Dear Anshu-maan
Updated On: 04 August, 2024 06:54 AM IST | Mumbai | Rahul da Cunha
And you played tough, giving back as good as you got
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Illustration/Uday Mohite
Dear Anshu-maan (that’s what the West Indians called you). I first saw you bat when I was twelve. It was 1974, the West Indies were here, Clive Lloyds men, for a five Test match series—we were down two nil, and in the third Test at Eden Gardens, Kolkata you came to bat, you were all of 22, on your debut, you had a total non-sportsman-like build—lanky, bespectacled, opening the batting, helmetless against the speed of Andy Roberts, and the guile of Lance Gibbs. I remember thinking, oh boy, this dude seems more like a nerd than a cricketer—you had your collar up, and you had a walk, a particular walk, I‘ll never forget, because I tried to imitate it—it wasn’t an Imran Khan swagger, it was a side to side motion, vulnerable but vital—and you could bat, bowlers couldn’t get you out, you kind of hung in there, leaving the ball alone with a kind of lazy elegance with all the time in the world.
Suddenly, the country was rooting for you—there is no doubt in my mind, that the greatest batsmen are those who play their best against the best bowling attacks of that era and the West Indians far and away were the finest bowlers of the 70s/80s. And you played tough, giving back as good as you got.
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