I still vividly remember the first day of the third Test at Eden Gardens, Calcutta — the moment my lifelong romance with cricket began. It was the winter of 1974, during the India-West Indies Test series. I was just eight years old, a curious boy drawn by the electric buzz of the crowd and the anticipation of something big. The chill in the December air did nothing to dampen the excitement. That morning, unknowingly, I stepped into a world that would accompany me through the next five decades. That game, that series — it wasn’t just cricket. It was the spark that lit an eternal flame.
India, under the regal leadership of Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi, was down 0-2 in the five-match series. The team had lost in Bangalore and Delhi, and the third Test at Eden Gardens was a must-win. The West Indies, led by the charismatic Clive Lloyd, were a powerhouse brimming with pace and power. India won the toss and batted. What followed was a spirited fightback, and India clinched a memorable win. The stadium was packed — 80,000 fans roared with every stroke and wicket. I can still hear those cheers echoing in my ears.
The series then moved to Chepauk, Madras — a ground that favours the artistry of spin. There, Gundappa Viswanath played an elegant 97, full of delicate wristwork and clever placements, helping India level the series 2-2. And then came the decider at Bombay’s Brabourne Stadium, a historic venue that predates the Wankhede. That was my initiation into the magic of radio commentary, listening to the crackle of Sunil Gavaskar’s blade as he took guard.
Though India lost the final Test, and the series 3-2, something even more lasting had been born — my love for cricket. It wasn’t just about scores or wins. It became a part of who I was, something woven into the fabric of my being. From that day on, I’ve followed every Test match, every Indian series — first as a wide-eyed child, then a college student, a public servant, and now a senior officer nearing the end of a long career. Cricket has been my constant. Through this fifty-year journey, five cricketers have symbolised different stages of my life — five icons who inspired, moved, and accompanied me as time unfurled.
Sunil Gavaskar: The Pathbreaker
During my school and college years, Sunil Gavaskar was my north star. Calm, precise, and courageous, he stood up to the might of the West Indies pace battery with nothing but a cap and unshakable technique. No helmets, no flamboyance — just resolve. His debut series in 1971, with 774 runs, announced that India had arrived. When he retired with over 10,000 Test runs and 34 centuries, he left behind not just records, but a legacy.
Gavaskar gave Indian cricket an identity. We called him the “Little Master,” but his influence was monumental. His final Test innings — a poetic 96 on a difficult pitch against Pakistan in 1987 — was a masterclass. I was in college, captivated by every stroke. He taught us that we could be world-class, that Indian batsmen could dominate with skill and patience.
Kapil Dev: The Gamechanger
As I entered Jawaharlal Nehru University for my postgraduate studies, Kapil Dev exploded onto the scene. Fast-bowling, hard-hitting, and fiercely proud, he was the antidote to all the clichés about Indian cricketers. Hailing from Haryana, Kapil broke barriers with his athleticism and charisma.
He took 434 Test wickets and scored over 5,000 runs. But what sealed his place in the hearts of millions was that magical summer of 1983 — leading India to their first World Cup win at Lord’s. His unbeaten 175 against Zimbabwe remains etched in legend. He was raw courage. Kapil didn’t just change matches — he changed mindsets. He told us, through every action, that India could win, anywhere, against anyone.
The God of Cricket
By the time Sachin Tendulkar made his debut in 1989, I had joined the police force. It was a demanding life, but no matter where I was — in a distant district, on night duty, or in a high-pressure post — I found a way to follow Tendulkar. At 16, he took on Pakistan’s fearsome bowlers. From then on, he carried our hopes with unmatched consistency.
Tendulkar’s career — 100 centuries, 34,000 runs — is astonishing. But even more inspiring was how he carried himself. His Sharjah heroics, his double century in Gwalior, his resilience after the Mumbai attacks — they were more than just cricket. They were moments of collective healing and pride. For me, Sachin was not just a cricketer. He was a life lesson. His poise, discipline, and humility were as instructive as his batting. I remember watching his farewell at Wankhede with moist eyes. It felt like the end of a personal era.
MS Dhoni: The Calm Conqueror
Then came MS Dhoni, just as I had reached the peak of my career. Hailing from Ranchi, he showed that dreams didn’t require big cities. With his lightning glove work and icy nerves, he revolutionised Indian cricket.
His leadership was fearless. Under him, India won the inaugural 2007 T20 World Cup, the 2011 ODI World Cup, and the 2013 Champions Trophy — a trifecta never achieved before. That last six at Wankhede in 2011 is a memory etched in national consciousness.
Dhoni was my modern hero — understated, tactical, and unfailingly composed. Even amidst my busiest days, I made time for his matches. His helicopter shot, his late flourishes, his cool behind the stumps — they were moments of joy in an otherwise hectic life. He taught us that silence could be strength, and success could be simple.
Virat Kohli: The Modern Warrior
Virat Kohli came into my life as I took on challenging leadership roles and even represented India in UN missions. In the fast-paced, digital world, cricket became more accessible — but no less meaningful.
Kohli, with his aggression and ambition, brought a new edge to Indian cricket. He led from the front — fit, fierce, and unrelenting. His centuries overseas, especially in England and Australia, were not just personal triumphs but national milestones. Under his captaincy, India became the world’s No. 1 Test side and won a historic series in Australia.
His recent retirement, alongside Rohit Sharma, marks the end of another golden chapter. But his legacy will endure — one of passion, purpose, and pride. Kohli redefined belief. He made us expect victory — not just hope for it.
A Constant Companion
As I now stand at the threshold of retirement, I find myself reflecting on this extraordinary fifty-year bond with cricket.
From transistor radios to mobile apps, from whites to coloured kits, from five-day Tests to T20 thrillers — cricket has evolved, and so have I. But the emotion remains unchanged. Every boundary still brings a smile. Every wicket still raises my heartbeat. I’ve seen stadiums change, formats shift, players come and go — but the love has never dimmed. Cricket has mirrored my life — full of struggle, grace, intensity, and occasional triumphs. Today, as I complete five decades of being a fan, I feel only gratitude. Cricket has been my joy, my escape, my teacher. It taught me patience, resilience, teamwork, and above all, hope.
For many, cricket may just be a sport. But for me, it is memory, meaning, and music — a rhythm that continues to play in the background of my life, beautifully uninterrupted.
(The writer is IPS DIG/ Additional Director UPSIFS LUKNOW. Views are personal)
