In death, Balbir Singh took away a large chunk of hockey history, documented only
in his mind. He was a kind soul who served Indian hockey with distinction and remained its most loyal supporter.
Balbir Singh was a kind soul who served Indian hockey with distinction and remained its most loyal supporter even in times of acute distress.
The hands that once held the hockey stick rmly, guiding the ball, caressing or slamming it, leaving his opponents chasing his shadow, trembled to hold a pen as he bravely tried to scribble his name. Giving an autograph seemed such an arduous task for Balbir Singh, who could once produce a goal from nowhere. His frail gure was proof of the world having whizzed by, time leaving its mark on this wonderful athlete who dazzled on the hockey eld like none other, with the glorious exception of Dhyan Chand.
Having watched neither in action, one could only wistfully visualise the treat they must have dished out to their fans. We could feast only on stories recounted by oldtimers. Polite to a fault, Balbir sported an infectious smile. His warm hug created such positive vibes about a man who had spent
his life helping fellow sportsmen, his upright character a testimony to the values that underlined his commitment to his team and nation.
Balbir also respected cricketers. And cricketers respected the hockey star in return. Vijay Hazare had earned fame on the tour to Australia in 19474■ with a century in each innings of the Adelaide Test against Don Bradman’s team. Balbir would mention Hazare in our conversations but not a word of his own dazzling role in India winning the 194■ Olympic gold in London. His humility restrained him from making pompous references to his hockey feats.
He does write about the harsh treatment meted out to him at the London Olympics. He was twice dropped from the playing XI despite scoring six goals against Argentina in his debut match of the Olympics. The nal against host Great Britain was a thriller. Kishan Lal and K. D. Singh “Babu” played barefoot after it rained. And India won 40 after Balbir scored the rst two goals. The team was accorded a redcarpet welcome in Bombay.
“Hockey was the only sport that gave the country something of a ray of golden hope, something to shout about,” wrote Balbir.
The team was fêted by Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and Balbir would often recall those memorable days of hockey being the “darling sport” of the nation. It is said that Balbir and “Flying Sikh” Milkha Singh never required an appointment to meet the prime minister. “It’s true. We could meet him at short notice. He loved hockey,” Balbir told this writer once.
Hockey was hugely popular in India when Balbir was winning the hearts of his countrymen. He played fair and there was an indefatigable spirit that marked his game. He was said to be the ttest in the team and had a penchant to come up with some innovative streaks. Those who watched him in action would recall his impeccable timing in releasing the ball. His control of the ball was astonishing and it was rare that he would lose possession.
It was memorable meeting this legend at his home in Chandigarh in February. The place was a virtual hockey museum and one basically soaked in tales from India’s glorious domination of the game. He had clearly
aged and his grandson Kabir was his means of communication. The national ag in his room was a constant reminder of the momentous occasion in London when he took pride in “mastering” the master, Great Britain. Independent India celebrated the hockey gold on English soil and he could relive every moment of that epic contest with minute details.
His speech was a mumble. You had to sit close because he had also become hard of hearing. There was a time when he would, in a ash, hear a call for the ball amid the din of spectators and unerringly nd his partner. “Those were such lovely days,” the sparkle in his eyes conrmed that he had dug deep into the past to recall those magical moments.
Three gold medals at the Olympics — 194■ (London), 1952 (Helsinki) and 1956 (Melbourne) — brought him the status of greatness as a player. In 1975, he was the coach when India won the World Cup at Kuala Lumpur. India has not won it since.
Balbir was emotionally attached to the game. A hockey defeat would result in him giving his meal a miss. Family members often hid the news of India’s loss from him. The game was that dear to him. He was an inseparable part of hockey discussions in any era. Towards the end of his journey, he yearned for the company of young players and scribes. He wanted to share his memories and regale them with inspirational stories. On one of the trips to his house, some of us expressed our desire to “feel” the gold medals. He pulled them out of his treasure box and let us hold them. “Do you feel the
current?” His eyes were moist.
In death, Balbir took away with him a large chunk of hockey history, documented only in his mind. He was a kind soul who served Indian hockey with distinction and remained its most loyal supporter even in times of acute distress. He refused to believe that Indian hockey had plunged to irretrievable depths. He always advocated hope. “Hard work and dedication can take you places. We have hockey in our blood. All it needs is proper guidance,” he would repeat at various forums and seminars.
In The Golden Hat Trick: My Hockey Days, his captivating autobiography, Balbir documented his attachment to the game. “Her love for me was eternal. Our love blossomed in London. We married in Helsinki and honeymooned in Melbourne. After a period of 11 long years (from the 1964 Tokyo Olympics), she returned to me as fresh, as gay, as charming as she ever was. This time she took me to Kuala Lumpur and we were again top of the world. I am waiting for her – my hockey fairy.”
Alas, his yearning for another date with the hockey fairy shall remain an unfullled dream.