Destiny's Child - Sachin Tendulkar

1- Tendulkar smacks Shoaib around
First came a six, then a four, then divine magic.

It was the 1st of March in Centurion, South Africa. ICC World Cup 2003

Sachin Tendulkar has never batted better than in the World Cup of 2003, and during it never better than for three famous deliveries against Shoaib Akhtar in Centurion.

This was a match Tendulkar said he was compelled to live a year in advance. Everywhere he went, people reminded him about the 1st of March, the fixture against Pakistan. Consequently he did not sleep properly for 12 nights leading up.

Facing a handsome target, Tendulkar shed his pent-up anxiety with three strokes in Shoaib's opening over to jumpstart a classic innings. The first of them - reaching out (were he not so pumped up, he would have surely let it pass for a wide), at once cutting and tipping, very high over the square third-man boundary - would become an icon, for cricketing merit; its sheer thrill, and nationalist symbolism, a sort of belated rebuff to the Miandad six.

The second stroke was his lovely trademark - back in the crease and with swirling wrists diverting a reasonable delivery to square leg. But the third shot - the third shot.

A little trot across to off stump, block, down the ground to the on, four. No back-lift, no follow-through: none needed. I have never seen such a concisely expressed cricket stroke. He simply met the ball and the entire execution began there and finished there. And by now the crowd, the most vividly alive of the tournament, had gone quite wild. Visually it was like a cinematic special effect: everything moved in a blur - flags, roars, horns, waves, the ball, Shoaib - and amid it Sachin and his pure stroke appeared magically frozen.

Sachin Tendulkar. He is not a sportsman anymore, he is a bloody phenomenon. Reams of newsprint have been filled with description, analyses and tributes to his genius. Websites have dedicated huge amounts of space and attention to every little thing he does. Everything that needs to be written about the man has already been written. Or has it?

A majority of us look to him to make us feel better. When he walks out to bat, the weight of the nation's inadequacies is on his shoulders. What we can't achieve in our day to day lives, we look for Tendulkar to make up for on the cricket field. If he slams a century and takes us to victory, all of a sudden the world looks a better place.

Tendulkar is excessively professional in his approach. He is one cricketer whose integrity has never ever been questioned. One look at the intensity with which he approaches the game makes it plain that no bookie would have the guts to approach the man. And yet he got together with Mark Mascarenhas and WorldTel long before cricket became the multi-crore industry it is today. The boy wonder signed a landmark deal that guaranteed crores of income from endorsements. To fulfil his contractual obligations, he turned up at various functions, endorsed a range of products from watches to car tyres to credit cards to toothpaste. Was he selling out? No one remotely suggested that. While a host of television advertisements based on cricketers has been taken off the air after the match fixing scandal broke, Tendulkar remains an eminently saleable commodity.

If an avid cricket lover finds an old lamp, shines it and a genie pops out offering him any one wish, there would be very little dilemma. "I wish I could spend 24 hours listening to what goes on in Sachin Tendulkar's mind" would be his knee jerk reaction. If such a thing could be done, it would provide priceless insights into modern sport. At the end of the day one has to admit that Tendulkar is a true product of his times.

The marketing, the hype, the drive. It is certainly a recent phenomenon. There was always a drive for excellence. But for someone to be such a public figure and influence the minds of millions is a phenomenon that has come about in the last few decades. He is no statesman, no politician, no religious leader. And yet he holds sway with as much power of as any one of the above. Whether he faces it or not, he is one of the few Indians who binds the whole of this country. Probably, no other person in the country is as uniformly admired as him. He is in a position of immense power. Did he choose to get to this position and work towards it? One reckons not. The price he has had to pay as an individual is incomparable to the rewards. Okay, so a majority of youngsters in this country would kill to be in his shoes. But what about the maestro himself? Fortunately or otherwise he doesn't have a choice.

It is tragic however that a man who has given so much to the country and touched us all in some way or the other cannot enjoy a moment of peace when he wants it. If he wants to take his wife Anjali and kids out to dinner there would be such a mob at the restaurant it would be claustrophobic.

And what of his kids? Can they ever have a normal upbringing? Will their friends treat them as just any other kids? That is hardly possible given the fact that Tendulkar is not any other man. He is special. Very special. And trapped by that.

When his back injury threatened to ruin his career, the speculation was immense. Major newspapers and magazines carried detailed medical diagnosis and plainly asked whether his career was over. There was even a case of a teenager committing suicide on merely hearing that Tendulkar might not be able to play again. God forbid, but if something like that were to happen, where would that leave Sachin Tendulkar? Sure, he's made enough money to live luxuriously for the next few generations. But would he be able to live with the fact that he was ordinary once more?

