For over 150 years, Kent had been renowned for producing high-quality cricket balls, with firms like Dukes and Alfred Reader leading the industry. These balls were not only used domestically but also exported to countries like Australia and India.

In the April of 1914, cricket ball makers in Tonbridge, Kent, went on strike, demanding a wage increase of five shillings per dozen balls. The workers, who were engaged in this industry and were considered highly skilled, earned only about 30 shillings per week, a wage that was deemed insufficient by the workers.

The strike was led by the Amalgamated Society of Cricket Ball Makers, a union that played a crucial role in advocating for workers’ rights in the industry.

The strike garnered considerable attention from both the public and media, with many sympathetic to the workers’ cause. Editorials in major newspapers supported the strikers, emphasizing cricket’s popularity and urging for a resolution to avoid disruption during the summer months.

After several weeks of negotiation, an agreement was reached between the union and the manufacturers, averting a potential cancellation of the cricket season. However, this resolution was short-lived, as the outbreak of World War I in August 1914 led to a halt in first-class cricket across England, Australia, and other nations involved in the conflict.

After the war, the Amalgamated Society of Cricket Ball Makers continued to advocate for workers’ rights. But the industry began to decline as manufacturing moved to lower-wage countries like India and Pakistan. Strikes continued to occur, such as in 1930 and 1953, but the industry’s heyday was coming to an end.

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In India's first innings of the fifth Test, Vishwanath walked in at 221 for 4. He had already played a gritty knock of 75 in the last Test in Kanpur, a marathon innings that lasted for 4 hours. Having found his rhythm and confidence, Vishwanath continued to bat with authority and eye-pleasing shots that went on to became the hallmark of his batting.

As he entered the nervous 90's, Tony Grieg walked up to Vishwanath and in a moment of candidness told him that "he would be up to something" when Vishwanath reaches the three figure mark.

Vishwanath may have been anxious but Grieg was absolutely certain. As the summit was scaled, Grieg lifted Vishwanath and cradled him like a baby.

The contrast was irresistible - Greig, at six-feet-six, hoisting the compact Vishwanath off his feet and rocking him gently, as the crowd roared its approval. Later when Grieg scored a century in the same match, Gavaskar conspired with Vishy to lift Grieg and return the compliment. The duo attempted only to realize that the big boy was a no-match for them.

It was cricket at its most joyous, rivalry giving way to pure, unrehearsed camaraderie. The century also carried statistical significance. It was Vishwanath's second Test hundred, and in scoring it, he became the first Indian player to score a century after having scored one on Test debut.

Though it would be unfair to assess Vishy’s genius through centuries or landmarks, the Brabourne century thus stood as further confirmation of what India had already begun to sense: that in Vishwanath, they had a batsman of rare and enduring class.

On this February afternoon in Bombay, he gave the crowd everything - runs, beauty, and a moment of pure theatre, courtesy of a giant Englishman who knew genius when he saw it.

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The year was 1962, and India’s touring cricketers were already in trouble before they had faced a single ball. Injuries had ravaged the squad, and the mood was tense when, at a cocktail party on the eve of the tour game against Barbados, West Indies captain Frank Worrell pulled the Indian camp aside with a quiet word of warning.

Charles Griffith, Worrell told them, was not a man to be trifled with. He was crude and hostile, the kind of bowler who once struck an eighteen-year-old batsman on the head and walked away without so much as a glance back. His advice was blunt: better to get out than to get hit.

Nobody in the Indian dressing room knew just how prophetic those words would prove to be.

The Making of a Captain

Nari Contractor had not arrived at the captaincy by accident. Since his Test debut in 1955, he had steadily built a reputation as a technically sound and temperamentally strong batsman. An assured 81 at Lord’s in 1959, followed by a composed century at home against Australia later that year, had cemented his place in the side. When he was named captain, he became the youngest man to hold the role in Indian cricket at that time.

His finest hour as a leader came in 1961-62, when he guided India to a historic series victory over England on home soil. It was a triumph that raised expectations for the West Indies tour that followed. What lay ahead, however, was something no preparation could have anticipated.

Into the Lion’s Den

The West Indies of the early 1960s were a formidable side, and touring their backyard was an exercise in endurance for any opposition. For Contractor’s injury-depleted squad, it was something closer to ordeal. India were routed in the first two Tests by enormous margins, and the captain himself struggled with the bat. By the time the tour match against Barbados arrived, the side was running on fumes.

Contractor had not been due to play. But with the injury list growing by the day, he had no choice but to take the field.

Barbados possessed a fearsome attack: Wes Hall, George Rock, and the man Worrell had warned them about - Charlie Griffith. The home side batted first and piled up 394. Then it was India’s turn.

The Delivery That Changed Everything

From the non-striker’s end, Rusi Surti watched Contractor face up to Griffith and grew increasingly uneasy. The action didn’t look right. He leaned over and warned his captain that Griffith appeared to be throwing the ball. Contractor, focused and composed at the crease, told him not to be distracted and report it to the umpire if he thought it necessary.

The next delivery never reached the bat.

Griffith’s ball struck Contractor on the head, just behind the right ear. He crumpled to the ground instantly, blood pouring from his nose and ears. The crowd fell silent. He was stretchered off and rushed to hospital, where a local surgeon operated immediately to stabilise him before a neurosurgeon could be brought in.

Decades later, Contractor revealed to journalist Rajdeep Sardesai - in his book Democracy’s XI, the reason he never picked up the ball. When Griffith ran in to bowl, a window had opened in a dark room behind the bowler’s arm. The sudden flood of light blinded him at the critical moment. He never saw the delivery that would end his international career.

Blood Donors and Brotherhood

Back at the ground, the match continued. Many of the players did not yet know the full gravity of what had happened.

