His Last Bow

It was late February 2010, and for a conventional intermediate and engineering aspirant who has spent the entire year waiting for the seventh-chime-on-a-blue-moon-on-the-day-after-tomorrow to start studying, it is a prolonged period of intellectual penance. A time when, as a five-point-someone has rightly stated, you are supposed to ‘lock yourself in a room full of books and throw away the keys’.

But when the only un-animated superhero of your childhood is beating the living daylights out of the Proteas- just a few cover drives shy of a score experts had believed to be in the realms of sports fiction- you will hold your pee to watch Him get there. Jersey No. 10 had walked into a little known stadium in Gwalior on a Wednesday and 3 hours later the entire nation was in obeisance of ‘He who had come when God wanted to play cricket’. Sachin Tendulkar had smashed a double hundred in a one day international and somewhere at an obscure village of an unheard place in a trivial town, a ‘disobedient reckless’ son had picked up a fight with his parents.

It hasn’t sunk in yet- the news that there will be cricket without Sachin. The very little thoughts of it that came from some deep crevice of a dark corner of an empty recess of your mind, when you saw the Masters of the Game like Lara, Ponting and Dravid hang up their boots, were vehemently quelled at that very instant. You could not help but see it coming when the authoritative pulls were gradually replaced by the less reflexive upper cuts, when lately the nuke-resistant forward defense was compromised by a seaming in-swinger and whenever He was dismissed Leg Before Wicket attempting to play that vintage flick of the pads through mid-wicket, we all believed He could play even with a walking stick. Yet, the thought of having someone else at No.4 was utterly preposterous.

I should not try to commit the blasphemy of trying to encapsulate the Master’s Odyssey in a few lame words. But now that an age has come to an end, you cannot help but cherish all the little moments of an illustrious saga, one that will never be chanted again. For this is the story of the bashful kid who had smashed 664 runs with Kambli at an age when we watched Pokemon, the iron willed youngster who chose to bat with a bleeding nose against the most grueling bowling attack ever assembled, at an age when we struggle with differential calculus and the unflinching cricketer who single handedly denied victory to a formidable English side as He batted His way to His first international century in England, at an age when Facebook and WhatsApp are all we care for. We have all spent 18-22 years trying to figure out what we really want to do in life. This man has spent more time giving most of us an answer for the same!

He remains the only link to our childhood, when we would rush to our homes at 2:30 right after school so we could not miss the sight of Sachin taking guard for India in a day-night game. Those were times when a Tendulkar poster was a priceless asset and an MRF bat, the perfect birthday gift. Hours were spent mimicking His stance before the mirror and many a meal and little ceremonies fast-forwarded. Each of His run was our accomplishment, His dismissal an agony. Each of His hundred was a national achievement and every half century, 50 short of perfection. Countless 6s have made us leap out of our chairs and hearts have sunk like rocks when they were caught in the deep. We’ve reveled in the immaculate straight drive, marveled at the dexterous cover drive and been awed by the leg glance. His treacherous Googlies fooling stalwarts have given us highs and the ‘nervous 90s’ made us feel like pulling our hair out. The unparalleled euphoria on His arrival and the mind-numbing silence of His dismissal are emotions that made Cricket more than just a sport and Sachin more than just a legend.

Sportsmen have played ball games, amassed huge fortunes, made big names, and set amazing feats but no one’s quite managed to capture the imagination of an entire nation or inspire a whole generation like the master blaster. Football players abuse and squabble over fouls. They have crossed lines, even head-butted on high spirits and been subjects of controversy off the field. Athletes have cheated their fans bringing disgrace to their sports. Tennis stars have vented off their anger on the court. Golfers have been accused of infidelity and cyclists been part of scandalous revelations years after they were crowned legends. But it is the sheer poise and composure on the field and humility and respect for the sport outside the 22 yards, which this man has shown, that makes Him a true champion.

We are privileged to have been born at a time when we could watch Him while we grew up. If we could imbibe even a fraction of the unwavering tenacity and absolute passion that He has exhibited for the past 24 years, we can accomplish much more than we ever thought we could. We have had champions, we have had legends, but we have never had another Sachin Tendulkar and we never will. To paraphrase what wiser men have said before-

We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for allowing us to breathe the same air as you do. You were a great habit.