MAK Pataudi passes away

[Desi Cartman]

:(( Just a couple of weeks ago, I saw him on a tv show talking about England vs India test series... R.I.P

Yes I also saw him on NDTV and at the presentation in England just before that, he looked fine so its a bit of a shock.

[Rajiv]

Donated his 1 good eye

[Desi Cartman]

What a man :hatsoff:

[CG]

Sad day,wish we won the test series and he last gave the pataudi trophy cup to india,RIP M.A.K Pataudi

[speed_demon]

Tiger's last message: Need a strong bench MUMBAI: It was a long walk from the members' gallery at the Brit Oval to the stage - set in the middle of the ground for the presentation ceremony - after India lost all four Tests against England last month. Tiger Pataudi had gone to give away the winner's trophy named after his father Iftikhar Ali Khan Pataudi. It was meant to be a proud moment but it indeed was a long walk for Tiger after the humiliation India had suffered. Grief was evident on his sombre face. He kept to himself, gentle and poised as ever, and spoke only when requested. But when he did, Tiger Pataudi did not hold his views back on what India had been lacking on that tour and the reasons for the sudden downfall. "We don't have a bench. And until we have a strong bench, no matter how much talent we can boast of, we'll never be able to stay at the top," he said. In hindsight, it was his last message to Indian cricket, and also the Board of Control for Cricket in India. Tiger had minced no words. "We have to allow our domestic circuit to get more competitive and only then can we think of a healthy bench. The secret to success at the highest level is setting high standards in domestic cricket," he said then. At 70, Tiger had seen both sides of the coin and valuated it well. Invited by BCCI to join the Indian Premier League governing council, he had seen the most glamorous version of the game and had even participated in its administration. And while that lasted as long as it did, he also continued to contribute heavily towards Indian cricket in general, pouring in his thoughts whenever he could. "There's no harm in youngsters getting lured to the big money that cricket has to offer. Cricket is a hugely popular sport in India and cricketers are revered. So, it's only logical that they make the best of opportunities they get," he had said. He added in the same vein: "However, they should not forget why they're there. It is because of cricket alone and that they should respect." Competition, Tiger felt, has to be the biggest inspiration for any sportsman. "If competing alone brings the best out of you, then you need little else. And that's why I am saying that the sooner our cricketers begin to experience healthy competition, the better it is for the future of those cricketers and also Indian cricket." It is unfortunate that Tiger - who had always been an enigma for an entire generation of cricket enthusiasts who never saw him in his prime - had to leave this world when Indian cricket is at an all-time low. Indian cricket can draw inspiration from that fact alone. Start building up once again and give the Tiger his due.

[vamos_rafa]

The man with the "Eye of the Tiger". Never saw him play but always seemed to be a gentleman. RIP Sir.

[Rightarmfast]

RIP ! A true legend he was !

[King Tendulkar]

Terribly sad news. A true legend and pioneer of indian cricket. Maybe our best captain ever!

[Aaku]

RIP :((

[Sidhoni]

:((:sniffle: RIP Had a gr8 relationship with Bhopal :sniffle:

[Sidhoni]

SAD news, he was nawab of bhopal.

No, he wasn't

[Anonymous]

RIP Tiger. You are an inspiration for everyone :hatsoff:

'How I lost my eye' - Excerpts from Pataudi's biography Mid-Day.com Last updated on Friday, 23 September 2011 11:24 font size decrease font size increase font size Print Comments Share: Add to Google Buzz Add to Facebook Add to Delicious Digg this Add to Reddit Add to StumbleUpon Mumbai: The death of cricket legend Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi marks the end of one of the finest innings in the history of Indian cricket. Known as a brilliant cricketer and fabulous captain, here's a chapter from his autobiography in which he recalls the day when he lost his right eye in a car mishap. (Also see: Pataudi's last journey in pics) On July 1, 1961, after a hard day in the field against Sussex at Hove, five members of the Oxford University team, including myself, went out into Brighton for some Chinese food. Having dined, I felt pleasantly relaxed as we travelled back to the hotel in the Morris 100 car given by wicket-keeper Robin Waters. It was a beautiful evening, with a soft, salty breeze blowing from the sea so the lads decided that they would sooner walk the last lap back home. 'Come with us, Pat, a walk will do you good.' (Also Read: 'An innings played with one leg and one eye') But I was feeling much too lazy. 'No thanks, I'd sooner ride back with Robin,' I decided. The other three got out, and as Robin started up again I clambered over into the front seat beside him. I had just settled down, when a big car pulled out into the middle of the road and into our path. We hit it straight on. There was just sufficient time for me to turn my right shoulder to take the impact and when my shoulder hit the windscreen I must have broken it, because I found it impossible to throw a ball for nearly two years afterwards. I also hurt my hand, but was not at the time aware of any other damage. It wasn't a serious accident. Robin seemed quite O.K., except for a few cuts above the forehead, and as we were being carried into the ambulance I can remember saying to him: 'I've broken my hand. I doubt whether I'll be O.K. to play in the Varsity Match'. I had no idea then that I had injured my eye as well, because I felt no pain. When I awoke in hospital in Brighton I was told: 'You must have an operation on your right eye.' I was greatly surprised. Apparently a splinter had passed from the windscreen and entered my eye, and this splinter had to be extracted. Mr. David St. Clair Roberts, the surgeon, was summoned from his home to perform an emergency operation. He did a very good job, but afterwards I learnt that I had lost the lens of the eye, it having dissolved through injury, and that there was also a coat across the iris. The pupil of the eye had been stitched up, leaving me practically without vision. The eye was also out of alignment, and a further operation to bring it into line was not possible at that time. 'You will find it better to play cricket using one eye, as a contact lens would take too long to master,' I was told by Sir Benjamin Rycroft, the distinguished eye specialist. With a contact lens in my injured eye I found I could get about 90 per cent vision. The only trouble was it made me see two of everything. It took me a long time to realize I had virtually lost the use of one eye, but even then, never for an instant did I consider I might not be able to play cricket again. Possibly, I refused to let myself believe it could be the finish. Of course, I realized I must miss Oxford's last three games of the season, a fact which incidentally cost me the chance of surpassing my father's aggregate runs in an Oxford season. Colin Drybrough took over the captaincy in my absence; and since Robin Waters unfortunately failed to regain his sharp touch behind the stumps, C. A. Fry, grandson of the great C.B. kept wicket in the University match. With play restricted by thunderstorms on the first day, the match tailed off into a disappointing draw. In the meantime, three of four weeks after my operation, I was back in the nets, trying to find out what difference the accident had made to my batting, despite the fact that everyday life had proved a bit tricky at first. As any boxer who has had one eye closed by the blows of an opponent will tell you, it causes loss of perspective of judgement and distances. For example, when trying to light a cigarette I found I was missing the end of it by a quarter of an inch. I was also liable to pour water from a jug straight on to the table, instead of into a tumbler as I intended. But gradually I got the trick of performing such actions, finding it quite possible to adjust. Fortunately I had the help of both my mother and sister who had come over from India to look after me. But my batting needed sorting out. For long hours George Cod, the Sussex coach, bowled to me in the net while I worked out what I could still do and what I could not. At first I couldn't pick the length of the bowling at all. Then I reached a sort of compromise, but I suppose it took five years before I could claim to be completely on terms with my handicap. It has been said that I adopted a more open-chested stance. I don't think, in fact, that this is so. I always did favour a position more square on that most text books recommend. I soon found that I could no longer hook, because I couldn't follow the ball round, and I had to curb my natural inclination to drive half-volleys because I was so frequently beaten by the yorker. On the whole I favoured the quicker stuff, slow spin was so difficult to follow in flight but gradually I learnt to judge pace by the amount of flight and the effort that the bowler was putting into it. As far as everyday life was concerned it did not take me long to get adjusted. Mind you, I still find it difficult to drive at night because the headlights bother me. For this reason I have stopped driving altogether in England. In India, the worst thing is overtaking when another car is approaching from the other side of the road -- I find it difficult to judge precisely how far away the other car is. Mostly I don't bother to try to distinguish colours with my injured eye, but if I close the good one, colours seen from a distance of a few inches are fine. Having been granted leave of absence from Oxford University for one year, largely because I was told I wouldn't be able to read for some time, I retuned with my mother and sister to India in order to recuperate. Back home people didn't realize to what extent my eye had been injured and I, determined to play as much cricket as possible, did not of course encourage their curiosity. When asked to captain the President's team against the visiting M. C. C. team under Ted Dexter, at Hyderabad, I jumped at the chance...

