ost tests, most runs, most hundreds, at least until Sunil Gavaskar — a big, burly all-rounder called Polly Umrigar. Most cars sold, most satisfied customers, most people ferried around the country — a car as tiny as a cricket ball. Vardhan Kondvikar uncovers more.

When you go to an expensive-looking building on Worli sea-face in Mumbai, looking to interview an ace cricketer, you assume — even expect — a touch of arrogance, maybe a bit of self-importance, and certainly, lots of flash. Instead, you get a delightful old gentleman who offers you tea and cheese twists, and who is so excited about this interview that he’s prepared a list of all he wants to say. Very, very unusual. And, he drives . . . not an infamous Ferrari or a Mercedes-Benz or a Honda or even a Palio. He drives a Maruti 800.
The only similarity one can see between this large man and the diminutive hatchback is their record — both rocked the world when they made their debut, and went incredibly strong till the end of their careers.

Polly Umrigar, even now, is regarded as one of India’s most successful captains, and one of the biggest hitters till he retired in 1963; the 800 has outsold all of its competition, even in March 2003, nearly 18 years after its debut.

“I had my 800 for seven years, my first car after an old Standard and a Fiat. I’ve never had to repaint it or make extensive repairs, and since I was very satisfied with the car, I’ve bought a brand-new one this year.” The love affair continues then, extending from a time when an 800 was one of the few choices available at all, to a time when the options have increased ten-fold. When you ask him why, he answers, matter-of-factly, that he doesn’t need anything bigger, and that the car gives him all that he asks of it, so why go for something bigger?

He finds the 800 thoroughly fuel-efficient, easy to drive and tootle through town, and inexpensive and easy to maintain. He has a few problems with getting into the car, with his six-foot frame, but once inside, even he can get perfectly comfortable. He loves the service he receives at Maruti’s service centres, loves the availability of spare parts, is satisfied with just how reliable this little car has been: just one snapped fan-belt. In seven years. It is so silent, he claims, that “if you are standing by the road and an 800 passes you, you won’t know it.” How does he like the new model? “More powerful, but it hesitates a little before it starts.” Fair enough, with fuel injection.

Any gripes with the car? “No, not really,” he says, “but I would like to make some suggestions.” The first is a parcel shelf to conceal the luggage in the boot, a second to put some rubber matting under the spare tyre; and there are two others which all manufacturers should think about. One, being such a tall man, he finds his knee whacking the gear lever every time he twists around in his seat — can Maruti offer the option of a dogleg-shaped gear lever, to give a big driver’s knee some room? Second, a photograph of the engine bay in the owner’s manual, with the important bits labelled, just so that laymen can correctly name a problem part when reporting it to the service centre.

The world has changed since Polly Umrigar whacked Wesley Hall out of the ground and over the street, shattering a window on the opposite side. Gone are the wooden pavilions and tree-lined parks, and in are multi-crore salaries, hero-worship, product endorsements by the dozen. What would he be driving if he were playing today, surely with the cult-figure status of a Tendulkar or a Sehwag? “Still my 800,” he says, smiling genially, and you are charmed.