"Nobody puts one over on Fred C Dobbs"

All the ageing Khans, Kumars and Kapoors of Bollywood can begin the new year on a fresh note of hope watching the yesteryear Hollywood superstar Humphry Bogart play Fred C Dobbs, an out and out negative character, in the John Huston masterpiece “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.”

This acting triumph was monumental on two counts. One, Bogart was pitted against the great Walter Hutson (John Huston’s father) who played Howard, a kind-hearted miner with a weather beaten face, clearly the film’s soul, and two, he took on this film at a time when he was ageing and balding and stuck in the image of the bow-tied sleuth of pedestrian crime commotions, and tediously known for his hyponasal and lisped speech during the fag end of his career.

Thanks to Bogart’s dexterity and Huston’s filmmaking brilliance, his character arc doesn’t lose its charm in the predictable moral failings that take such characters to the usual abyss of an destruction beyond repair. Filmmaker after filmmaker has make this downfall a fortified cliché. Not Huston!

Bogart punctuates the progressive decline of his character with aplomb, how the yearning for a secure life makes way for avarice which, thanks to the growing distrust of and disdain for comrades, becomes lethal till it turns fatal. He even manages to derive some sympathy for the delusional disaster that Dobbs turns out, which is weird given the extreme wickedness of Dobbs that has disgusting layers to it. And yet you feel like feeling for him, which is thanks only to Bogart’s surreal performance. No wonder, Daniel Day Lewis found Fred C Dobbs very helpful for portraying the anti-hero Daniel Plainview of ‘There Will Be Blood’.

The base camp for the film is Tampico, Mexico where circumstances of abject poverty bring together three musketeers of different makes and takes to embark on a gold pursuit on the Sierra Madre mountain range: one, the wise one Howard is the unassuming light house of the squad, having been there done that, two, inherently toxic Dobbs that we have discussed above, and three, the congenial adventurer Bob Curtin (Tim Holt is simply superb) who is the proverbial glue of sorts, chugging along with his two mates, seeped in wishful thinking. The mission goes horribly wrong for Dobbs and the other two are the deserving beneficiaries of life’s remainder theorem. And yet the end, minus the needless frame of Howard winking at the camera, has rich nutrients best watched on any screen of the device near you.

Some Videshi film reviewer has described the tragedy of Sierra Madre as downmarket Shakespearean. Nothing can be more discourteous to the genius of original author who used the pen name B. Traven, as also to the virtuosity of Huston and team. The Yankees are known to revere the Great Bard for the wrong reasons, and without having the slightest idea of what he brings to the table and where he becomes babyishly predictable. They will do well to keep aside Spark Notes and study the wealth of Greek literature including the Iliad all over again, and maybe even attempt to grasp the essence of the Indian epic Mahabharata. They will feel the depth of this film’s tragedy and begin to appreciate why tragedy is not about markets, both up and down.

Meanwhile, our Khans, Kumars and Kapoors can surely find at least a handful of native filmmakers with untapped potential, if they flash their torchlights on the wastelands outside the cosy Bollywood confines of their pet studios and captive directors.

These lifeboats can become their Desi John Hustons to help them move up the value chain of film acting in mainstream cinema. They can venture out of the box and yet achieve box office success, and a fresh lease of life in their autumn years.

For now, they can watch (or rewatch) the film to appreciate how Huston uses the rich metaphor of Gold Digging to convey larger truths about the futility of step-up ambition (much like the fatality of step-up loans) and the frailty of the human condition.

The Nonconformist Trailblazer

It's indeed baffling that not many among those who claim to know Makarand Waingankar better have truly sensed the depth and dignity of his tireless activism of no bounds. Those who half-understand it call him eccentric, and those who find in it an unplayable yorker or a disquieting bumper call him names.

However, this rebel without a pause and many a cause is unperturbed by the commotion of both adulation and abuse; he’s too busy to take notice, leave alone retort in anger or stake claims to prove a point.

