In his just-released biography, ex-India team and media manager Amrit Mathur looks back at his experiences with some of the most significant personalities in Indian cricket
Amrit Mathur, then manager, with the India Cricket Team during their Zimbabwe-South Africa tours of 1992 and 1993
Imran Khan
I first met Imran Khan in 1987 in Hyderabad, Sindh, at a World Cup game where I was working for Sunil Gavaskar’s Professional Management Group (PMG), writing match reports and “ghostwriting” Imran Khan’s column. He was captain, coach, selector, the entire PCB itself—too powerful and too busy. I approached him at practice where he was surrounded by admiring subjects, introduced myself and mentioned the column. It’s ok, he said, and added in a voice loud enough to be heard across Sindh: “How much am I getting paid?” Ask Sunny, I replied. I have no idea. (The two worked together with no hitches).
Sachin Tendulkar
A Wisden Awards function at Wembley on the same (2002) tour ended late one night, the venue a longish drive away from the team hotel. As we boarded the bus, Sachin asked me if his wife Anjali could ride with us. She had come with some friends for the event and they had left early. It took a moment for me to understand what was happening. This was India’s most senior cricketer, not a schoolboy, asking for permission which he didn’t really need. According to team tradition, wives are allowed to travel on the team bus for official functions and social events.
Sachin knew this, but chose to follow protocol.
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Lalit Modi
The IPL was Lalit’s Mission Mangal, a magnificent achievement to be accomplished by him alone. He was a climber who wanted a selfie on Mt Everest without anyone else in the frame—a paradoxical situation where one individual bossed over a team sport. Never short of self-confidence, he was sure of his role in the IPL universe and was not shy about projecting himself. He used the media to create a personality cult, doing interviews and photo shoots as film stars do before a major release. It was difficult to decide what he loved more—himself or the power and reach that the IPL provided him. He was a performer and always on stage. On a personal level, Lalit was warm and charming, a gracious and generous host. He lived life king-size, everything about him was magnified.
Rahul Dravid
In South Africa, during the IPL (2009), while others saw the glittering lights and the dazzling spectacle, he detected dark clouds in the distance. Over a seafood dinner, he introduced me to fried calamari and warned about the disturbing trend in domestic cricket: It is worrying that young kids will give this priority over Ranji and Test cricket. Dravid himself revelled in the challenge of five-day cricket. He is a champion worrier who, in his own words, strives to become the best version of himself.
Sourav Ganguly
Sourav’s understanding of Indian cricket history could be sketchy, but he was up to speed on runs, averages and strike rates of players. While he admired England’s cricket structure, he had difficulty adjusting to county cricket’s discipline and professionalism. He was a modern pro with charmingly old-fashioned ideas about fitness, fielding and training. He would turn up late for meetings, miss a gym session, fix a net for practice and not land up. Sourav changed Indian cricket.
Excerpted with permission from Pitchside: My Life in Indian Cricket by Amrit Mathur, published by Westland Sport
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