Contractor had lost dangerous amounts of blood. Teammates with matching blood groups stepped forward to donate. This included the likes of Chandu Borde, Bapu Nadkarni, and Polly Umrigar. But the most moving gesture came from the opposition. Frank Worrell, the man who had tried to warn Contractor just days earlier, quietly rolled up his sleeve and gave his blood too.

That evening, after stumps were drawn, Griffith made his way to the hospital to check on the man he had felled.

For six long days, Contractor drifted in and out of consciousness. When he finally came round, the relief in the ward was palpable. The incident sent shockwaves across the cricket world, triggering widespread calls for bouncers to be banned from the game.

Contractor himself would have none of it. “I wouldn’t like to create a situation,” he said, “where anybody could point a finger at me and say: because he was hit, he’s a crybaby.”

A 21-Year-Old Steps Up

India’s tour did not stop. With their captain hospitalised, vice-captain Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi, just twenty-one years old, was thrust into the breach. He became India’s youngest ever Test captain, inheriting a side already 2–0 down and still reeling from the trauma of watching their leader fall. India would go on to lose the series 5–0.

The Legacy of Worrell’s Kindness

Worrell’s act of generosity at the hospital was never forgotten. Every year on February 3rd, Frank Worrell Day is observed in West Bengal, where the Cricket Association of Bengal organises a blood donation drive in his memory - a small but meaningful tribute to a man who, in a moment of human crisis, set aside all sporting rivalry.

The irony is painful: Worrell, who gave his blood to save a rival, would die of leukaemia at just forty-two years old.

The Comeback That Wasn’t

Nari Contractor’s courage in the months that followed was remarkable. Barely ten months after nearly losing his life, he was back in domestic cricket. He harboured genuine hope of reclaiming his India place.

It never came. He was never selected again.

His story remains one of cricket’s great what-ifs - a career interrupted not by age or form, but by a ball he simply never saw coming.

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However, there was another side to it. Their own cricket ability, good or bad, was of little relevance. Instead, it was their financial strength and connections that paved the way for them to assert their supremacy, even in cricketing matters.

Patiala vs Vizzy: A Rivalry Beyond the Boundary

It was against this backdrop that animosity between the Maharaja of Patiala and Vizianagaram peaked, especially after the formation of BCCI in 1928. Even though Patiala was richer and more skilled as a cricketer, ‘Vizzy’ was driven by his ambition to captain India.

He succeeded in drafting a star-studded side composed of Herbert Sutcliffe and Jack Hobbs for a tour in 1931 - no easy feat by any means. In response, Patiala arranged the training for England’s tour of 1932 at Bardari Palace in Patiala and also offered to sponsor the tour.

Vizzy looked to strengthen his position in the power dynamics. He had an amicable relationship with the then Viceroy, Lord Willingdon and offered to donate a ‘golden’ Willingdon trophy to winners of India’s national championship in 1934. Patiala blocked his attempts by donating a similar trophy but in the honor of RanjitSinghji, one that continues to be played to this day. However, Vizzy was relentless and his continuous interplay of politics and sport ultimately reaped benefits in 1936, when he was chosen the captain for the tour of England.

Chaos in England

As soon as the team landed on English shores, Vizzy’s arrogance and abject understanding of the game wreaked havoc. He once bribed an opposition player to bowl him full tosses and weaker deliveries so that he could score runs. That he was a substandard player was no revelation. However, his leadership drew sharp criticism even from his own teammates, who asked him to step down and make way for Nayudu to be appointed captain.

This left Vizzy infuriated. He made Baqa Jilani insult Nayudu at the breakfast table prior to the third test in return for a test cap. His feud with Lala Amarnath had far-reaching consequences for Indian cricket.

The Lala Amarnath episode

The confrontation began over field placements during a tour match but later escalated when Amarnath was demoted in the batting order and forced to bowl and field despite severe back pain. Vizzy would ask Amarnath to pad up and not send him to bat until the end of the day, which once prompted an intense outburst from Amarnath.

The team manager, Britten Jones, consequently charged Amarnath with indiscipline. Notwithstanding the team’s chances on the tour, Vizzy and Britten Jones conspired to have their best all-rounder sent back home midway through the tour.

Another reason for this envy was Amarnath’s closeness to the Maharaja of Patiala, a long standing-rival of Vizzy. Despite his impressive performances, Amarnath was treated with utmost disdain and insensitivity. Vizzy used all his political strength to ensure Amarnath did not return to the side.

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The Vijay Merchant–Mushtaq Ali incident

The skirmishes within the team kept growing but Vizzy was not one to bow down. The next victim of his insanity was Vijay Merchant. During the second test, he instigated Syed Mushtaq Ali to run Vijay Merchant out and offered him a gold watch as a reward.

Imagine the captain of a team doing this!

Ali, however, spoke to Merchant about Vizzy’s scheme and the duo strung a mammoth 203-run partnership, denying Vizzy his share of off-the-field success.

A Ruined Tour and a Tainted Legacy

To say Vizzy’s ego-filled captaincy stint ruined the prospects of a talented team wouldn’t be wrong. This is evident from the fact that India won the third and only Test of the tour in his absence, which he had to miss in order to receive his knighthood. He did accomplish his dream of playing for India and captaining the side. However, his disastrous campaign meant this was all he had to show for his international career.

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At the heart of this triumph stood Mulvantrai Himmatlal “Vinoo” Mankad, a name that would forever be intertwined with Indian cricket’s rise. A cunning and intelligent bowler, Mankad was a master of flight and subtle variation, forever probing the batter’s uncertainty.

In the Madras Test he took 12 wickets, orchestrating England’s downfall almost single-handedly. Over the course of the series, he collected 34 wickets and scored 223 runs, a thunderous all-round performance that confirmed his status as a world-class match-winner. Yet, even as his star blazed brightly, fate was preparing a cruel twist.