[Sidhoni]

^Nice share :hatsoff: I always thought that he got hit on the eye while playing cricket

[MCcricket]

Since there was not much video footage of cricket then , we knew some of his qualities , but now that he has passed away and going thru all the information ,hearing from the great players of that era , with his agressive capataincy , brilliant fielding his attacking field settings , making the spin attack for India, having one eye and playing cricket with that much success, I regard him a genius no less , a term which cannot be light used, may his soul rest in peace

[Sachin=GOD]

A captain's innings BORIA MAJUMDAR | Sep 26, 2011, 12.00AM IST

The charms of Independence were fast wearing off. Multiple wars over Kashmir and an ailing economy were the ground realities a newly independent India was faced with in the 1960s. The hockey aura in the Olympics was soon to be a thing of the past; in cricket, India continued to be a minnow with no overseas series win to show for three decades of participation. It was in this context that Tiger Pataudi carved a niche for himself, first as player and subsequently as captain. Until his arrival on the scene, India was content to celebrate individual brilliance in cricket, even if such efforts mattered little in influencing the eventual outcome of a match. Vijay Hazare's exploits in Australia in 1948-49, for example, were part of folklore despite India losing 0-4 to Bradman's invincibles. Pataudi, in what can be termed his lasting legacy, laid the foundations of the modern 'Team India'. It was this sense of pride and nationalism that helped distinguish Indian cricket of the 1960s - a decade where Pataudi called the shots as captain - from that of the 1940s and 50s. More than Pataudi wanting the captaincy, India needed him to become captain of a fledgling ship in the Caribbean in 1962. With skipper Nari Contractor battling for life in hospital after suffering a near-fatal blow at the hands of Charlie Griffith, India desperately needed a leader with determination, courage and dynamism, more so than cricketing acumen. It required someone articulate with charisma and flair; a leader who wouldn't be overawed when facing the English or the Australians at a time when they were the dominant forces in world cricket. Like in the post-match-fixing era, Indian cricket needed someone of character to chalk out the team's future. It is fair to say that Sourav Ganguly, with his carefree and confident attitude, helped consolidate Tiger Pataudi's legacy. Pataudi was the voice of a newly emergent nation speaking out to the world. He was India's 'shed all inhibitions' man. The fearlessness we attribute to Ganguly and subsequently to Mahendra Singh Dhoni - the team bonding that defines the current Indian side and which has been instrumental in India's ascen-dancy in cricket - can be traced back in its nascent form to Tiger Pataudi, a bridge between two starkly contrasting eras. Pataudi epitomised India's transition from being a minnow to a potential powerhouse. India under him was no cricketing heavyweight but there were signs that suggested the phase of transition had started in earnest. Pataudi, like C K Nayudu, could have been a fantastic T20 player had he played the game, a format he looked upon with disdain in its initial years of existence. Hitting over the infield came naturally to him at a time when such flair was met with disapproval. His bowling abilities would have solved Dhoni's present problems of not having an able part-timer and his fielding would have forced Nasser Hussain to instantly withdraw his donkey jibe. A man ahead of his time, Pataudi can never be understood in terms of numbers of matches won or runs scored. Batting with one eye, he was all attitude and pluck, more Australian on occasion than Indian. Yet, he was laid-back and elegant, attributes that made him a uniquely Indian leader. He may not have been India's best captain - Ganguly and Dhoni are better strategists - but he was India's equivalent of a Jackie Robinson. While he wasn't combating the evils of racial discrimination, he was faced with something equally difficult. India lacked the confidence to excel in cricket; more than anything else, Pataudi instilled the self-belief to challenge the established parameters of the game. He was clearly Indian cricket's 'go to' man in the 1960s. He played at a time when players earned less than Rs 250 a Test match. Their financial plight was such that on the way to the Caribbean in 1962, the Air India staff in New York had to take care of a finan-cially struggling Indian team. Yet, he was cricket's poster boy and one who inspired the marketer's ambitions. Tiger Pataudi and Sharmila Tagore were a perfect Page 3 couple before there was a Page 3, and Pataudi was a media favourite at a time when the Indian sports media was playing the middle overs in its story of evolution. It can easily be conjectured that he would have been a marketer's delight had he been playing today, a man who had it all - looks, panache, talent, determination and credibility. How do we best remember Tiger Pataudi? Or better still, where do we locate him in India's cricket/sporting history? Suffice to say that he will forever be remembered for three things: as a man who taught his teammates to overcome their defeatist mindset and take on the world; as one who wished to be adventurous even if it meant breaking established parameters; and, finally, one who was the first true cricketing celebrity, a brand by himself before the advent of the gargantuan Indian cricket market. If Nayudu was India's first home-grown superhero and Sachin Tendulkar India's single biggest sports brand of all time, Tiger Pataudi can be located in the middle, a combination of the past and the future. And one who will always find a position of honour in India's cricketing pantheon. The writer is senior research fellow, University of Central Lancashire.

