Aajke ekta oshadharon English class korlaam. Class 12-er por ei prothom. Two hours very well spent. Shondhye ta khuub bhalo kaatlo.

Growing up with Sachin

How Tendulkar helped a generation of Indians make sense of their lives

Siddhartha Vaidyanathan

December 24, 2012

 

Sachin Tendulkar has retired from one-dayers.

 

Does this mean anything to you?

 

Did you feel numb on Sunday morning? Or maybe it was Saturday night in your part of the world. Did the various stages of your life flash in your head, as they are supposed to in the instant before you die?

 

Do you remember one-dayers 23 years ago? Travel back in time. What do you see? Red leather balls, players in whites and some one-dayers in England with umpires stopping play for tea.

 

What else do you see? Doordarshan - the feed hanging this moment, back live the next, your grainy screen filled with men who sport stubbles and bushy moustaches, the camera facing the batsman one over and the bowler the next, commentators screaming "that's hit up in the air".

 

Gradually the texture changes. Coloured clothing and floodlit games become commonplace, fielding restrictions alter the definitions of a "safe total", Duckworth and Lewis appear, so do Powerplays, Supersubs and Super Overs. Pinch-hitters, a novelty for a few years, lose their sheen. Now everyone must pinch, everyone must hit.

 

Tendulkar has seen it all. Sometimes he has initiated the change, on other occasions he has adapted. A master of the game in the mid '90s, a master in 2011. The one constant in a wildly changing format. He was around when one-dayers were blooming, he was also around when they were allegedly dying.

 

You have been around too. Are you a kid from the '80s? Or the '90s? Or are you a straddler, part of the Tendulkar generation that has one feet in both decades?

 

Ah, you stand on the threshold. You have experienced Doordarshan before leaping to the riches of satellite, you have seen Shah Rukh Khan as a fauji on TV before he soared onto the silver screen, you know of life before the internet but are quick to embrace the wonders of technology, you have watched monochrome but are a child of the colour TV age.

 

What else do you see?

 

Tendulkar in a white helmet, his white shirt unbuttoned to his thorax, blitzing Abdul Qadir in an exhibition game in Peshawar. Until that point cricket is merely a fuzzy idea. Tendulkar gives it shape, adds meaning, wraps it in colourful paper and winds a ribbon around the packing. He makes you understand the game's place in your life, teaches you its significance.

You grapple, trying to swerve banana out-swingers with a tennis ball. Standing in front of a mirror, you imagine the opposition needing six off the last over. The stadium is a cauldron. A hundred thousand fill the stands. Can you restrict the batsmen?

 

One morning in 1994, when large parts of India slept, you awake to life and freedom. What a rebellion at Auckland. Eighty-two off 49 balls. A cameo that unshackles the mind. The greatest one-day innings you have seen. Can anyone better this?

 

You are carried along the Tendulkar slipstream. When he is stumped off Mark Waugh, after illuminating the Mumbai sky, you sense the game will slip away. It does. A few days later his hundred against Sri Lanka in Delhi ends in defeat - the first Tendulkar ton in vain. You hope it's an aberration. You wish.

 

You observe his every move. In 1996, when he fires a swinging yorker to dismiss Saqlain in Sharjah and sends him off with an emphatic "f**k off", you blush. Four years later your vocabulary has expanded. When he mouths off Glenn McGrath in the Champions Trophy in Nairobi, you puff your chest, as if vindicated.

 

It's 1998, a time for decisions. Academics or sports? Arts or science? Biology or computers? To meet her or to continue with phone conversations? To buy a copy of Debonair or to take a sneak-peek? These are the burning questions that occupy you.

 

Do they matter? Tendulkar is dismantling Fleming, Warne and Kasprowicz in Sharjah. A desert storm, a birthday hundred and a ballistic Tony Greig. A straight six off Warne when he starts around the wicket. Another straight six off Kasprowicz. "Whaddaplayaa," screeches Greig. It imprints itself in your head.

 

In your inconsequential gully matches you bat with an amped-up ferocity. You nod to tell the bowler you are ready, you hold your pose during the follow-through, you reverse-sweep and attempt straight-bat paddles. You pump your fist when Tendulkar manhandles Henry Olonga in Sharjah.

 

You start college. You are ragged, often with little imagination. Some of the courses don't interest you. Many of your classmates speak about things you have never heard of, in languages you are not fluent in.

