Gentle and helpful, Santhanam endeared all, especially juniors

When a friend departs, he takes away a critical part of your life. Losing Sundaram Santhanam on Thursday is a grief I will have to live with forever.

He lost his wicket, that is what he would want me to say, at 78 in Kochi, Kerala after a prolonged illness. A cricket journalist of repute and a table tennis writer of great passion for the game, Santhanam was a lovable, affable, down-to-earth human being who harmed none.

I never addressed him as Santhanam. He is stored in my phone book as Saint. I don’t remember why or when I started calling him Saint. Perhaps his gentle and helpful persona influenced me. I also can’t recall being called Vijay. For him, I was Merchant (the famous Indian cricketer).

He joined the Indian Express in 1978 as a replacement for K. P. Mohan, who switched to The Hindu the same year. I was with Patriot, and we covered the 1982 Asian Games together. Those were wonderful days of camaraderie. We would edit each other’s copies and appreciate from the heart. We kind of grew up in the profession. He retired from the Indian Express in 2005, but never stopped writing on cricket and table tennis.

Santhanam and I struck a rapport because of our love for local sports, especially cricket and table tennis. He had his Vijay scooter, and I owned a Bajaj Chetak. It was fun covering matches with him in Faridabad, Gurgaon, Rohtak, Mohan Nagar, and local venues in Delhi. We would take turns bringing our vehicles in days when public transport was a pain.

I have seen from close up how cricketers loved and respected Santhanam. He would go out of his way to promote them and publish their passport-size pictures. His gesture meant the world to them. Santhanam also made efforts to encourage young talent in the profession. Many learned hard-core reporting from him.

For his hard work, Santhanam was rewarded with India’s 1990 tour to England, and he took great pride in the fact that he reported Sachin Tendulkar’s maiden Test century. He was a grassroots reporter and would drag me to local tournaments in remote corners of the city. I was once laid low by sunstroke, and Santhanam visited me daily, until I stood on my feet.

It is rare to find friends in our profession. But then Santhanam was a rarity. A smile would light up his face whenever we crossed paths in our apartments. He used to drop in unannounced and demand coffee (in winter) or butter milk (in summer). An amazingly fit person, he revelled in spending hours on the cricket field or in indoor venues for table tennis.

Sportspersons adored him. His criticism of them was private. He would take the player aside and share his disappointment, avoiding and discouraging writing the next day. Santhanam was blessed with a great memory. He could recall game-changing moments from a match he would have written about three decades ago. He was also a qualified cricket umpire and was obviously well-versed in the laws of the game as cricket evolved. That is one reason why he never discriminated between a local match and an international contest. He enjoyed a sporting encounter.

We had this secret arrangement to keep an obituary ready. “You never know,” he would smile. True, you never know. It is my misfortune to be writing about Santhanam in the past tense. I will miss his phone calls. “Merchant. What’s happening?” Sadly, my Saint is gone. He can go back to umpiring up there with many cricketers he wrote about. Travel well, my friend.