Continued: He was a dapper footballer. Used to play in midfield. Even though he did not play in a single match in the Santosh Trophy, he was selected in the Indian team for the Bangkok Asian Games in 1958. He used to play, but he always used to think about the next step. I will learn modern football, and teach them to others. He went to England with his own money to avail of the Coaches' Training. If training the big clubs is the yardstick of a coach, one would be astounded if one calculates his first and last years as a coach. 1963, East Bengal. 2002, Mohun Bagan. 40 years! This single individual had remained in demand as a coach for the 'big two' of the Maidan for 40 years. Modern football was his sole target, his dreams firmly pinned on the youth. 1969. One was witness to something new in a Mohun Bagan match. The right back Bhabani Roy was seen going forward while attacking. Kolkata Maidan saw overlapping for the first time. How much did he understand football? 1977. The Durand Cup. East Bengal was facing the sturdy footballers of Punjab. He could shoot with both his legs, but Surajit Sengupta was more adept with his right leg. On that particular day, he could not take any shot with his right leg. He could advance, but he could take a shot only with his left leg. The defenders had become aware of this. At half-time, Amal Dutta said, 'Suro, once, just for once, take a shot with the right leg.' The shot did come, And inevitably, a goal. In 1969, he had said about Subhash Bhowmick, 'If only I can train him for four years.' Subrata Bhattacharya? 'That lanky fella? He has got skills and brains.' He was unhesitating in his appraisal of Bhaskar Ganguly, 'A goalkeeper who could play for any country in the world. It would have been great if he were two inches taller. But the way he is, the country will not produce the like of him again.' Sudhir Karmakar? 'There was no flaw in his play. I have searched for it, then I stopped searching. Outstanding.' One would get an instantaneous response if asked about any particular footballer. Amal Dutta is alive. He had a 'reputation' of being rough-spoken. One afternoon, he was explaining to me why Tulsidas Balaram was the greatest. Literally, on pen and paper. He had no need to, but he used to belittle two of India's best players. He did not like P.K. Banerjee and Chuni Goswami. I used to think, was this because they were so well established in life? Even then, he surprised me in an interview: "Venkatesh's skill is incomparable. He could perform eight types of dribbles. But India's first modern winger is Pradip. Such skills, direct attack, long stepping, formidable shooting and heading. India's first modern footballer.' And Chuni Goswami? You say that he does not have anything called a left leg. The answer came like a bow from the arrow, 'So what? Such grace, such skill, such passing, where will you get these? Puskas too has an ineffective right leg. His left leg is everything. Chuni's right leg is also everything.' To be continued (and finished) in the next post.
Continued: He opened the doors of international football to us. It was not possible to view football on television those days, the internet had not arrived, he used to read the handful of books that he could get, and study some of the issues of 'World Soccer' minutely. He had written a wonderful book, Football Khelte Hole ('In order to Play Football'). He then resorted to another way. He gathered some video films of international football matches from abroad. 1972. He began showing those films on a medium-sized screen in Kolkata, in various districts. He would make a running commentary on the mike as the films were being shown. From the 1958 World Cup to the 1970 World Cup. European football. The commentary would run in this manner: ' You all know this guy, everyone recognized him in the year 1958, there he is, Pele.' 1970 World Cup Finals. Brazil's opponent was Sweden. The ball was in the possession of Brazil's right-back. Amal Dutta, in his imitable style, 'Look, understand. The best right-back in the world is Carlos Alberto. There is some space on the left side, he can manoeuvre a little, the Swedish defence also thinks so, now look, he turns to the right, he suddenly opens up the entire field. Oh, can such things happen?' At another place: 'This is not para (locality) football. This does not happen even in para football.The man's name, no, no, the boy's name is George Best. George the best. A tough match for Mancheter United. He is simply toying with seven players. Is this not skill? Not skill?' There seems to be a heart-rending appeal in Amal Dutta's voice. Amal Dutta is alive. Johan Cruyff, Ajax Amsterdam. Fascinating football. It was a thrilling match. A spectator was flashed on the screen once, twice, thrice. Goals were being scored, a tussle was going on, the gallery was becoming turbulent, that spectator was indifferent to all this. Amal Dutta on the mike: 'He is a philosophical spectator, one does not care for the result.' Have we too turned 'philosophical'? We do not care for anything? Can't we offer Amal Dutta a peaceful retired life as a present, no, no, as a tribute? Will the footballers think about this? The Sports Minister, Mr. Arup Biswas? We, the viewers, who have been somewhat trained in modern football because of him, only because of him, will remain indifferent to him? Amal Dutta is alive. (End) PS: Was heartening to read in today's Ei Samay that current Mohun Bagan secretary Satyajit Chatterjee had gone to meet Amal Dutta after hearing of his sickness. The Sports Minister of West Bengal has also promised to visit him and take necessary steps.
Here is the article in the Anandabazar Patrika that I was talking about :
The Seventies
The Maidan. Football. The mounted police. The crowds. The narration of the inflammatory 70s by Jayanta Chakraborty. The second and last installment.
On match days, Samaresh Chaudhuri would see a film on the noon-show and after eating biryani at a hotel, would casually stroll into the football ground. Surajit Sengupta's father had made a diary against Sailen Manna in the Hair Street Police Station. The complaint? After Mohun Bagan had lost in the Final of the Shield by five goals a green-maroon supporter committed suicide. Even today his suicide-note sounds incredible!
