S. Venkataraghavan.

Cricket is probably the only game in the world with a break for tea. Read coffee in Tamil country. We Tamils like our coffee at breakfast, lunch and tea, but it is a rare commodity at many cricket venues outside the South. I still remember the sheer look of terror on the face of the poor bearer when my senior and former Test captain S. Venkataraghavan gave him a tongue lashing for having made the mistake of serving him tea during a match somewhere beyond the Tamil Nadu-Andhra border.

Chepauk is perhaps the only cricket venue in India to cater to the needs of every visiting player – it could be chai, lassi or bagara baigan – with a smile. In contrast, I once asked for buttermilk at Mumbai’s Wankhede Stadium, only for the minor functionary (who of course hailed from no doubt distinguished Maratha lineage) to wither me with a look of utter contempt. “Not on the menu,” he said. Of course, such experiences never deterred a hardy, self-respecting Tamil cricketer from asking for coffee at every opportunity.

“Mr. Ramnarayan must have his coffee.” The deep voice from behind me startled me. It was former India captain and my Hyderabad senior Tiger Pataudi’s. At matches at Hyderabad’s Lal Bahadur Stadium, I had this private contract with Francis, one of the bearers at the Fateh Maidan Club, where we had lunch during match days. He would quietly bring me coffee after the others lunching had left for the dressing room. That afternoon, Pataudi had been kind enough to stay back to bring me some good news. (I started my first attempt at writing a cricket book some 25 years ago, with the very words Pataudi spoke to me.)

Tiger Pataudi.

Speaking of Pataudi, I remember that, in November 1975, the Hyderabad cricket team, of which I was a member, was staying at Admiralty Hotel, Mandaveli (incredibly the Indian hockey team, which went on to win the inaugural World Cup in Madras that month, was staying at the same hotel, where the autograph hunters ignored them completely to goggle at the cricket players). The day before our Ranji Trophy match against Tamil Nadu at Chepauk, Tiger, our wicketkeeper Krishnamurthi, and I went to the Marina cricket ground, where the Indian hockey team was playing ICF in a practice match. We sat under a tree in the western end of the ground and watched the match for about 45 minutes, then decided to go back to the hotel. As we left the ground and looked for a taxi, I made bold to ask Tiger, “Have you ever done a bus ride in India?” Saying no, he then sportingly agreed to take a bus to Foreshore Estate or thereabouts and then to take an auto to Admiralty Hotel. Unfortunately, so on people on the street recognised and surrounded him. “Shall we do it some other time?” he said and we hailed a taxi. Today, such an episode would belong to the realm of fairy tales. Imagine a Test player walking down the street.

That same evening at the hotel there was an autograph hunter originally from Hyderabad who asked Pataudi, “Nawab Saab, is it true that you can’t play Venkat and Kumar? They say you are their bunny.”

Pataudi muttered under his breath and I politely showed the visitor out.

Pataudi then told our captain, “Jai, I’m opening the innings tomorrow.”

Jaisimha: Like hell you will.

Pataudi: I’m dead serious, Jai. I’m going to score a double hundred. Bunny, indeed!

Jaisimha (by now mellow): Okay, Tiger, have it your way. You can open the innings tomorrow.

The next morning, the mood in the Hyderabad dressing room was electric, with three batsmen padded up to open the innings. Pataudi was all set to go in first, to the surprise of the regular openers Abbas Ali Baig and Jayantilal. It took all of Jaisimha’s persuasive skills to get him to agree to bat at No.3, still three places ahead of his usual batting position.

When his turn to bat came, Pataudi turned on the old magic. He raced to his hundred, playing strokes all round the wicket.

Pataudi was not satisfied with a century that day. He took fresh guard and dug himself in. When he finally returned to the pavilion to a tumultuous ovation, he had made 198. Just two short of his own prediction. None of us knew it then, but that was Pataudi’s last innings at Chepauk. At the end of that season, he announced his retirement from first class cricket.

* * *

Cricket, of course, came to Madras thanks to our British masters. While there can be little doubt that cricket and coffee are colonial cousins, Carnatic music is clearly indigenous in origin, though concert music, as we know it today, even the way it is taught and transmitted, had its origins in British times. In the past there ruled the oral tradition of guru and sishya, with the pupil going to live with his teacher, and learning more by osmosis than by structured lessons. With notating or recording on tape either still in the future or forbidden by the guru, your aural memory was the only way of recording what you learnt. Today, the tape recorder, writing down notations, and Skype have turned the learning process upside down.

Two major aspects of the Carnatic cutcheri are imports from the West: 1. the violin as an indispensable part of it, and 2. the microphone. In fact, the very idea of concerts in a proscenium setting was a natural by-product of the Westernisation brought about by British rule. Before that, music belonged to the temples and royal courts.

Of course, the violin too has its own colonial cousins like the viola, clarionet, mandolin, and so on. And the concert format took a quantum leap when for the first time in its history it was abridged and packaged in the last century to suit audiences lacking the attention span of their predecessors who could sit through five-hour concerts involving the expansive treatment of a handful of ragas.

The present concert format known as the Ariyakudi formula, after the late Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar who conceived it, is well known to Carnatic music aficionados. This formula has worked for more than 50 years, but could soon be undergoing major changes, with some of our leading musicians beginning to tinker with its basic structure. Today, the standard concert coexists with experiments like fusion, jugalbandi, and thematic concerts. Coffee, too, was a foreign influence.

Carnatic music’s future seemed a little uncertain some 20 years ago, but tremendous support from the Indian diaspora has made it a thriving, vibrant movement, with several foreign-born Indians showing the dedication and promise to equal domestic talent. The result has been a dramatic change in the lifestyles of musicians. It is now seen as a viable career option, even though the early years are still very uncertain.

We all know how cricket has evolved in the subcontinent. From a fairly somnolent pastime of spin doctors, maiden overs, straight drives and the defensive forward block, it first changed post-1983 (when India won the World Cup for the first time) into a faster, more aggressive game of fast bowling, acrobatic fielding, coloured clothing, floodlights and attacking batsmanship. In recent years, with the advent of T20 cricket, it has been completely transformed into a dramatic spectacle of thrills and spills, reverse sweeps, switch-hits, the dilscoop and cheerleaders.

Cricket coaching and mentoring have undergone a seachange, with video technology a key component of the process of learning and course correction in the career of a cricketer. Several coaching academies, including specialised institutions like the MRF Pace Foundation, have helped spread the game far and wide.

We old timers, however, have fond memories of the BS Nets organised by the TNCA, where great coaches like A.F. Wensley, T.S. Worthington, both pros from England, our own beloved A.G. Ram Singh and K.S. Kannan made a huge impact on our cricket.

And coffee? It is still an essential part of the lives of Carnartic musicians and cricketers of Chennai; only it has moved out of Udipi restaurants to new age coffee shops, where you are as likely to run into jet-setting, tech-savvy bhagavatars as the trendy cricketers of the new generation.

What is the future of cricket, Carnatic music and coffee in Chennai? I had the pleasure of watching the recent Oval Test in London, where a friend asked me, “When did you last have a full house for a Test match in India?” I was happy to inform him that we continue to get excellent crowds for a Test match at Chepauk. Likewise, the December season of music, when music lovers from all corners of the planet descend here, is living proof that Carnatic music is alive and kicking, for all the popularity of A.R. Rahman and Beyonce. And as for coffee, you can still get a cup of good old ‘digiri’ coffee side by side with the fancier Capuccinos and Lattes so popular today.

(Concluded)