Clash with the Board and the Haslingden contract

The next challenge lay in the summer of 1952: a daunting tour of England, the land of India’s former colonizers, and a graveyard for many visiting sides. Given his exploits in the 1951–52 series and his success on the 1946 tour, Mankad’s place in the squad seemed beyond question. Or so he believed. As trial matches for the tour were being held in India, Mankad was already in England, having received a lucrative offer from Haslingden, a club in the Lancashire League.

In such circumstances, Mankad demanded an assurance from the BCCI that he would be guaranteed selection in all tests if he goes on to rescind his contract with the Haslingden. The Board offered no such promise, leaving his request unanswered.

Faced with uncertainty, Mankad signed with Haslingden. The Board and the selection committee were left furious and chose not to include Mankad in the side, decreeing that “India can produce a dozen spinners like him.” Thus began one of the most notorious chapters in the long, uneasy history of player–board conflict in Indian cricket.

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India’s disastrous start to the 1952 tour

On the field, the cost of that decision became painfully clear. Under Vijay Hazare’s captaincy, India walked into the first Test of the 1952 tour without their premier all-rounder. The fearsome new-ball pair of Alec Bedser and Fred Trueman tore through India’s batting, and in the second innings reduced them to an almost unimaginable 0 for 4.

England wrapped up the match with a seven-wicket victory, and the humiliation, compounded by injuries within the squad, forced a rethink. Captain Hazare and team manager Pankaj Gupta reached out to Haslingden, pleading for Mankad’s release for the remainder of the series.

The recall: from Lancashire League to Lord’s

Initially, the club was reluctant to let go of their prized professional. It took the intervention of Sir Herbert Merrett, a Welsh businessman and President of Glamorgan County Cricket Club, to break the deadlock. At his urging, Haslingden eventually agreed to release Mankad. He was drafted into the Indian side for the second Test at Lord’s - reportedly against the wishes of the BCCI, who now had to watch as the player they had spurned returned to the national fold on foreign soil.

“Mankad’s Test”: batting masterclass at the home of cricket

Lord’s, the game’s grandest stage, became Mankad’s personal theatre. In the first innings, he produced a gritty 72, steadying India and hinting at what was to come. In the second innings, he rose to something near mythic: a majestic 184 out of India’s total of 378, batting with a blend of defiance and authority that left spectators in awe.

With the ball, he added a five-wicket haul in the first innings, completing one of the most remarkable all-round performances the ground had ever witnessed. Such was his dominance that the match passed into history as “Mankad’s Test,” a rare instance in world cricket where a game is remembered almost entirely for one cricketer’s performance. For Vinoo Mankad, it was a moment of destiny - he had made his Test debut at the same venue six years earlier and now he owned it.

Yet even this extraordinary display could not alter India’s fate in the series. Despite Mankad’s heroics, India lost the Lord’s Test and eventually the series as well. He returned to Haslingden and continued to excel, his value to the club undiminished. But the scars of his treatment by his own Board ran deep; the lack of faith and respect from cricket’s powerbrokers left him disheartened and demoralized.

Still, Mankad refused to let bitterness define him. He continued to serve India with distinction in the years that followed, crafting a legacy that would outlast administrators and controversies alike.

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Having missed the first Test because of a painful whitlow, Gavaskar finally walked into international cricket in the second Test at Port of Spain. On 12, attempting an elegant drive, he offered a chance that West Indies captain Garfield Sobers put down.

From that reprieve, Gavaskar crafted a fluent 65. This was one of the many field lapses by the home team that aided Gavaskar in his dream run. He followed that first knock with another composed half-century in the second innings, as if he had always belonged on that stage.

By the third Test, Gavaskar was dismantling the West Indian attack with unnerving composure. Yet even he was not immune to nerves, and at one tense moment he popped up a simple catch off Jack Noreiga.

Only a last-minute field change saved him. Had the fielder not been moved just before that delivery, Gavaskar’s story that day might have ended in despair instead of glory. Buoyed by that stroke of fortune, the Little Master marched on to his maiden Test century.

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Garfield Sobers had a cherished ritual of greeting opposition players before a match, and he frequently wandered into the Indian dressing room. Struggling through a lean patch, the great man one day walked up to Gavaskar and in a seemingly casual gesture, laid a hand on him, as though hoping to siphon off a little of the young opener’s charmed fortune. As fate would have it, the magic worked as Sobers ended up scoring three consecutive centuries.

India entered the final Test 1–0 up, the series poised for a dramatic climax. The West Indies needed 262 runs on the last day to win the Test and square the series, a target that seemed well within reach for a line‑up led by Sobers. As was his habit, the West Indies captain set off on his pre‑match tour of the Indian dressing room, ready to exchange pleasantries and perhaps brush shoulders with fortune once more.

But this time, Ajit Wadekar, India’s shrewd and superstitious captain, had other ideas. Fearing that another touch of Gavaskar might gift Sobers yet more runs, he locked his star opener in the washroom, determined that the West Indies giant would not lay a finger on him that morning.

Gavaskar protested as he had to pad up but Wadekar was adamant. Sobers could not meet Gavaskar that morning in the dressing room. Call it miracle, mind game, or mere superstition, but what followed has passed into folklore. Sobers strode out to begin the chase and was dismissed first ball for a duck by Abid Ali, the great champion cut down in an instant.

Wadekar’s gamble had paid off, and with Sobers gone, India surged towards a historic triumph. As the final West Indian wicket fell and India sealed the series, an entire nation exulted, not just in a victory overseas, but in a story where luck, belief, and nerve had intertwined to script history.

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After taking guard, Jones walked up to umpire Terry Prue with an unusual request. Prue turned to Ambrose and asked him to remove the white wristband from his right hand. Ambrose was bowling with the white ball, and Jones complained that the wristband made it hard to pick up the release. The six-feet-eight Antiguan already had a reputation as a terrifying proposition; the request sent a murmur through the ground.