The seventies were full of such stories. Allegations. Counter-Allegations. Strong emotions. Vandalism. Strange chronicles of life packed with riveting excitement. If one were to compare today's Indian cricket players with the footballers of the seventies, no one would be surprised. I have even been witness to the scene that the guard of an EMU local had applied emergency brakes to stop the train because he had seen Surajit Sengupta running to catch the train. The footballers of yesteryear, like today's players, did not have the luxury of having personal cars. Samaresh Chaudhuri aka Pintu Chaudhuri would, even during derbys, catch a noon show at the Tiger Cinema before having a lunch of biryani at Aminia and then head towards the Maidan wearing Hawaii sandals and would then play like a tiger once he donned the jersey. Actually, there was an extraordinary bohemianism, romanticism that had transformed them into legendary characters. So many stories woven around these footballers. It was said that Pradip Banerjee would subject all the footballers to a test at the beginning of each season. Pointing to the doormat in front of the East Bengal tent, he would ask, 'What is this called in English?' All the footballers would say, 'Welcome.' Who knows, might be fictional. Actually , the seventies have been made more colourful, more attractive by the many stories, the many myths regarding the footballers. In those days, Habib and Akbar used to stay in the Mohun Bagan mess, i.e. the Royd Street mess. Habibda shared a very bitter relationship with the reporters. I don' know why Habibda did not take kindly to reporters. I used to go to the Mohun Bagan mess often to chat with Subrata Bhattacharya. I can still visualise Habibda looking at me, his brows furred. Habibda was a strict guardian of Subrata or Bablu. If he did not finish lunch within twelve thirty, Subrata knew that he had to starve. If he entered the mess after six-thirty in the morning, there was no question of the night meal. On innumerable occasions, Subrata would climb up the winding staircase behind the Royd Street mess and enter his room through the window. Just as Mohun Bagan had their mess on Royd Street, Mohammedan had their mess on Eliot Road. East Bengal had once made a mess at Gariahat, then they closed down the mess and kept their footballers in flats in different parts of Kolkata. The players from outside states mainly stayed in the mess. The players from the suburbs used to commute from their homes. The only exception was Subrata Bhattacharya. The mess had become his home.
In 1976, the Santosh Trophy was held in Patna. That was my first trip as a reporter. I saw a miniature version of Kolkata that year in the capital of Bihar. The Bengal team had taken residence at the Prince Hotel near Patna's Frazier Road. During those days, the Kolkata transfers would take place immediately after the Santosh Trophy. The football recruiters of Kolkata had arrived at Patna midway through the Santosh Trophy. The responsibility of recruiting in East Bengal had fallen on the shoulders of the duo of JIP. Jibon Das-Paltu Chakraborty. Though the golden era of Paltu Das was to begin in the eighties, even in the seventies he was a revered personality. Reclining under the coloured umbrellas of the Price Hotel all throughout the day and sipping tea, they would keep a stern eye on the East Bengal players. They were paying special attention to Shyam Thapa. That was because in 1976, Shyam Thapa was Mohun Bagan's Number One target. But the bird escaped giving all of them the slip. On the night of the final, when everyone was busy celebrating at the Price Hotel, Shyam Thapa made his way out by help of the winding staircase behind the toilet of his Bengal team-mate and Mohun Bagan player Pradip Chaudhuri. Yes, a telegraph had supposedly
come from Dehradun informing him that his grandmother was on her death-bed. These sorts of telegrams and
telephones informing players that their grandfathers/grandmothers were on their
death-beds often came to the footballers during the transfer season. This Shyam Thapa had created a stir in the seventies with his back-volleys. His goals which came by back-volleys by
floating his agile, erect and flexible body in the air enriched the seventies.
The formal name was Elsonian volley. When the British clubs were in
their heydays in Kolkata football, a Sahib
Footballer named Elson would notch up goals by the dozen through such
back-volleys. That is why such back-volleys were called Elsonian volleys. Because of Shyam Thapa’s
back-volleys in the seventies these shots could easily have been called
Shyamian volleys.
The football of those times was
made even more exciting, more thrilling by the fifteen days of transfer, 1st
march to 15th March.
At first, the transfers used to
take place at IFA Office at Prafulla Sarkar Street. But because of the frequent
bloodshed, bottle-throwing, hurling of bombs, firing of tear gas there, the
transfers were shifted to Netaji Indoor Stadium.
Those fifteen days would raise the
mercury level of the thrill of the football of the seventies to a different
level. No one was allowed to enter the camp office of Netaji Stadium, not even
reporters.
A crowd of enthusiastic club
supporters would be huddled outside. Even in the crowd there was a division.
East Bengal supporters on one side, Mohun Bagan aficionados on the other, Mohammedan
supporters too would be there, scattered here and there.
Suddenly there would be a buzz—here
they come. The officials and recruiters would come in a convoy of car along
with musclemen. If the star footballers of a team joined a new club, instantaneously
there would be hurling of bombs, crackers and bricks. The running of the
mounted police to control the crowd. There
was a contrasting picture too—the flood of abir (dyed powder), flower garlands, there was a convention in
those days for the officials to vanish along with the footballer. Then some
three days of staying in a secret hideout. Because the withdrawal policy was
still in place. A player could return to
his old club even after signing within three days. Hence, nothing was left to
chance.
