The driver sounded the horn, and we were off… leaving the Ambedkar Stadium bus stand in Delhi, commencing our interesting drive to Lahore.
I had been to Pakistan on many occasions, but never by bus! This was as exciting for me as it was for the 20-strong contingent of the Indian blind cricket team which was embarking on its first ever tour of that country.
Working closely with George Abraham, the visually impaired disability activist who is known as the father of blind cricketing in India and Doraiswamy Ranganathan, a senior executive with the Cricket Association for the Blind in India we had garnered some support from Reebok, an American fitness, footwear and clothing brand which provided the blind team with bats and some travel gear. Interestingly, the local Pakistani tea brand, Tapal, had sponsored the series and provided playing gear with the Tapal logo on the uniforms of both the teams. My association with blind cricket began following an unplanned meeting with George at a press conference for the Wisden Indian Cricketer of the Century Award jointly organized by my marketing company Creatigies Communications. After the press conference, George and I discussed blind cricket and the founding of the India and world bodies. As I had earlier been associated with cricket for the deaf, I plunged myself into this new cause with all my vigor.
The vehicle blared its way across the border and the tumultuous and joyous welcome the Indian team received on the other side in Lahore was something unimaginable. Mehman-nawazi (hospitality) at its best.
Tea and snacks were provided at the border. All formalities were taken care of swiftly and we were off to start the five-match series.
Cricket match between Indian and Pakistani visually impaired players
From l: Navroze Dhondy, Shivshankar and Mohini Menon, George Abraham and Doraiswamy Ranganathan
At Lahore, the Indian players interacted with the "Rawalpindi Express” — fast bowler Shoaib Akhtar. The Pakistani cricketers spent time with each team member, shaking hands, signing bats and being photographed.
The last game of the series was at Islamabad. The night before at a dinner hosted by the Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB), a board official casually mentioned to George and me: "Hope to see the Indian High Commissioner at the toss tomorrow morning.”
That came like a thunderbolt.
We both responded by telling him that PCB being the host, they should have extended the invitation. This was clearly a protocol issue. Neither they nor we had done so. I was asked to bell the cat.
When I reached the hotel in Islamabad, I picked up the good old trusty telephone directory lying next to the phone on my bedside table and dialed the Indian High Commission’s number. It was 9.30 p.m., rather an odd time to make a call.
The telephone was answered promptly: "Indian High Commission. May I help you?” I said, "Yes, I am from India and I would like to speak with Mr Shivshankar Menon, the High Commissioner.”
Before I could complete my request the gent at the other end of the line worriedly asked, "Koi hadsa, koi problem? (Any untoward incident? Any problem?) Are you okay?” I reassured him I was "perfectly fine but I want to speak with the High Commissioner to invite him to join us for the India-Pakistan blind cricket game tomorrow at the Islamabad cricket ground.”
The two or three minutes of silence that followed felt like an age as I hung on to the telephone awaiting an answer. Suddenly a crisp, clipped (Stephanian) accent could be heard, "Hello Mr Dhondy. This is Menon here. How can I help?” I immediately explained the protocol faux pas and apologized for the last minute invitation to the game on the following day.
"I will be there at 9.30 a.m.,” he spontaneously agreed. "May I bring my wife Mohini along? Happy to be part of the toss, have a cup of tea with you folks and then leave by 10 a.m. Hope that’s okay with you?”
Imagine the humbleness of the man, asking if he could bring his better half along. What lessons we learn in life from personalities and their sense of propriety. I was over the moon and gladly agreed.
The next morning at 9.30 the white limousine with the Indian flag proudly fluttering, drove onto the grounds.
We were all there to receive the Menons. They warmly met members of both teams. Following the customary handshake and the toss, the couple settled into the comfortable sofas to enjoy a cup of Tapal tea and watch the first few overs of the game. Soon 10 a.m. came and went. So did 10.30 a.m and finally, 11 a.m.
Suddenly the Menons went into a huddle and the High Commissioner asked a most unexpected question: "Navroze, can we please invite all the staff of the Indian High Commission to come and witness this game? What we are experiencing is something very, very special… The wonderful spirit of human beings to overcome any challenge and enjoy a game. I have never seen blind cricket being played before, and I would like my colleagues to also experience it.” During this discussion I could see his wife’s eyes turn moist. She immediately called up the High Commission and asked as many persons as possible to come over and be part of this "eye-opening” experience (pardon the pun). (In blind cricket a plastic ball with ball bearings inside is bowled underarm. Each team of 11 comprises four players who are totally blind, three who are partially blind and four who are partially sighted.)
Indian and Pakistani flags were waved by the large crowd that had gathered to watch the game. In our midst was Chaudhry Abdul Jalil, famously known as Chacha Cricket — the famous face we had seen so often on TV as Pakistani cricket’s mascot. He shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with the Commissioner. Famous Pakistani pacer Sarfaraz Nawaz graced the occasion and handed out the prizes at the end of the game. What began as a faux pas turned out to be delightful.
The Menons, who said they would be present for 30 minutes, remained there for hours, relishing the rivalry on the field and experiencing the elation of the indomitable human spirit.
Twenty years have zipped by. Just a few weeks ago, George, Ranga and I met over lunch to reminisce about this special tour. Memories are made of this.