1983-Facts and Fiction

Backstage-The folklore of Bridgetown: Part 1

Because no 70s-80s ICT documentary, particularly those written with a soft spot for Jimmy Amarnath, is complete without the folklore of Bridgetown 1983.

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India's tour of West Indies, 1983

4th Test, 15-20 April

Day 4

Lala Amarnath was commentating on the national radio for the first time that year; he'd accepted the special invitation mostly thanks to his middleborn son's imperious form in the previous three Tests. India had not managed to win any, true, and did not seem likely to win the remaining two, and senior Amarnath was not overly fond of covering tours where India gave in without a fight. Jimmy, however, was the only thing standing between India and fightless defeats.

With scores of 58 and 117 in the second Test, he'd managed to push India into a draw, and in the first innings of the ongoing Test, he'd seen India past 209 with his 91 in a scorecard where no one else had crossed 30.

Presently, he was batting on 15, and had just hooked Marshall away for a four, taking him to 19.

"An excellent shot by Amarnath, the ball races over to the square leg boundary..." For Lala ji, praising his son on commentary was as far as he could get.

He did not believe in spoiling the kids with sweet words; it got them complacent and satisfied, and made them stop wanting more. Some people might call it tyranny, the way Lala Amarnath dealt with his three sons—the middle one in particular, owing to the amount of prospect he saw in him being the highest by far—but others could argue that was the driving reason behind Mohinder's fearlessness on the field and continual comebacks.

Malcolm Marshall was taking his run-up now.

"Marshall to Amarnath...that's another short one, and yet another hook—" Lala ji fell silent abruptly.

His fellow commentator, leaning into the TV to gauge the extent of damage, couldn't quite hide the horror in his voice as he finished Lala ji's unfinished sentence.

"This time Amarnath misses the ball...the fast one from Marshall caught him straight in the face. That doesn't look good—his mouth appears to be bleeding badly. And yes, they're carrying him off now, to the hospital I'd guess. I don't think he'll be able to resume this innings, do you?" He turned, almost apologetically to Lala ji, who was still silent.

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"I hope this teaches you to not try hooks at every Marshall and Holding delivery!"

A groggy Jimmy heard someone speaking angrily from a great distance.

"But I doubt it will; this is not the first time you're making us see you unconscious in a hospital bed, Jim pa, and it won't be the last."

Now Jimmy recognized the voice as belonging to Kaps, because of the Kaps-accented 'Jim pa.'

"Where are—" he started to ask, but broke off, lifting a hand to his chin and mouth, which felt like they'd been sliced open several times over.

Kapil's voice changed from angry to anxious.

"Don't touch it, it needed six stitches, let it heal for a while—does it hurt a lot, Jim pa?"

"Not very," said Jimmy absent-mindedly, still trying to get his head round what had happened. When he couldn't recollect, he decided to ask. "What happened?"

"You tried to hook one too many off Marshall," said Kapil sulkily. "As usual."

"So, um, the day's play is over?" Jimmy asked, glancing out of the window, which still showed light. "What's the score?"