The media, the sponsors, the people of India have in the last few years made it extremely difficult for Tendulkar to live with himself if he was ordinary. A classic product of our times, Tendulkar's life goes parallel to the likes of Pete Sampras and more distinctly Tiger Woods. When modern society sees an outrageous talent that is coupled with the drive to be successful, it seizes upon it like never before. Even if Tendulkar were content with his achievements and decided to call it a day, he would not be allowed to without a hue and cry. Let's face it. He runs the cricket industry in India. Who can see a headline that has the word Tendulkar in it and ignore it?

If Sachin Tendulkar has a breakdown of sorts at any time, we all will have blood on our hands. That's a fine way to thank someone who has given us so much, isn't it?

Many have thought it has been the case for years, but Sachin Tendulkar has been turned into a Hindu god by fans.


The Daily Express in London reports that supporters in Delhi commissioned artists to create icons of Tendulkar as the monkey god Hanuman. The works show him holding a bat instead of the more traditional mace.

“He is truly a god to millions of people who worship this sport,” explained artist Gautam Bhatia.

The events of the last few weeks are freaking me out. Anil Kumble has gone, Sourav Ganguly has gone, and the other three may not be far behind. I assume there is a large group of cricket fans in their mid-to-late 20s, like me, who are grappling with the implications. This transition is messing with our minds.

Let me explain. For many of us cricket began in November 1989. Pictures of what went before are too hazy.

Sachin Tendulkar spoilt us. He commanded that we sit in front of the television sets. He ensured we got late with homework, he took care of our lunch-break discussions. He was not all that much older, so some of us naive schoolboys thought we would achieve similar feats when we were 16. We got to 16 and continued to struggle with homework.

Then came Kumble and the two undertook a teenager-pampering mission not seen in India before. Tendlya walked on water, Jumbo parted seas. Our mothers were happy that we had nice heroes - down-to-earth prodigy and studious, brilliant bespectacled engineer. They were honest, industrious sportsmen, embodying the middle class.

Now, after close to 20 years, my generation needs to brace itself for this exodus. Some of my friends, crazy as this sounds, have been talking of needing to revaluate their own careers. Others are realising they need to recalibrate their childhood definitions of cricket. "Part of me just died," said a college friend who was the kind of extreme cricket buff who memorised scorecards. "No Dada, no Jumbo. I'm positive I'll stop watching after Sachin retires."

These players were not only outstanding cricketers but also great statesmen. However hard they competed, they were always exceptional role models. Now we dread the next wave of brashness and impetuosity. Harbhajan Singh and Sreesanth are talented cricketers, but there's no way anyone would want a young kid to emulate either. The younger crop seems worse - a visit to some of their Orkut and Facebook pages tells you enough - and things may only get cruder in a cricket world when you can make a million dollars in a little over three hours.

"Our childhood is ending," said a friend from college, and in some way he was probably spot on. Tendulkar's retirement may mean a lot of things to a lot of people, but for a generation of 25- to 30-year-olds it will mark the end of the first part of their lives. Switching on the television the day after will be a serious challenge.

It was Australia v India,2008, 4th Test, Adelaide, 1st day

Don't try to interview passionate India fans (as if there's any other kind) when Sachin Tendulkar is batting. For one, they've barely got half an ear on the questions, while you have more stop-starts with the tape than a nervous sprint-race starter.

You simply can't hear anything other than a roar of "Sachin! Sachin! Sachin!" when he so much as touches the ball if you're sitting anywhere near the three main 30-strong clumps of India fans at the Cathedral End, which should be renamed the Sachin Stand.

All are based in Adelaide, most studying potentially lucrative IT, engineering or business. Even the majority of the Bharat Army, one of the three groups, have made Adelaide their semi-permanent home as students here, although these loyal followers have travelled throughout Australia following India since Boxing Day.

"No-one else matches his class," murmurs Gill, a Bharat Army member, over three takes of the tape. "I want to watch him just get a century." Does Tendulkar love the support? "Definitely he does, he looks back over here when he gets a half-century," he smiles proudly. "Keep a close eye."

Two overs later Gill's proven right: Tendulkar clips a single through midwicket off Stuart Clark to bring up his half-century and immediately turns and points his bat to acknowledge the Bharat Army before anyone else, even his team-mates.

Rajeed, another Army member, is not surprised. "He is a good man, very polite, and he has not changed," he said, echoing everyone canvassed. "That's why he's so popular in India. He is like a God and he's treated just next to the prime minister. I'm sure that if he participated in the prime ministerial elections he is going to be the next prime minister."

