|
| A
fine keeper and a good man |
Hyderabad
Blues |
 P Krishnamurti of Hyderabad was for a while India’s top wicket-keeper, good enough to play all five Tests in the 1971 tour of the West Indies, as a member of Ajit Wadekar's triumphant team. Unfortunately, Murti never played in an official Test match again, at least partly because his keeping began to deteriorate soon afterwards.
Murti was one of my early friends in Hyderabad cricket; only he was my mentor and admirer as well, though I was never in any doubt that the admiration was rarely deserved. But for timely interventions by Murti, I would never have enjoyed the success I did as a cricketer.
When I joined the State Bank of India Hyderabad cricket team in July 1971, Krishnamurti was in the Caribbeans on that historic tour. When he came back, he and his teammate on that tour, medium pacer Govindraj, who was also the new State Bank captain, were given a heroes’ welcome at Hyderabad, but unlike today, all the celebrations did not translate to monetary rewards. Once the celebrations died down and the two India players joined the rest of the bank team at nets, my own bowling was met with a mixed reception. Govind did not think too highly of it, at least he thought the other off spinner G Mohan was a better bowler, while Krishnamurti was convinced I was good enough to play for India one day! He told me so constantly and egged me on to work harder and harder. Wherever he went he spoke to people about my bowling talent, and soon a number of important cricketers started taking notice of me. One of these was Syed Abid Ali, who came to our nets, watched me bowl and straightaway adopted me as his protégé.
Yet for all the active canvassing Murti, Nagesh, Abid, Sultan Salim and other well-wishers did on my behalf, my career was getting nowhere, especially, with the captain unimpressed. It took a couple of years for Govind to be convinced of my value to the team, and by the time I began taking wickets regularly for the bank and being noticed by the state selectors I was already 27, not exactly the age to start your first-class career.
It was around this time, that my determination to make it in cricket began to flag a little. One morning, I reported for a local league fixture wearing, a thin pair of Bata keds, hardly the kind of footwear for serious cricket. One look at my shoes, and Murti was livid with anger. “What do you mean by turning up for a match looking like a G division player, when next week you are going to play in Moin-ud-Dowla?” he ticked me off in style. Though dumbfounded by the ferocity of his attack, I still retained enough alertness to ask, what did he mean I was going to play Moin-ud- Dowla?
That such an unlikely scenario actually unfolded just the way Murti told it, is part of my own cricket story, and I tell it here merely to show how, hardly a year older than I was, the wicket-keeper took an almost paternal interest in my career. For years afterwards, Murti remained my friend and guide, unswerving in his loyalty. To my eternal regret, Murti and another dear friend Chandran, were on the other side of an unpleasant divide in Hyderabad cricket around 1979-80, and I said a few things to them which must have hurt and disappointed them. Though I did apologise to them, and we remained friends afterwards, I could never get over my feeling of guilt over that unhappy interlude. Unfortunately, both Murti and Chandran are no more today.
 As I said before, Murti became a bit careless about his wicket-keeping after his return from the West Indies, and this was reflected in his performances in first-class cricket. His batting however flourished and he played some delightful innings for Hyderabad, especially when the chips were down. A hundred against Karnataka was memorable, but truly scintillating was his 127 for Hyderabad XI against Andhra Bank in the Gold Cup, during which he mauled the off-spin of Test bowler Venkataraghavan.
Even during this period of relative decline, Krishnamurti had patches of brilliance. His work behind the stumps on a tour of Sri Lanka was outstanding. In one of the Tests, he kept with a broken finger and kept superbly to pace and spin alike, even standing up to the sharp pace of Pandurang Salgaonkar, and bringing off breathtaking legside stumpings.
As it happens so often in Indian cricket, Murti was caught in behind-the-scenes politics and he was invariably the victim. As this coincided with a fall in his wicket-keeping standards and the emergence of the brilliant young wicket keeper from Karnataka, Syed Mujtaba Hussain Kirmani, the Hyderabadi’s career came to a premature end. Drinking, personal tragedy and the resultant depression took a heavy toll on this fine representative of Hyderabad cricket. His friends will however always remember his good nature and the glow of his undoubted talent .
Also by the author: Chennai
Chat, Curdrice Cricket
Profile of V. Ramnarayan
|
