Jhakas | Sanjay Jha
"How are you, Ajay?". That's how he usually addressed me. Initially, I would correct him with slight impatience and rising exasperation, "I am Sanjay, Sir. Not Ajay". He would nod seriously as if he had taken note of the amendment. But I knew he had not because every time we met, I was enthusiastically greeted by him with the same thumping sound of my mirror image. After a while, I accepted Ajay as my alter-ego in the vision of the man who called me so. People accompanying me were more surprised as to how I had no qualms in being called otherwise, and how comfortable I was when Raj Singh Dungarpur said "Ajay, how is Cricket.com doing?" He had even got my corporate brand name wrong.
When we launched CricketNext.com on March 1st 2000, it was Raj Bhai who inaugurated our site. Despite the dot com boom et al, the truth is that internet connections then were as tawdry as Peddar Road traffic at 6.47 pm, and the big broadband talk was more on the business plan of telecom companies than on cable-lines. At the precise moment when Raj Bhai was to click the site open, the connections went off. Fortunately, Raj Bhai just pressed a tab, and did not explore the site links further. In the meantime, my technology head barely survived a fainting spell. But finally, it was an all's well that ends well story. For Raj Bhai today though, all is not well. Because the last time I met him he did not call me by name Ajay. He called me Manoj. Continue reading below
I write this column because when I was at the CCI last week, a few of the regular waiters shook their head in sadness, helplessness and dismay at the fast-dwindling reputation of India's Lords, which nowadays makes more news for members and office-bearers indulging in a no holds barred personal battle. The latest dirt to hit the headlines touches an abysmal nadir with an alleged sexual harassment case against a senior executive of the club. Suddenly, the haloed image of the CCI stands shattered in smithereens, as all we hear about are the deplorable scandals these days.
Not so long ago, it seemed a very different time in history. When a gentleman who loved the game so passionately, regaled us with stories about past cricketers even as we munched on a meal on the green lawns of that famous turf. When he made sure that every visiting cricketer and sportsman was honored, often in an impromptu get-together. Or supported the initiative of a few die-hard cricket aficionado's to create the Legend's Club. For Raj Bhai, CCI was not just a cricket club, it was god's own backyard.
When he unexpectedly went through a difficult phase, some people wanted to unceremoniously throw him out from the club. They made snide remarks and perverse accusations at him, but he remained unruffled. It baffled him though. When I went to meet him to offer my support, he was as calm and imperturbable as one can be when your friends let you down, when you cannot fathom why distrust and politics corrupt us all. He had grown a beard, looked haggard, barely slept well, feeling lost and lonely in a place he called his home. It was a sad moment for him, but he concealed it with prodigious equanimity.
Even though he was past 70 years, he showed the blue-blooded streak in him; he fought back to retain his self-respect. And he won. But just when he stood vindicated, when he had successfully thwarted a character assault to reemerge a winner, all set to take charge of the leadership of the club once again, fate was to play a cruel joke on him all over again. He has since visited hospitals as often as he walked about the CCI restaurants and recreation zones.
I know of several media people who used to go to him with planned mischievousness during sensitive moments, to get the "breaking news" sound bytes. Because Raj Bhai was a straightforward man who held his own, he always made for interesting conversation and controversial takes. I once told him to avoid select characters who were trouble-mongers, but he insisted it was alright. "They are only doing their job" he said. There was a remarkable serenity with which he accepted it all. Unknown to many, he knew those who conveniently exploited him, and took advantage of his trusting disposition. He was open to criticism. When I told him I was disappointed that he was fighting the Lok Sabha election on a BJP ticket in 2004, as it looked like a tactical blunder, he did not get into a defensive state. He heard you out.
Raj Singh was extremely thrilled that well-known columnist Ayaz Memon (one of my favourites) was going to write his autobiography for him. The joy on his face was palpable. "He intends to title it The Era of Raj. Sounds nice, no???". At that moment, the former Rajasthan medium-pacer, BCCI President, and holder of several other official titles, looked like a young kid about to get his own bicycle.
Raj Bhai would have never understood these strategic breaks in IPL T20, the swinging cheerleaders and the maddening fury of Friday-night lights of modern day cricket. He would have been flummoxed by the salacious, repugnant yellow journalism of a mysterious blogger who has become a cult hero, taking several gullible desperadoes in a voyage of voyeurism. Rahul Dravid's humiliation by his team-owner would have greatly saddened him. He would not have been in South Africa enjoying any box-seat hospitality, but in his summer retreat, his London home, apparently a stone's throw away from the famed Lords's watching a West Indies versus England Test match. That was Raj Bhai.
I am told that Raj Bhai suffers from an extreme case of Alzheimer's disease and now rarely recognizes reality. The faces around him have become a blurred vision, just vaguely reminiscent of a memory that itself has faded. The friends and foes look alike. Perhaps it is in the fitness of things that he does not recollect the past. Or know the present.
Who knows, when I meet him next, he might just call me, Sanjay?
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