In the age of ChatGPT, where an AI tool claims to have all the answers, here’s a cricket trivia question: who is the only Indian cricketer to have played more than a decade of first-class cricket without ever being on a losing Ranji Trophy side?
The answer is Dilip Sardesai. He played 61 matches for Mumbai between 1960 and 1973 and did not lose a single one, as the team won the Ranji Trophy an astonishing 15 years in a row.
On Thursday evening, as my late father (he passed away in 2007) was honoured with a gate in his name at the Wankhede Stadium, I could almost picture him smiling, a glass of beer in hand, quietly amused by the fuss.
For his generation, cricket was a passion, not quite a profession. He would have been the first to say that Mumbai’s extraordinary run in the 1960s wasn’t about individual brilliance, but about the making of the original ‘Invincibles’: Team Mumbai — or Bombay, as it was then known.
Four features defined that era
First, the sheer depth of talent. Competition for places was so fierce that my father was picked in the Indian squad in 1960-61 even before making his Ranji debut that same season.
Second, this dominance came in a metro-centric age. The small-town revolution that defines Indian cricket today had not yet arrived. My father moved from Goa to Mumbai at 17 to chase his dream, eventually becoming the first — and still the only — Goa-born cricketer to represent India.
Third, Mumbai’s cricket thrived on legacy. Sport is a relay, one generation passing the baton to the next. The city’s maidans and gymkhanas created an ecosystem like no other. Sitting along Marine Drive, my father once watched, in awe, Vinoo Mankad and Subhash Gupte in a spinning duel — Hindu Gymkhana versus Shivaji Park Gymkhana — contests played with Test-match intensity.
And then there was the famous ‘khadoos’ spirit, forged in worn-out tents, uneven pitches and in unforgiving conditions. The closest translation is “never say die.” It’s the same resilience that defines Mumbai life. On the field, it meant you simply could not afford to lose. Success was not just about glory — it was often a route to survival and upward mobility. My father called it “fire in the belly.”
One story captures it best
Kingston, 1971: India versus West Indies, first Test. At 75 for 5, my father was joined by his Hindu Gymkhana teammate Eknath Solkar. A West Indian commentator had dismissed India as a “club side.” Stung, my father told Solkar: “Just think you are playing at Hindu Gym. Let’s show them what a Bombay club side can do.” What followed was a 137-run partnership. West Indies were forced to follow on, and India went on to win a series there for the first time.
On Thursday, as the Solkar and Sardesai gates at the Wankhede were finally unveiled, it felt like a throwback to that moment — a reminder of a time when Bombay cricket wasn’t just dominant, it was defiant.
A golden generation, yes. But more than that, a mindset that refused to lose.
The writer is a senior journalist and author. His book ‘Democracy’s XI: The great story of Indian cricket` was shortlisted for cricket book of the year by MCC Lords.