Growing up with Sachin Tendulkar - How my childhood ended with his retirement

Sachin Tendulkar of India plays a shot off the bowling of Warne during the 1996 WC match in Mumbai

“I will be like Sachin Tendulkar.”

20 years later, I couldn’t even be a 1000th of the batsman that he was, but that was what I said when my father gifted me my first ever bat. I was only 3 or maybe 4 years old, but it is a memory I can never forget.

My love for cricket emanated at a very young age. I can’t remember many of Tendulkar’s best innings in the 90s, for I was still in my nappies, but one thing that will never leave the walls of my mind was how he influenced me. I tried to replicate the way he stood on the crease; perfectly balanced and ready to pounce on the ball.

I was 4.

I remember arguing with my friend about who is a bigger Tendulkar fan. We always urged each other to become a fan of Azharuddin instead of Tendulkar because the former had “four cars”. In the midst of such astounding naivety stood sheer love and passion for the man who many recognize as God.

My memory of the 1996 World Cup is shrouded by a thick drapery of a nebulous mist, but through that, Tendulkar’s innings of 90 against Australia in a losing cause appears in flashes – especially the three boundaries that he struck against Glenn McGrath in a single over. In my mind, it was the onset of the McGrath-Tendulkar rivalry.

I was 6.

Life was still jolly. The biggest thing I worried about that time was missing a Tendulkar innings, a position that I so crave now amidst all the scarring thoughts about the future. And after the World Cup came the best years for the Little Master – and his status as a Lord was engraved in my heart.

As Australia toured India in early 1998, Tendulkar was at the peak of his powers – and so was Shane Warne. The battle between them was so hyped that I clearly remember my father leaving all his work to sit in front of the television to view the spectacle.

And he was delighted; my word he was. When Tendulkar ripped Warne to shreds, the glee on the faces of both me and my old man illuminated the whole house. Almost every ball he danced down the wicket and gave us the terror of getting stumped, but his masterful stroke-play and timing showered utter joy instead.

This was also the series which generated an interest in bowling within me. Once again, Tendulkar was the cause – the doer. As Australia at 203-3 looked all set to chase down India’s target of 311, he came in to bowl and took 5 wickets in his 10 overs, giving away just 32 runs. After that, I started gripping the ball.

Sharjah was just a 90-minute drive from where I lived back then, Fujairah. And Tendulkar was there, the closest he was to me in that timeline. I wanted my father to take me to the venue, but his busy schedule meant that it wasn’t possible.

In that triangular series against New Zealand and Australia, Tendulkar was at his finest – he had an answer for every ball, and totally desecrated the New Zealand and Australia bowlers as if they were schoolboys.

He wasn’t actually hitting the ball, he was waving the bat like a magic wand and caressing the ball, making it do as he pleased.

I was 10.

Slowly and steadily, I was being made aware of the darker aspects of the world. At first, I refused to believe it. But, as it happens with everyone, a slow and pale acceptance of things for the way they are started to creep up on me.

However, in the midst of all that, Tendulkar shone like the Sun. 2003 was the first World Cup that I properly remember. And Tendulkar was at his brilliant best once again.

“How many runs did Sachin make,” I asked my father while he picked me up from my coaching center. “98,” he replied before adding, “then a Shoaib Akhtar ball hit his chest and then his gloves and went straight to the fielder.”

I was devastated. He had missed an epic century just by two runs. Nonetheless, his innings helped India preserve their unbeaten record against Pakistan at World Cups. While watching the highlights, my eyes almost popped out and fell on the floor when they witnessed *that* six on the off-side against Akhtar.

At school, I bet 3 dirhams with my friend on India winning the tournament, but the moment Sourav Ganguly said, “we would like to bowl first,” I knew that I had lost the money. The rest, as they say, was history. Till date, this remains the best display of batting I have seen from Tendulkar’s bat in a tournament, despite just falling short.

