Legendary cricketer G Vishwanath’s autobiography brings alive the original Little Master

Rohit Mahajan

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THERE existed a time of mystery and imagination, when the mind’s eye was hyperactive —when facts and footage were scarce and you had to make a trip to the library to find out from the Encyclopaedia Britannica that Apollo was not merely a tyre. Gundappa Rangnath Vishwanath lived in such times. His oldest brother Jagannath, himself a good cricketer, would get up early to listen to the radio commentary of Test cricket from Australia. He would make ‘detailed, meticulous’ notes of the performances of the cricketers. Little Vishwanath, finding the name ‘Neil Harvey’ figuring regularly in his brother’s notes, became a fan of the great Australian batsman — on the basis of just a name and big numbers. ‘I was told he was a left-hander and that he was a great batsman. That was enough for me to build an image in my head,’ writes Vishwanath in his autobiograhy, ‘Wrist Assured’, co-written with veteran journalist R Kaushik. ‘Harvey was my hero and my inspiration…’

Vishwanath, too, is one such figure —clouded in mystery, even though he’s not of ancient vintage. He played his final Test in February 1983, a few days before he turned 34. Thereafter, Vishwanath disappears. This is astonishing, because Vishwanath was India’s second-most important batsman — after his brother-in-law Sunil Gavaskar — of the 1970s, the decade when Indian cricket came of age. His batting was more sparkling than Gavaskar’s, and his best innings are alive in the minds of those who watched them — such as the 97 he made out of India’s 190 against West Indies at Madras in 1975, the 114 out of the team’s 237 at Melbourne against Australia in 1981, the unbeaten 112 against West Indies in Port of Spain in 1976. These scores earned India precious wins, a rarity in those days. When Vishwanath scored, the connoisseur marvelled and the team prospered — India never lost a match in which he made a century.

It’s a mystery, then, that a man more delightful to watch than Gavaskar — and, analysts say, more impactful when the team was in trouble — should have only a minor presence in the fans’ consciousness. One big reason is that he exited the team — after a disastrous tour of Pakistan in 1982-83 — when the TV boom was just about to be sparked in India. The other reason is that cricket really took off in the middle of 1983, when India won the World Cup. Finally, unlike Gavaskar, Vishwanath is a quiet, retiring individual.

The original Little Master, Vishwanath as a teenager made a double century on First Class debut, and a century on Test debut at 20. His memories of those innings of over 50 years are vivid, and it’s fascinating how, probably tipped by Erapalli Prasanna, Tiger Pataudi took him under his wing. His wristy, attractive strokeplay made him famous, and here he reveals how his wrists became strong enough to send the ball to the boundary. ‘I was still very small and barely managed power in my strokes against the spinners…’ he writes. Pataudi, being told that Vishwanath did not go to the gym, gave him a tip: ‘I’m sure you must have buckets at home? Fill up two buckets with water and lift one with each hand 20 times in a row. Do this three to four times a day, regularly.’

That’s how he got those steely wrists: ‘What I do know is that the Vishwanath wrists that were to become such a talking point owe everything to Tiger’s inputs and encouragements.’

Vishwanath’s recollection of the toss controversy at Kolkata in 1979 involving Pakistan captain Asif Iqbal — later discredited for his alleged role in match-fixing — is interesting: ‘Asif got to the coin before I did, picked it up, turned to me, put his hand out and said, “You have won the toss, Vishy.” I hadn’t seen which way the coin had landed, but what reason did I have to doubt Asif?’

In Pradeep Magazine’s recent book, ‘Not Just Cricket’, Pataudi recounted that his protege Vishwanath had come to him on the evening of the match. ‘He told me that Asif Iqbal had approached him and suggested that regardless of who wins the toss tomorrow, he will declare that India has won the toss,’ recalled Pataudi.

Vishwanath’s sportsmanship is legendary, and he recounts how he became a ‘walker’ and how he recalled Bob Taylor back to the crease after he’d been given out. Throughout, the tenor is modest and self-effacing, though he’s not unaware of his stellar achievements.

This book is 40 years late, but it’s not too late. If you’re a fan, you’ll read this book — but if you’re not a fan, if you know only a little about this man, you must read it.