The winter of 89. Most of India sat transfixed before their TV sets as an exhibition match unfolded between India and Pakistan. It was hard to even imagine an exhibition match between the two nations those days that was conducted sans an excessive dose of jingoistic fervor. In any case, in all that, as India was hurtling towards yet another inevitable defeat, a young kid with an unruly mop of hair strode to the pitch to take guard. To most people, millions of viewers included, he seemed like a boy who had carelessly meandered into a man's world, would be promptly castigated for doing so and shown his place. The legendary leg spinner who was bowling even vocalized these thoughts to the young man, perhaps acting as spokesperson for the larger masses. The young man said nothing. His expression was determined and his eyes were steeled. And it took just one memorable over to announce to the world that they were witnessing someone special.
We sat and we cheered and we were awestruck. How a young kid who was not even out of school could have the temerity to take on and maul one of the world's greatest bowlers in his own back yard. He made us believe that we as Indians could take on the world, we could dictate our own terms and we could actually be the world's best. For a nation that had shaken from its economic slumber and was entering a new era of opening its doors to the world here was the perfect poster boy. Young, fearless, talented, world class but with a value system that was so endearingly rooted and Indian that he gave the burgeoning middle class of our nation hope that any dream was possible.
Nearly two decades since the young man is now the veteran of the Indian team and perhaps of world cricket itself. But the steely determination that has been the hallmark of his career remains unaltered. Time and again fingers have pointed his way, tongues have wagged, and even jeers have emanated from his own home crowds. But as always the little champion has handled then with utter poise and dignity. And as always he has let his bat do the talking.
Today when he scored his 38th hundred at the SCG, it was a mark of the man's stature how even the Australian crowds rose to cheer him. One Aussie fan before the match had said. 'The ideal result would be an Australian win and a Tendulkar hundred.'
Think of Maradonna in his Barcelona days being cheered after a match by the partisan Real Madrid fans. A treatment that was repeated in favour of Ronaldinhio two years ago after a sublime display from the Brazilian in a derby match. Michael Jordan being applauded wherever he played, the Brazilian national football side which in most countries draws more interest than the home team. Across the world we all appreciate craftsmen. People who are supreme artists, whose appeal and impact go beyond the nations that they belong to. Sachin Tendulkar is clearly in that bracket.
His first tour of Australia had him scoring a century at Perth, perhaps the fastest and bounciest track in world cricket. The Australians tried sledging him early on and then incredibly realised that it was having a reverse effect. That learning went through their system very quickly as subsequent Australian sides have never sledged him
The first time he opened the innings in one day matches in 1994 against New Zealand, he showed how it was possible to score at an express rate while still playing cricketing shots. That innings, as a friend once remarked, was like watching a highlights package, as every ball whatever line or length or source was simply being decimated.
He bowled a memorable over in the semi final of the Hero Cup when South Africa had only four runs to make. What was striking was that he had the courage to flight the ball even in that situation. He bamboozled the leaden footed South African batsmen and India won the game.
Of course there are the two famous matches in Sharjah in 98 where he almost on his own won the trophy for India or the test series in India later where he mastered Warne. The 2003 world cup in South Africa saw him top the run charts but most memorable was the manner in which he dominated a brilliant Pakistani attack to make a rather stiff target look simple.
The list goes on, as do the records but they really don't capture the impact of the man on the game, his team and on the collective Indian psyche.
Even today when Sachin misses a hundred or gets out, a lot of people stop watching. We all feel a collective pinch when he gets out in the nineties, a bad habit acquired of late. An interesting anecdote along these lines is how Mohammad Kaif's parents left their home and went out after Sachin's wicket fell in the NatWest final, a match subsequently won because of the brilliance and temperament of their son.
No one is irreplaceable. But can one imagine how watching cricket will be after he retires? Sure the show goes on but it does leave a horrible feeling in the pit of the stomach. Legends come about once a while and even sans the media hype around the man there is no taking away from the fact that he is one. The ritual of Sachin actually donning his helmet is a metaphor for carrying the hopes of a billion people. Maybe that's why he never removed his helmet during the storm in Sharjah; perhaps he was aware of what he was carrying.
Let the man be and let him go when he desires. I don't think he will linger longer than that moment when he knows he is not at his best, let no one else make that judgment for him. For someone who has given us countless moments of joy, hope and salvation over the last twenty years we owe him that much.
sachin rokssss
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