Sachin Tendulkar - The urban myth

Sachin Tendulkar – Last walk

Everyone on the ground applauded. I could not bring myself to. Upon reflection, I now see myself. Sitting, slumped on that chair, grasping both ends tightly for support. I saw that entire walk all the way into the dressing room. Someone walked into bat. I think it was Virat Kohli. The mind did not really register. It cut to the picture of Sachin condemning himself and practicing that stroke over again.

I looked around me. Some people had left. There were still about 5 people around the TV. They had that look of anticipation on their faces. They were genuinely excited to see Virat bat. They wanted to see Pujara reach a century and then go beyond. They were genuinely looking forward to an Indian cricketing future – a future sans Tendulkar. The times, they are a changing. I got up and walked to my seat. I couldn’t help but think that if I were watching at home, I would’ve switched the TV off. Somethings, I believe, never change.

And so I went back to my desk and sat there. I did not know what to make of it all. I took out my phone and sent a text to Jaga, ‘What happens now, da?’ ‘Don’t know machi. Still dazed… not able to think about what next,’ was the reply.

I’m in a terrible rut. I have not been able to write – even by my very mediocre standards – anything at all for a few months now. A few bits of a 140 characters but even those, few and far between. Jaga has been too. He hasn’t written much over the past couple of years himself. We made a pact. I would write one on Tendulkar. He would write one on Tendulkar. This rather rambling, long-winded and pointless account is my end of the deal. I do hope he fulfils his end of the deal for that will make for some fantastic reading. I promise you that.

I did not watch a single ball of the match after that. India would win, I knew. Tendulkar would not bat again. I knew. I saw the score sporadically on Saturday morning. 5 down. 8 down. All out. India had won. Post match presentation.

Ravi Shastri’s booming voice, ‘… India have won but, more importantly, a great career has come to an end.’ That one line encapsulated all that I found wrong with the series. I was angry once again. I did not care who the god damn man of the match was. I did not care what Dhoni said or what Sammy did. I walked away into the kitchen to look at something that I had left on the stove. And then Shastri announced that Sachin would now talk. All that anger, all that pissed-off-ness was gone. The crowd went beserk and then Sachin started talking. I sat down on the floor. And then I listened; listened as he thanked his father; his mother; his sister; his brothers; his wife; his children. And then the power went off.

Anger. Frustration. Pure and raw emotion. A couple of swear words. The power did not come on. I went back into the kitchen. I was numb. And then the power came back, 15 minutes later. And then Sachin came on the TV. He was still talking. I could not listen. I did not want to. I decided to catch the entire thing online at some point in the future. I still have not watched it.

In retrospect, I think that that speech represented my Sachin; my personal Tendulkar. At first, I watched, riveted to the screen just as I had done as a lad. And then as I grew older, football replaced cricket and I began ignoring cricket (though I always did see Tendulkar bat whenever I could but not with the fervour of yore) and then as the years rolled on and bowlers who had no right to get him out began to do just that, it became too excruciating to watch.

The speech ended. I missed a good deal of it. Sachin was standing there and talking to a motley crew. And then they carried him on that lap of honour. And then he again stood there, all the time guarded by a security detail. And then he shed that detail. He walked. He walked towards that Wankhede pitch. He reached it. I thought that they were showing a replay of him inspecting the pitch before the start of play. He reached that pitch and then he bent down. I still thought it was a shot of how committed he was until his last day. And then he touched the crease and then got back up again, doing a ritual reserved for a temple. A lump formed in the throat. That, was it. That, right there, that little gesture, was, is, and will always be Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. Cricketer.

Epilogue:

In about 70 years time, in a post apocalyptical world, long after the Earth and all Earthlings are long gone, an alien race will, by some chance, happen to land on Earth. They will scan the planet for signs of life. They will find none. They will, by chance, stumble upon a computer terminal. Miraculously, that terminal will be connected to what we know today as the internet. In that terminal, the Google homepage will be open. The cursor will be on ‘I’m feeling Lucky.’ The alien clicks on that cursor. A page of google results (all 4 billion pages) of Sachin will be thrown up. The aliens carefully read every one of those pages.

They read about his batsmanship – not that they understand what that is – , his humility, his grace, his elegance and how he gave hope to an entire country, an entire race, and how he became more than just a human being, how he became a demi-god and then a God.

They read all this and then they come to the inescapable conclusion – Sachin Tendulkar is an urban myth. It was a myth that was concocted by the oppressed world to give it hope. No one, they – the aliens – believe could be this good. No one man could mean this much to these many. It simply is impossible. It was a myth. It had to be. The aliens leave. In denial. Many of us live today. In denial.

Elvis might have left the building. Sachin has not. I don’t think he ever will.