Ambrose would not budge. The umpires could not sway him either. In the end, captain Richie Richardson had to step in and convince his spearhead to take the wristband off. At the other end, Mark Taylor struggled to understand what Jones had just set in motion. Now it was no longer just Jones versus Ambrose; the entire West Indies side wanted a piece of him.

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What followed was pure carnage. Ambrose grew quicker, meaner, and more menacing after the confrontation. “The next three deliveries were probably the quickest I ever faced!” Jones would later say.

Jones had intended to get under Ambrose’s skin; instead, he lit a fire. Ambrose later recalled:

“I was really upset with him and I told myself I’m going to make it damn hard for him. I’m really going to rough him up. I wasn’t going to hurt him, but I was going to make him uncomfortable.”

Ambrose wreaked havoc on Australia, finishing with figures of 5 for 32. Australia lost both the match and series.Jones admitted it was a serious lapse in judgment, one that hurt not just him but his team. He never tried a stunt like that again. In later years, he and Ambrose would laugh about the moment, but the episode stayed with Jones for the rest of his life.

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“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves”.

Let’s go back to Melbourne, 1873 to make sense of this statement. Albert Trott was born. He burst into Test cricket for Australia in 1895 and left such an impression that the England captain called him “one of the finest cricketers Australia has ever produced.”

The crowd rewarded him not with riches but with a few guineas and a loaf of bread. In the three Tests he played for Australia, he averaged 102.50 with the bat. Australia cricket should have nurtured and taken care of him. But instead they let him go. Nobody knows why.

Even more cruel was his omission from an Australian side captained by his own brother, Harry Trott. There existed an opportunity of a shared dream but there was only a vacant spot. That rejection pushed Albert to look elsewhere for belonging.

A new home, a golden year

England became his refuge and his stage. After qualifying for Middlesex, Trott declared, “I shall make my home here,” and for a brief, blazing period, it felt like destiny finally agreed. In sport, there are years when a player becomes synonymous with the year they go beyond their limits and for Trott that year was 1899.

He completed the rare double of 1,000 runs and 200 wickets in a season, the mark of a complete all‑rounder. He launched a six off Monty Noble that famously cleared the Lord’s pavilion at Lord’s, was named a Wisden Cricketer of the Year, and followed up with a 10‑wicket haul against Somerset the very next season. A few years later, he produced a double hat‑trick against the same county, reinforcing the feeling that cricket had discovered its next enduring great.

Yet behind the numbers lurked a strange emptiness. For all his county heroics, Trott’s Test career stalled; neither England nor Australia chose to back him. The man who dominated for Middlesex found himself unwanted in the international arena, his destiny apparently rewritten in invisible ink.​

Glory without fame

Alcohol was his quiet antagonist. He “liked his drink a little too much,” and over time it crept into his bowling rhythm, fitness, and his life away from the ground. By 1902, weight and health issues had dulled his once-devastating bowling, and the aura of inevitability around his success began to fade.

As his form declined, so did his finances. Money grew scarce, and gambling worsened the damage. Cricket, once his sanctuary, started to drift out of reach, as if the game itself were stepping back from him.

Umpiring offered a fragile lifeline, a way to stay on the field even after his body betrayed him. But alcohol, nephralgia, and dropsy soon attacked this second career as well, stripping him of purpose and routine. He was sacked by Middlesex in 1910 and By 1911, even his wife and children deserted him.

Destiny, in one final act

Eventually, the suffering became more than he could bear. With his personal life shattered and his professional world gone, Albert Trott made the devastating decision to end his own life. He was just 41. The same hand that had once sent a cricket ball soaring over the Lord’s pavilion now held the pistol that ended his story.

He had written his will behind a laundry ticket, leaving behind his wardrobe and a sum of Pounds to his landlady. He was the last cricketer to have played for both Australia and England.

There is no single line that can neatly explain Trott, no tidy sentence that captures the man who climbed so high and fell so far. Still trying to make sense of Destiny? We all are. The fact remains there was no one like Trott.

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India, under British rule, had its very own domestic cricket competition which was immensely popular - The Pentangular. This story is about the tournament that shaped cricket culture in India, but remains largely forgotten.

The Parsi community was the first to adopt cricket in India, as a means to flourish in trade and increase their proximity to the British. The first Parsi club was the Orient cricket club established in 1848 and was funded by wealthy business houses such as the Tatas and the Wadias. Many more Parsi clubs were formed later ultimately leading to the establishment of the Parsi Gymkhana in 1885.

As Parsees gained proficiency in the sport, members of Hindu community also started playing the game. They demanded a separate club which promoted their interests. As a result, the first Hindu club, Union cricket club was formed in 1866. Another club, Hindu cricket club was established in 1877 which eventually led to the formation of Hindu Gymkhana in 1884.

Cricket among Muslim community was fostered by the wealthy and influential Lukmani and Tyabji families. A Muslim Cricket club was established in 1883 by the Tyabji family which was later classified as Islam Gymkhana in 1892. The game had quickly spread among the wider Indian population because of the formation of different Gymkhanas.

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The Bombay Gymkhana was formed in 1875 exclusively for the white community. Until now, the colonial masters did not encourage competing with the ruling class on the field. But the proficiency of Parsi cricket forced them to play against the Parsees. In 1892, a first class-match between the Europeans and Parsees was played and this Bombay Presidency match became an annual affair. Foundation for the Pentangular lies in this Bombay Presidency match.

Until now only Parsees competed with the British on the cricket field. This, however, changed in 1906, when the Hindu Gymkhana played their first match against Bombay Gymkhana. This is how the Triangular came into being in 1907, consisting of teams from Bombay Gymkhana, Hindu Gymkhana and Parsi Gymkhana.

