SYED MUJTABA HUSSAIN KIRMANI

WICKET KEEPER PAR EXCELLENCE AND A MAN OF GREAT CHARACTER

I first came across Syed, or Kiri as I always called him, in the summer of 1964. I was pursuing a degree in BSc at St. Joseph’s College Bangalore( now Bengaluru), and he was in the 8^th standard at the Indian High School. Yes, there was a separate High school called the St Joseph’s European High School. Bangalore, as the city was then known, was home to very reputed schools and colleges in India. Not just the institutions run by Jesuit Priests, but also those run by other trusts and centres of education. A city blessed with moderate climes and an abundance of lakes and gardens. It was a cosmopolitan city attractive enough for large-scale industries as well as for those seeking retirement. Bangalore and Poona were also known to be pensioners’ paradise.

So, what was it that brought the two of us together? You guessed it- Cricket. At the time when Prasanna, Chandrashekar, Gundappa Vishwanath, and the likes began to make waves at the National level, here was Kiri, deeply and resolutely working to get to the league-level tournaments.

Since he has successfully published his autobiography titled ‘STUMPED’, now available at outlets, the readers would surely want to hear the facts as narrated by him.

Allow me, therefore, to outline our association over six decades. This special story was narrated when he visited me at my residence in Pune and handed me a copy of his autobiography, as shown below;

Syed recalled his days when he was obliged to keep wickets with two bricks in hand-that being a condition to allow him to continue with a rag-tag local cricket team which had graduated from tennis ball cricket to cork ball. Needless to say, it stung the hands of the man behind the stumps. The bricks merely prevented damage to the palm but often broke into pieces that necessitated replenishment from a nearby stockpile owned by a contractor. A pile of broken bricks soon invited the contractor's wrath. The rest is in Kiri's book. That was the beginning of his narrative to my family members, which began to invite their rapt attention. The part of how he and I met was to follow. That Kiri had become a colourful raconteur was indeed a revelation to me. I, too, listened with rapt attention even as I struggled with the timelines dating back to the mid-1960s. His proper wicket-keeping gloves were acquired sometime between his selection to the school team and our invitation to join the league tournament circuit. I too was working my way as a batsman cum off off-spinner of the team.

Kiri being roped into our team was a game-changer for all of us. A young lad with such skills and anticipation behind the stumps was a rarity; his batting skills were equally impressive. The only erased memory of mine was hastily revived when he  looked at me and said, “Captain, surely you have not forgotten how you made me water the pitch, prepare the nets, and lay out the mat before we began each session.” Of course, that was the practice, and more importantly, the privilege afforded to the new entrant.  I was to learn later about how a well-made bed on rising every morning ensures that the tasks for the rest of the day are achieved flawlessly. 

That Kiri made impressive strides after being selected for the Indian school team, the Ranji trophy, and later to the National team came as no surprise to all our colleagues. I graduated and joined the Navy in 1966, even as Kiri made ripples in Karnataka. We lost touch till 1972 when I caught up with him in Mumbai during a test match. He had his feet on the ground and his head squarely on his shoulders. There was no air about him. He appeared humble, caring, and deeply religious. He continued to address me as Captain for decades thereafter until we met in my territory when he visited Kochi in 2005. I invited my young officers, who had only heard about him, to dinner. It is there that a young officer suggested to  Kiri that he should call me Admiral and not Captain. But when Kiri announced that I was his first Capt, my officers looked at me in awe. I realized that my stock had skyrocketed! The Kiri effect?

And so, when we meet now, all we can do is reminisce and be grateful that we remain in touch.

 His simple gesture to present a copy of his book to his first Captain meant a lot to me. Much more than he can imagine. Long live our camaraderie.

Finally, I need to inform the reader of two instances that merit introspection by cricket lovers. First, not many know that Kiri was declared "the best wicket keeper in the world" by a jury of famous wicket keepers after our World Cup win in 1983. The trophy, I am told, sits on the desk at Kiri's residence. This significant event received little or no recognition either by the media or the Indian cricketing community.

Secondly, his autobiography, by a quirk of fate, was released on 25 June 2025 in the House of Lords on the very day that India won the World Cup i.e.25 June. Coincidentally or fortuitously, the Indian team under Shubman Gill was present in London. Sadly, Sunil Gavaskar, who wrote the foreword for the book, Ravi Shastri, and a few others expressed their inability to attend the function at the House of Lords due to circumstances best known to them. Mike Brearly, however, was present. Farouk Engineer was unwell. Mike, who is rated as one of the finest Captains of the English team, added to the dignity of the occasion.

To the best of my knowledge, none has been accorded the honour of releasing a book at the House of Lords, not to be confused with the Lords cricket grounds.