As soon as he come out, the thunder starts
From fifty thousand throats the sun made dry.
You almost hear the fifty thousand hearts,
In ragged unison beat for one boy
Ten years ago they mispronounced his name
At Lord’s, where, with a catch, a myth began.
Tall, cold and arrogant, the captains came
To break this boy, and found he was a man.
Thickest ant stocky, he takes guard today.
Designer stubble coarsens his young cheeks.
What fetches thousands here to see him play?
You feel the watchers stir in the cheap seats
Suddenly, as the sun, he finds his power.
So when the ringmaster assumes his place,
Flashes and whipcracks fill the acrid air,
Though he shows no emotions in his face
The great show’s on the road, the circus tent
Made of leached sky. The Tricolor hangs slack.
Not many people know what it once meant.
The marvelous boy refuses to turn back.
The watchers in cheap seats applaud it all
With puny wooden drums, instead of words.
Fireworks, explode around fences as the ball
Soars up in its huge arc to threaten birds.
Now strings are pulled, the Tricolor unfurled.
But he’s empowered, not reigned by any rope.
Tatters of colors, shred of sound, are whirled around the cheap seats,
In a rage of hope, while with his bat he reinvents their world.-
Dom Moraes
Dom Moraes
Today we are on the brink of another world cup. Yet again eleven men clad in blue will carry the hopes and aspirations of one billion Indians when they take field. A hope that may be this time history will repeat itself; their beloved team will strike gold. But this world cup holds a special place in the hearts of cricket aficionados for a different reason altogether, this is the last time they will see their hero, the face of Indian cricket for the past two decades, Sachin Tendulkar taking field in the world cup. An era spanning over two decades unblemished unchallenged and untainted finally coming to an end.
Sachin Tendulkar, the name itself strikes a chord in the hearts of millions of Indians. Who thought that a dreamy eyed sixteen year old guy marching down the steps of National Stadium in Karachi will one day leave an indelible mark on the pages of cricketing history? The man who got out for a zero on his first one day international, yet in an exhibition match reduced Abdul Qadir to paupers scoring 28 runs of an over of his, giving glimpses to the bowling fraternity across the world of the nightmare they were to undergo for the next two decades. Perhaps certain people are destined to be what they turn out to be, or why else an eight year old guy idolizing McEnroe, would suddenly swap his tennis racquet for a piece of willow. Or for that matter why would he drop out from a pace academy where he enrolled to learn the tricks of bowling, failing to impress the coach. Yes Sachin is one of those whom we call ‘destiny’s child’. He was born to be Sachin Tendulkar, the batsman, and not Sachin Tendulkar the bowler or Sachin Tendulkar the racquet man.
I’ll not dwell into analyzing Sachin Tendulkar’s cricketing style or achievements. I’m not eligible to do so. I’ll not even try to answer the debate that whether he’s the greatest cricketer of all time, a question which is as old as hills. Neither will I get into comparing him with Bradman or Sobers. I’ve not watched them play, but I have watched Sachin playing. I’ve seen him as a Messiah who has bailed out his team from numerous tights. I’ve seen him as a gladiator fighting when all hopes have got snuffed. Yes I’ve seen Sachin playing and this is something which I take as an honor, this is something which I’ll be saying to my grandchildren and this is something which I’ll take with me to the grave. We the people of this generation do not have a Da Vinci painting a Mona Lisa for us. We do not have an Einstein explaining us the Theory of Relativity. But we have a Sachin Tendulkar, a man who wields his willow as no man has, as no man can. A man for who even the time has taken a pause to watch him in action. Yes we are the lucky blokes who can say someday “We saw a master in action”.
What is this man made up of? Is he of flesh and blood as we mortals are? Or is he some immortal hero out of some myth who has cascaded into our generation? How else could he otherwise bear with the pressure every time he crosses the rope looking into the sun? Or lift his willow weighing tons out of expectations of millions. Or snuff out billions in prayer while he takes guard. No, he’s no mere mortal, he’s a God, the God of religion called cricket. I’ve often heard folks talking what if Sachin Tendulkar had not existed and then answering themselves bluntly saying “we would have had to invent him”. In practical terms we would never have felt the gap or would have experienced that sense of something missing, because we would never have been wiser to that something. We would never had even fantasized that a day will come when we will see a man scoring over 30000 runs and a hundred centuries in international cricket in a span of just 20 years.
I shudder at the thought that a day will come when we will no more see this magician casting his spells on us again, when Sachin will walk into the shadows one final time and we will no more see the name Sachin Tendulkar donning the scoreboards again. But I will always cherish the fact that I had seen him in action, that I had seen Sachin Tendulkar in action.
