An ode to Sachin

Even if this story may be lost as one more in countless eulogies being written for the retiring maestro Sachin Tendulkar, the story must be told simply because I feel so strongly about it.

To be completely honest, I’ve stopped watching cricket for a while now. I can’t sit and watch a single over, I don’t know the names of the latest cricketers, can’t care about the records and don’t even know who is playing who. This transition has been a complete u-turn from being an ardent cricket fan who used to live, breathe, walk and talk cricket, from being the college cricket captain who wouldn’t sleep the night before every match because he just couldn’t stop practicing the shots in his mind, who had cricket statistics by heart and who recklessly played with his career by focusing on World Cup cricket because it happened during his exams.

A day before Sachin’s final test at Wankhede, when a friend proudly mentioned on Facebook that he got the tickets for the match, I asked him, “What match?” Even then I didn’t seem to care; I’ve watched him enough, I thought. And then on the morning of 15^th November 2013, I saw too many updates on Facebook about the match and it looked like Sachin was batting. So I switched the TV on. Sachin was already on 46 then. And the crowd was roaring on every ball he faced.

I sat. I watched. I forgot myself for a while. The boundaries came intermingled with the defensive shots: sweep, paddle sweep, ducking a bouncer and yet trying to hit a boundary by swishing the bat under the flying ball, trademark back-foot cover drive, straight drive under the fingers of the bowler, on-drive, leg glance, flick and many more. Clichéd it may sound but he was truly on song and it was sheer poetry on the field. When he got out on 74, the applause from the crowd gave me goose-bumps but what surprised me the most were the water drops swelling on the sides of my eyes. That was perhaps the cricketer in me who was going to miss poetry in action.

I wondered what might be going on in his heart and mind. Here is the man who has cradled India’s cricketing hopes for 24 long years on his strong shoulders and a diminutive five and a half feet frame. I’ve seen people believing in all sorts of superstitions when he is batting: never watch him play live but sit in the next room praying, sit in a particular chair, wear a particular underwear, don’t drink water while he plays and all sorts of crazy stuff. But what aplomb, what confidence, what elegance, what modesty, what spotless character and what endearing learning attitude define his persona? No wonder Brian Lara said he wants his son to be Sachin Tendulkar. Let me tell you a secret Mr. Lara. We all want the same. But the Sachin we want is not necessarily a cricketer or a batsman. We want the Sachins to come out in all the sports and professions of the world and raise the bar through single minded devotion, love for their craft, complete dedication and honesty. We all want the Sachin who is the quintessential ideal son, brother, husband and father. We want the Sachins to give the world the much needed joy when they’re in their craft, make people feel that they’ve come to the earth to watch what these virtuosos create.  

There are many Sachins in their respective sports: Federer, Nadal, Messi and others and there will be many more to come. Dhoni may be a better finisher, Kohlis and Sharmas show a lot of promise, but for me, like many others, Sachin defined cricket for more than two decades. The TV is off now. Not sure when I will watch cricket again. It doesn't matter now.