The Tendulkar Gift

By Gaurav Parab

He did it again. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar made grownups cry like little kids, and made little kids pretend to be grownups, dropping numbers and stats as Tendulkar motored along.

It is time for a confession. As a writer, Tendulkar is one of my favorite subjects. For every time I write about him, I believe I have said everything I have to say. It is perhaps the quickest topic to write about, for when it comes to all things Tendulkar - the heart pumps words instead of beats. However, like all addictions good or bad - one does feel drained after the experience. For after I am done with a Tendulkar piece, I find adjectives replacing verbs and imagination stretching as far as they can go.

Then the prankster pulls off something like this.  One has to reach for the pen.

What does one have to say? The temptation is to pick on his critics, but it has been done before. None more effectively than by the Tendulkar bat itself. Ask Andrew Caddick, or Henry Olonga. Or the hundreds of others whose careers are laid to rest along the way from the Kanga league to Melbourne.

Perhaps it is time to address the South Africans, for they were really smart at Gwalior today. Smart, because at no time did they sledge him. What a shame.  The mind shudders at what he would have done if they had got him mad. So he smiled, looked at Steyn once or twice, as if to say, “You are a nice guy Dale. But this is what I do.” He was almost apologetic after he flicked, cut, drove and shrugged his shoulders every other ball.

Speaking of the Proteas, it is also time to acknowledge their sportsmanship. Well, actually, today we will appreciate everything. The nation is in a good mood today because of that five foot nothing piece of gem. We will even acknowledge that India has a few good politicians. Shibu Soren is a Saint, and the Docomo jingle is nothing but Mozart.

And this is what he does. At the end of the day, the Bandra boy, 200 or otherwise against his name, has the gift that perhaps goes beyond even his talent. He has the gift to make us feel good. Good is perhaps a misplaced word, for deep inside he triggers an emotion that cannot be described. Pure pleasure? Perfect Vibes? I am not sure, but I am willing to stick my neck out and say that if someone else had got a 200, even he was an Indian – we would have felt different. Happy off course, but different!

A Sehwag 200 would have left us amazed. We would have felt happy, sure. We would have burst the crackers too. We would have cracked the silliest jokes about the look on Kallis’ face and the wise cracks that came out of the Sehwag bat. We would have loved Sehwag for who he is, and acknowledged his immense contribution and got drunk.

A Dhoni 200 would have left us in awe. We would have felt proud about this amazing young talent who keeps going on and on. We would have felt vindicated that he is more that a flash in the pan. He was brilliant today Dhoni, and we would have all seen this coming one day. He should bat up the order more often, the experts would have commented.  Dhoni made a world record, we would have texted our friends.

A Tendulkar 200 has left us feeling good in a way, which goes beyond the external and finds a way to reside in our sub conscience. And this is the Tendulkar Gift. His 200, in a funny way, is my 200. And your 200. After all, for the last 20 years, whenever Tendulkar goes to bat, he takes some part of you and me to the batting crease. As he grimaces, we reach for our bodies. As somebody sledges him, the medieval inside each one of us rises.  And when he smiles, we all laugh as an Army on crack. Sachin is me. Sachin is you. He is everything we have achieved, he is everything we want to be.

Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, thank you for the gift. For twenty years you have been generous enough, and I hope your bag of goodies never runs out.