Pakistan celebrate after Akhtar took the wicket of Tendulkar during the 2003 WC

The Mumbai man then went on to a barren spell in Tests. Life didn’t make much sense to me at that point. Every time he came to bat, I ran in front of the TV, only to face the unparalleled disappointment of seeing him get out in the space of a few minutes.

I was 14.

I was no longer a kid. A lot of things had changed; my voice broke, the darker aspects of life completely uncovered themselves to me, the pressure of O levels were mounting… but one thing remained intact: I kept worshipping Tendulkar.

The 2007 World Cup remains my worst memory of the Indian cricket team till date. I remember the media going absolutely berserk with hype over the team. Every news channel had a special report on each of the 15 players that were picked for the tournament. Perhaps it was this excessive hype that undid the team; the burden of expectations was too heavy.

The Indian team, prior to that World Cup, was surrounded with controversy as Greg Chappell had fallen out with most players.

One thing Tendulkar taught me more than anything else is to properly represent oneself in front of others. So when this man openly hit out at Chappell’s criticism of his attitude, it revealed to me that even God has a breaking point.

What ensued was a terrible tournament. India were knocked out from the group stages itself and Tendulkar, who was pushed down to bat at 4, could muster only 64 runs in the 3 games that he played – of which 57 came against Bermuda.

The 2007 WC still hurts many

That World Cup left a feeling within me. A dreadful sensation; that perhaps the greatest player of his era would retire without a World Cup trophy in his cabinet.

I was 16.

New place, new life. I left my birth-land, UAE, and was now at my motherland, Bangladesh. O levels were done, A-levels were in process. It was that phase of my life, the mid-teen-sweet-16 phase, when you start to think that you are invincible and the world is at your feet. You stop caring, stop giving a damn about what people think about you, and do as you please.

This was the year my dream came true: I saw Sachin Tendulkar in front of me, just about 30 yards away. When India came to Chittagong to play a Test game, I didn’t let go of the opportunity and I went to see him play. India were fielding on that particular day, so I couldn’t see him bat, but for some time, he was fielding right in front of me.

I can never describe how I felt at that particular moment, for words have limits, but overwhelming feelings don’t. What I can say is that I wanted to jump over the fence and put my head on his divine feet – that’s what you would do when you see your God, wouldn’t you?

I was 17.

A year older and even more reckless and uncaring about the intricacies of life. I had changed. Or rather, time had changed me. But once again, one thing was constant: Tendulkar schooling bowlers.

He was batting exquisitely. He had just completed his 50 when I had to go out to my teacher’s home to receive some coaching on mathematics. Till this very moment, I regret this decision because of what followed; math classes will come and go, such an innings won’t.

While my teacher was imparting knowledge to me, my cell phone rang. I answered and my uncle, without even saying hello, said, “Umid, Sachin just broke Saeed Anwar’s record.”

I was flabbergasted. He must be kidding, I thought. I shared the news with my teacher, also a cricket fan, and he immediately went to his drawing room to switch on the TV. He ran back to confirm the truth of the news to me.

I wanted to jump out of the chair and sit in front of his television and witness history being made live. But I couldn’t, I didn’t. Perhaps I hadn’t acquired enough karma by doing good deeds to watch the legend make a new record. After all, only the blessed ones see the Divine One in a destructively graceful mode.

The girl beside me quickly shared her opinion, something that made me want to sew her mouth, “Sachin will get out now, he always gets out in the 90s.”

Tendulkar throws his arms up into the air as he celebrates scoring a world-record breaking double century

But thankfully, he didn’t. Another phone call from my uncle confirmed him reaching the milestone. The bliss I felt at that point – Tendulkar had scoring 200! – overshadowed all the despair of not being able to watch such a special innings live.

That was what he was on this earth for. To score 200 in a 50-over game and show the world how it is done.

Since then, many others have broken the barrier, but only after Tendulkar disclosed the mystery of how to keep your resolution intact for such a prolonged period of time.

I was 18.