 

You are sipping tea in the canteen when someone switches on a television set. India are playing Namibia in the World Cup. You find your bearings. This is a familiar world. Tendulkar is nearing a century. This is your comfort zone. The next 10 days are some of the most joyous of your life. That six off Caddick, those fours of Akram and Shoaib ... you feel you have turned a corner.

 

You hate your job. You begin to care for little other than your pay-cheque. This is not what you expected when you graduated. You assumed this job would be interesting. How wrong you were. Tendulkar is still at it, obsessed with his craft. Despite a lean patch, he says he must go on. He knows no other way.

 

You are engaged, then married. Life gets busier: an apartment, a car, daily chores. Tendulkar is brutalising Brett Lee in Sydney. An uppish cover drive, then a bullet past the bowler. Lee offers an angelic smile, Tendulkar stands still, zen-like, unconcerned about the past or the future, immersed in the present.

 

You switch jobs. You like your new role but your boss sucks. He is a slave-driver. You take sly peeks at a live scorecard tab that is open at your desktop as India chase Australia's 351 at Hyderabad. Tendulkar is flying but there is no TV. You wish you could get back home but what if he gets out when you are on your way? Would you be able to forgive yourself? India lose. You call out sick the next day.

 

You relocate abroad. Cricket matches are on a different time zone. You scavenge illegal internet streams, slap your head when the feed hangs. You are reminded of your days of watching Doordarshan. The sun is yet to rise outside your apartment, and Tendulkar is batting in the 190s against South Africa in Gwalior. Cricinfo is hanging. Cricinfo didn't even exist when Tendulkar started. Your twitter feed is on valium. He has reached 200.

 

You watch every ball of India's World Cup campaign. How could you not? A hundred in Bangalore, a hundred in Nagpur. You suffer palpitations in Mohali. Then the eruption in Mumbai. Kohli raises him aloft and talks of Tendulkar's burden. He speaks for you. He understands how you feel. There are tears everywhere, including on your cheeks.

 

Here's John Steinbeck in Cannery Row:

Someone should write an erudite essay on the moral, physical and aesthetic effect of the Model T Ford on the American Nation. Two generations of Americans knew more about the Ford coil than the clitoris, about the planetary system of gears than solar system of of stars ... Most of the babies of the period were conceived in Model T Fords and not a few of them were born in them ...

You can apply the same to your generation. To understand us is to take into account the moral, physical and aesthetic effect of Tendulkar. To feel your pain, when he retires from a format he made his own, is to know what it means to grow up with him.

 

You are the lucky ones. Cherish the memories. He was, and will remain, your Model T.

'Sach' is life..

Full name: Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar

Born: April 24, 1973 in Bombay, Maharashtra
Current age: 39 years 243 days
Major teams: India, Asia XI, Mumbai, Mumbai Indians, Yorkshire
Nicknames: God, SRT, Tendlya, Little Master, Master Blaster, Batting Maestro
Playing role: Top order batsman
Batting style: Right-hand bat
Bowling style: Right-arm offbreak, legbreak, googly
Height: 5 feet 5 inches

463 ODIs (452 Inings), 18426 runs (Avg. of 44.83 & S/R of 86.24) with 2016 fours & 195 sixes, highest score – 200*, 49 centuries, 96 fifties, 140 catches, 154 wickets (ER: 5.10) with best figures of 32/5 [all of this achieved across 90 different grounds across the world]

 ***************************************************************

He made his debut on December 18, 1989, as a 16-year-old against Pakistan. He played his last ODI on March 18, 2012, also against Pakistan in the Asia Cup.

His last ODI hundred came in the Asia Cup in Bangladesh in March 2012, a feat that completed an unprecedented 100 international tons (across all formats).

He has opened Batting 340 times in ODI cricket, a record.

First player to reach 10,000-11,000-12,000-13,000-14,000-15,000, 16,000 and 17,000, 18,000 ODI runs. Only player to score 5, 150+ (186*, 152, 163*, 175 and 200*) scores in ODI cricket.

He  has scored 1,000 or more ODI runs in a calendar year a record seven times - 1994, 1996, 1997, 1998, 2000, 2003 and 2007. His tally of 1894 runs in 1998 is a record for the highest number of ODI runs by anyone in a calendar year. Also his 9 ODI centuries in the same year is also a record for the highest number of ODI centuries recorded by anyone in a calendar year.

He has the most Man of the Match Awards (62) and the most Man of the Series Awards (15) in the history of ODI cricket.

