Remembering Polly Kaka through Mankad Sir

Personal take:

The news of the sad demise of Ashok Mankad brought back memories of a day spent with him and Polly Umrigar. There will be many an obituary telling of their tall tales in the game. But these are memories that I will personally cherish for a lifetime. While the news tells an indifferent story of the two men, who now belong to the past, it is only with fond memories that my heart goes out to the families of these two gentlemen. I have not been privileged to watch the two men in action. But the experience has left me with greater insight into the men. I shed tears for Polly Sir when the news came of his passing away. Today I brim with pride of having known Mankad Sir and grateful for the opportunity that came my way.

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I met Polly Kaka (though I still preferred to call him simply ‘Sir’) and Mankad Sir in my early days into my career (if a year and a half or thereabouts can count as such) in the course of working with a cricket oriented website where we shared the platform. The memories stand out fresh as if it was only yesterday. Mankad Sir had not airs whatsoever even though the busy manner of his fidgeting with the laptop suggested he was a man of importance and intended to be that way. But our first meeting was one of my most memorable ones (and not just because he had nice things to say of my work).

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Sounding serious about some malfunction about viewing the site in question, the moment I introduced myself to him, he immediately warmed up at the recollection of my name. It was perhaps putting face to a name. He told me he read my work closely and that he liked what he had seen and was encouraging as if doting over one of the shining stars. It was, at that pivotal moment, that the moment was etched. His jovial, welcome, forthcoming smile, advice and congratulations are something I will savour forever.

The tall gentleman up front, every one knew who he was. Yet the aura about the man, who sat serenely watching India hand it intrepidly to a Shahid Afridi blitzkrieg, was almost intimidating. But he was anything but that. Graceful in gesture and in movement, he definitely belonged to the era of chivalry. Yet he knew how to own success and the respect that came his way, without being impossible on another. (A few contemporary Indian cricketers could perhaps learn that from him.) Sir was most polite; his handshake warm but firm; his talk, genial yet with depth; his word of praise, kind but not misplaced.

There were many other distinguished gentlemen in the room, including Bob Simpson (who conveniently sat himself with my dad, and I can only surmise, perhaps mistaking the writer in the house) and Piloo Reporter, the umpire who looked as fit as ever to take the field.

What made the moment even more special though was I was kindly given the opportunity to share this meeting with my father by my side. Sir was so thoughtful that as the day ended, he almost left the room before he turned back, came in and tapped my dad (Polly Kaka and I had already said our personal goodbyes to each other with another meeting in the offing soon enough), shook his hand for the opportunity to have met him in spite of his own stature and wished him goodbye. The genial giant who cared enough to leave with a greeting to someone to whom he had spoken to only for about five minutes in the day, told me more about the man than any footage will ever do.