It later turned into Quadrangular in 1912 with the joining of Muslim Gymkhana. The tournament became Pentangular in 1937 with the joining of the Rest team, consisting of Christians, Jews and Buddhists. The Pentangular was now the most desired place to be for any aspiring cricketer in India. It is also credited for turning cricket into an entertainment carnival from an elitist sport in India.

Bombay emerged as the centre of Indian cricket as all the Gymkhanas were based there. The Gymkhanas would hold trials to recruit the best talent from across the country. Matches attracted huge crowds, even to the extent that there was black marketing of tickets.

The Pentangular season not only became a part of the calendar but also the routine life of Indians. Newspapers were packed with match reports. Radio commentary was started to engage the public with latest match updates. All these developments further allowed the tournament to grow and prosper.

Despite being hugely popular, the Pentangular also faced criticism for to its communal and divisive nature. The campaign to abolish Pentangular intensified between 1930’s and 1940’s after the formation of the BCCI in 1928 and institution of region-based Ranji trophy competition in 1934. The tournament was ultimately abolished in 1946, but not before making cricket the lifeline of India.

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The format introduced a faster, more dynamic version of cricket designed to attract new fans and revitalize the sport. The rules were designed to favour the batters mostly. For starters, each innings lasted 10 overs of 8 balls each, significantly shorter than ODI matches.

The most innovative feature was the “Max Zone” - two 10-meter wide strips extending from the boundary behind the bowler’s end on both sides of the wicket. If a batter hit the ball into this zone, they scored double runs. And the batters cannot be dismissed in the Max Zone.

Wides gave 2 runs, which were added to the batter’s score. This was also the first time the “Free Hit” rule debuted in any form of cricket. The team composition was different too - 13 players per team consisting of: 3 batters, 2 allrounders, 3 bowlers, 1 wicketkeeper, 4 fielders. The initial games featured 4 stumps, no LBW and specialized roles for the players.

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Though Cricket Max was mostly played by domestic New Zealand teams in an annual tournament, Crowe managed to take the format international. The Max Blacks (NZ international team) played a three-match series against England Lions in 1997. They also played a fixture against India in 2002, which India lost by 13 runs.

The format faded into oblivion in 2002. While Crowe’s dream venture didn’t achieve long-term sustainability, it significantly influenced the evolution of cricket. Many of its concepts were precursors to innovations seen in T-20 cricket, which debuted in 2003 and went on to become hugely popular.

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The year was 1721. British sailors deployed on duty in India looked for a past time to manage their free hours. At Cambay port in Gujarat, these sailors started playing cricket among themselves as a form of recreation. The locals soon got wind of this foreign game and they were fascinated by seeing how the proceedings went. The dye was cast as the game appealed to Indian psyche.

Calcutta Cricket Club, the first in India, was established in 1792 - the same year cricket first appeared in Madras. However, it was only around 1825 when the game reached Bombay. Subsequently all the major ports started to develop into cricket hubs. These ports were later turned into presidencies in the British Raj.

Thus, the presidencies of Bombay, Madras, and Calcutta became the main hubs for cricket’s early development. However, the Bombay Presidency evolved most quickly, mainly due to the Parsi community. Until then, only Europeans played while native Indians watched from the outside. The 1830s marked the period when Indians finally took up the game. The Indian sepoys of the regiment based in Sylhet (which is now in Bangladesh) were the first Indians to properly take up cricket.

They played among themselves and with the British officers in the 1830’s. A report from the Indian Sporting magazine showered heaps of praise on the Indian soldiers for being more energetic in the game than their European counterparts. Soon, the sepoys in Barrackpore, Dum Dum, Agra and Cuttack embraced cricket enthusiastically. European officers were supportive too in encouraging the Indian sepoys in the game both as spectators and players.

The Parsi Fire

However, it was the Parsi community who saw a unique opportunity in cricket - to uplift themselves socially and economically. A community of fire-worshippers, Parsis were the first Indian community to embrace cricket devotedly. The reasons are not difficult to decipher: First, their strong desire to strengthen ties with the British Raj in anticipation of better trade opportunities. Second, to uplift themselves in the social hierarchy among the Indian communities.

Their journey was not glamorous though. They played on borrowed grounds, lacked proper equipment and faced jeers and refusals from the colonial masters. But they pressed on.

As more and more people started to play, the need was felt to coordinate and strengthen their efforts. This led to the formation of the Oriental Cricket Club in 1848. It was the first Indian cricket club (Calcutta cricket club, which happens to be the first club to be established in India in 1792, was founded by the British members).

The Oriental cricket club, however, was founded by the Parsis and hence is regarded as the first Indian cricket club. The Parsi businessmen saw an opportunity in cricket to become a vehicle of growth and hence decided to fund the Club.

However, it was dissolved and replaced by the Young Zoroastrian Club in 1850 (This club exists even today). Around 30 Parsi clubs were incorporated between 1850 and 1860, signifying the growth and rise of Parsi cricket. Seeing the tremendous growth of the sport among the Indians, Europeans established the Bombay Gymkhana in 1875.

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Membership of the club was limited to the white community only. The formation of these clubs and inter-club matches played a crucial role in spreading the game and strengthening existing talent to challenge the strong Europeans teams. The following year in 1876, a Parsee Cricket Club was established by a Parsi patron named Ardeshir Patel. This marked the beginning of elevation of Parsi cricket in India as it started to compete against strong European teams.

However, playing against the Europeans did not come easy for the Parsis. They were discriminated against on the basis of the color of their skin. Moreover, the Europeans were afraid to lose their superiority by playing against the native Indians whom they considered of inferior race.

The Parsis were adamant, making cricket a means to challenge English attitudes and authority. After many attempts by promoters of Parsi cricket, the European team competed in a match against the Parsi team in 1877 played at the Bombay Gymkhana ground. This match later became an annual event known as the Presidency Match.