Most Runs (2120), Most Fifties (13), Most Hundreds (6), Highest Partnership runs for 3rd wicket (237, with Rahul Dravid) in World Cup cricket. He was the Man of the Tournament in the 2003 ICC World Cup, in which he scored 673 runs (the highest by any player in any World Cup).

****************************************************************

So, the greatest ODI batsman India (and arguably, the world) has ever seen will not get to 20,000 ODI runs. Nor will he get to his 50^th ODI century. The many who wanted him to roll back the years and still be around when the 2015 ICC World Cup came around will be disappointed. Pakistan, who are just about to embark on an ODI series against India, will be happy to not have to bowl to him. The growing number of people who have been calling for his head will be happy to see him go. Cricket, though, both Indian and of the world, has been left with a gigantic hole.

His statement (released by the BCCI on the morning of 23.12.2012) read, "I have decided to retire from the One Day format of the game. I feel blessed to have fulfilled the dream of being part of a World Cup wining Indian team. The preparatory process to defend the World Cup in 2015 should begin early and in right earnest. I would like to wish the team all the very best for the future. I am eternally grateful to all my well wishers for their unconditional support and love over the years." Sachin Tendulkar, perhaps the most-worshipped cricketer of all-time, will not pad up for India in ODIs again. Many, including myself, were somewhat puzzled when he did not retire after winning the 2011 ICC World Cup, simply because it seemed as if he had nothing left to achieve in this format. Yet, the batting legend has always maintained that he will go on playing as long as he enjoys the game, and he now goes on his own terms. It is strange to think.. no, to know.. that the name ‘Tendulkar’ will never again appear on an ODI scorecard for India.

 

 For as long as I have followed the Indian team (& cricket in general), SRT has been a constant figure in the sea of change. Questions have been raised – about his big-match-situation performances, about his captaincy, about his match-winning abilities, about his supposed lack-of-sportsmanship, about his unwillingness to retire & so on & so forth – but Sachin has always let his bat do the talking. 23 years is one hell of a long time..

 Comparisons have always been part & parcel of any & all sports, & many are of the opinion that Dada’s contribution to Indian cricket is bigger than Sachin’s. To me, while Dada is without a shadow of doubt the better leader among the two, there is no comparison when it comes to their batting – Sachin is head & shoulders above & beyond the southpaw, be it in Tests, ODIs or IPL. On who was more inspirational of the two, it’s a difficult question to address simply because of the drastically contrasting styles of the two – Dada’s in-your-face aggression to Sachin’s subdued stay-in-the-background approach.

They say a hero is immortal only until he dies. R.I.P. the immortal Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, veteran of 463 ODIs and World Cup-winner. To say that you will be missed would be the biggest understatement in the history of understatements.. A true champion and one of the last of the gentlemen cricketers has just left the building. Thank you for all the memories..

A large part of the cricket-fan in me died today morning. Maybe the world should indeed have ended on 21.12.2012.

 

unnamed

“Dilon mein tum apni betaabiyan leke chal rahein ho, toh zinda ho tum..
Nazar mein khwaabon ki bijliyan leke chal rahein ho, toh zinda ho tum..

Hawa k jhokon k jaise aazad rehna seekho -
Tum ek dariya k jaise lehron mein behna seekho..
Har ek lamhe se tum milo khole apni baahein,
Har ek pal ek naya samaa dekhe nigahein..

Jo apni aankhon mein hayraniyan leke chal rahein ho, toh zinda ho tum -
Dilon mein tum apni betaabiyan leke chal rahein ho, toh zinda ho tum…”


Yours is the language of the smile.. one that be comprehended by all..
and mine.. mine is the madness of the pen.. tending to this social circus’ curtain-call..
May the odds be ever in your favour, and may that smile never die..
And if you struggle to find a reason, let me be the reason for a while..

I give you a balconyful of moonlight and buckets of starlit evenings,

and skies of rain to stream down your cupped hands..
May you hold them close, as the emotions stir & swim inside you –
May they be the contours of your happiness, may you always do what your heart demands..

Toke dilaam shokaal byala’r shishir-bheja ghaash,

Tokei dilaam sheet-er diin-er unun ghyasha aanch..
Tui nili prothom brishti’r diin-er shobuj-ronga paata –
R tor jonnoi ei onek kotha olpe’r moddhye bola ei kobita..

Jodi toke r ektu kom shundor dekhte hotoh,

r tor haashi-ta r ektu kom dushtu hotoh,
Tahole hoytoh ei kobita’r tui r aashol tui ekii hotoh..


