MS Shanker
A Parent, a Secretary, a Fighter: The Unlikely Crusade of Ramakrishna Udupa
In this long-running series on reviving Hyderabad cricket, I have spoken to former cricketers, administrators, umpires, and fans who care deeply about the game. This week, however, I encountered a figure who straddles multiple roles — a parent, a philanthropist, a club secretary, and above all, a stubborn crusader against everything rotten in the Hyderabad Cricket Association (HCA).
Meet Ramakrishna Udupa, Secretary of a Cricket Club. A successful businessman who channels CSR funds into sponsorships for cricket and other social causes, he has also been waging relentless legal battles against what he calls the “manipulation” racket that has corroded the sport’s soul. In a candid conversation, he spoke without mincing words. What emerged was not just his personal journey, but also a mirror held up to the state of Hyderabad cricket.
“Cricket — a word that brings me to a standstill. It’s not just a sport to me; it’s an obsession, a passion, everything beautiful that life can offer.”
Ramakrishna’s love affair with the game began in 1983, when a seven-year-old boy watched India lift the World Cup. His father, usually reserved, danced with joy; his mother, normally indifferent to sport, sat glued to the television in nervous excitement. That atmosphere etched itself into his young mind.
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His first outing on the field was forgettable — run out without facing a ball, scolded by his brother for “losing the match.” But he refused to be deterred. Like most Hyderabad boys of that era, he cut his teeth in rubber-ball matches before graduating to league cricket under HCA. He began humbly, as scorer, leg umpire, and drinks boy.
A twist of fate gave him his first real chance: a few seniors missed a match for job interviews, and he was drafted in. He scored a couple of runs before being bowled by a state-level pacer. “I bragged about it for weeks,” he recalls with a laugh. That marked the start of a modest but passionate playing career.
Over the years, he represented several sides: Royal Cricket Club (1988), Hyderabad Public School (1991–92), Galaxy (1993), Deccan Chronicle (1993), and United (1994–1995, 1998–2003). Life, however, intervened — engineering studies, business, and responsibilities pushed cricket into the cupboard, though he never formally retired.
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In 2013, his tryst with the game resumed — this time as a father. His son began his journey at the Sports Coaching Foundation, moved through a couple of other academies, and now trains at Cricket School and also under the guidance of an eminent coach.
“As a parent, I became everything — cheerleader, motivator, silent observer, and sometimes, a helpless bystander,” he says. But he soon realised that cricket today was no longer what it used to be. It had become a career treadmill, riddled with pressure, politics, and unhealthy parental interference.
He fondly talks about Mr. Ganesh Pai of United Cricket Club, who represented the old guard of administrators — men who handed over the ball, watched quietly from the boundary, and never interfered. “That spirit is gone. Now it’s about influence, connections, and money.”
Running pillar to post, experimenting with coaches and fitness regimes, he tried giving his son the best chance. But the system he encountered was stacked against merit. “I believed in fairness. Instead, I saw manipulation, favouritism, and closed circles.”
In desperation, he became a club secretary himself, hoping the position would give his son and other youngsters a fair platform. Instead, it exposed him to more politics. He was humoured, used, and then sidelined. Even his CSR contributions to cricket were treated with hostility.
“At one stage, powerful members even tried to block my son’s participation in A-division matches,” he reveals. He documented every episode, filed complaints with HCA, but the system remained impervious.
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Far from giving up, Ramakrishna decided to build something of his own. In Association with Mahaboob Ahmed, Secretary of another club, he set out to create a team run with integrity, where selection would be based purely on merit. Adnan Bafna helped them scout and assemble players who would gel together as a unit.
The initiative drew crucial support from the Mocherla Bhaskara Rao Foundation, which came on board as sponsors. Their backing gave players a professional environment: team uniforms, a ₹5,000 Man of the Match award, a ₹50,000 Man of the Series prize, and special incentives for team promotion.
The results were dramatic. The team has won every match it played (barring one rain washout), and six players have already made it to the state probable list. For Ramakrishna, it is proof that fairness and integrity can still triumph.
Ramakrishna Udupa knows he is fighting an uphill battle. But his story is proof that there are still individuals unwilling to surrender the game to vested interests.
“I hope Hyderabad cricket regains its lost glory. I hope players are judged for their talent, not their connections. I hope parents can be cheerleaders, not political pawns. And most of all, I hope that one day I can look back and say, I played a small role in making things better.”
In an environment where most club secretaries are content to play along with entrenched systems, Udupa stands out as one of the few exceptions — a parent-turned-secretary who chose to fight back. His journey is not just about his son, but about the soul of Hyderabad cricket itself.