TOI

[Sachin=GOD]

Back to the pavilion Rajdeep Sardesai, Hindustan Times September 25, 2011

It is not without irony that as the news of Tiger Pataudi’s death was filtering in, another cricket jamboree was taking off. The opening ceremony of the Champions League T20 was quintessential new India: a noisy, crass, stage-managed tamasha. If Pataudi had been watching, he’d probably have switched the TV set off. The world of Nawab Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi was a universe of dignity, civility and understated elegance. He was a superstar in a pre-television era, a style icon who didn’t need to walk the ramp, a Nawab who didn’t need to advertise his pedigree, an original Tiger before the wannabee cubs took over. In a sense, Pataudi typified the 60s generation of romantic dreams, of chivalrous men and enchanting women who were enamoured with the idea of a Nehruvian India. If actor Shammi Kapoor redefined cinema in this period by wooing his heroines with passionate ardour, Pataudi changed the face of Indian cricket through his charismatic persona. He gave the sport a ‘star’ value, a new-found aggression that typified the spirit of a nation yearning to break free of its colonial baggage. In some ways, Pataudi was an unusual candidate to lead a ‘democratic’ upsurge that would eventually revolutionise Indian cricket. He was, after all, a Nawab of a small princely state, who had studied in Winchester and at Oxford. A child of privilege, he was acutely conscious of his origins, and when the privy purses were abolished, he even contested an election in 1971 from Gurgaon in protest. When he lost the Indian captaincy that same year to a ‘commoner’ in Ajit Wadekar, he initially refused to play under Wadekar’s leadership. And yet, he was, as historian Mukul Kesavan aptly remarked, a ‘republican’ prince, someone who led a cricket team that brought together people from different class backgrounds under one national flag. Until Pataudi arrived on the scene, Indian cricket had seen a turbulent relationship with its princely patrons. There had been enough instances where feudalism ruled over merit, most famously in 1936 when the Maharaja of Vizianagaram had sent home the original ‘people’s’ hero Lala Amarnath from the England tour. Unlike Vizzy, Pataudi knew how to hold a cricket bat rather well, and perhaps it was the faith in his own ability that allowed him to discover new talent from across India. Indian cricket didn’t win much in the 1960s under Pataudi’s leadership, but for the first time, a genuine sense of meritocracy crept into the game. The Indian middle classes were coming into their own on the cricket field with Mumbai’s maidans and gymkhanas leading the way. Pataudi provided confidence to this new generation of urban middle class cricketers to express themselves with a self-belief that had been missing in the initial post-independence period. Even if they lost more games than they won, a desire to compete was instilled in the team. In particular, it was Pataudi’s cricketing instincts that saw him introduce into Indian cricket a quartet of spin bowlers — Bishan Singh Bedi, Erapalli Prasanna, Bhagwat Chandrasekhar and S Venkataraghavan — and convert them into potential match-winners. If 1971 was to prove a turning point in Indian cricket, then the foundation for success was laid by Pataudi’s inspirational leadership through the 1960s. His Test batting record was modest, but to judge Pataudi by the volume of runs he made would be unfair. That he was able to play cricket after losing sight in one eye is itself quite remarkable. That despite the handicap, he could take on the fastest bowlers in world cricket is an achievement almost unparalleled in the sport. And yet, Pataudi wore the burden of his disability very lightly. As he once said in an interview, “I may have lost an eye, but I did not lose my ambition!” Indeed, under that gentle, easygoing manner lurked a fierce competitor, someone blessed with a natural talent for all sport. He was perhaps the first Indian cricketer to actually ‘enjoy’ fielding, an aspect of the game that was seen at times to conflict with its princely origins. Traditionally, princes were meant to bat in Indian cricket, leaving the more arduous task of fielding to lesser mortals. Pataudi changed that by literally bringing the eye of the tiger to the art of fielding. Pataudi was a trend-setter in other ways too. His family had been divided by Partition and he had aunts, uncles and cousins on both sides of the border. But he never allowed the scars of those divisions to affect his secular cosmopolitanism. He defied family and custom to marry Sharmila Tagore in an age where Hindu-Muslim marriages were uncommon. It was the first sportsman-cinema alliance, and easily the most successful. And yet, for all his achievements on and off the field, he remained at heart the shy public schoolboy, an anglicised gent in a desi environment. Not surprisingly, his afterlife in cricket was a shade more difficult. Perhaps, the frenetic pace of new India frazzled him. He was occasionally tempted into trying his hand at politics, but clearly he was not cut out for the rough and tumble of elections. Nor was he comfortable with a cricketing establishment populated by men with petty minds and kingsize egos. Pataudi was never going to bow and scrape before officials who wouldn’t know the difference between a square cut and a late cut, and barring a brief encounter with the IPL governing council, he chose to stay away from sports administration. He did, however, become the president of the Players Association, which was perhaps his way of reaching out to the next generation of cricketers. Today, of course, with multi-crore contracts, the players don’t feel the need for any association. But if today’s cricketers are cash-rich celebrities, its because of the torch that was lit by the likes of Pataudi many years ago. (Rajdeep Sardesai is editor-in-chief, IBN 18. The views expressed by the author are personal)