The contest between Europeans and Parsis was later given the status of first-class match in 1892 and was further developed into a highly famous and controversial Pentangular tournament. The formation of Parsee cricket club in 1876 and the following match against the Europeans laid the foundation for the future tournaments and tours.

The following years after 1877 were not productive for Parsi cricket as they were involved in an ugly land dispute with the Europeans. They had to fight against the use of the ground by European polo players. This fight for a place to play might seem trivial but it was a direct attack on the colonial authority.

This meant that Indians were finally starting to realize how they have been victimized in their own country. And cricket gave them a suitable platform to do so. After the dispute was settled, Parsi Gymkhana was established in 1885 which became the epicenter of Parsi cricket.

The land to the Gymkhana was allotted in 1877 on Kennedy sea face by a government resolution on the same terms which applied to Bombay Gymkhana. This revolt of reclaiming the cricket ground from the colonizers was led by the Parsi social reformer and the secretary of Persian Cricket Club, Shapoorjee Sorabjee. Ardeshir Patel, the patron who formed the Parsee cricket club earlier, arranged for the first Indian cricket team tour of Britain in 1886. It was an all Parsi team.

This was done with the help of Charles Alcock who was the secretary of Surrey County Cricket club. The tour was affected by bad weather, injuries and poor performances as the team managed to win only one match and lost 19 out of the 28 they played. However, it was a matter of great pride that the tour was fully funded by the players themselves.

Pherozeshah Mehta, an emerging political leader and an eminent Indian of that time, expressed his views on the eve of the team’s departure:

"As artists go to Italy to do homage to the great masters, as pilgrims go to Jerusalem to worship at a shrine, so now the Parsees are going to England to do homage to the English cricketers, to learn something of that noble and manly pastime in the very country which is its chosen home."

His statement signifies the social and political importance of this tour as Indians were taking a next step in mastering the game.

Based on strong performances of Parsi cricketers against Bombay Gymkhana, another tour was organized in May 1888. It was led by supremely talented Pestonji Kanga and consisted of Parsi cricketers from clubs other than Parsee Cricket Club. This team did better than the team of 1886. They managed to win 8 and draw 11 out of the 31 matches they played.

M.E. Pavri took 170 wickets and was the top performer. In fact, Pavri has been referred to as the first great cricketer of India for his pioneering efforts and attention-grabbing performances.

Though both the tours were not successful as expected, they provided great international exposure to the native Parsi gentlemen.

This was just the beginning as the game was attracting people from other communities, classes and regions. The establishment of Pentangular marked a historic turn in the journey of cricket in India. (To be covered in a separate blog).

But the seeds of cultivation of cricket in India were sowed by the Parsi community and the teams that toured Britain.

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The decider at Kingston marked the return of an all pace attack by the West Indies, unleashing intimidating short-pitched bowling at the body of the Indian batters, even as the umpires stood still like a rock.

Bedi, fuming with indignation, made a decision that would echo through cricketing history - he surrendered the Test in protest. He felt that the hosts’ tactics were against the spirit of the game. This was the beginning of the many anti-authoritative and principled stands taken by Bedi, also the reason behind the infamous ‘Vaseline Affair’.

Later that year, the Tony Greig-led English side toured India and were scheduled to play five tests across the country. The first match in Delhi marked the Test debut for the 27-year-old Essex bowler John Lever. He had no idea what the series had in store for him.

Lever started off emphatically, picking up 7 for 46 in the first innings and 3 for 24 in the second innings. England were proving to be a tough proposition for the hosts as they cruised to easy victories in the first two tests.

The action moved to Madras for the third Test. On a surface Wisden termed as “one of the fastest produced in India for years”, England treated Indian bowlers with disdain, piling up 262 in the first innings. The left-arm medium fast bowler ferociously swung the ball and picked up 5 for 59 and India collapsed for a meagre 164.

But something strange caught the attention of the umpires before the Indian innings came to a close. Judah Reuben found a sticky gauze strip lying on the bowler’s run up. He discussed it with his fellow umpire, MS Sivasankariah and then brought it to the notice of respective captains.

Greig clarified that those were Vaseline strips, used by bowlers to prevent sweat from entering into their eyes. The weather in Madras is known to be extremely hot and humid. Almost comparable to a furnace. Willis and Lever were advised by the English team physio to stick Vaseline-impregnated gauzes on the forehead to avoid the trouble. But the strips kept slipping down. Also, sweat mixed with Vaseline made it difficult for the duo to grip the ball and hence they discarded the strips, which were then found by the umpire.

The umpires accused Lever of ball-tampering - the first of the many instances in international cricket. Bedi was quick in calling out Lever and Willis for “stooping so low”. He went so far ahead to remark that the ball was tampered with even in the Delhi Test, which was the reason for Lever’s excess swing. The umpires informed the BCCI and the match ball along with the gauze strip were sent for forensic analysis. In no time, the incident had taken the form of a major scandal.

The results affirmed the presence of Vaseline on the strips and also on the ball. The news spread like wildfire and the crowd at the stadium raised slogans in protest. Tony Greig, on the other hand, stood his ground that the act was not deliberate and criticized Bedi stating that “his disappointments in this series have clouded his judgement.”

The BCCI failed to come to a conclusion and referred the matter to the MCC in London, who accepted the reasoning given by Greig and the English team physio and put the controversy to rest. To add salt on the wounds, India lost that particular Test. Though the hosts managed to win the fourth test at Chinnaswamy and draw the final Test in Mumbai, the horrendous 3-1 crushing could not be avoided. Lever had a remarkable tour as he picked up 26 wickets at an average of 14.61 and strike rate of 34.5.

The aftermath of the controversy was not pleasant for the Indian skipper. The incident drew diverse opinions worldwide, some even calling out Bedi for using the incident as a cover-up for his poor performances. Bedi criticized the BCCI for not supporting him enough and faced repercussions for the same.