In the case of stars, no club used to
take risks. They used to withdraw the players within the first one-two days.
Once a player had withdrawn there was no question of his joining another club.
How many thrilling dramas had been
scripted, how many tears had been shed during the football transfer of the
seventies. East Bengal was much more aggressive then in matters of player
recruitment.
Before that Mohun Bagan used to rely
on ‘He-He I am Gonju Bose’s skill, dodge and tackle. The appeal of Sailen Manna-Chuni
Goswami. And the brains of Dhiren De. The Tutu Boses were the first to hijack
East Bengal’s strategy.
After arriving from Kidderpore,
Surajit Sengupta first donned the Mohun Bagan jersey. Surajit had caught the
eye of Sailen Manna. It was under the management of Mannada that Surajit went
to Bagan. But on one knows why, Suhas Sengupta, Surajit’s father, who had
himself played cricket and football, had filed a case of kidnapping against Sailen
Manna at the Hare Street police station.
The incident caused quite a star.
Actually, East Bengal too was targeting Surajit! Of course, Surajit went to
East Bengal in the next season. There were so many other incidents of the
seventies that have entered the folklore.
Even today I think that from the day
this transfer system was abolished in favour of the token system, Kolkata football
had committed harakiri. The transfers used to take place from 1st to
15th March or from 15th to 30th March. Then on Poila Baisakh (the Bengali New Year day)
on the occasion of Bar Pujo (the
convention of worshipping the goal posts in the Maidan), the whole team would
be introduced to the supporters. Whichever team he used to coach, whether East Bengal
or Mohun Bagan, Pradip Bandopadhyay would create a deluge of wit on the morning
of Poila Baisakh by introducing the
players to the supporters with the mike in his hand.
It was an unforgettable sight. The
gallery would be almost full. The players would be standing, vermilion smeared
on their foreheads. The priest would be chanting verses. This picture of the
seventies still remains unfading, intact even today in Kolkata football. Though
in these times the Puja has almost been transformed into a ritual.
Before the start of the Kolkata
League, the Sait Nagjee Trophy in Kerala, then the Kolkata League, followed by
Rovers, Durand and the DCM. In between there was the Bordoloi Trophy in
Guwahati. A booming football season. A complete package. The supporters would
count on their fingers which teams had accumulated how many trophies. All these,
like the dodos, have disappeared. One has to borrow that phrase—modern football
may have given us speed, but has robbed us of passion.
Saw a wonderful image of passion in
the year 1976 at Eden when Mohun Bagan defeated their arch-rivals East Bengal.
In that match Akbar scored a goal in seventeen seconds for Mohun Bagan. That
one goal proved to be decisive. The next day the famous heading in the paper by
Ajay Bose—Akbar is thebadshah of
Eden. On that day, the Mohun Bagan supporters seemed to have arrived at the
club from Eden riding on a wave of passion. Pradip Chowdhury, who had newly
from a Mumbai club, almost had his hands dislocated from his shoulder, thanks
to the extreme love showered by the Mohun Bagan supporters. A seventy-year old
man wept copiously on Kingsway, crying ‘My Mohun Bagan has won.’ What could be
a better poster for the football-mania of the seventies than this!
When Mohun Bagan conceded five goals
in the Shield Final, a young man from Baranagar, Umakanta Paldhi, committed
suicide. It was written in his suicide note—‘In my next birth I want to be born
as a Mohun Bagan footballer and score goals against East Bengal.’ This was
possible only in the seventies.
In 1976, the hardcore East Bengali
Samaresh Chauduri signed for Mohun Bagan. In 1976, after they had hired Pradip
Banerjee as coach, Mohun bagan picked up Habib, Akbar, Subhas Bhowmick and
Samaresh.
No one could imagine that Samaresh
Chaudhuri would leave East Bengal. But the day Pintu left the East Bengal tent
taking his boots and hose from the locker room, one could see the head-gardener
of East Bengal Shankar Pillai weeping copiously. Maybe this too was possible
only in the 70s. This Shankar-da used to guard the players as the apple of his
eye. One who was called ‘Baba’ by Shymal Ghosh. If one speaks of the seventies
without mentioning Shankar Pillai, it would be like narrating Ramayana without
speaking of Ram.
The seventies perhaps have not seen
too many years like 1977. Even before the season had started East Bengal had
suspended Goutam Sarkar, Sudhir Karmakar, Ashoklal Bandopadhyay and Tarun Basu.
Goutam and Sudhir went to Mohun Bagan. Mohun Bagan was boiling at that time. A
team comprising the best players. Only Samaresh Chaudhuri had returned to East
Bengal.
The first derby of the season was held
at the Mohun Bagan ground. There was feverish excitement, not only in Kolkata
but all over Bengal. I decided that something new had to be done for the paper.
Two days before the match I went directly to Kasba. To the East Bengal captain
Shyamal Ghosh’s house. Shymal posed for the camera, embracing his mother. The
next day, I went to Shyamnagar, to the house of Mohun Bagan captain Subrata
Bhattacharya. Subrata had returned from practice. He had a touch of fever.
Subrata, reclining on his mother’s lap, was also photographed. Along with that
the interview of the two captains. There was an outcry in the Mohun Bagan camp—how
could he have prostrated our captain like this! Gautam Sarkar-Sudhir Karmakar’s
interview was published in the newspapers—today there are in a different team,
but ready for revenge.