At 76, he has not lost even an ounce of his child-like enthusiasm, razor-sharp mind, and great sense of humour. Whether savouring his favourite Parsi Dhansak, contemplating on the larger issues of sport, or working tirelessly to raise the benchmarks for mentoring and coaching worldwide, this gen-next version of Mak book Pro (that rivals the latest Mac offerings of a legendary company with a bitten fruit logo that does much more than keep doctors away) is always neck-deep in the immersive experience – both in delight and disappointment.

“How was the crab dish Mak sir?” you ask. “Mind blowing”, he exclaims in rapturous tones. The question “What is your take on the ubiquitous parent-teacher meetings of the modern education system?” fetches a diametrically contrasting no holds barred reply  “Utter nonsense”.

That’s Mak sir for you, no half pleasures or measures for him!

He is immersed in work from dawn to dusk, braving age and ailment on the one hand, and attending to the daily truckload of diverse requests on the other, from individuals and institutions across different spheres from the world over.

With legends Polly Umrigar and Raj Singh Dungarpur

A big chunk of these help seekers are of course former and current cricketers who at different spans of their careers sought his help to reinvent themselves or broaden their skill horizons, but his circle of influence and acquaintance is way bigger than most imagine. People from all walks of life knock on his doors with unfailing regularity.

A wants to reclaim his zeal and zest for life, B wants his marital discord resolved, C seeks wings to soar higher in the chosen profession, D is looking for tax advice for his windfall gains, E wants to finetune the  blueprint of a business plan, F seeks counsel to make a comeback as a player, G is an academy wanting to move up the value chain of talent development …and all from A to Z want the Mak Book Pro to offer instant solutions on a platter, which he unfailingly does, despite his staple rants that it is high time the A to Z take charge of their lives and high time he hung up his boots.

The indomitable Mak sir simply carries on without a trace of regret or disappointment on the parochial motives and toxic machinations of the world we live in, where shallow small talk is hailed as an actionable insight, and the erstwhile marriages of convenience have made way for marriages of connivance.

This maverick pursued a Ph.D and secured the coveted degree defying ridicule and contrary advice at an age when most people narrate bedtime stories to disinterested grandchildren.

                                                                 With Yuvraj Singh

From unearthing hidden talent to sharpening proven competencies, from rescuing Mumbai cricket from the eddy of complacency to taking Indian cricket to dizzying heights, from helping novice cricketers make dream debuts and fetch plum jobs to working towards the upliftment of former umpires and groundsmen, from covering matches as a discerning journalist to probing deep into the history and evolution of the game as a researcher and author, he has been there done that with unparalleled precision and unimaginable persistence.

No wonder, he has mentored several players across generations – from Yograj Singh to Yuvraj Singh – in an illustrious career spanning five decades.

His towering profundity and deep interest for actionable knowledge is delightfully seamless. The relevance of Greek thought to contemporary issues, depths of Indian Vedic wisdom and spiritual insights, focused research on the information etched on medicine labels, recent innovations to solve India’s deepening water crisis, or the disturbing rise in the number of suicides in schools, colleges and universities, no issue is besides the point or out of purview for him. 

I appeal to all Mak sir fans and admirers across the globe to start a grassroots movement towards building a potent platform that will enable kids, adolescents, and young professionals of today find passion and purpose in life, and learn as much from failure and dejection as from success and recognition, in the guiding light of the therapeutic counsel and priceless insights of the one and only Mak sir.

Humble Typhoon amid Haughty Tycoons

Frank Tyson (1930 – 2015)

Pacers in cricket are a privileged and pampered tribe; their whimsicalities, pet mannerisms, and even tantrums are happily made part of the cricketing folklore by an obliging audience. Ditto for the media which consciously makes terror and hostility the defining attributes of the many Sultans of swing and seam.

