(IN) Dying polo in Kolkata

[Guest guest]

Maybe this is a conspiracy to replace horses with elephants in the sport.

 

 

http://www.telegraphindia.com/archives/archive.html

Thursday , January 3 , 2008

RIDING INTO AN EARLY SUNSET

- Polo, unlike debates, is struggling to survive in Calcutta. The second

fastest game in the world has not been able to keep pace with the times

FLOGGING A DEAD HORSE

 

Calcutta, 1932. The debonair Sawai Man Singh II of Jaipur, one of India's

finest polo players, was in the city to play the season. He met Indira Devi

of Cooch Behar at a party where an elated Maharani promised the dapper young

man " whatever he wanted " . Man Singh asked for the Maharani's daughter,

Gayatri Devi, to join him for dinner at Firpo's. The princess, all of

thirteen, spent hours before the mirror for the rendezvous. Later that

night, she returned, enchanted after spending a magical evening. A fairy

tale had started, amidst the lights and the music of an elegant restaurant,

which was to change two lives and one game forever.

 

Tarsem Singh plays polo too. An army man and +2 player, he has been visiting

Calcutta for twenty years now, his love of the game undiminished. Tarsem may

not have heard of Man Singh's tryst at Firpo's. But he is well aware of polo's

moorings in Calcutta. The city has the oldest polo club in the world — the

Calcutta Polo Club — and has also hosted the prestigious Indian Open.

 

For Tarsem, Calcutta has changed over the years. At the Pat Williamson

ground on a winter morning, he sees a different skyline, dotted with

highrises and flyovers. Even the once radiant Victoria Memorial appears grey

through the haze. There is something different about polo in Calcutta now —

fewer tournaments, fewer ponies, and the crowds have thinned. But then, the

hooter is sounded, a *chukker* begins, and Tarsem charges. The game goes on.

 

 

Polo's decline in Calcutta could be attributed to various factors. As a

royal sport, polo depended largely on affluent benefactors for its survival.

After Independence, princely India had changed for ever, scripting a

discomfiting fate for the game. Gradually, it became impossible for polo's

patrons to support the game with their dwindling incomes.

 

The story was similar in Calcutta too. The business houses that buttressed

polo — organizing tournaments, paying players and buying horses — started

leaving the city forced by changes in the sporting and business climate. The

roads now led to Delhi and Jaipur, glamorous cities with considerable

wealth, stud farms with better breeding facilities, and larger grounds.

Calcutta's polo survived, only just.

 

Another major reason for the slump, ironically, had to do with polo's

exclusivity. Long perceived to be a game of the kings, polo could not

democratize itself like other, once selective, sports such as cricket.

Tarsem believes that for polo to survive, and be able to resurrect itself,

it must shed its regal trappings and become a mass sport.

 

However, the final hooter for the game in Calcutta cannot be sounded just

yet.This is largely because of the hard work the Indian army has put in to

help the game survive in the city. There is a corporate presence as well, in

the form of sponsorship. The Indian Polo Association is doing its bit too.

Four of India's best players turned up for the recently concluded BFL Corp

Cup in Calcutta. For Tarsem, this still holds out some hope.

 

But, as a player, he is aware of the odds. Calcutta needs more polo grounds,

better infrastructure and training facilities. There is a case for

increasing the number of tournaments as well. It would then bring a larger

contingent of professionals to the city more often.

 

There are other concerns for the players as well. Unlike cricket, or even

tennis, polo is not a well-paying sport. There is little money, virtually no

security, and far greater risk of injury for the players. Nor do

Poloprofessionals have a formal association, which could have enabled

them to

negotiate their terms better.

 

Every sport has its own stories. Polo too has its share of lore. It is said

that the Maharaja of Alwar once had his horse killed after losing a match.

Another regent demanded the legendary Jodhpur polo team as part of his dowry

after marrying two Jodhpuri princesses in the Thirties.

 

But Tarsem's favourite tale is not about kings and princesses, desire and

wealth. It is about a poor fruit- seller in Jaipur. The day after playing a

match, Tarsem found himself in his stall for a cup of juice. The man handed

him a glass and then quietly told him that he should have done better with

the 60-yard penalty shot the day before. The man, despite his difficulties,

never missed watching a single game in Jaipur. And few could rival him in

his knowledge of the game.

 

That man, Tarsem thinks, holds the key for polo in cities like Calcutta.

Tarsem, in fact, wishes to imagine that he plays for people like the

fruitseller: ordinary men and women who hold the destiny of a game in their

hands.

UDDALAK MUKHERJEE