Boomerang! Boomerang!
Mohun Bagan lost the derby match by
two goals. That brilliant swerving free-kick by Samaresh Chaudhuri and that
goal by Mihir Basu. After the match, there was pandemonium at the Mohun Bagan
ground. The tent was attacked, so were the players. Tear gas was fired. Many people,
blood dripping from their bodies, were shifted to hospitals. I also faced the
wrath of the Mohun Bgan supporters—this is the reporter, who had prostrated our
captain before the match!
I had to mention the incident just to
give an idea as to what levels the madness regarding football had reached in
the seventies. It was in that year that the thorough gentleman, extremely
talented in studies, music-lover Ranjit Mulhopadhyay surpassed the formidable Habib,
Akbar, Subhash Bhowmick and Shyam Thapa to become the highest goal-scorer.
The Surajit-Ranjit pair was
tremendously successful that year. In 1976, Mohun Bagan had tried to recruit
Ranjit. From that very Prince Hotel in Patna. Because Shyam Thapa had wanted
Ranjit as his fellow striker. Not Habib-Akbar. But even though Pradip Chaudhuri
and Mohun Bagan recruiter Rabia from Khidderpore had knocked on Ranjit’s door,
Ranjit did not come out of his room. Because in that very room Surajit
Sengupta, Shymal Ghosh and Ratan Dutta were also present.
In 1977 Mohun Bagan brought Pele,
along with him the Cosmos team playing in the North American Soccer League.
It was almost midnight when the Air
India plane named Makalu descended at Dumdum. At the tarmac, ignoring all
regulations, the crowd crashed against the plane. Then the convoy reached the
five-star hotel at Dharmatala after almost four hours receiving a rousing
ovation from the crowd. Maybe, this was possible only in the Kolkata of the
70s.
I spent three nights at that hotel by
virtue of the newspaper. Only on one condition, I had to gather detailed
information about Pele’s daily life. But that is a different story. Rather,
what I still remember was Habib-da’s behaviour during the Mohun Bagan-Cosmos
match. All the players got themselves clicked with Pele. With one exception.
Habib-da said, O Pele hai toh hum bhi Habib hain (If he is Pele, then I am also
Habib). Only a footballer of the
seventies could have uttered such a sentence. The Shield Final between East
Bengal and Mohun Bagan was scheduled to be held only a few days after the
Cosmos Match. When the supporters were congratulating Subrata Bhattacharya
after Mohun Bagan’s 2-2 draw with Cosmos, and Subrata was being overwhelmed,
Habib-da’s voice thundered from behind, ‘Are Bablu, public aaj guldasta de raha hai,
lekin East Bengal match harne se ye public thappad marega.Chaele aao idhar (Hey Bablu, the public
is today showering you with bouquets, but if you lose the East Bengal match,
the same public will slap you. Come back here).*
It was the seventies that made us
realize that neither the flowers nor the thorns were without basis. It was in
1977 that the National Football meet took place during the Kolkata winter. Kolkata
was witness to the skills of Parminder-Harjinder-Manjit Singh. Xavier Payas
from Kerala.
The players in the Punjab-JCT camp used
to cook themselves. Parmi or Parminder used to cook meat recipes very well.
Whatever hostility there might have been on the field, one or two footballers
from Bengal would go there to savour those meat dishes. The generosity of
talented people seems to be inherent. Bengalis were fascinated by Harjinder’s
left leg which seemed to move like a hockey stick. The Bengal team was kept in
a plush hotel in the Dalhousie area.
With Bengal failing to do well in the
initial round, the Olympian Badru Bandopadhyay had written in a newspaper
column—these are star footballers, stay in star hotels, what service do they
provide?
After Bengal had been crowned
champions in the final, many of the players from Bengal began searching for
Badru-da. Badru-da, dressed in a coat-pant-tie, could be seen blinking—it was
because I had written that they gave their best today.
In ’78, the two captains of Mohun
Bagan and East Bengal, Prasun Bandopadhyay and Surajit Sengupta came to sign
together at the Netaji Indoor Stadium. An exceptional picture. Both of them had
decided that they would break the myth of the transfer rivalries. It did break
for some time. But the myth lingered on. After all, this was the rivalry between
East Bengal and Mohun Bagan.
During the end of the seventies, a communal
riot concerning football almost broke out in entire Koltata. In the East Bengal
team, apart from a bunch of Punjabi footballers, there was also Debraj from the
South. The Punjabi and South Indian players used to stay in a mess in South
Kolkata. But the conflict between Punjab’s Gurudeb Singh and Debraj had reached
such a stage that the Punjabis were extremely enraged and smelling a conspiracy
behind this, began to turn so belligerent that the intelligentsia of the city
was forced to intervene. Such was the excitement of Kolkata football in those
times.
Then there was a change of baton. The
seventies had almost ended. A new batch of youngsters was rising. The seniors
were also there. But the trumpet of the new generation could be heard in the
horizon. A decade seems to be the canvas of Kolkata football. The picture that can
be drawn on this canvas is the real picture. The mascot of the Kolkata football—the
seventies!
