so far and Abdul Qadir, an experienced old hand at the time, walked up to me and said, ‘Bachhe ko kyun mar rahe ho; dum hai to mujhe mar ke dikhao.’ (No point in hitting sixes off a newcomer; if you have the skills, try and hit me.) I said to him that he was a great bowler and that I was sure he wouldn’t allow me to hit him.
With just two overs left we needed more than 40 runs and Qadir was to bowl the penultimate over. Our only chance was to attack. I had made up my mind that if the ball was in my zone I’d go for my shots. As it happened, most of the balls were in my hitting arc and I took 28 off the over. I hit the first ball for six over long on and followed it up with a four off the third ball. The fourth ball resulted in a s
econd six, which I hit straight over the bowler’s head. Seeing me hit straight, Qadir bowled the fifth ball wide outside off stump in an attempt to get me stumped. I had anticipated the move and hit the ball over long off for the third six of the over. For the last ball he went even further outside off stump and I stretched out to hit the ball wide over long off, to make it four sixes in the over.
The crowd, which had been confident of a Pakistan victory till an over earlier, was roused by this unexpected turn of events and started making a lot of noise. There was a sudden increase in energy levels at the ground. The match was now being played in full seriousness and no one really knew which team would win. We needed 14 runs off the last over, bowled by Wasim Akram. Eventually we fell short by three runs. Straight after the match, Abdul Qadir walked up to me in true sportsmanlike manner and said ‘Bahut ala batting.’ (Very well batted.)
That innings of 53 off eighteen balls at Peshawar had a defining impact on my career. In the eyes of the public, it had overshadowed my effort at Sialkot, which was far more difficult and far more significant as far as I was concerned. The Sialkot innings had allowed us to save the Test match and also the series. But for people at home the innings at Peshawar was the real talking point. It had given me instant recognition and made me a household name. For the first time I was asked for autographs, which was a strange feeling. Before we went to Pakistan I had been able to go out with my friends and have bhel (a type of fast food loved all over Mumbai) and do all those normal things. Afterwards, when I went out with my friends, people would come up and ask if I was Sachin Tendulkar. And it was all down to that one innings at Peshawar. While it would have been premature to suggest I had established myself at international level, it had certainly given me a toehold.
Playing It My Way: My Autobiography Page 5
