E-Paper
When Dhyan Chand came to tea at this Punekar’s residence
Shriniwas Kelkar, a retired professor of chemistry, SPPU writes about how Dhyan Chan won hearts with his humility
I wonder how often Major Dhyan Chand came to Pune. Perhaps never, since that day in 1966, when he donned the hockey jersey and wielded the stick in public for arguably the last time.
The hockey nationals were being held at the Army School of Physical Training (ASPT) grounds (now called Army Institute of Physical Training) in Hadapsar. Organisers had also invited great ex-Olympians of India. Dhyan Chand came and so did Roop Singh, his equally-illustrious brother. They were joined by stalwarts of hockey such as Kishen Lal, Bandu Patil, RS Bhola, Shankar Laxman, Mohinder Lal, Inam-ur-Rehman, the Tokyo Express Harbinder Singh and many others.
I would go to the matches every day on my scooter, driving my friend who was covering the event for a local newspaper. Dhyan Chand was on the ground every evening. Some of his ex-colleagues were residents of Khadki then. One time an aged gentleman walked up to him and asked, “Dada, pehchana mujhe?”. Dhyan Chand turned to look and exclaimed “Baboo!” They were in deep embrace the next moment. It was Dhyan Chand’s teammate Baboo Nimal. So simple were these heroes of yesteryear! They brought glory to India, but never bathed in it.
I told this to my father. “Oh,” he said. “If they are so approachable, why don’t you ask them over for tea?” Now it was one thing for my father to say that. I thought it impossible that the ‘Wizard’ would accept. Reluctantly I said, “Let me try.”
Next evening, just before the game, I went to Dhyan Chand and hesitantly asked: “My father is your great admirer. Will it be possible for you to visit our house, if you are free?”
Prompt came the reply, “Haan haan, kyun nahi? Jaroor ayenge. Parso chalega?” And then he called out to Roop Singh who was nearby. “Dekho bhai, parso inke ghar jaanaa hai, chalenge na?” I could not believe my ears. That simple. No hassle, no hitches!
Overjoyed, I came home and my father was in the seventh heaven. A welcome party was formed immediately: Rambhau Lele, the well-known hockey coach of New English School Ramanbagh and some close friends were included.
My reporter friend and I reached the ASPT guest house in our Ambassador that evening. Dhyan Chand and Roop Singh were ready. Just as we stepped out, they spotted Balkishan Singh, the national coach. “Arey bhai, hum inke saath ja rahe hai inke ghar. Aate ho to chalo naa saath mein!” And Balkishan came along too, all three cramped in the back seat! Fortunately, an extra third garland was already there at home.
Over snacks, talks turned, to who Dhyan Chand would put in an “all-time greats team of India”. He listed some 30 names. “Chunanaa mushkil hai,” he said. And yet he did not include himself or his brother in it.
We all went to our terrace to show him a vantage view of Pune. Dhyan Chand asked my mother. “Aap jaati hai khel dekhne? Nahi? Theek hai, lekin kal jaroor aana. Bahut achchha match hoga.” Two matches were scheduled for the next day: The national finals and a friendly match between current and past Olympians in which he was playing. The ‘bahut accha’ match he was referring to wasn’t his own.
Next day Dhyan Chand and his team of ex-Olympians (all old and wizened now) came out in clean whites. All the skills that had earned him the sobriquet ‘Wizard’ were clearly visible. His stick-work, flicks and stopping full-blooded shots from 10 metres, the ball adhering to his stick as if glued. If something was lacking it was the ‘age-old’ speed. At one point he stepped out during the match for an interview. Before going back on, Dhyan Chand, the true sportsman, waited outside the side-line for the umpire’s nod to re-enter!
And then the game was over. All retired to the pavilion, and soon, would retire forever.
Since that day, my mother did not watch any other hockey match. How could she let the memory of that game fade? Or that of the humble legend who had invited her there.
