The life and times of Maninder Singh, India's forgotten spinner

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  • Prodigious forever: Maninder Singh in action .

    A cursory Google search of his name is telling – the entry ‘Maninder Singh’ just about fills up the first page with links to the cricketer’s career stats, Wikipedia entry and supposed suicide bid in 2007.

    And that’s where it ends.

    The second page has one result, and it is followed by search results with the kind of fleeting, clutching-at-straws relevance to the names ‘Maninder’ and ‘Singh’ that one would normally expect to see among much murkier depths of a google search.

    If you had explained to a cricket fan thirty years ago the nature of Google, and that this tool would produce a mere nine instances of Maninder’s name immortalised across the vast expanse of knowledge that is the internet, they would have laughed in your face.

    And yet, here we are. As Maninder turns 51, a full twenty-three years removed from the last time he played for India, we are seemingly left with two outstanding impressions of the left-arm spinner in the sport’s memory – neither of which are particularly flattering.

    UNFULFILLED PROMISE

    Maninder Singh was once seen as Bishen Bedi's successor (Getty)

    Maninder Singh was once seen as Bishen Bedi’s successor.

    The first instance is one of ‘what could have been’.

    Even without the benefit of hindsight, it was evident that comparing a 17-year-old from Pune, to Bishan Singh Bedi was not exactly the best way to ease pressure on the young man. The left-arm spin, the Sikh faith, the turban – all obvious, yet superficial similarities. One can understand why these comparisons were drawn and also, inevitably, why they were encouraged.

    Maninder did end up forming an invaluable sporting bond with his idol Bedi. Just how much the pressure of living up to his mentor contributed to his sharp decline is unclear – Maninder himself felt it was a key factor, saying too much came his way too soon – but for a while it looked like he was living up to that impossible promise.

    Although not immediately a first-choice regular as a teenager (he played fifteen Tests in roughly his first three years), Maninder’s variety and enticing, beguiling loop of delivery were identified as the greatest weapons in his arsenal. Indian cricket hoped that after the abortive, nine-Test-long career of Laxman Sivaramakrishnan, which saw the Tamil Nadu leggie lose everything almost as soon as he gained it, there were hopes that Maninder would move in the opposite direction.

    In the end they veered off down similar paths, and Maninder’s name is often linked to Sivaramakrishnan’s, both cases especially damning indictments for burdening young shoulders with the hopes of a nation. The two are bound together in a painful reminder of how cruel professional sport can be.

    But was Maninder’s really that acute a matter of wasted talent? There exist so many ‘what if?’ questions in sport, and it appears Maninder was judged a failure in comparison to the bowler he might have been rather than the bowler he was.

    It is true that 88 wickets from 35 Tests at 37.36 and 66 wickets from 59 ODIs at 31.30 are far from startling returns. But his career economy figures read a useful 2.40 in Tests and 3.95 in ODIs. And anyway, given the rather illusory nature of statistics, should cricket’s yardstick for greatness not be actual victories and memorable performances, instead of forever wondering about a course of action that may or may not have happened?

    To that end, Maninder’s notable performances leap to his defence. A return of 3-9 in England’s second innings at Lord’s in 1986 (his full analysis reads 20.4-12-9-3) helped clean up an irritant lower order and set India on their way to victory. In the second Test at Headingley, given one chance to bowl, Maninder prevented more rearguard action with 4-26. They were a pair of performances that were as important as any on the entire tour. It gave India a 0-2 series win, their first Test series win abroad for seven years, and first outside Asia for nineteen.

    Home series against Sri Lanka and Pakistan followed, with 37 wickets falling to his bowling across seven Tests in both combined.

    THE TIED TEST

    Maninder’s second outstanding impression on the cricketing consciousness came in September 1986 as India played Australia in Chennai. Left with a target of 348 to chase on the last day of the Test, India had made an admirable fist of things, needing only four from the final over. A excited crowd of over 30,000 was watching, and tempers were soaring as India marched to what looked like an improbable victory.

    With Ravi Shastri and last man Maninder at the crease, victory could go to either team. Already having charged forty yards to swap insults with Dean Jones after removing him in the second innings, the spinner had unimaginable pressure on him to conjure the winning run from the three remaining balls. Perhaps it was merely symptomatic of Maninder’s ability to handle pressure that Greg Matthews trapped him in front off the penultimate ball to sensationally tie the Test.

    Maninder insists to this day he had got a bit of bat on it, but he is often remembered as the one who stumbled up to the finish line but could not drag his team over it.

    BANGALORE 1987

    This was the scene of Maninder’s greatest triumph in one of the most memorable Test matches in history. After four dire draws between India and Pakistan, there was a deliberate decision made to underprepare the Bangalore wicket in the hope of forcing a result. It worked a charm.

    It seems fitting that Maninder’s finest hour resulted in victory for arch rivals Pakistan. Batting first, the visitors simply had no answer to the spinner. One, two, three, four. The top order collapsed. Five, six, seven. Their innings was finished in 49.2 overs. Maninder finished with 18.2-8-27-7.

    Sunil Gavaskar took India to the brink with a sublime 96 in a fourth innings chase of 221. His innings was in vain, even as Roger Binny attempted a late surge. Imran Khan’s men had conquered India with a 16-run victory in the final Test that secured a 1-0 series win. Again, Maninder watched from the other end as Binny fell.

    HARSHLY JUDGED?

    For Maninder, that was about it. A failed comeback in the ’90s, which included an altered bowling action, is largely held against him, but Maninder had the satisfaction of ending his career with seven wickets against Zimbabwe at Delhi – the state he represented at domestic level. Maninder retired from international cricket at age 27.

    Maninder Singh's Stats

    • Tests: 35, ODIs: 59
    • Test wickets: 88 @ 37.36
    • ODI wickets: 66 @ 31.30
    • BBI: 7/27 (Tests), 4/22 (ODIs)

    In the years since, his enthusiasm for cricket saw him remain in the game as an umpire and television analyst. But 2007 brought with it controversies relating to cocaine possession and the admission to hospital on account of injuries to his wrists, ultimately sending Maninder into a reclusive existence since his retirement from cricket.

    He was a cricketer best left to his own devices. Maninder has noted how in the second innings of Bangalore 1987, he was bombarded with suggestions on how to bowl to the Pakistanis and promptly suffered from overthinking his plan of attack. He has noted how Mohammad Azharuddin’s well-known style of low-key captaincy suited him perfectly. At the age of 21, the ball was routinely tossed to him with equal hope and expectation that he would change the game.

    His slight double jump before a delivery was a key part of an action that claimed a ten-wicket haul twice in Test cricket. Supposedly, illness and overworking an exhausted mind and body during a visit to England in 1987 took away that double jump and with it brought to an end his five-wicket hauls.

    All of this suggests Maninder was not mentally equipped to deal with the strain of top-level cricket and indeed, he has emphasised in subsequent years how his career would have been greatly benefited by a steady coach and a psychologist. But it also suggests he may have simply been poorly handled.

    Although his name does not regularly appear in the headlines anymore, the occasional surfacing of Maninder’s views on the game reveal a sharp, analytical mind with a great appreciation for the technical side of bowling. It suggests an ex-player, though likely tired and frustrated by the end, that never lost his grip on the mechanics of the sport that catapulted him to national prominence for an all too brief period.

    And if sporting legend is immortalised through emotion, enthusiasm and superlative performances, maybe, just maybe, England 1986, and Sri Lanka and Pakistan 1987 will be given their due and history will judge Maninder perhaps a little more charitably.

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