The cavernous belly of the stadium reverberated with chants of Gav-as-kar, Gav-as-kar, as Malcolm Marshall marked the top of his run-up, digging his spikes into the turf like an angry bull readying for a charge. It was a cold December day, and I had settled down on a concrete slab of a seat in G Block, having cushioned it with the day’s newspaper. I had then proceeded to shell a hard-boiled egg from the tiffin carrier and was about to bite into it when the jet engine roar of a full Eden Gardens fell silent all of a sudden. Marshall had Sunny out first ball, caught by Jeff Dujon behind the stumps. Only the crackle of live commentary on the transistor radio broke that deathly silence. Ajay Bose, the Benaud of Bengal, uttered one of his classics: “Cricket er Nandan kanon Eden Gardens ey aaj Indra patan hoye gelo,” — A giant just fell in the paradise of cricket at Eden Gardens.
No other sport is perhaps as wrapped up in woolly rituals — some sacrosanct, others mundane — as Test cricket. And this extends to the spectators and fans. I have been at the start of almost every Test played at Eden Gardens since 1982. And since that fateful morning of 1983, I have watched the first ball of the day.
Growing up in Ghatsila, watching international cricket and tennis matches with my maternal uncles during winter breaks in Calcutta were definitive highlights of my boyhood. The first Test I watched was against Bob Willis-led England. I don’t recall a lot from that test, but I do remember being awestruck by the sight of the stadium, which seated almost 100,000 back then, as we queued up, and the shock of the wall of sound that hit us when we entered. While Eden Gardens looks vastly different now, the signature sound of its crowd remains much the same on big match days.
The 1983 Test against Clive Lloyd’s West Indies, smarting from their defeat in the Prudential World Cup final in June at Lord’s, was one for the ages. The Caribbeans were in India not just to win but to avenge their World Cup loss and deal out humiliation. They largely succeeded. At Eden Gardens, Lloyd’s team won by an innings, with the captain crowned Man of the Match for a match-defining century. But the event of the match was Gavaskar’s first-ball dismissal — which I had missed because I was too busy trying to shell a boiled egg!
Last Friday, I was back for my personal ritual of being at Eden Gardens for the first day (of the India Vs South Africa Test match), watching the first ball, the crowd egging on “boom-boom-Bumrah” with the same raucous enthusiasm as it did “Gav-as-kar” 40 years ago.
Calcutta’s brief flirtation with winter turns truly steamy when Test cricket comes calling. The last Test at Eden was the historic pink-ball, day-night match against Bangladesh in November 2019. Even though it was late in November and largely in the evening, it was uncharacteristically warm. This time though, it was as close to classic Calcutta Test match weather, thanks to the nip in the air. Only, the komla-lebus were missing in the galleries!
And Tests at Eden are often trysts with history. In January 1985, towards the end of Day 1, in strode a lanky Hyderabadi by the name of Mohammad Azharuddin, playing his first Test. The next day he’d go on to score a century on debut — and would score two more in subsequent Tests, in the process creating the greatest batting start of all time. It begun Azhar’s love affair with Eden, where he’d score five centuries, with a venue average of over 107!
That 1985 Test at Eden was also memorable for the ‘No Kapil No Test’ slogan and the infamous animosity towards Gavaskar from Eden Gardens’s passionate crowd. The match itself was a dull draw, and one match reporter noted with deadpan irony that no more than 60,000 people came to watch the last day’s play — a record low for the venue!
Speaking of history, who could forget the Dadagiri of Sourav Ganguly against Australia in the middle of March in 2001? What’s gone down in cricketing history as “The Eden Test” witnessed Steve Waugh’s mighty Australian juggernaut come to a juddering halt after notching 16 consecutive Test wins before Calcutta. Australia were undone as much by the heroics of Laxman, Dravid and Harbhajan, as by the capacity crowd’s full-throated support in cricket’s most dramatic stage.
A trip to Eden Gardens was very different in the Eighties and the Nineties. It was an adventure and an expedition that called for elaborate prep that begun in my mamabari’s kitchen the previous evening. Luchi and alur dom would be prepared and packed, eggs boiled hard to perfection, and oranges procured. Early morning, a large thermos flask full of milky coffee would be added to these ample war rations. And a transistor radio was a must-have, so that live action could be complemented by live commentary.
Security constraints and commercial considerations have put a stop to carrying victuals to the stands. While many amenities have improved — renovated washrooms that are regularly cleaned, for example — some traditions have sadly lapsed. A quintessential part of the experience of watching a Test match at Eden, especially at the BC Roy Clubhouse, used to be the classic Bijoli Grill packed lunch, with chicken biryani and fish fry. This has sadly ceased to exist for the spectators. What was on offer was pedestrian at best. During the latest Test, musician Joy Sarkar, media personality Indranil Roy and I rued the absence of quality F&B options at Eden Gardens even as we enjoyed an action-filled first day. After all, is there a better way to savour a Calcutta bekti diamond fry with something chilled than while watching the last surviving classical sporting encounter of our times unfold slowly over five days in one of the grandest and most storied sporting arenas in the world?
Debanjan Chakrabarti’s day job is director, British Council East and Northeast India, while he still daydreams of playing cricket for India