(Concluded)
*P.S. What a man! Only the player
affectionately called ‘Bade Miyan’ could have uttered such statements. The likes
of him will probably never be seen again. For a illuminating article on Habib (which includes his attitude in the famous Cosmos match), see this article by Somnath Sengupta: http://www.thehardtackle.com/2014/legends-of-indian-football-mohammad-habib/
Comments
He was a dapper footballer. Used to play in midfield. Even though he did not play in a single match in the Santosh Trophy, he was selected in the Indian team for the Bangkok Asian Games in 1958. He used to play, but he always used to think about the next step. I will learn modern football, and teach them to others. He went to England with his own money to avail of the Coaches' Training. If training the big clubs is the yardstick of a coach, one would be astounded if one calculates his first and last years as a coach. 1963, East Bengal. 2002, Mohun Bagan. 40 years!
This single individual had remained in demand as a coach for the 'big two' of the Maidan for 40 years. Modern football was his sole target, his dreams firmly pinned on the youth. 1969. One was witness to something new in a Mohun Bagan match. The right back Bhabani Roy was seen going forward while attacking. Kolkata Maidan saw overlapping for the first time.
How much did he understand football? 1977. The Durand Cup. East Bengal was facing the sturdy footballers of Punjab. He could shoot with both his legs, but Surajit Sengupta was more adept with his right leg. On that particular day, he could not take any shot with his right leg. He could advance, but he could take a shot only with his left leg. The defenders had become aware of this. At half-time, Amal Dutta said, 'Suro, once, just for once, take a shot with the right leg.' The shot did come, And inevitably, a goal.
In 1969, he had said about Subhash Bhowmick, 'If only I can train him for four years.' Subrata Bhattacharya? 'That lanky fella? He has got skills and brains.' He was unhesitating in his appraisal of Bhaskar Ganguly, 'A goalkeeper who could play for any country in the world. It would have been great if he were two inches taller. But the way he is, the country will not produce the like of him again.' Sudhir Karmakar? 'There was no flaw in his play. I have searched for it, then I stopped searching. Outstanding.' One would get an instantaneous response if asked about any particular footballer. Amal Dutta is alive.
He had a 'reputation' of being rough-spoken. One afternoon, he was explaining to me why Tulsidas Balaram was the greatest. Literally, on pen and paper.
He had no need to, but he used to belittle two of India's best players. He did not like P.K. Banerjee and Chuni Goswami. I used to think, was this because they were so well established in life? Even then, he surprised me in an interview: "Venkatesh's skill is incomparable. He could perform eight types of dribbles. But India's first modern winger is Pradip. Such skills, direct attack, long stepping, formidable shooting and heading. India's first modern footballer.' And Chuni Goswami? You say that he does not have anything called a left leg. The answer came like a bow from the arrow, 'So what? Such grace, such skill, such passing, where will you get these? Puskas too has an ineffective right leg. His left leg is everything. Chuni's right leg is also everything.'
To be continued (and finished) in the next post.
He opened the doors of international football to us. It was not possible to view football on television those days, the internet had not arrived, he used to read the handful of books that he could get, and study some of the issues of 'World Soccer' minutely. He had written a wonderful book, Football Khelte Hole ('In order to Play Football'). He then resorted to another way. He gathered some video films of international football matches from abroad. 1972. He began showing those films on a medium-sized screen in Kolkata, in various districts. He would make a running commentary on the mike as the films were being shown. From the 1958 World Cup to the 1970 World Cup. European football. The commentary would run in this manner: ' You all know this guy, everyone recognized him in the year 1958, there he is, Pele.' 1970 World Cup Finals. Brazil's opponent was Sweden. The ball was in the possession of Brazil's right-back. Amal Dutta, in his imitable style, 'Look, understand. The best right-back in the world is Carlos Alberto. There is some space on the left side, he can manoeuvre a little, the Swedish defence also thinks so, now look, he turns to the right, he suddenly opens up the entire field. Oh, can such things happen?' At another place: 'This is not para (locality) football. This does not happen even in para football. The man's name, no, no, the boy's name is George Best. George the best. A tough match for Mancheter United. He is simply toying with seven players. Is this not skill? Not skill?' There seems to be a heart-rending appeal in Amal Dutta's voice. Amal Dutta is alive.
Johan Cruyff, Ajax Amsterdam. Fascinating football. It was a thrilling match. A spectator was flashed on the screen once, twice, thrice. Goals were being scored, a tussle was going on, the gallery was becoming turbulent, that spectator was indifferent to all this. Amal Dutta on the mike: 'He is a philosophical spectator, one does not care for the result.'
Have we too turned 'philosophical'? We do not care for anything? Can't we offer Amal Dutta a peaceful retired life as a present, no, no, as a tribute? Will the footballers think about this? The Sports Minister, Mr. Arup Biswas? We, the viewers, who have been somewhat trained in modern football because of him, only because of him, will remain indifferent to him?
Amal Dutta is alive.
(End)
PS: Was heartening to read in today's Ei Samay that current Mohun Bagan secretary Satyajit Chatterjee had gone to meet Amal Dutta after hearing of his sickness. The Sports Minister of West Bengal has also promised to visit him and take necessary steps.
Here is the article in the Anandabazar Patrika that I was talking about :
The Seventies
The Maidan. Football. The mounted police. The crowds. The narration of the inflammatory 70sby Jayanta Chakraborty. The second and last installment.
On match days, Samaresh Chaudhuri would see a film on the noon-show and after eating biryani at a hotel, would casually stroll into the football ground.