No wonder, many fast bowlers go to any extent to ‘win’ the coveted tag – even at the cost of losing line, length, poise, and purpose, both materially and metaphorically. And no, I am not referring to our beloved DSP Mohammad Siraj who had his moment (or did he?) in the Adelaide match after scalping a certain Head, at a time when India had lost the game and the last rites were underway. There have far too many such incidents which even few commentators seem to lap up (how many times have we heard on the comm box – “I like his aggression, he gives it his all.”)

So, a gentlemanly bloke would have been unanimously labelled a cat among the pigeons by quintessential members of the pacer fraternity. Even more so, if he recited Shakespeare, and Wordsworth in lieu of usual mouthful of highly inflammable content, spewed in colloquial tongues and dialects from the world over.

Yes, we talk of the great Frank Tyson who is best known across the globe for his dream spell in the 1954-55 Ashes tour that demolished the Aussies, after the hosts had pocketed the first match, which won him the admiration of Bradman and Benaud who were categorical in the submission that he was the fastest they faced ever.

Having said that, there’s much more to the Tyson saga than his fleeting role in intensifying the English-Aussie rivalry, which doesn’t find the place of pride it deserves given the reigning culture in popular sport of making demi gods out of cricketers and downplaying the people and processes which got them there in the first place. Most players who taste stardom hardly look back and even when they do, they do no more than pay lip service.

Thanks to the guiding light of the first hand insights of Dr. Makarand Waingankar or Mak Sir as he is fondly called, and heartfelt conversations with selfless exponents like Vighnesh Shahane and Zubin Bharucha, I learnt a lot about the Typhoon who triggered a downpour of disruptive innovation that gave Indian cricket a new lease of life.

Frank sir's story is as inspiring as it is astounding, a great case study and reference point for all those who love to keep the game above its players, best by default than design.

Tyson was born in the small municipal borough of Farnworth, then part of Lancashire before it was annexed by Greater Manchester in 1974. School life was replete with many a cricketing triumph but following his factory foreman father’s wish and command, he took his education seriously and went on to secure a coveted B.A. in English literature from Durham University.

Even during his brief World War II stint as an army cipher operator, his umbilical chord with cricket was intact. His pace bowling regularly shattered the stumps of many RAF and Navy opponents and paved the way for his first class debut in 1952. His awe-inspiring exploits in a Northants Vs Middlesex match at Lord’s marked his impressive Test debut vs Pakistan and soon after, he sailed down under for the ultimate contest.

And what a contest it was…

With a shortened runup, sturdy boots, and a thinking mind, Tyson wrecked havoc post the Brisbane loss and claimed 28 series scalps in a winning cause, and all this after sustaining a serious head injury from a Ray Lindwall bumper, which caused a huge swelling at the back of his skull in the Sydney Test which England won by 38 runs, thanks to Frank sir's 6 for 85. In the Melbounre test, he delivered surreal figures of 6 for 16 from 6.3 (eight-ball) overs on the fifth morning.

It is indeed tragic that he should have played only 11 tests post the Ashes triumph, ending his tenure with a tally of 76 wickets from 17 matches at an average of 18.56 and strike rate of 45.4 and best bowling figures of 7 for 27 (Melbourne Mayhem)

But the true maverick that he was, he left the game with a smile and never let his disappointment turn into regret. He settled for good in the same country that had catapulted him to global stardom.

Have a look at his astounding work horizon post his retirement from the game:

English, French and History teacher and later Head of languages at Melbourne’s Carey Baptist Grammar School,

cricket coach for Victorian Cricket Association, Mumbai Cricket Association and Sri Lankan National Team,

correspondent for reputed newspapers and magazines, ABC and Channel Nine commentator,

author and co-author of  seminal books, and,

an oil painting artiste during his autumn years.

In all probability, the exertion of his bowling days gave him arthritis, which would have caused him some discomfort with advancing  age. In the proverbial  mandatory overs (borrowing from Mak sir’s apt name for life’s concluding span) he sought peace and tranquillity in the sunlit confines of Queensland’s Gold Coast.

