I was armed with two dictaphones -- and a bottle of whisky that the editor had paid for, to lubricate the conversation.
Key Points
- Unlike Bal T, Sir Garry brutally despatched every question out of the boundary.
- It was exasperating. The agony ended after an hour, when West Indies coach Rohan Kanhai walked in to the room, with Brian Lara and Shivnarine Chanderpaul in tow.
- Lara was already a star; Chanderpaul had just come on to the scene. He was even more laconic than Sir Garry.
Thinking of Garry Sobers and Bal Thackeray in the same breath may be a sign of advancing age or a declining mind, or both, but as Bridgetown's greatest all-rounder joins Bandra East's finest cartoonist at the crease up above, that's the only memory.
It goes back to 1994 when yours truly worked for The Sunday Observer newspaper. It was the year after the Bombay blasts and riots.
The Bal Thackeray Interview
On a humid Saturday morning, I went to meet Thackeray at his home for an interview that had been slotted to fill up much of the paper's back page.
The Shiv Sena supremo breathed fire, and spoke menacingly about this and that and the other -- all on the record. But on reaching the office late in the afternoon, after a warm beer with him, I was gutted to find out that not a word had been captured on the dictaphone that had been placed between us.
With no options left, and deadline nearing, I wrote up the entire Q&A from memory, without anybody's knowledge, and turned up for work on Monday expecting to be named, shamed and sacked. But, at noon, Thackeray called on the editor's landline and said the interview was "perfect".
After that experience, I decided I would henceforth carry two tape recorders for all interviews. Just in case.
Encounter with Sobers
A few months later the West Indies cricket team arrived in India for a three-Test series. The first fixture was at the Wankhede stadium in Bombay.
It was the kind of time when journalists could happily call the hotel where the team was staying and be connected to the player's room.
Sample: "May I speak with Mr Curtly Ambrose, please?" "Mr Ambrose ain't here and would like to speak to nobody."
Garry Sobers was on duty for the series as a commentator. I don't quite remember how -- maybe it was the late Mark Mascarenhas, whose star was soaring, who put in a good word -- but I managed to secure an interview with him.
Suitably chastened by the Bal Thackeray episode, I landed up at the Taj Mahal Hotel one evening for the promised powwow.
I was armed with two dictaphones -- and a bottle of whisky that the editor had paid for, to lubricate the conversation.
Sound: check.
Recording: check.
Everything was in order this time, but the interviewee was not.
The Elusive Cricket Legend
Unlike Bal T, Sir Garry brutally despatched every question out of the boundary.
"No, I can't speak on that."
"That is reserved for my upcoming book."
"I am bound by a contract with the publishers."
Etcetera. It was exasperating. The agony ended after an hour, when the West Indies coach Rohan Kanhai walked in to the room, with Brian Lara and Shivnarine Chanderpaul in tow.
Lara was already a star; Chanderpaul had just come on to the scene. He was even more laconic than Sir Garry.
But with the kind of 'padding' that Jimmy Adams became famous for, I still managed to string together a full-page interview with Sir Garfield St Aubrun Sobers for the following Sunday.
It was to be the only interview Sir Garry would give during the entire tour.
In the process, a famous axiom of Jerry Seinfeld came true. That no matter what happens in the world, it all fits in the next day's newspaper. Even if it is nothing. Especially if it is nothing.
Feature Presentation: Rajesh Alva/Rediff
