Vinod Kambli and the charm of Ranji Trophy
It was late 1992. I was fresh out of college and had just started my career at a company in Pune. Back then, the corporate cricket culture was thriving, and my seniors were scouting for fresh talent to revitalize our team for the local league. Most of the squad were seasoned players in their late 30s and 40s, so I volunteered, passed the trials, and joined the ranks.
Our routine involved weekend practice sessions and midweek drills. But this isn’t a story about my corporate cricket journey; it’s about a chilly December morning at the Poona Club Ground that gifted me a memory of Vinod Kambli that has never faded.
A Chance Encounter with the Ranji Trophy
After a few hours of practicing at the nets outside the main pitch, my teammates and I noticed a match in progress on the primary ground. Curiosity led us to the boundary ropes.
A quick check of the scruffy black scoreboard revealed we were witnessing a Ranji Trophy clash between Maharashtra and Bombay (as Mumbai was known back then). It was Day 4. Bombay was resuming their second innings at 107 for 2.
The air was crisp as the Maharashtra team, led by Surendra Bhave, took the field. Following them were the Bombay openers: Zubin Bharucha and a young man who already carried a reputation for his aggressive flair—Vinod Kambli.
The Vinod Kambli Show
We found a spot under the trees lining the ground, clutching cups of hot tea, blissfully unaware of the fireworks that were to go off soon. What followed was a masterclass in attacking cricket.
Maharashtra deployed a spin attack featuring the likes of Shrikant Jadhav, Santosh Jedhe, and Milind Gunjal. I had read about the legendary exploits of Sir Garfield Sobers and Kapil Dev, but I had never seen such “butchery” in the flesh.
Kambli treated the spinners with utter disdain.
Anything pitched outside the off-stump was met with a flourishing cover drive. Short balls were dispatched to the point boundary with a flick of his powerful wrists. And when Jadhav tried to bowl flatter, Kambli stepped out and smashed a half-volley so hard that the ball thudded into a tree trunk right next to us. The sheer speed of his shots was breathtaking.
Starting the day on 21, Kambli reached his hundred with effortless grace. Every shot was a textbook example of power and precision. As the hours ticked by, my colleagues had to head home to their families, but a friend and I decided to stay.
The Maharashtra attack was not a weak one by any stretch of imagination. Jadhav and Gunjal were experienced and had the guile to hold fort against the best of batting lineups. But thne that day had run into someone who seemed possessed. A free spirit operating at an exalted level.
Kambli had the power, the timing and also the swagger of a man who knew his prowess. His partners, Jatin Paranjpe and Sairaj Bahutule knew that the best place to be was at the non-striking end. There would have not have been a better place to watch the wizardry on display.
It was the best decision of our lives. In just a few hours, Kambli reached a double century. Bombay declared at 399 for 4, with Kambli unbeaten on 202 off just 209 balls, featuring 18 fours and a six. It was a brutal display and probably even the Maharashtra bowlers enjoyed the leather hunt. There was not much they could do, so why not enjoy it they must have thought.
A Legacy of Talent and Fate
Watching Kambli that afternoon, it felt like he had the world at his feet. His partnership with Paranjpe and Bahutule that day was a testament to the dominance of Bombay cricket in that era.
However, sports and life can be cruel. While his childhood partner Sachin Tendulkar went on to become the “God of Cricket,” Kambli’s stardom eventually slipped away.
That afternoon in Poona remains etched in my mind as a reminder of his “wayward genius.” It wasn’t just about the runs; it was about the style, the arrogance of his talent, and the joy he brought to a few lucky spectators under the trees.
We came to practice and went back after watching a display that was worth remembering. A weekend well spent it was.
Thank you, Vinod, for that unforgettable memory.