Nahole, tor nikhhut chhobi aankte boshe emon shahosh kaar?
Toke niiye kobita lekhar aashpordhaa khoma korish aamar...

 

Note to myself

You.. Yes, YOU! I'm talking to you, Arindam.. and to Ankan, Mimoh, Gaju, Piklu, Babai, Mithai and all those who live within you..

You remember "A tale of two beauties.."? Yes, that is how deep you'd fallen in love with her. And you know how much that hurt you in the end, how much it made you want to just stop living.. Remember. ALWAYS.

A Letter

A letter written six years back.. or maybe five and a half.. a letter that was forgotten, hiding in the black-text-on-white-MS word-document on my personal laptop forever.. Came across it today as I was going through some of my old writings, looking for something else.. Was telling a friend how I almost cannot believe how deep into my heart I had delved into back in those days.. I think I can put it up now; it's part of the letting go, I guess..

Hey.

I guess I’m not, by nature, one of those who shares feelings easily. It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s more so that I cannot. And the times I’ve tried to, I’ve found it undoable. It’s not always easy for me to explain, even to you – one of the people I consider closest to me, the complexity of my feelings and the depth of my reaction to certain experiences. I just couldn’t bring myself to talk to you straight about the random stuff I was hearing. You know, because I couldn’t talk to you and it was all getting stuffed and hot between my ears, I quit asking people stories about the trip to Dooars.. Believe me if you will, but the fact of the matter is that I was really, really stretched thin and yet not for a moment did I actually believe any of the stuff I was hearing.. 

Remember the SMS I had sent you pleading you to inform me at least when you started liking a guy as more than a friend ? Well, that’s about as close as I could come to talking to you about it.. That is, until yesterday.. when I felt like my head was about to explode and finish me off for good.. Might not have been so bad, it appears in hindsight. All I could so for the last I-don’t-know-how-many-days was hope.. Hope..

There was this feeling of helplessness.. Like a fear that decisions – decisions that would render me unable to function normally ever again – were being made in my absence, that not everything that I wanted to know, NEEDED to know, was being made known to me.. and yet I dreaded knowing them.. One of the reasons I can never manage to ask you thing about your.. love life, so to speak.. is because I am mortally scared of what the answer might do to me.. Yes, I know I’m a weakling, but that’s just the way it is.. And you’ve never done anything specific to make me feel this way; it’s just the way I am.. Also, keeping in line with what I said in the SMSs, I’ve always kind of had this feeling that I’m downright lucky to have found someone like you.. and that it was wonderful enough to me that I could make you laugh and spend time with you and.. I’ve just never thought that I had any right whatsoever of asking you personal stuff.. and when I have, it’s taken a lot of courage or a hasty, desperate impulse.. Like when I was in ****** and heard about the ***** incident and subsequently asked you about it over SMS.. I typed, erased and re-typed that SMS about ten times before I could not take it anymore and sent it.. It’s like I’ve always felt that you weren’t as such answerable to me.. I mean, really, who was I ? A friend, yes.. but nothing more.. Heck, I myself don’t consider myself answerable to all my friends! Why should you be any different, I thought.. Maybe you’d feel I was trying to invade your privacy.. It’s not your fault, I repeat. It’s the sad creature I am..

There is also a reluctance to be thought a complainer. I mean, how many times have I sort of complained about this issue? I myself don’t know.. I feel an ocean times of what I say and I think I’ve managed to say my grievance quite a few times.. There is the feeling of a lack in confidence, the subconscious feeling that perhaps my thoughts are a manifestation of my own inadequacy… There is the conflict between the terror of eternal loneliness and the desire to be left alone.. I’ve kept these feelings dormant inside of me for I don’t know how long.. I guess they don’t matter.. because this isn’t about me, really.. It’s about you. Look, I just wanted you to know that I really, really thought that I was losing you.. And it hurt.. so much.. You’re possibly true when you say that I’m hurting myself, but it appears that I’ve developed quite a liking to it.. Maybe I’ll grow prone to it one day.. I’ve told myself that the inevitable must be faced and accepted; perhaps not with dignity, but accepted all the same.. that one day I will lose you.. that one day I will become like the man who comes back from a tiring ordeal far, far away and finds no one waiting for him at the airport.. It’s just taking a rather long time.. But I’ll keep going at it..

I hope I’ve got across to you. Thank you for reading this through. Take Care.