In sociological and historical terms, the distance between Kumartuli and Eden Gardens is longer than the one between Barisha and Eden Gardens. The point being made is that Pankaj Roy traversed a longer distance in the late Forties and Fifties than Sourav Ganguly did in the Nineties. Roy, when he became the first cricketer from Bengal to play consistently for his country, was something of a unique phenomenon. Cricket in Calcutta in the late Forties, when Roy began to make his mark, had just come out of white dominance. The age of Lagden and Longfield was over. Sporting Union, Kalighat and Mohun Bagan were the three major contenders for the top notch in the cricketing world of the Maidan. Roy began outside this circuit in his own local club in Kumartuli which had its grounds virtually opposite his ancestral house. He was playing for Sporting Union in no time. This move was possible because of his obvious aptitude for the game. But Roy knew talent was not enough to satisfy his ambition and his irrepressible hunger for runs. Roy went about it the hard way, practice, practice and more practice. He trained - gyms and weight training were not in fashion then - by running regularly and in his younger days even played soccer in the summer months. He was scrupulous about net practice and often in his heyday he would go off to bat in the nets at Kalighat club or Mohun Bagan after he had done his stint in his own club. He did not believe in flash and brilliance, and this came out in his batting. His technique was not perfect but it was solid. He had strokes all around the wicket and there were no obvious gaps in his technique. Roy's failures at the crease - and there were many - were invariably failures of nerve and courage, seldom of technique. Batting at 99 against Australia in 1959, he was out to a simple catch at silly mid off where Ritchie Benaud had placed himself to put pressure on the batsman. In 1952, it was the fear of Trueman's pace that led to his dismissals. (Once in the Eighties, at some function organized by the Cricket Association of Bengal, Trueman was seen shaking hands with all the older Indian players. But he gave Roy a bear hug. Observing this, a Maidan wag remarked, 'Trueman would, wouldn't he? After all, 150 of his 300 wickets are Pankajda's.') The concern with technique and hunger for runs never deserted Roy. Even in the middle and late Sixties, when he was well past his prime and had grown heavy, he was regular at the nets, batting everyday for 40-50 minutes. In club matches, he would bat at number four but as soon as one of the openers was out, he would ask him about the wicket, the bowlers, what they were doing with the ball and sometimes even shadow practise against an imaginary away swinger or whatever the bowler's stock delivery was. Once at the crease, nothing distracted him. Even then, he could really hit hard. He immensely enjoyed his batting and scoring runs. I commented on his fear of Trueman's pace. But it would be unfair to leave it just at that. The two greatest innings Roy played were against a raging Roy Gilchrist, the West Indian fast bowler, who was out for his blood. It was a match between Bengal and Hyderabad (this was in 1962-3 when, under a special scheme of the Board of Control for Cricket in India, Gilchrist played for Hyderabad, Lester King for Bengal, Chester Watson for Delhi and Charlie Stayers for Bombay) and Roy got a century in each innings. If Gilchrist was driven by the demon, Roy batted like a man possessed. For him, it was a matter of prestige because M.L. Jaisimha at a party had made the most disparaging comments about Roy and the Bengal team and the comments had been conveyed to Roy. Those who saw that performance at Eden Gardens will always wonder why that same batsman had so consistently failed to get runs against Trueman and Statham in England. Was it then the wickets of England? Even if the answer to this question is yes, one cannot take away from Roy's diligence. To prepare for the 1959 English tour, Roy actually had special pitches prepared and got bowlers to bowl to him. Unfortunately for him, it is a universal law of nature that sincerity and hard work can take a man thus far and no further. At the same time, just sheer talent without the hard work gets a man nowhere. There is no better proof of this than Roy's own nephew, Ambar. Ambar had immense talent: in full flow, especially against spin bowling and medium pacers, his stroke production was breathtaking in power and execution. But he was lazy; he would absent himself from the nets or bat very casually. Above everything else, he lacked his uncle's capacity to stay at the wicket and accumulate runs. Thus Ambar's test match appearances were brief and passing, he remained perpetually a Ranji Trophy batsman. His uncle, with possibly half his talent, was India's number one opener for over a decade. Despite this, Roy senior did not get from fellow Bengalis the respect and regard he deserved. Stupid people compared him to Nirmal Chatterjee. This comparison can only be put down to the Bengali's love for ephemeral flashiness over solid achievement. Thus to Bengali cricket lovers, Mushtaq Ali had precedence over Vijay Merchant and Vijay Hazare. 'No Merchant, no test' could not even be dreamed of in Calcutta. The basis of all of Roy's hard work was, of course, privilege. He was born into an old and wealthy family with a tradition of patronage and enthusiasm for sports. Roy used the resources to his full advantage, not everyone does. For a number of reasons, one hesitates to use the phrase 'gentleman cricketer' to describe Roy but he did not have to depend on cricket for a living or livelihood. Neither was it possible then to make a living out of cricket. He showed Bengalis that one of them against odds had the capacity to stay there and get runs. This achievement made Ganguly's journey from Barisha to Eden Gardens shorter than it could have been. There are similarities between these two cricketers. Both were born into wealth. Both are ambitious and eager to get runs. Both work hard to improve their game. There are differences too. Ganguly's technique is not as solid as Roy's and his stroke production is limited. He has the advantage of protective head gear and is nowhere the killer of spin bowling that Roy was in his time. There is also the difference of ambience. Roy played in more leisured and gracious times. Cricket was a pastime that Bengalis took up for three months every winter. It is now a profession: cricket is Ganguly's career. Different times have different mores. It is often lamented that between Roy's time and Ganguly's, Bengal cricketers did not make the test grade because they were discriminated against. Look at the list of probables, Ambar Roy, Subrata Guha, Gopal Bose and Pronab Roy: did any of them practise and train as hard as the two who made it? Both Roy and Ganguly are traitors to the class from which they came. They worked hard to get what they wanted. This attitude is not common in either Kumartuli or Barisha or in any other Bengali locality of Calcutta.