Memorable moments : An evening with Chandra

“How did it go?” asked my son raising his face from his laptop with a grin.

“Did they accept your invitation?” asked my dear wife as I sat down with them in the living room after having just finished my conversation with Chandra’s son on the phone outside.

“I have given my best shot,” I said, aimlessly fingering my iPhone.

“Give the phone to me, I can convince them in seconds,” condescended my wife.

“We still have time,” I said hiding my self-doubts , “Chandra’s son told me that he will get back in a couple of hours after talking to his father.”

“I wouldn’t bet on appa’s communication skills,” remarked my silver tongued son.

True, outside of home they only see me converse dryly at drab desi parties and their skepticism was understandable. However they had not heard the passionate appeal I had made a few minutes ago while persuading Chandra for a meeting. I was feeling I couldn’t have done any better. I also knew I couldn’t be too sure of the outcome.

Time would tell, in two more hours!

A dash of nostalgia!

Before I go any further I must answer, why this affection and reverence for Chandra? Why not for, say, Tendulkar? What is it about Chandra? Why should the mere mention Chandra's name kindle such nostalgic warmth?

“It was our age, then, guru,” explained my chaddi buddy and philosopher Pandu from Bangalore while I was running and simultaneously talking to him over the phone. “Chandra symbolized our childhood . He crept into our awareness just around the time when we first started becoming aware of ourselves.” Our primary source of amusement then revolved around telling each other stories and fantasizing about idols like Chandra, Gundappa and Rajkumar – stories that we had gathered from cricket commentaries, newspapers and tabloids. That also explains why I don’t quite feel the same way about later year super stars. I mean to say, if someone came and told me, “Hey, guess what?! Tendulkar is in town! Want to come?” my immediate reaction would be an indifferent “good for him..I would rather do my laundry” (“good for him” is what you say here when you also mean “..and I couldn’t care less”).

However with Chandra it was different. The first time I saw Chandra was in the early 1970s when I was 12 or 13 years. My father had taken me and my brother for a Ranji trophy match in Bangalore. It was the first ever match we saw at a cricket stadium. Those were the days when appa used to be given passes for the best seats in the stadium – inside the pavilion next to the ramp over which the teams walked to get to their dressing rooms. I remember feeling mesmerized at the sight of the vast green field, the players in their classic whites, the umpires and the animated sea of people. I remember holding appa’s hands as the three of us edged in a single file towards our seats. I remember feeling a trifle disappointed as Karnataka was put to field having lost the toss against rivals Tamil Nadu.

And I vividly remember the moment when Chandra was called in to bowl. To mark the start of his run up, he would first take nine steps from the crease, hop on the tenth one and then scratch a line on the ground with his foot. I remember the thunderous clapping of the forty plus thousand crowd to the springing steps of his run up as he unleashed his deadly googlys from his polio powered wrist.Loki, another childhood friend of mine, reminded me of a time in high school when we had bunked classes to watch a match at KSCA. Yes, it all came back! We had relished the sakkare hoLige and chitra anna from our lunch boxes that was meant to be eaten at school! We watched Chandra rip the visiting team’s batting and Karnataka winning. The match ended early in the afternoon and we knew going home early would mean tedious explanations and trouble. We headed back to school confident of slipping into our class room unnoticed. That however was not to be. A Kannada teacher, a sadist by the name of Seethamma was giving a dictation to the class, and caught us red handed when we were in the act of invisibly entering the class room. Still continuing to dictate with the book in her left hand, she walked towards us with a ruler in her right hand. The entire class turned towards us as two sharp whips landed on our out stretched palms.

Our childhood soon became a thing of the past, but Chandra stayed back in our hearts. Thereafter I have followed the ups and downs of Chandra’s career and life. In 1979 when he decided to retire, I even wrote a poem (a sonnet to merit!) “Come back Chandra!”, had it neatly typed at our neighbour’s office, and sent it to Deccan Herald for publication in their Sunday edition (and it didn’t get published; I looked for it for several Sundays). In the early 1990s he was devastated by a terrible road accident ("One moment I was on my Lambreta scooter and the next moment I was rolled over and came under the wheels of a truck"). I remember watching a Doordarshan special on him; the program ended with the heart wrenching sight of Chandra on a wheel chair, accompanied by Mukesh’s jane kahan gaye who din in the background. He was later to make a trip to the US for his leg surgery and we had organized a fund collection drive at our workplace in Pune.

I must see Chandra!

I have for long cherished the dream of being able to meet my childhood idols Chandra and Vishwanath in person, at least once. I expressed my desire recently to my friend Deepak Haladipur, a renowned ENT surgeon who claims to see Vishwanath from time to time in his professional capacity. He said pretentiously, “oh, that is easy, I can arrange that,” and did nothing.

Some weeks ago while at New Hampshire for my son’s graduation I learnt that Chandra would be attending the Kannada Koota sports event in San Jose the same day. I was going to miss this golden opportunity! As I saw the proud facebook updates of those fortunate who attended the event, I became possessed by a strange determination. I must see Chandra! I must find out with whom he staying. I must meet him at any cost!

I wriggled out of my comfort zone to do something completely against my private and reserved nature – I frantically reached out to the organizers. I called all the known Kannada Koota pillars. I didn’t hear from any of them for several days. I wouldn't give up. I left voice mails and texted reminders. Finally it was Raghu Halur, bless him, who delivered the goods. He told me that Chandra was staying with his son, gave his number, and cautioned, “they are private people and were very reluctant first. I have told about you. All the best!” I thanked Raghu profusely and lost no time in contacting Chandra’s son Nitin (Wow! Nitin is also Mukesh’s son’s name!)   Nitin asked if a telephone conversation with Chandra would suffice. I politely refused and insisted that I must see him. He said he will talk to his father and call me back in a couple of hours.

I didn’t have to wait that long. The phone rang soon after. I rushed out to the front yard where the signal wouldn’t fail me. Nitin said Chandra would be happy to come!

I asked him, with my heart beating fast, how about dinner at my place? Yes! Would next Sunday be OK? Perfect! However, added Nitin, please understand that my father is a private person, he is not comfortable with too many people around, no large crowds.

I explained, I too am like your father, averse to large parties, and assured him to keep the gathering small. I asked him, does Chandra have any dietary restrictions? Onions, OK? Was there any dish that Chandra particularly disliked? Nitin said, nothing of that sort, my father will enjoy whatever is your family’s favorite.

So Chandra was coming home for dinner! He will be relishing my trademark sambar! How surreal! I looked jubilantly at my son and wife and asked them, you weren’t prepared to bet on my persuasion skills? Forsooth!

My son said, appa, I have never seen you so excited! I said, son, how would you feel if your Kobe Bryant was coming to your place? He understood.