Surajit Sengupta's father had made a diary against Sailen Manna in the Hair Street Police Station. The complaint?
After Mohun Bagan had lost in the Final of the Shield by five goals a green-maroon supporter committed suicide. Even today his suicide-note sounds incredible!
The seventies were full of such stories. Allegations. Counter-Allegations. Strong emotions. Vandalism. Strange chronicles of life packed with riveting excitement.
If one were to compare today's Indian cricket players with the footballers of the seventies, no one would be surprised.
I have even been witness to the scene that the guard of an EMU local had applied emergency brakes to stop the train because he had seen Surajit Sengupta running to catch the train.
The footballers of yesteryear, like today's players, did not have the luxury of having personal cars.
Samaresh Chaudhuri aka Pintu Chaudhuri would, even during derbys, catch a noon show at the Tiger Cinema before having a lunch of biryani at Aminia and then head towards the Maidan wearing Hawaii sandals and would then play like a tiger once he donned the jersey.
Actually, there was an extraordinary bohemianism, romanticism that had transformed them into legendary characters.
So many stories woven around these footballers.
It was said that Pradip Banerjee would subject all the footballers to a test at the beginning of each season. Pointing to the doormat in front of the East Bengal tent, he would ask, 'What is this called in English?' All the footballers would say, 'Welcome.' Who knows, might be fictional.
Actually , the seventies have been made more colourful, more attractive by the many stories, the many myths regarding the footballers.
In those days, Habib and Akbar used to stay in the Mohun Bagan mess, i.e. the Royd Street mess. Habibda shared a very bitter relationship with the reporters. I don' know why Habibda did not take kindly to reporters.
I used to go to the Mohun Bagan mess often to chat with Subrata Bhattacharya. I can still visualise Habibda looking at me, his brows furred.
Habibda was a strict guardian of Subrata or Bablu. If he did not finish lunch within twelve thirty, Subrata knew that he had to starve.
If he entered the mess after six-thirty in the morning, there was no question of the night meal. On innumerable occasions, Subrata would climb up the winding staircase behind the Royd Street mess and enter his room through the window.
Just as Mohun Bagan had their mess on Royd Street, Mohammedan had their mess on Eliot Road. East Bengal had once made a mess at Gariahat, then they closed down the mess and kept their footballers in flats in different parts of Kolkata.
The players from outside states mainly stayed in the mess. The players from the suburbs used to commute from their homes. The only exception was Subrata Bhattacharya. The mess had become his home.
(To be continued tomorrow)..
I saw a miniature version of Kolkata that year in the capital of Bihar. The Bengal team had taken residence at the Prince Hotel near Patna's Frazier Road. During those days, the Kolkata transfers would take place immediately after the Santosh Trophy.
The football recruiters of Kolkata had arrived at Patna midway through the Santosh Trophy. The responsibility of recruiting in East Bengal had fallen on the shoulders of the duo of JIP. Jibon Das-Paltu Chakraborty.
Though the golden era of Paltu Das was to begin in the eighties, even in the seventies he was a revered personality.
Reclining under the coloured umbrellas of the Price Hotel all throughout the day and sipping tea, they would keep a stern eye on the East Bengal players.
They were paying special attention to Shyam Thapa. That was because in 1976, Shyam Thapa was Mohun Bagan's Number One target. But the bird escaped giving all of them the slip.
On the night of the final, when everyone was busy celebrating at the Price Hotel, Shyam Thapa made his way out by help of the winding staircase behind the toilet of his Bengal team-mate and Mohun Bagan player Pradip Chaudhuri.
Yes, a telegraph had supposedly come from Dehradun informing him that his grandmother was on her death-bed. These sorts of telegrams and telephones informing players that their grandfathers/grandmothers were on their death-beds often came to the footballers during the transfer season.
This Shyam Thapa had created a stir in the seventies with his back-volleys. His goals which came by back-volleys by floating his agile, erect and flexible body in the air enriched the seventies. The formal name was Elsonian volley.
When the British clubs were in their heydays in Kolkata football, a Sahib Footballer named Elson would notch up goals by the dozen through such back-volleys. That is why such back-volleys were called Elsonian volleys.
Because of Shyam Thapa’s back-volleys in the seventies these shots could easily have been called Shyamian volleys.
Contd. in next post....
The football of those times was made even more exciting, more thrilling by the fifteen days of transfer, 1st march to 15th March.
At first, the transfers used to take place at IFA Office at Prafulla Sarkar Street. But because of the frequent bloodshed, bottle-throwing, hurling of bombs, firing of tear gas there, the transfers were shifted to Netaji Indoor Stadium.
Those fifteen days would raise the mercury level of the thrill of the football of the seventies to a different level. No one was allowed to enter the camp office of Netaji Stadium, not even reporters.
A crowd of enthusiastic club supporters would be huddled outside. Even in the crowd there was a division. East Bengal supporters on one side, Mohun Bagan aficionados on the other, Mohammedan supporters too would be there, scattered here and there.
Suddenly there would be a buzz—here they come. The officials and recruiters would come in a convoy of car along with musclemen. If the star footballers of a team joined a new club, instantaneously there would be hurling of bombs, crackers and bricks. The running of the mounted police to control the crowd. There was a contrasting picture too—the flood of abir (dyed powder), flower garlands, there was a convention in those days for the officials to vanish along with the footballer. Then some three days of staying in a secret hideout. Because the withdrawal policy was still in place. A player could return to his old club even after signing within three days. Hence, nothing was left to chance.
