Both Kalyan Mittra and ML Jaishima would be delighted. They will be because a reunion is happening someplace in the clouds up there. After a protracted wait, the first “Prince” of Indian cricket has finally ascended into heaven.
One of Indian cricket’s most flamboyant players, Salim Durani, passed away on Sunday. The T20 cricket antics of today probably won’t comprehend the influence Durani had on the game. The IPL added the “Impact” player rule to the competition this year. One can reasonably claim that the franchises would have flocked to him if he had been in his peak heydays.
Scoreboard is a donkey, as the famous cricket author Sir Neville Cardus once said. Cardus was that romanticizer of cricket who saw more in a player than what the scoreboard showed. Durani fit into that category—a player who contributed far more to the game than his 1,202 Test runs and 74 wickets.
As India won their first series in the West Indies, Durani was a key component. In the second innings, he secured the vital dismissals of Sir Garfield Sobers and Sir Clive Lloyd to expedite the demise of the hosts as India prevailed by seven wickets. He was instrumental in India’s series victory over England in 1961–1962, taking 23 wickets against them. He has the ability to alter the outcome of a game in an instant.
Durani was always the crowd’s favourite, with his collar up and his shirt buttons sometimes all the way down to his belly. Why wouldn’t he be, then? He was the one with the “six on demand” ability, the grin that could melt a thousand hearts, and the ability to live in the now rather than planning for the future. And he lived it to the full. It is fortunate that no one seen him recovering from surgery in bed for the previous several months; it would have been excruciating to witness.
Durani’s heart, which was figuratively and with a capital “G” made of gold, added to his popularity. On countless instances, his jackets have ended up in the hands of a beggar shivering in the freezing night; other times, he has given everyone his whole wallet without even considering how he would go home without any cash. Helping someone in need was the most important thing to him. And for that reason, he was unique—truly unique.
In the early 1990s in Kolkata, when Durani was a regular visitor to senior police officer Ain Rashid Khan in Golpark, this author did have the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time with him. His cricket knowledge was obviously excellent, but due to his modesty, he seldom ever spoke about his accomplishments.
He wasn’t given the title of “Prince” for nothing. Although working mostly for a “Nawab” (Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi), whom he described as “snobby,” he merited that title.