I yearn to know more about his final sojourn at the Gold Coast from any authentic source, whether from among his family or friends.

The biggest regret is that it’s now impossible to know him better.

There’s hardly any surprise that Nariman Jamshedji Contractor sir, the fearless India southpaw, should describe this lament in precise words:  “Frank was a good coach and a gentleman. But the highest tribute I can pay is you have to know him to know how good he was.”

It was Nari sir who roped in Tyson sir for bringing Mumbai cricket from the gory days of the 80s back to glory days. The search for the right bowling coach, given that off-mark bowling had become the Achilles Heel of Mumbai in the 80s, took him to England where Frank sir’s bowling mate Kieth Andrew shared his thoughts on who he thought was made for the job. Coordinates were established with the marked man in Australia, and after an iterative to and fro of key conditions posed and reassurances given, and after the sticky challenges of bureaucratic delays, logistical issues, and financial constraints had been resolved, Frank Tyson took guard office as the head coach of the BCA-Mafatlal bowling scheme armed with a copy of the Bhagwad Gita to know Hindustan better!

The rest as they say was history!

Frank sir left no stone unturned to get the raw, rookie Mumbai bowlers to do more than just get better with their line and length, helping them develop strong legs through incessant running drills, learn key life skills, as also alter their food habits and lifestyles for the better. To ensure effective communication, he learnt Hindi and Marathi.

The outcome was for all to see and applaud. The six feet plus tall lads reversed the fortunes of Mumbai and became match winners on the strength of their bowling exploits.

Frank sir later coached several aspirants at the Maharashtra Cricket Association, Bombay Cricket Association, Karnataka State Cricket Association and even the National Cricket Academy in Bangalore that created many champions for India.

The ubiquitous cricket columnist and die hard activist Mak sir, who had an emotional connect with Nari sir and shared his concern for Mumbai cricket in toto, struck a lifelong chord with Frank sir too, both personally and professionally as the chief coordinator of camp after camp in state after state.

The celestial chemistry between the trio raised the benchmark for Mumbai and India cricket in unimaginable ways.

We hope and pray today’s authorities create an enabling environment for young pace bowlers to absorb the invaluable insights of the Typhoon and learn how to put pace bowling in perspective, as also internalize its surreal enchantment.

A translation of Frank sir’s flowing prose, a passage from his memoirs “A Typhoon called Tyson” in different regional languages for the benefit of our young lads from all over the country will help create more Jasprit Bumrahs and prevent prospects from losing their way to become Gumraahs:

“If I had my life to live over again, I would not ask for success alone, sweet though it is.  I should only want to be allowed to bowl fast once more. To those who have bowled quick, really quick, there is no comparable feeling in the world.  The sudden clutch of suppressed anticipation as you mark out your run: the hesitancy that blossoms into arrogant confidence as, from a shuffling slow start, the stride quickens, lengthens, and becomes smoother; two yards from the wicket now and time to give it everything you’ve got; the body swivels, left hand plucking at the clouds, right arm swinging in a deadly, ever-quickening arc as the batsman appears in the sights over the left shoulder; the left leg is raised high, ready for the final plunge and the body is poised and ready; crash! – the skull shakes and the muscles of the body jar screamingly, as the front foot thumps down like a pneumatic-hammer and the ball rockets on its way at the cringing batsman, pursued as if by an avenging angel, the bowler’s flying body.  What power there is in bowling fast!  What a sensation of omnipotence, and how great the gulf between this sublime sensation and ordinary, mundane everyday existence!”

Pacers in cricket indeed deserve to be a privileged tribe; hope they keep purposeful assertiveness ahead of showy aggression. When a long stare does the job, and an occasional cuss word doesn’t cause fatal damage, why lose poise and purpose by getting personal?

Even the transformed Ricky Pontings and Matt Haydons of today won’t approve of such toxic behavior from the dugout and the comm box respectively, having been there and done that the wrong way throughout their playing careers, albeit as batsmen!