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Magazine
PAST & PRESENT
The Loyola tradition
RAMACHANDRA GSUHA
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The tennis tradition of Loyola has given the country players who dominated the sport in India for decades.
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Graceful style: Vijay Amritraj (right) with Anand Amritraj.
Among Chennai gentlemen of a certain age, an achievement that commands considerable respect is to have played on the second court at Loyola College. That was as far as any ordinary mortal could get; for, roughly between the years 1955 and 1980, the f
irst court at Loyola was more or less reserved for boys bearing the surnames Krishnan and Amritraj.
I do not live and did not study in Chennai. But I can yet proudly boast that I have seen, on courts other than at Loyola — and undoubtedly on courts greener than those at Loyola — all the Krishnans and Amritrajs play, and sometimes win, tennis matches.
I wrote in an earlier column of when I first saw Ramesh Krishnan play — when he lost in the junior finals of the Delhi Nationals of 1974. On that same day I saw Vijay Amritraj play in the men’s final, against the visiting American player Tom Gorman. Serving and volleying beautifully, and playing well also from the back of the court, Vijay took the first set easily. He had gone three-love up in the second when a group of college boys decided that they wanted the match to go the full distance (that we had got in for free made us all the more determined to see as much good tennis as possible). So we began cheering Gorman, applauding and whistling after every winner. His spirits perked up, and he began playing more consistently. He wiped out the deficit, won the second set, and then the decider as well. Interviewed later on television, he gave the credit for his win to “the little fan club behind me”.
Double take
After a wash and a change, Vijay Amritraj was back on court, for the men’s doubles final. He was partnered by his younger brother Ashok; the two clad identically, in shocking pink shorts and polka dotted t-shirts. Opposite them, more soberly attired, were Ramanathan Krishnan and Chirodeep Mukherjee, younger brother of Krish’s long-time Davis Cup partner Jaideep. It was a thrilling match, as doubles on grass tends to be, with quick, short rallies punctuated by booming service aces. An abiding memory is of Krishnan’s angled volleys, which played their part in taking his team to a three-set win.
On one glorious winter’s day, I had seen two Amritrajs and two Krishnans play. The remaining Amritraj I was to see often later, and usually in Davis Cup matches. While lacking the fluency and athleticism of his brother Vijay, he had a fine return of serve and a fighting temperament. I remember him playing, and winning, a crucial Davis Cup tie against the much higher-ranked Japanese player Jun Kamiwazumi, where Anand pumped himself up by loudly, and repeatedly, spanking himself on his buttocks. Years later, in what must have been his last Davis Cup match, I watched him and Vijay take on the formidable Swedish duo of Mats Wilander and Stefan Edberg in Bangalore. Anand played bare-foot; and amused the crowd more when he insisted on always recovering, from the ball-boys, the ball with which he had won the previous point. The Amritrajs won the first set and were leading in the second, before Anand’s lack of match-practice and the superior fitness of the Swedes saw them to victory.
Immense talent
Cynical Indians remember Vijay Amritraj as the man who never quite fulfilled his great talents; the two things they tend to remember, specifically, is that he was once considered part of the “ABC” of tennis, and that unlike the B and the C (Borg and Connors) he was adept at “snatching defeat from the jaws of victory”. My memories are sweeter. He was, truly, a beautiful player to watch; with a lovely, flowing style, who served and volleyed well and could hit gracefully on both flanks. In his childhood he had suffered grievously from asthma; one reason he tended to lose five-set matches or run out of steam in a two-week long tournament. I naturally warmed to him, because of the fluency of his play, the transparent decency of his character, and the fact that I was an asthmatic myself. That I had supported Tom Gorman against him that first time left me with a sense of guilt; on later occasions, I would, shouting loudly from the galleries, promise him lunch at Buhari’s if he won. Since this was usually in Delhi or Calcutta it was a gesture he appreciated, reminding him as it did of his native Chennai. My shouted promise would always be answered by a quick look-back and a dazzling smile. On at least two occasions — against Kenichi Hirai in Delhi and against Adriano Panatta in Calcutta — he went on to win.
So I owe Vijay Amritraj two lunches; were he wish to redeem his debt, I would be more than happy to pay up, and at places more up-market than those originally promised. Lunch with Vijay would be a treat, for me; as hearing him on the television most certainly is. He is, by some distance, the finest of all Indian sporting commentators — displaying a sure knowledge of his game, a familiarity with idiomatic English, a readiness to laugh at himself, and an utter lack of chauvinism.
In the mind of the Indian fan, some associations of specific sports with particular places comes easily; the Maidan in Kolkata with football, say, or Shivaji Park in central Mumbai with cricket. Then there is the village of Sansarpur in Jalandhar district, from where have come no fewer than 20 hockey internationals. In this select list the tennis tradition of Loyola College must also find its place.
ramguha@vsnl.com
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