From Lala to Virat — colourful characters have always existed in Indian cricket

His sentences in English were short and sounded dismissive even if he didn’t mean them to be. They sounded authoritative too — and this, he meant them to be. I once sat behind him at a Ranji Trophy fi

His sentences in English were short and sounded dismissive even if he didn’t mean them to be. They sounded authoritative too — and this, he meant them to be. I once sat behind him at a Ranji Trophy final. I was in college then, and couldn’t muster up the courage to go up and meet him. For this was Lala Amarnath, entitled to the definite article before his first name like the Don, Bradman himself. There is a lovely story of the Indian team arriving in Pakistan on the 1977-78 tour. As the manager, assuming the limousine waiting was for him walked towards it majestically, the chauffeur told him, “Sorry sir, this car’s for Lala saheb.” Lala was part of the media. I don’t know if that story’s true. I don’t know if any of the stories told about Lala Amarnath are true in fact; but they are true in essence. He wasn’t the most popular among peers or officials, but he was one of the most colourful men to have played for India. His language, in his native Punjabi was purple, and he occasionally let slip some of it when he was broadcasting. He was also an amazing cricketer — India’s first century maker, first captain of Independent India, a medium-pacer with 463 First Class wickets and a wicketkeeper who once held five catches while substituting for the injured first-choice. I finally met him, and spent some time with him, in Pakistan.