A year from that epic innings didn’t bring much change in me – one can only change so much in his lifetime. However, a seed was sown – a kernel that would go on to become a tree that disdained cricket without Tendulkar.

Cricket didn’t feel like before; no longer did I schedule my day based on it. Unless Tendulkar was in action; that never really changed.

Back in 2007, I felt that Sachin might never win the trophy that he so deserved, that it might elude him forever. I mentally started to accept the fact that perhaps the trophy itself didn’t do enough to fall in the hands of the maestro.

But I was so wrong.

As Tendulkar pillaged bowling attack after bowling attack in the tournament, ending up as the second highest run-getter with 482 runs in 9 games, he fell for just 18 after edging a Lasith Malinga out-swinger to Sangakkara. I was shattered, and the fear of seeing the greatest ODI batsman of all time retire without a World Cup once again gripped my heart.

My love for the Indian team faded some time ago, but this was something else. This was for Tendulkar. That World Cup winner medal had to be there in his personal showcase.

So when Dhoni hit a six to win the tournament, I was ecstatic. A wave of transcendental relief washed over me. Finally, it was done. He had won everything an international cricketer aspires to win.

This was all

Tendulkar’s outstanding form made me think that cricket without Tendulkar was never going to happen.

I was 19.

A-levels were done; oh, what a terrible experience that was. But it was over. I remember partying with my friends and watching the Asia Cup game between Bangladesh and India.

How the times had changed. The first time I watched Tendulkar play, I was still drinking milk; and here I was now, drinking religiously-forbidden drinks – an act a religiously-conscious me now deeply regrets – and watching the game between my motherland and India.

A certain cliché had developed by now – that whenever Tendulkar scored a 100, India lost. Further fuel was added to that fire when Tendulkar’s 100th 100 went in vain as Bangladesh beat India to create history. I was chuffed to see my nation win, but a bit sad to see the Little Master’s biggest milestone innings go without reward.

I could never have predicted, at that point, that it would be his penultimate innings in a One Day International game. I never could have, even in my wildest dreams, thought of cricket – especially One Dayers – without Tendulkar.

But here we were.

I was 21 – the end of childhood.

Life had changed dramatically. I never believed in love and the connection of two souls. Romance seemed like a fancy word to me used by people who liked to waste time. But now, I was in love and I realized how stupid I was to have such an opinion; for it is something we can’t control, it just happens.

The worst part, however, was that I couldn’t, at that time, express my feelings to the other side…and as if this pain wasn’t enough, my father had a stroke – putting me in a state of delirium.

While my father was battling for his life, more misery was pounded on me – and this time it was by Sachin Tendulkar. He announced his retirement. Just like that, it had ended. I wasn’t sure of what sinful act I had committed to fall in such a state of adversity, but the day he ended his career, a part of me died.

The farewell entry

Every person represents a world; every person has a world of his own. I have my world and Tendulkar was a huge part of it....that day, a part of that world was wiped out. That world had crashed – like so many other worlds across the globe.

My mother and my father had always taught me to be humble, to never let ego infect me. They, however, never told me how to be and stay humble. Tendulkar showed me that. Tendulkar taught me how to not let ego creep inside me.

Some years prior to his retirement, one of my cousins asked me what I would wish if God granted me three wishes. I told him that I would at first wish for my parents' good health, then I would wish for Tendulkar and Raul Gonzalez to play till the end of this Earth, and my final wish would be for me to live till the end of time so that I could see them play.

Alas, not all wishes come true.

The thought of Tendulkar retiring used to bring tears to my eyes, but now that time had come – and I wept like a child during his farewell speech. There are very few people who can say that they didn’t.

That particular day, I lost one of the reasons to live. Whenever I had a bad day or bad time, I used to think that at least there's Tendulkar's batting to look forward to. One of the powers which let me wake up in the morning – made me open my eyes in the morning – was Tendulkar. When I had nothing, I had Tendulkar.

But now all that remained was his memories canvased in highlight reels and in the films of my mind. My childhood was finally over.