Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi had the refined ease of someone who was born into a life of generational privilege. There was a studied lack of hurry both in his demeanor and the way he spoke. Both had to do with the subconscious presumption that those engaging him socially or professionally thought it important to let him finish.
I interviewed Tiger, as he was popularly known, for about a couple of hours in the early 1990s at his family residence in New Delhi. Normally, I would recall at least some part of my conversations, often verbatim, with those whom I met as a journalist. In Pataudi’s case what I remember mostly are impressions.
He wore what seemed like a white Lakhnavi kurta and churidar. The kurta had a very subtle chikan embroidery. His living room had understated elegance of someone whose wealth was incidental to his social standing. As the title that unobtrusively tailed his name, Nawab of Pataudi, suggested he was also someone used to being deferred to and feted simply for who he was.
There was no question that he was an insistently handsome man, but like many who are good looking and born to privilege he did not assert that part of his personality. Somehow it seemed perfectly fitting that a scion of one of India’s many so-called royal families would be educated at Oxford and play cricket, and play it very well. As a young teenager I did see Pataudi in action in Jamnagar in Gujarat for what I remember to be a friendly, festive encounter between two teams. When he walked onto the ground with his shirt collars casually upturned and first couple of buttons undone, I thought that was the only way for a man to walk, other than when he was not walking like Dev Anand or John wayne.
Pataudi’s attitude as a batsman was that of someone who was mildly irritated that the bowler had the gumption to not only bowl but even believe that he could get him out. If his stance at the crease said anything in one sentence, it seemed to tell the bowler, “Give me your best and see what I do to it.” Contrary that pugnacity of his stance Tiger could be an extremely elegant player to watch.
It seemed inevitable when Tiger was appointed captain of India’s cricket team at 21, the youngest ever in the world. He captained the team in 40 matches, nine of which he won, which as a winning habit goes was not particularly remarkable. However, the fact that he led India to its first Test series win overseas against New Zealand in 1968 cemented his reputation as the best Indian captain for a long time. Ironically although unquestionably a natural born cricketer, Tiger’s statistical record does not offer a ringing endorsement of his reputation. In 46 matches, he scored 2,793 runs with six centuries and 16 half centuries with a batting average of 34.91. That could be because in his time much less cricket was played unlike today when it is played throughout the year.
In Tiger’s passing, India has seen the end of arguably the country’s most charismatic cricketer whose single biggest contribution to Indian cricket was injecting the belief in the country’s cricketing DNA that it could win if it chose to win.
