When Pataudi entered heaven, I am sure the crowd erupted...

I saw Pataudi play twice, once, in Poona, in early 1974. The team for the England tour was being selected and (Ajit) Wadekar was the king of Indian cricket, the man at the helm. Pataudi, the man who had created the kingdom was playing for a place in the team – as a prince, not a king.

Nehru Stadium, Poona – half-shamiana, then – and we were there, at square-leg, to see him. He strides onto the ground, dazzling in white; he strides onto the ground, and the crowd erupts; he has not touched bat or ball – and the crowd erupts.

In the covers, his kingdom on the field, he is after the ball like a tiger – again, the crowd erupts… he does not lope, he prowls… he does not growl, he purrs.

Pandurang Salgaonkar, speed demon, the common man’s hero… the dark, bright hope for the Indian team in a department, fast-bowling, where Solkar and Abid Ali were our medium-paced workhorses. And Salgaonkar was suddenly fast and dangerous.

And he hooks Salgaonkar out of the ground – not once, not twice, but thrice – with a swivel as lithe as any film-hero. But this is reality, hard ball and hard bat, not fantasy…

For more images from the funeral, click  here.

He is not selected for the tour – nor is Salgaonkar.

But the tour is a disaster, and Wadekar is stripped of his crown.

And the Windies are heading in – a new (Vivian) Richards, (Clive) Lloyd, (Andy) Roberts, (Lance) Gibbs – a team of champions.

And they call him back to captain India again; call him back to rescue a kingdom from ruin and he takes up the challenge. What a series, fit for kings… he against Lloyd. We lose the first two Tests – we win the next two. He handles the spinners, especially Chandrashekhar, as if they were special gems.

Bombay, the fifth and final Test at a new Wankhede Stadium – first match. My friends are down from Mussoorie to see the match… we sit in the sun-baked East Stand. Bedi drops Lloyd, and then Lloyd hits Bedi out of the ground – and then he comes into bat – for what would be the last time for India.

He is a wounded tiger; his prowl is a limp, his purr a groan. He hems and haws for a few runs. Roberts makes him dance, Gibbs makes him prod. I cannot watch, this is not him; this is not my hero; this is not the Nawab of Pataudi.

But it is – and always will be – my ultimate cricketing hero; our ultimate cricketing hero.

We lose the Test, but Lloyd and company know they have been in a fight; know they have almost lost their way in the jungle; know that the tiger almost had them.

I just cannot believe that he is gone. I am at the birthday party of a very dear friend – a true lover of cricket. He gives me the news – quietly, in deep mourning himself.

The others say how he represented an era, he was an era.

He was; he truly was…

I was honoured to have lunch with him once in Pataudi, about fifteen years ago, just the two of us…

The two hours were some of the happiest of my life – we talked cricket, and Urdu, and history, and life – with such ease, with such style…

He described how he was the next man in after Contractor had been hit by Griffith and he never saw the first delivery he faced – only heard it thump into the keeper’s gloves…

And now he is gone – MAK Pataudi.

Gone, and yet here forever…

When he entered heaven, I am sure the crowd erupted…

Khuda hafiz – to our Tiger…

For more images from the funeral, click  here.