Hindustan Times

[Ranjha]

rip

[1983-2011]

Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi obituary Known throughout his cricket career as the Nawab of Pataudi Jr, a title abolished years later during Indira Gandhi's reforms, Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi "Tiger" or "Pat" to his friends earned a special place in cricket history for his extraordinary success as a batsman after losing most of the sight in his right eye in a car accident in Hove, East Sussex, in July 1961. At that time, Pataudi, who has died aged 70, was a highly promising batsman who had made a name for himself at Winchester College, and for Oxford University and Sussex (his debut for the club came aged 16). His father, Iftikhar Ali Khan, the previous Nawab of Pataudi, had played for England in Australia during the 1932-33 Bodyline series, when his relations with the captain, Douglas Jardine, were frosty; he later led India on the 1946 tour of England. Pataudi Sr died while playing polo in Delhi on his son's 11th birthday. The youngster was soon to have the satisfaction of breaking Jardine's batting records at Winchester. The accident seemed certain to end the talented Pataudi Jr's career. It was discouraging to find that when he tried to light a cigarette he missed the end of it by a quarter of an inch. And yet before the year was out, after testing himself in net sessions, he was chosen to play for India in the first of what amounted to an extraordinary tally of 46 Test matches between 1961 and 1975. The cricket world was astounded when, in his third Test, later in that 1961-62 series, he scored 103 (in only two-and-a-half hours) at Madras, the victory securing India's first series win against England. Five more Test hundreds followed, all steeped in a sense of wonder that a man could overcome such a serious visual impairment to succeed (cap peak pulled down low to the right helped) against the world's most testing bowling. Equally dramatic was his appointment as India's captain during the tour of the West Indies early in 1962. At 21, Pataudi became the youngest Test captain to that time. Placing himself in the middle order, he managed only two 40s in his six remaining innings as India were pounded. He was captain in 40 of his 46 Tests, an innovative, dignified and much respected leader with a sharp sense of humour, adored by his players, envied for his calmness and intelligence, never one to reveal his emotions and always ready to turn defence into attack. Recognising the dearth of quality fast bowlers in India, he based his strategy on spinners, showing that in the absence of good fast men, three talented slow bowlers were better than two. Understandably, Pataudi's batting was inconsistent. Yet from time to time he played an innings the dash and quality of which even if India ended up losing no onlooker would forget. Leading India against the 1963-64 England side, he failed in his first seven innings of the series. Yet in the drawn fourth Test, at Delhi, he unfurled India's first double-century against England. Against England in 1967 he stroked a glorious 148 in the Headingley Test which would remain in TV viewers' minds forever. His athletic fielding remained memorable too. Pataudi's 75 and 85 against Australia in 1967-68 at Melbourne (made not just with one eye but on one good leg, in dim light and on a green-tinged first-day pitch) had the former Australian batsman Lindsay Hassett comparing him with the peerless Donald Bradman. Compensation for losing all four Tests in Australia came in Dunedin, New Zealand, with India's first-ever overseas Test victory. After home series against New Zealand and