Features: Magazine | Literary Review | Life | Metro Plus | Open Page | Education Plus | Book Review | Business | SciTech | Friday Review | Cinema Plus | Young World | Property Plus | Quest |

Catch up with Kirmani

Photo: K. V. Srinivasan

HANDLING AUDIENCES WITH POISE Former Indian wicketkeeper Syed Kirmani at a lecture session in Chennai

A largely insular outlook has ensured that the lasting image of Syed Kirmani’s bald pate is interminably linked to the glint of the ’83 World Cup.

But the man who brought Yul Brynner’s skinhead style to the cricket field is aware that his decade-long crouch behind the stumps witnessed an equally important shift in the Indian working model of cricket — from the faithful spin quartet to the normative international standards of swing and pace.

Kiri had the singular honour of being in the box seat as his national team gradually switched loyalties from turn to swing, from the dust-aided guiles of the famed spin trio to the acuity and doggedness of the seaming workhorses.

Spilling over with anecdotes at a recent event in the city, the diminutive gloveman with a fondness for the lectern recounted the minor details that injected colour into his ten years of top-flight cricket.

Like the time K. Srikkanth spiked him on the foot with his boot in his usual energetic celebration of the fall of a wicket; or when Balwinder Singh Sandhu — knocked on the cranium by a menacing Malcolm Marshall stinger — started to rub his helmet instead of his head as a palliative measure.

“Ballu later grinned, pointed to his knees and told the great West Indian that no damage had been done since his brain was safely enclosed behind his kneecaps,” he added.

Handing out proof that a career in international sport lends one the poise to handle audiences and a proclivity to play to the gallery, Kiri spoke at length on his experiences and refused to let a self-admitted laxity in the English language come in the way of interacting with his fans.

Brashly critical and not one to mince words, he also had a thing or two to say about “unfair selection policies” and how he was “dropped at the peak of his career” midway through the 1985-86 tour to Australia.

“I was a victim of jealousy. There were some really big stars in the team, but I was the one most hounded by the press for sound bytes. Ultimately, it was peer envy that did me in,” he rued.

Despite being dealt jolting blows as a player by the Board, Kiri said he was willing to assume the role of a selector provided his inputs were sought and valued by organisational bigwigs. There should be greater emphasis, he said predictably, on unearthing a genuine wicketkeeper for the country since “keeping is a specialised job and warrants quick reflexes, natural ability and a keen eye. But of course, a stumper is only as good as the bowler he keeps to”.

A man who began each morning with a ritualistic shearing of the previous day’s follicular produce, Kiri claimed never having put a razor to his “virgin” moustache. “I use a Mach-III every morning, but not on my face,” he grinned.

The hair is another story altogether. After tonsuring his head for a religious ceremony during a pilgrimage to Mecca in 1981, he realised the one foolproof method of doing away with the embarrassment of a rapidly receding hairline.

“After that, I started shaving my head regularly, and before long, it had become a rage. I was identified by my shiny top-storey.”

If nothing else, the skinhead look landed Kiri the role of a cigar chewing yob in Sandeep Patil’s bomb of a movie “Kabhi Ajnabee The”. Despite the absolute failure of the film, Kiri has no regrets that he did it. “I firmly believe that whatever happens is for the good, though the good may come to light only later after the dust has settled”.

Garbed like a mismatched jigsaw puzzle, Kirmani also appeared to be caught in a stylistic time warp of the 80s. His attire for the evening comprised an archaic, acid-wash pair of jeans, an oversized, white shirt not-tucked-in, with a baggy waistcoat thrown over it for good measure. But when you’ve brought home the sport’s biggest prize, fashion faux pas can largely be forgiven.

Printer friendly page  
Send this article to Friends by E-Mail