In the case of stars, no club used to take risks. They used to withdraw the players within the first one-two days. Once a player had withdrawn there was no question of his joining another club.
How many thrilling dramas had been scripted, how many tears had been shed during the football transfer of the seventies. East Bengal was much more aggressive then in matters of player recruitment.
Before that Mohun Bagan used to rely on ‘He-He I am Gonju Bose’s skill, dodge and tackle. The appeal of Sailen Manna-Chuni Goswami. And the brains of Dhiren De. The Tutu Boses were the first to hijack East Bengal’s strategy.
After arriving from Kidderpore, Surajit Sengupta first donned the Mohun Bagan jersey. Surajit had caught the eye of Sailen Manna. It was under the management of Mannada that Surajit went to Bagan. But on one knows why, Suhas Sengupta, Surajit’s father, who had himself played cricket and football, had filed a case of kidnapping against Sailen Manna at the Hare Street police station.
The incident caused quite a star. Actually, East Bengal too was targeting Surajit! Of course, Surajit went to East Bengal in the next season. There were so many other incidents of the seventies that have entered the folklore.
Even today I think that from the day this transfer system was abolished in favour of the token system, Kolkata football had committed harakiri. The transfers used to take place from 1st to 15th March or from 15th to 30th March. Then on Poila Baisakh (the Bengali New Year day) on the occasion of Bar Pujo (the convention of worshipping the goal posts in the Maidan), the whole team would be introduced to the supporters. Whichever team he used to coach, whether East Bengal or Mohun Bagan, Pradip Bandopadhyay would create a deluge of wit on the morning of Poila Baisakh by introducing the players to the supporters with the mike in his hand.
It was an unforgettable sight. The gallery would be almost full. The players would be standing, vermilion smeared on their foreheads. The priest would be chanting verses. This picture of the seventies still remains unfading, intact even today in Kolkata football. Though in these times the Puja has almost been transformed into a ritual.
Before the start of the Kolkata League, the Sait Nagjee Trophy in Kerala, then the Kolkata League, followed by Rovers, Durand and the DCM. In between there was the Bordoloi Trophy in Guwahati. A booming football season. A complete package. The supporters would count on their fingers which teams had accumulated how many trophies. All these, like the dodos, have disappeared. One has to borrow that phrase—modern football may have given us speed, but has robbed us of passion.
Saw a wonderful image of passion in the year 1976 at Eden when Mohun Bagan defeated their arch-rivals East Bengal. In that match Akbar scored a goal in seventeen seconds for Mohun Bagan. That one goal proved to be decisive. The next day the famous heading in the paper by Ajay Bose—Akbar is the badshah of Eden. On that day, the Mohun Bagan supporters seemed to have arrived at the club from Eden riding on a wave of passion. Pradip Chowdhury, who had newly from a Mumbai club, almost had his hands dislocated from his shoulder, thanks to the extreme love showered by the Mohun Bagan supporters. A seventy-year old man wept copiously on Kingsway, crying ‘My Mohun Bagan has won.’ What could be a better poster for the football-mania of the seventies than this!
When Mohun Bagan conceded five goals in the Shield Final, a young man from Baranagar, Umakanta Paldhi, committed suicide. It was written in his suicide note—‘In my next birth I want to be born as a Mohun Bagan footballer and score goals against East Bengal.’ This was possible only in the seventies.
In 1976, the hardcore East Bengali Samaresh Chauduri signed for Mohun Bagan. In 1976, after they had hired Pradip Banerjee as coach, Mohun bagan picked up Habib, Akbar, Subhas Bhowmick and Samaresh.
No one could imagine that Samaresh Chaudhuri would leave East Bengal. But the day Pintu left the East Bengal tent taking his boots and hose from the locker room, one could see the head-gardener of East Bengal Shankar Pillai weeping copiously. Maybe this too was possible only in the 70s. This Shankar-da used to guard the players as the apple of his eye. One who was called ‘Baba’ by Shymal Ghosh. If one speaks of the seventies without mentioning Shankar Pillai, it would be like narrating Ramayana without speaking of Ram.
The seventies perhaps have not seen too many years like 1977. Even before the season had started East Bengal had suspended Goutam Sarkar, Sudhir Karmakar, Ashoklal Bandopadhyay and Tarun Basu. Goutam and Sudhir went to Mohun Bagan. Mohun Bagan was boiling at that time. A team comprising the best players. Only Samaresh Chaudhuri had returned to East Bengal.
The first derby of the season was held at the Mohun Bagan ground. There was feverish excitement, not only in Kolkata but all over Bengal. I decided that something new had to be done for the paper. Two days before the match I went directly to Kasba. To the East Bengal captain Shyamal Ghosh’s house. Shymal posed for the camera, embracing his mother. The next day, I went to Shyamnagar, to the house of Mohun Bagan captain Subrata Bhattacharya. Subrata had returned from practice. He had a touch of fever. Subrata, reclining on his mother’s lap, was also photographed. Along with that the interview of the two captains. There was an outcry in the Mohun Bagan camp—how could he have prostrated our captain like this! Gautam Sarkar-Sudhir Karmakar’s interview was published in the newspapers—today there are in a different team, but ready for revenge.