His long standing association with the English county Northamptonshire, for whom he was a devoted performer for six years, abruptly came to an end. His county contract was unceremoniously terminated.

But Bedi stood his ground, which later went on to define his personality as someone who put the game ahead of everything.

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Humble Beginnings

Young Baloo began by sweeping and rolling the pitch at a Parsi club for a measly Rs 3 per month. He then took a job in the Poona Club where his earnings increased to a humble Rupees 4, as he meticulously tended to the cricket pitch, erected the nets and selflessly bowled to the club’s privileged cricketers.

It was here that fate conspired to change his destiny. Captain Barton, a legendary slow left-arm spinner, spotted Baloo's raw potential and took him under his wing. Under Barton’s stern guidance, Baloo bowled relentlessly to the club’s members, building his strength, refining his craft and clinging to the only dream that sparkled in the shadows of poverty.

A left-arm spinner emerges

Poona Club’s captain, J.G. Grieg, famously called Jungly, recognized Baloo’s burgeoning talent. He summoned Baloo to the nets, an hour before dawn, challenging him for a reward of 8 annas each time Baloo could dismiss him. These early mornings of toil and hope shaped Baloo into a force of nature.

Before he knew it, the news of Baloo’s abilities reached the native clubs and cricketers. A local Hindu club who was looking to challenge the European team in Poona wanted his services. But they were caught in a dilemma due to his caste and social status. In a rare act of fairness, Jungly's public praise tipped the balance and the Hindu club summoned Baloo to battle alongside them.

His bowling helped Hindus defeat the Europeans. Baloo's bowling prowess was such that even English batters feared him. In a match in Satara, they had prepared the wicket to nullify his spin effect. But Baloo’s resolve only blazed brighter.

He took 7 wickets helping his team snatch victory. His triumph echoed so profoundly that he was paraded in glory, high upon an elephant. When he returned to Poona, he was felicitated by Mahadev Govind Ranade and was lauded by Bal Gangadhar Tilak at a public event.

Yet, beyond the boundary, the cruel realities of his birth never ceased to haunt him. While his teammates sipped tea in glazed porcelain cups, Baloo stood outside the pavilion, drinking from a humble clay matka.

Meals were eaten in isolation, on separate plates and tables; even the simple act of washing his face was a humiliation, as he depended on an ‘untouchable’ servant in the farthest corner of the field.

Palwankar Baloo derives his name from his village Palwan in Goa. Seeking respite and opportunity, he journeyed next to Bombay. The devastating plague in Poona and the allure of bigger cricketing stages led him there. He was recruited by the famous Parmanandas Jivandas Hindu Gymkhana. Once deemed untouchable, Baloo had turned the tide through his exploits as a slow left-arm spinner. M.E. Pavri, a pioneer of Parsi cricket and Baloo's opponent, praised him as one the best native bowlers and the “Wilfred Rhodes of India”.

Even royalty vied for his services. In one such royal face-off, the Maharaja of Natore asked Baloo to spearhead his side against the Maharaja of Jodhpur’s team - featuring the great Ranji himself. Baloo triumphed, dismissing Ranji for merely 20 runs. Their rivalry would be rekindled in later matches, where Baloo’s guile prevailed time and again.

The First All-India Tour of 1911

The pinnacle came in 1911, when Baloo was chosen for the all-India team’s England tour. The team played a total of 14 matches out of which they won 2, lost 10 and drew 2. Baloo amassed 114 wickets on the tour. Not only that, he picked up 5 wickets for 7 runs against Oxford, 4 wickets for 96 against the MCC and 8 wickets for 103 runs against Cambridge. What makes this performance even more remarkable is the fact that he was suffering from swelling on his shoulder during the tour and yet he managed to stamp his authority in alien conditions.

Needless to say, Baloo was the sole shining light on that tour. Baloo’s brilliance won international acclaim. English critic E.H.D. Sewell praised Baloo and said that his performance was exceptional and he would be the “first choice of any county team”.

Baloo was facilitated at an event where the welcome address was delivered by none other than B.R. Ambedkar. In 16 matches that Baloo played across the Bombay Quadrangular, Triangular and Presidency matches, he took 109 wickets, while also scoring 410 runs.

On July 4, 1955, Palwankar Baloo breathed his last, leaving behind more than statistics - a legacy of defiance, dignity, and hope. In a time when cricket was being played on communal lines, Baloo broke social barriers and gave Indian cricket an identity to be proud of.

And so, I close this story with the immortal words of A.F.S. Talyarkhan:

"It is our national misfortune that the young of today know nothing about the men who made Indian cricket much of what it is. Cricket will miss Baloo, but always remember him."

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Those were the days when the pitches were left uncovered, surrendering secrets to the rain. Surrey was bundled for 49 in the first innings. This motivated Brearley to think outside the box. Ian Gould and John Emburey took their guards to open for Middlesex. They were not the regular openers. Surrey sensed something wasn't right. And then, in a stroke that would echo through cricketing folklore, Brearley declared the Middlesex innings after just one ball - on zero.

Brearley later stated that he wanted to forfeit the first innings and save time. But he was bound by the rules, as this could only be done in a side's second innings. So they had to play that one ball.

Before Surrey could even wrap their heads around the declaration, the Middlesex bowlers wreaked havoc again. Save for a 24-run partnership between Geoff Arnold and Jack Richards, the Surrey batters struggled to make an impact on the scorecard.

Their innings ended on 89. Now, the real chase began. Middlesex needed 139 to win. Only 27 minutes and 20 mandatory overs remained. The pitch, cleansed by the earlier storms, suddenly became a batter’s ally. Middlesex's usual openers, Brearley and Smith, were back and set out on the thrilling chase.

