Jhakas | Sanjay Jha
I read a recent opinion poll in a newspaper with a tinge of sadness, and a flood of nostalgia. The question posed was on expected lines; Do you support the selectors decision to drop Sachin Tendulkar and Sourav Ganguly from the ODI team for Bangladesh?
A cascading, avalanche response indicated that 80% of readers thoroughly endorsed the views of Dilip Vengsarkar and his enlightened panel. Perhaps Sourav being included in the question may have skewed the result, I thought briefly, considering how the Kolkotta southpaw is the easy pawn for angry disgruntled Indians, who target him relentlessly with no moral compunction whatsoever. Continue reading below
So let us casually discard the fallen Prince; after all, even if it was only the other day that he was being doused with bubbly by ecstatic team-mates for being Man of the Series, it is now already history, right? As for Sachin, the story does get a poignant, dramatic twist.
The unthinkable has indeed happened, Sachin has been ostensibly asked to take a summer break, but in reality, he knows now what it means to be told to begin packing his over-stuffed suitcase of historic achievements. That’s life.
I am not going to bore you with Tendulkar’s statistical accolades and periodic slumps, the amazing records and those characteristic failures. You have perhaps tired of hearing and reading about them ad nauseam. But I do begin to think, feel and understand his sentiments today perhaps, when he stands relegated to the sidelines, dumped with contumacious ease for supposedly disciplinary reasons, especially when I watch some of our urban teenagers today.
For most of India’s urban teenie bopper-hopper crowd, life is about meaningless trivial pursuits of material acquisitions, Ipods, chat rooms, hang-out joints, endless mugs of expensive coffee, DVD watching on LCD screens, and a laundry-list of weekly shopping replenishment. Funny, but at that very age, a simple middle-class boy of Bandra (East) studying in a Marathi speaking school in Mumbai had made his debut for his country, playing alongside former seasoned luminaries of Indian cricket. Who took a bloody blow from a fearsome bowler on his face, but returned to haunt the crease, displaying courage, willpower, and an attitude that spelt an unparalleled dedication.
Ask most of Indian cricket followers in their mid-40s (like me), and most will happily recollect their incredible moments watching Tendulkar grow in stature and physical transformation, his beard slowly registering darkness on his cheeks, the chubby frame soon possessing calves wide enough to encompass muscles bulging menacingly from the sides like two protective bodyguards, a French beard appearing sporadically to smother any rumours of persistent childhood.
I would like to sheepishly admit that I have on several occasions switched off my TV set, once the Little Master returned for a long slow walk back to the dressing room. In fact, in the 1990s, the one question, which most Indians asked with traumatic tension in their tones was, "Is Sachin out?" If he was still walloping Shane Warne, the expression suddenly betrayed infantile exhilaration. If he had been consumed by that lanky Glen McGrath, the anguished expression would be instantly palpable. Watch Tendulkar against the Australians in the 1996 World Cup at Wankhede stadium under floodlight, and you will know why the tiny tot became a grandmaster.
In fact, no one has researched this, but even a cursory exercise will reveal the exponential growth of TV revenues, TRP ratings, spectator involvement, growth of cricket as a sport, endorsement deals et al to the rising curve of Sachin Tendulkar in the 1990s in particular, reaching a crescendo in that classic match at Centurion Park against Pakistan in the World Cup 2003.
Sachin has not just given cricket the commercial landscape in India, but helped create a powerful sports industry around it, akin to how Michael Jordan impacted NBA basketball.
I have personally advocated that Tendulkar should bid adieu to one-day cricket, as he has still a few Himalayan peaks to capture in Test cricket. Like the great Brian Lara’s aggregate Test score, for instance. Yet, I am fully aware that when the Men in Blue take the field at Bangabandhu stadium in Dhaka, without Tendulkar, at least for a transitory moment, it will be like staging Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark.
Today is his 34th birth-day. And even as many city 16 year-olds will go about the daily holiday chore of late nights, party-planning, packing up for holiday on sunshine beaches abroad, and reconfirm with their parents the 5 star bookings in palatial hotels, they should take a leaf from the life and times of Sachin Tendulkar.
Because at 16, he represented India. He entered the team on sheer performance and potential talent. On his own. No selector was needed to make him the zonal candidate. Like Shah Rukh Khan, another national hero, he needed no godfather.
No politics.
The little curly haired boy with that fabled voice got a nasty hit from the fiery Waqar Younis of Pakistan, sending him in a dizzy zone, his nose bleeding profusely. But the 16 year old remained adamant. In the face of a formidable onslaught, he stood his ground. Squared up, shuffled, and steadied himself to face the towering, belligerent Waqar racing towards him from the sight-screen, sensing fresh blood. He stood on balance, his eyes a personification of concentration. A picture of impregnable determination. Fearless. Strong. And full of character. Unknown to us all, a legend was being born.
Happy birthday, Sachin!