Boomerang! Boomerang!
Mohun Bagan lost the derby match by two goals. That brilliant swerving free-kick by Samaresh Chaudhuri and that goal by Mihir Basu. After the match, there was pandemonium at the Mohun Bagan ground. The tent was attacked, so were the players. Tear gas was fired. Many people, blood dripping from their bodies, were shifted to hospitals. I also faced the wrath of the Mohun Bgan supporters—this is the reporter, who had prostrated our captain before the match!
I had to mention the incident just to give an idea as to what levels the madness regarding football had reached in the seventies. It was in that year that the thorough gentleman, extremely talented in studies, music-lover Ranjit Mulhopadhyay surpassed the formidable Habib, Akbar, Subhash Bhowmick and Shyam Thapa to become the highest goal-scorer.
The Surajit-Ranjit pair was tremendously successful that year. In 1976, Mohun Bagan had tried to recruit Ranjit. From that very Prince Hotel in Patna. Because Shyam Thapa had wanted Ranjit as his fellow striker. Not Habib-Akbar. But even though Pradip Chaudhuri and Mohun Bagan recruiter Rabia from Khidderpore had knocked on Ranjit’s door, Ranjit did not come out of his room. Because in that very room Surajit Sengupta, Shymal Ghosh and Ratan Dutta were also present.
To be finished in the next post....
In 1977 Mohun Bagan brought Pele, along with him the Cosmos team playing in the North American Soccer League.
It was almost midnight when the Air India plane named Makalu descended at Dumdum. At the tarmac, ignoring all regulations, the crowd crashed against the plane. Then the convoy reached the five-star hotel at Dharmatala after almost four hours receiving a rousing ovation from the crowd. Maybe, this was possible only in the Kolkata of the 70s.
I spent three nights at that hotel by virtue of the newspaper. Only on one condition, I had to gather detailed information about Pele’s daily life. But that is a different story. Rather, what I still remember was Habib-da’s behaviour during the Mohun Bagan-Cosmos match. All the players got themselves clicked with Pele. With one exception. Habib-da said, O Pele hai toh hum bhi Habib hain (If he is Pele, then I am also Habib). Only a footballer of the seventies could have uttered such a sentence. The Shield Final between East Bengal and Mohun Bagan was scheduled to be held only a few days after the Cosmos Match. When the supporters were congratulating Subrata Bhattacharya after Mohun Bagan’s 2-2 draw with Cosmos, and Subrata was being overwhelmed, Habib-da’s voice thundered from behind, ‘Are Bablu, public aaj guldasta de raha hai, lekin East Bengal match harne se ye public thappad marega. Chaele aao idhar (Hey Bablu, the public is today showering you with bouquets, but if you lose the East Bengal match, the same public will slap you. Come back here).*
It was the seventies that made us realize that neither the flowers nor the thorns were without basis. It was in 1977 that the National Football meet took place during the Kolkata winter. Kolkata was witness to the skills of Parminder-Harjinder-Manjit Singh. Xavier Payas from Kerala.
The players in the Punjab-JCT camp used to cook themselves. Parmi or Parminder used to cook meat recipes very well. Whatever hostility there might have been on the field, one or two footballers from Bengal would go there to savour those meat dishes. The generosity of talented people seems to be inherent. Bengalis were fascinated by Harjinder’s left leg which seemed to move like a hockey stick. The Bengal team was kept in a plush hotel in the Dalhousie area.
With Bengal failing to do well in the initial round, the Olympian Badru Bandopadhyay had written in a newspaper column—these are star footballers, stay in star hotels, what service do they provide?
After Bengal had been crowned champions in the final, many of the players from Bengal began searching for Badru-da. Badru-da, dressed in a coat-pant-tie, could be seen blinking—it was because I had written that they gave their best today.
In ’78, the two captains of Mohun Bagan and East Bengal, Prasun Bandopadhyay and Surajit Sengupta came to sign together at the Netaji Indoor Stadium. An exceptional picture. Both of them had decided that they would break the myth of the transfer rivalries. It did break for some time. But the myth lingered on. After all, this was the rivalry between East Bengal and Mohun Bagan.
During the end of the seventies, a communal riot concerning football almost broke out in entire Koltata. In the East Bengal team, apart from a bunch of Punjabi footballers, there was also Debraj from the South. The Punjabi and South Indian players used to stay in a mess in South Kolkata. But the conflict between Punjab’s Gurudeb Singh and Debraj had reached such a stage that the Punjabis were extremely enraged and smelling a conspiracy behind this, began to turn so belligerent that the intelligentsia of the city was forced to intervene. Such was the excitement of Kolkata football in those times.
Then there was a change of baton. The seventies had almost ended. A new batch of youngsters was rising. The seniors were also there. But the trumpet of the new generation could be heard in the horizon. A decade seems to be the canvas of Kolkata football. The picture that can be drawn on this canvas is the real picture. The mascot of the Kolkata football—the seventies!
(Concluded)
*P.S. What a man! Only the player affectionately called ‘Bade Miyan’ could have uttered such statements. The likes of him will probably never be seen again. For a illuminating article on Habib (which includes his attitude in the famous Cosmos match), see this article by Somnath Sengupta: http://www.thehardtackle.com/2014/legends-of-indian-football-mohammad-habib/