The openers stitched a 101-run partnership, turning hope into certainty. Smith departed for a fighting 51. Clive Radley entered, the tension mounting as the clock ticked down. The finish line was in sight - could they reach it? With just 11 balls to spare, Radley and Brearley hurled Middlesex across the line.

Brearley starred with the bat and finished with an incredible 66. The declaration ploy had worked. The win ensured that Middlesex caught up with Kent in the County Championship table, and they eventually ended as joint winners. Brearley's act of tactical brilliance was a sign of what was to come, as he would later lead England to landmark Ashes series victories.

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The second test between New Zealand and South Africa was scheduled from December 24-29. On Christmas Eve, the Wellington-Auckland express plunged into the Whangaehu river at Tangiwai. One of the piers on the railway bridge over the river got damaged by a mudflow. The tragedy resulted in a death toll of 151. New Zealand fast-bowler Bob Blair’s fiancé Nerissa Love was among the people who perished.

Blair did not take the field the next day. The South Africans, relentless, unleashed a barrage of hostile bouncers. A vicious bouncer crashed into Chapple’s chest, knocking the breath from his body as the crowd gasped. Then walked in Bert Sutcliffe. If you are not aware, Sutcliffe was New Zealand's leading run-scorer then. He was against a 6 feet 3 inch tall Neil Adcock. He attempted to hook a short ball from Adcock but instead missed it, hitting him on the left ear.

Sutcliffe was rushed to the hospital. The next batter in, Lawrie Miller also fell prey to Adcocks’s sharp bouncer. He was rushed to the hospital as well. No one was spared from pain that day.

The score stood at 57-5. The tide started to turn when shocking the crowd, Miller walked out to bat. Bravely, he fought for his 14 runs. By the time the scoreboard read 81-6, New Zealand still needed 40 runs to avoid the follow-on. Then, through the hush, a bandaged Sutcliffe re-entered the arena - head swathed in white, spirit unbroken. The stadium froze, then thundered applause.

Sutcliffe launched a counter-attack. They saved the follow-on, but the battle raged on. When the ninth wicket fell at 154, it seemed certain the innings was done. The South Africans started to walk off.

At that moment, a ripple ran through the stands. Bob Blair, his eyes rimmed with sorrow but shoulders set with quiet resolve, walked out to join Sutcliffe. Perhaps, as he gripped his bat and stepped onto the field, he whispered, “This is for you, Nerissa”.

The stadium held its breath. Blair and Sutcliffe wielded their bats not just for runs or records, but for the memory of those lost and the resilience of those left behind.

The crowd had experienced varied emotions in just a few hours. Creating a bond is perhaps the toughest thing in this world but that day Ellis Park stood behind the broken men. South Africa won the test. The defiant Kiwi scripted a cricket folklore like no other, one that shall live on forever. The people at Ellis Park left with tears in their eyes, their hearts forever changed by what they had witnessed.

To commemorate the Tangiwai train tragedy, it was decided that all New Zealand and South Africa series would be played for the Tangiwai Shield. The Shield is crafted from native New Zealand timber puriri and has been designed by David Ngawati.

In every clang of the Tangiwai Shield, the echoes of courage and collective healing endure, reminding us that, sometimes, cricket is more than a game.

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The Ranji Trophy was instituted in 1934, as an alternative to the communal and divisive Bombay Pentangular tournament. Though it took some time to take off, the prestigious region-based tournament was the ideal development for Indian cricket.

It gained massive recognition, particularly in the war years (1939-1945) and featured not just domestic but overseas cricketers from time to time. One such was English and Middlesex batter Denis Compton.

Compton came to India on British Army duty during the second world war. He was posted at Mhow in Holkar as a Sergeant Major. Being a recognized international sportsperson, he was regularly invited to play football and cricket matches. (Compton was a brilliant football player as well and played for Arsenal).

C.K. Nayudu, the former Indian captain and a Colonel in the Holkar Army came to know about his appointment. He was aware about Compoton’s batting prowess and requested him to be a part of the Holkar side in the Ranji Trophy season of 1944-45. Compton agreed and duly received permission from his commanding officer to play, but only for a limited no. of days.

The Ranji Trophy began and Holkar had a fruitful run, successfully making it to the semi-finals. Compton was part of the team which defeated Madras in the semi-final.

He top scored in the first innings with a masterful 81. The final was to be played in a timeless format against Bombay. The Vijay Merchant-led Bombay team dominated the entire match and set a mammoth target of 867.

Holkar lost both their openers early and were struggling at 12 for 2 when Mushtaq Ali and Compton decided to take charge. Here is when the story gets interesting.

Before Compton arrived to bat, he was approached by a rich local merchant who promised to pay Compton a bonus of Rs 100 for every run he scored after his century. Apparently, the merchant was a die-hard Holkar supporter and wanted to motivate Compton to win the Ranji trophy for the team.

Mushtaq Ali and Compton stitched an incredible 209 run partnership before Mushtaq was dismissed. While Compton continued to bat with flair, wickets kept tumbling at the other end. Compton was on 249 not out when the last batter O.P. Rawal was dismissed and Holkar was bundled for 492.

Compton received a thunderous applause from the crowd for his resilient innings. But he was more interested in calculating his earnings, as promised by the merchant.

As soon as he returned to the pavilion, he went to meet the merchant to claim his prize money. But to his amazement, the merchant was nowhere to be found. He had vanished!

Compton didn’t receive his reward but instead found a note congratulating him for his fine knock.

It also stated that the merchant had to leave for urgent business. The day dreaming had come to an end. Compton would never meet the merchant again. Only left with him was a stupendous knock to cherish.

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This blog looks at the real stories that have shaped cricket, highlighting the moments of loss, hope, and determination that have defined the game. From the events at Ellis Park to other lesser-known incidents, these posts focus on times when cricket’s meaning goes beyond just the results.

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