A tribute from a cricketer mentored by ex-Mumbai captain Rege, who passed away at 76 recently
The late Milind Rege (left) with Shishir Hattangadi (Pic/Shishir Hattangadi’s personal collection)
To write about Milind Rege is daunting especially when you try and pen down a relationship that was beyond friendship. More so when it’s an epitaph of somebody who meant so much to you.
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However hard it may be, I owe it to him for all our arguments, debates, sharing of seeing our glass half full and half empty at times.
Milind Rege and I first came face to face when Tatas played a star studded State Bank team at the Islam Gymkhana. Watching him bat against Rajinder Goel, S Abid Ali from the Marine Drive, sprawled on his treasured Premier Padmini (with Ravi Shastri on it too) I saw him gesture to us in between overs. I said to Ravi, "maybe he's recognised us as promising cricketers and wants us to join the team for Kaderbhai’s cutlets at lunch" (the cutlet gravy was the USP of playing at Islam Gymkhana). At lunch, Milind walked towards us as we expected an invite. He asked us firmly, "you guys sitting comfortably on the car, do you mind getting off?" I said, "Does it matter, sir?" He replied "In this case, it matters; the car is mine.” Meticulous and passionate about his possessions, the qualities filtered to cricket and Mumbai cricket. We crossed paths again when he was our coach, manager for the Mumbai under-22 team. Poor hotel, unhealthy facilities, he moved us to a decent hotel without informing the association of the change. After the tournament he was reprimanded for changing hotels. But he wanted player comfort. We hit it off since those days in the early eighties. He restructured the Tata team with seven of us joining as the old of the Tata team was yielding place to new.
He then turned selector for Mumbai and as our association grew, he was first to criticise a failure or a poor shot as much praise a good innings.
During one of my many arguments over the years, I said to him, "be consistent in your opinion, Milind." He stopped talking to me for a bit. When we made up he said, "I set high standards for others, so I might sound flippant.” We kissed and made up.
Only rarely we didn’t talk. Well, I listened, he talked. All the listening was only on Mumbai cricket, batting technique, field placing or even line and length of bowlers. I often interrupted and said,"doesn't it tire you?" And he said, “Mumbai cricket will never tire me. I’ve seen Sardee [Dilip Sardesai], Manjrekar [Vijay] Gavaskar [Sunil], Wadekar [Ajit] closely, so my expectations are high from these guys.”
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His passion, involvement, connect with Mumbai cricket and talent was inquisitive. When Mumbai won, he walked tall, when they lost he shrunk as if it was a personal loss. It is this quality that made him an eternal Mumbai cricket romantic.
We often talked about being bridesmaids of Mumbai cricket — never in the foreground like the groom or a bride at a wedding (Test cap) but always behind them. I would laugh and say to him, "at least we had the best seat at the wedding, Milind.” He'd debate it by saying, "we tried hard, as hard as the bride and groom."
His cricketing career was truncated by health obstacles, but that never stopped him from playing, leading Mumbai and building a robust Tata team.
He often spoke of the metamorphosis of the Gavaskar he had grown up with to the one who broke records, of [Dilip]Vengsarkar and his elegance, of Wadekar and his leadership or even spending time with Manjrekar and Sardesai as a youngster with dreams and of Sharad Diwadkar’s role as a father figure in his growing years. The stories and anecdotes were always salivating for someone like me who thrived on cricket history.
He never held back words when Tatas lost, but was always there to celebrate a win. Judicious as he was in his selection of players, his role in picking a young Sachin Tendulkar for CCI and getting clearances from the board to make an exception to permit him to walk into the Clubhouse when he was underage, was testament to his pushing the right person by bending tradition.
My relationship with him was, and will be special. Of arguments, debates, of fighting and making up, of disagreements and abruptness, but a warmth that was beyond friendship and unconditional in nature.
A daily call was mandatory unless we were sulking with each other for some unimportant, irrelevant cricketing disagreement.
We were much like kids in a candy store without the candy when we disagreed on cricketing issues — not knowing why we disagreed but knowing very well that making up would be the best part about the innocuous drama.
He had one bone of contention with me and that was I hung up the phone up during a conversation. It bothered him so much that my last debate with him was about not hearing him out. After that, every time we spoke, I asked him, “can I disconnect?" just to make sure it didn't irk him.
As is my habit when Mumbai lost, I would call him more for him to vent his disappointment and hear him out rather than offer my inputs.
I almost did the same the other day as Mumbai lost to Vidarbha in the Ranji semi-finals. That morning call habit will be tough to part with.
As I winced with reality that he wasn't there with us anymore, I also sensed his lines of disappointment much like a well rehersed script that I know I will never hear again.
Goodbye Milind Rege, you were never the bridesmaid for me, but the Don Quixote of Mumbai cricket whose tribe I see is getting extinct.
The author is a former Mumbai Ranji Trophy captain
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