It's not just that he's the best in his field - "He is legend!" smiles Harish, "Legend is ultimate word," adds Vamshi - it's that he's the best in cricket, too. "Cricket has murdered other sports in India," says Lovepreet, yet another student, who also thinks Tendulkar's appearance accounts for 25% of the Indian fans here. "He has done a lot for India, even his record doesn't tell the full story. He's been consistent."

Has Tendulkar unwittingly, albeit beautifully, massacred anyone else's chances to be held so reverently in the future? "There will be no-one like him," reckons Vamshi, but Lovepreet is not so sure. "People used to say when Sunil Gavaskar retired, 'Who will bat for India now?' but time goes on, people come and go, it's not going to stop. I will still go on India tours when he's gone."

Tendulkar has to retire one day and this could be his last Test in Australia. Most people are expecting this, but not Rajeed. "I think he is planning for a long time. He is saying that 'I can play at least for four or five years'. The people are saying, he is not saying 'I am retiring after this series'. I think he will play the next World Cup in 2011."

Regardless, while the Army has had t-shirts made to spell out one word if they line up properly, it's not the word 'Sachin' emblazoned. It's that of their country. And in among the joyous "Sachin! Sachin! Sachin!", an equally infectious "India! India. India! India." starts up and it's impossible not to join in.

Not everyone is in raptures over the man who has scored more than 11,000 Test runs. While most of the home fans undoubtedly respect Tendulkar - Australians loves a champion - some are indifferent. "I don't rate him very highly," says 26-year-old Andy. "He's not really a phenomenon here. We just feel the ripple effects from India and through other Indians and expats here in Australia."

But when he hears that while Tendulkar was coming into bat, among the resounding cheers were jeers and boos and someone even shouted: "You suck, Tendulkar", Andy is quick in response. "That's disrespectful and offensive. You wouldn't do it to anyone."

Later, Tendulkar brings up his century cover-driving Michael Clarke and the whole ground stands as one, Australian fans leading the bowing in fact. Tendulkar, it seems, has won yet another set of fans over.

If this is his last Test here then he has picked his moment well, particularly as he came averaging 20.33 here, way down on his in-Australia average of 55.50. He more than surpassed it though, with an innings that will live long in the memory.

Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar is destiny's favourite child.

In November 1989, a London-based writer came to the Indian team's nets in Karachi to seek out a player he was told had the "best on-drive in the game". That player, Sachin Tendulkar, was 16 and yet to play a Test, but he already had his future mapped out - by others as much as by himself. Anything less than the most centuries and the highest aggregate in international cricket would count as failure.

Nearly two decades later, when the inevitable has come to pass, fans may be merely satisfied rather than overcome, and even quite blasé about it. If it was ordained, where is the surprise? Such is the tyranny of inevitability. It throws a veil over the hard work, the physical toll, the mental strain that have gone into the making of a record-breaker. Of the 19 batsmen who have scored more than 8000 runs, only five have held the highest aggregate record, only three have played 150 Tests, but only one, Tendulkar, has been two different batsmen.

Over the years, Sachin Tendulkar has been the most wholesome batsman of his time, and arguably the biggest cricket icon as well. His batting is based on the purest principles: perfect balance, economy of movement, precision in stroke-making, and that intangible quality given only to geniuses, anticipation. If he doesn't have a signature stroke - the upright, back-foot punch comes close - it is because he is equally proficient in each of the full range of orthodox shots (and plenty of improvised ones as well) and can pull them out at will.

But Tendulkar is more than the sum of his figures. His mere presence is a morale booster, both for his ten colleagues in the team, and the billion supporters outside it. As remarkable as his record is his self-possession. His head hasn't changed size, his boots haven't grown smaller. He alone knows what it means to be Tendulkar, with its frustrations, its sacrifices, and the need to be Tendulkar at all times. He is a one-man university that teaches sportsmen how to handle money, fame and pressure.

Indians refuse to give Tendulkar the luxury of failure. The mirror he holds up to us is a distorted one, making us seem, like him, invincible, rich and accomplished. When he fails, therefore, it is as if we fail. That is the biggest compliment fans can pay their hero. But it is a heavy burden, even if Tendulkar seems to carry it lightly.

A rough calculation shows that he averages over 200 days in a year travelling for cricket, playing it at the highest level, or practising for it. Two-thirds of a year devoted to cricket, and not one bad day at work? Even Mozart was allowed an occasional off day. The future will treat Tendulkar much better than we have, although we were given the privilege of watching the boy grow into a man and live up to potential. Even that is a remarkable feat. Not every promising player accomplishes as much as he promises. Tendulkar has. Let us celebrate that. His record will be broken. But his impact will last.