Australia, it seemed that his Test career was at an end when Ajit Wadekar became captain. Pataudi played on for Sussex (88 matches from 1957 to 1970) and for Hyderabad. But following Wadekar's exit, Pataudi returned for the 1974-75 home series against the West Indies at Calcutta notching another gratifying mark when his side beat them for the first time in India. But his own batting had fallen away and this was to be his last Test series. In all, he had scored 2,793 runs in Test matches at an average of 34.91, with six centuries. In later years he did some modelling, cricket commentary and edited Sportsworld magazine. He was also involved with the Indian Premier League until a recent disagreement. A month ago Pataudi was seen at the Oval, presenting the Pataudi trophy to England captain Andrew Strauss. Shortly afterwards he contracted a lung infection, which proved fatal. Pataudi had willed his "good" eye for use in a transplant at the Venu Eye Institute in Delhi, for which he had been an ambassador for 10 years. Appointed as captain of a World XI in 1968, he played 499 innings in first-class cricket, scoring 15,425 runs at 33.67, with 33 hundreds. He was revered by all in the cricket world. India's batting star of the recent series, Rahul Dravid, described Pataudi ("Just call me John Smith") as a "romantic figure". The novelist and historian Mukul Kesavan went further: "He remained untouched by the squabbles and sleaze that attended cricket's transformation into big business in India. As a consequence, death finds him happily embalmed in fond radio memories: still tigerish in the covers, still a prince among men." He survived by his wife, the former actor Sharmila Tagore; a son, Saif; and daughters, Soha and Saba. Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi, cricketer, born 5 January 1941; died 22 September 2011

[Asim]

Imran Khan delivers the inaugural Tiger Pataudi Memorial Lecture 8Uc2iqteQR4

We were in awe of Tiger Pataudi: Imran Khan Former Pakistan skipper Imran Khan revealed that during his formative years he looked up to Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi for inspiration. Addressing a gathering at the Tiger Pataudi Memorial Lecture here on Monday, Imran said there was certain enigma about Tiger Pataudi whose academic qualification was equally noteworthy as his cricketing exploits. "I grew up admiring two persons. One was my first cousin Javed Burki and the other being Mansoor Ali Khan... The duo played together at the Oxford University about a decade before me." "My idol (Burki) would tell me if Mansoor Ali Khan had not lost vision in one eye, he would have broken all the records. The quality of strokes he could play with one eye, mere mortals cannot play..." He further said that what made Pataudi different was he had quality education along with playing international cricket, something that had helped on the field. "I had always looked up to him. Excelling in education and playing international sport is the most difficult thing to. It takes incredible willpower. But once you do it you have huge advantage," he said. "We were in awe of Tiger. He was so casual. Cricket was not his bread and butter. If it become your profession, you would never take the risk to achieve great heights. You would always try to play safe. You aim high, take risks and develop this fearlessness. What makes you invincible is self-belief." Imran believes that Tiger Pataudi's on-field flamboyance had a lot to do with the fact that he believed that cricket was a game which should be enjoyed. "Tiger treated cricket as something which was to be enjoyed. That's why he was so flamboyant and had the charisma."