From my seat at the North Stand, I just couldn’t believe what I just saw. I was big enough to realise that a six was a rarity, a near taboo if you like. It was never encouraged
Sunil Gavaskar (left), Salim Durani, Sandeep Patil and Milind Rege at a function. Pic Courtesy/Sandeep Patil
As a schoolboy in the 1960s, I remember watching a Test match at the Brabourne Stadium from the Churchgate End. Salim Durani had his eye in and could oblige the crowd with a six. Next thing I see, Durani has clubbed one which has landed near the swimming pool to the left of the pavilion.
Those north stand days
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From my seat at the North Stand, I just couldn’t believe what I just saw. I was big enough to realise that a six was a rarity, a near taboo if you like. It was never encouraged.
Never did I envisage that I would get close to the man who had struck that six. Salimbhai was one of the players Hardcastle & Waud roped in for their Times Shield pursuits. My late father worked for the firm and took me along for the matches. One player who fascinated me was Salimbhai. I observed how he padded up—the strap near the knee tight, the bottom one loose. And when he ran between the wickets, you’d feel he is playing with an injury, almost gingerly.
On each visit to the crease he scored valuable runs but that was not something I observed too closely. I was more interested in how he went about things in the tent at Cross Maidan or at Islam Gymkhana pavilion.
Used to arrive only in whites
I almost forgot to tell you how he arrived for a match. I don’t remember him carrying a kit bag. He’d arrive only in his whites and he would borrow the rest of the gear from his teammates, including the bat. I came to believe that some geniuses are like that.
He liked my dad a lot. Every time we met he would ask about him—one big hitter enquiring about another you could say.
Like Salimbhai I too hit a lot of sixes but there is no doubt who the original sixer man was.
Also read: Former Indian cricketer Salim Durani passes away at 88
When I read in a magazine that Salimbhai rated me as the best “lifter of the ball” and wanted me to be part of the 1979 World Cup (which i wasn’t), I was thrilled.
Salimbhai lived his life the way he wanted to. There was always a radiant smile that greeted you. No matter who you were, he’d always wish you well. It was a privilege to know him.
In recent years, the man without a mean bone in his body, endured a lot of problems in his back. Rest in peace, Salimbhai.
As told to Clayton Murzello
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