Down Memory Lane: Aslam Kader

Jockey Aslam Kader astride Flying Brave, winning the Poonawalla Breeders' Million (as the race was then called) in 1992. Inset: (from left) Breeder late Maj PK Mehra, trainer Rashid Byramji and owners Mr & Mrs Deepak Khaitan. [pic: Poonawalla archives]

(From the Archives: This article was written in 1999)

Does jockey Aslam Kader know telepathy? The next time I meet him, I must ask him this question.

Because, he seems to have read my mind, and ruined what I thought might have been a very interesting article about the rise and fall of one of the most brilliant horse riders—Aslam Kader himself!

It so happened that last Sunday I was on my way back home after the races when my cell phone buzzed. It was jockey Aslam Kader calling from the domestic airport at Santacruz. ’’Where are you?’’; he asked. When I told him I was close by and was about to cross the airport junction on the highway, he said, ’’I am going to Bangalore. There is still half an hour to check in. Come over, we will have a chat.’’

In the ten minutes that I took to reach airport, my mind raced back to that night in May 1994 when I had first met him at a palatial bunglow at Band Stand, Mumbai, owned by the Union Carbide chief Deepak Khaitan whose horses Kader used to ride at the time.

Kader was then in the eye of a storm. He was given a two-year suspension, allegedly for ’’pulling’’ a horse named Exotic. The case was one of the most sensationalized in racing history thanks to the Times Of India racing correspondent virtually framing a charge sheet against Kader, pointing out in graphic detail, the so-called errors Kader had committed while riding the piping-hot favourite who eventually lost in a photo finish verdict.

Actually, that Mumbai race season of 1993-94 was perhaps the best ever season of Kader’s riding career. He had accomplished an amazing feat when he equalled the world record of the legendary Sir Gordon Richards by riding six consecutive winners on a day’s race card. It was also during the same season that he had joined the elite band of only a handful Indian riders by completing 1,000 career wins. Ironically, his 1,000th career win came about astride Exotic, the same horse for whose defeat he was later punished, prompting a reporter to term his suspension as ’poetic injustice’.

I was then associate editor of a magazine called The Indian Thoroughbred, and was asked to interview Kader in connection with this controversy. That is how I had landed at Band Stand on that hot May night to meet Kader for the first time.

During the marathon six-hour interview that ran into the early morning hours Aslam Kader spoke non-stop. His language, full of colourful slang, gave away his geographical origins. His histrionics were riveting; his sense of humour was surprising in view of the mess his riding career was in. He spoke candidly, emotionally, passionately. His words had a ring of truth about them.

Besides the suspension, he also talked about the rags-to-riches story of his life—his childhood in the Worli slums (I was so much into street fights, I might have become a ’bhai’); his lack of formal education (I guess I learned to read and write); his stint as a boy mechanic in a car garage at the age of 12 (,I had fascination for cars, but I couldn’t hope to own one, so I did the next best thing); the lucky break that got him into the riding school as an apprentice (My parents were fed up with my daily street fights, and I was really getting to be a nuisance for them. An uncle who worked as a peon for the race club put an end to my parents’ misery; he somehow managed to get admission for me in the riding school); his first winning ride on a filly named Hennessey (I was so excited by my first win, I couldn’t sleep the whole night); his likes (I love beer) and dislikes (I hate the press, they write without verifying); his ambitions (I want to win riding championship at three different racing centers in the same year); and his possessiveness about the secret of his superlative riding skill (I will not teach it even to my son!).

He even candidly talked about his earlier misdeeds in the saddle (Yes, I stopped Rollerball, but it was not for money; and I will never disclose why I did it. That is one secret which will be buried with me.)

He had ended the interview with an arrogant, almost megalomaniacal quote: "I have a great fan following. And through your magazine I want to tell my fans: ’If you miss me for some time, please bear it, and believe me, even I shall be missing you. But be assured I will be back. And the day I come back, it will be the same Aslam Kader—that’s my word to you. Inshallah, the glorious days will be here again!"

I knew a long list of talented riders who could never be the same after coming out of unusually long suspensions. Kader, I thought, was perhaps hoping for the impossible.

Suddenly my train of thoughts came to a halt when I saw him waiting at the departure lounge. Not counting the few fleeting meetings at the racecourse which never went beyond ’’how are you?’’ I was privately meeting him for the first time since that interview many years ago.

It was the same face, although the cheeks were now more convex than concave. Clad in a T-shirt and jeans, it was the same athletic body, a very thin slice of fat perhaps was an addition to the once-flat stomach. The glint in the eyes was the same, the enthusiasm was as infectious, the sense of humour still intact.

We chatted about racing in general for about half an hour. On the way back I wondered if Aslam Kader, the rider with the magic touch, was still the same saddle artist. His reflexes had slightly, but definitely, slowed down with age. He was surely not at the same peak that he was when he used to bring a horse from an impossible position to snatch the verdict at the winning post by an incredible riding display.

Yes, that’s it! I felt I had my finger on the right nerve. He was not the same Aslam Kader anymore.

No doubt he was still winning races, but the style was predictable, there was nothing sensational about his victories. Although he won often, he was not doing the impossible any longer.

Now, that was the germ of an article on Aslam Kader, I thought. ’Is Kader past his prime?’, even the headline flashed in my mind. I called up my sports editor, ’’In a week’s time, I will send you a well-researched piece about Aslam Kader. It may start a debate in racing circles,’’ I told him.

After four days of research (watching video tapes of Kader’s recent rides) to gather points that would prove my point that Kader was finally past his prime as a rider, I finished the article sitting up late into the night. That was Friday.

On Saturday, Aslam Kader rode Legal Steps. The horse was lying third from last in a field of 14 runners. At the halfway stage in the one-mile race, he was a hopeless seventh or eighth. But then before anyone could know what was happening, Kader did something to him and the creature surged ahead to put the issue beyond doubt well before the winning post. I was worried.

On Sunday, Kader had only one ride—the piping-hot favourite Voices Of Spring, trained by Narendra Lagad. Ridden by an apprentice rider, Orange King tried start-to-finish tactics and shaped as a winner when, barely 100 metres from home, the favourite seemed to be in serious trouble as the four-length gap looked unbridgeable. Kader again produced his magic touch, and Voices Of Spring, the horse who had looked squarely beaten, flew like a winged horse to win the race in a photo finish. My heart sank.

I came home, picked up the article—and fed it to the dust bin.

Does Aslam Kader know telepathy? The next time I meet him, I must ask him this question.

(c) 1999, MiD DAY

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