Salim Durrani, Farokh Engineer and T20 naturals

V Ramnarayan

What a pair Farokh Maneksha Engineer and Salim Durrani were when they infused life into Indian innings in the 1960s and 70s. One could almost imagine them playing in a Twenty20 match despite what the pundits are saying about the format.

Farokh’s 94 before lunch (he did complete his hundred after the break) in the Madras Test against West Indies in 1967 and his exploits on the England tour months later won him a professional contract with Lancashire.

In a star-studded team led by Clive Lloyd, Engineer was one of the crowd pullers with his spectacular batting.

With his effortless batting, his showmanship and his high altitude left-arm spin that could unsettle batsmen, Salim Durrani was the darling of the crowd. Very early in his career, in March 1962, his 104 at Port of Spain was a brave assault on the West Indies bowlers, allegedly after he casually walked up to MAK Pataudi, his captain, and demanded a promotion to No 3, promising him a hundred.

Durrani’s dismissal of Garry Sobers and Clive Lloyd in the second innings of the Trinidad Test ten years later was another instance of his nonchalance on a cricket field. Legend has it that he snatched the ball from Ajit Wadekar, dismissed Clive Lloyd and Garry Sobers for 15 and zero, and threw the ball back to the captain as if to say, ‘I’ve got the prize wickets you wanted; now let the others do the mopping up.’ It was India’s famous first victory in the Caribbean.

Engineer recently said that he would have loved and flourished in T20 cricket. With the kind of hyperactive aggression he exhibited in his day, whether batting or keeping, it is easy to see how successful he would be in the IPL. Those who watched him in his prime would know.

And just imagine how Salim Durrani would drive crowds delirious by pointing to a spot in the stands and directing a six right there, as he used to do in his prime in Test matches. Or by magically prising out the most valuable wickets, and tossing the ball back to the captain.

Another T20 natural from the Engineer era would have been the late Budhi Kunderan, another swashbuckling batsman in any position, and Engineer’s rival as wicketkeeper.

The impact of his sledgehammer blows could only be enhanced by today’s bats. And what a dramatic sight he would provide the frenzied IPL spectator with his falling sweep shots. My Hyderabad senior Abid Ali was just perfect for T20, with his accuracy, subtle changes of pace and peculiar ability to achieve low bounce on any surface. Even in the distant past of what is now known as proper cricket, Abid tended to rain sixes.

So unorthodox (and nerve-wracking for anxious teammates) was his batting even while he was ostensibly playing for a draw, that he would be perfectly capable of smashing sharp off breaks past point or the doosra over midwicket, as though it was the most natural thing to do. Action replays galore flash before my mind’s eye of the run-outs he could engineer— of opponents as well as his own batting partners.

Bishan Bedi and Rajinder Goel were excellent limited overs bowlers, even if the sardar gave the impression of not enjoying the shorter game, but if I had to pick two spinners for T20 from my era, I would plump for off spinner S Venkataraghavan, who could shut one end up, and the one and only BS Chandrasekhar, who could win a match for you in a single over of devastating wrist spin—of a kind unimaginable for 21st century audiences.

If you looked beyond India, the most obvious T20 candidates of yesteryear would be all West Indian: Sir Garfield Sobers, Clive Lloyd, Greenidge and Hayes, Alvin Kallicharan, Viv Richards, Joel Garner, Malcolm Marshall… the list would be endless.

Imagine the plunder and destruction, artistry and elegance, drama and thrills. Sheer fantasy!