What did Tendulkar do?

I have read more articles on Sachin Tendulkar’s cricketing skills than the number of times Inzamam said ‘is’ in his illustrious post-match presentations career (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xK70NhcmQws). None of those articles have been able to do justice to Tendulkar as a sportsman. Let me clarify that this was not in any way a reflection of the writers' inadequacy. Not in the least. It is because he truly is unfathomable in words. And while I am at it, let me also declare right away that the following words are not going to do justice to him either. Not in the least.

I’ve shamelessly day-dreamed about Tendulkar more number of times than the number of hundreds and fifties he has scored in international cricket. In my head, I’ve replayed each of his innumerable impactful innings, ball-by-ball, run-by-run, four-by-four, six-by-six and goosebump-by-goosebump. This was way before YouTube privileges. He’s had the same effect on a lot of people I know and admire. Tendulkar has meant more to us than the sport itself. It’s not about numbers. Not about statistics. Rather, it’s not JUST about that. Tendulkar has unassumingly groomed my generation. We were teenagers, unsure of a lot of things. We were uncertain of our likes, our dislikes, our vocation, our looks, our sense of humour. The list is really endless. But Tendulkar ensured that we were sure of him. He has been the constant among all the other mercurial variables. When faced with situations where I could have chosen one of many paths, I’ve consciously asked myself “What did Tendulkar do?” The answer has never disappointed.

“He is quite the Tendulkar fan”, said my Dad, referring to me as the conversation drifted to sports. He was talking to Mr Murthy, a South Indian friend of his, settled in Delhi. My Dad had taken Mr Murthy out for dinner when he was visiting us, when the ‘13 year old’ I tagged along. Now Mr Murthy was a pleasant guy, but he saw this as a harmless opportunity to fluster a boy just entering teenagehood. “Tendulkar”, he said matter-of-factly, “is not the greatest batsman in the world”. He was looking at me with eyes filled with mischievous anticipation of a debate that would perturb me. I looked at him. I smiled and silently asked myself ‘What did Tendulkar do?’

A few days ago, a reporter had asked Tendulkar what he thought of a gentleman who had criticised him. Tendulkar had smiled his boyish smile and replied “It is his opinion. That’s his job and I respect it. My job is to play cricket”.

Mr Murthy was still looking at me. “It’s your opinion, Uncle, and I respect it”, I said. The resemblance between Mr Murthy’s ‘pleasantly surprised’ look and that of the reporter’s was uncanny.

I’ve seen Shetty, being a gifted sportsman and an extraordinarily funny guy, receive innumerable compliments from several people. I’ve also seen Shetty being the epitome of modesty and humility to the extent of sheepishly struggling to accept these compliments. If I may take the liberty to speak on his behalf, it most certainly roots from a Tendulkar influence. So what did Tendulkar do? Tendulkar had just scored a truly magical hundred in Australia. After the match, Tendulkar was hooked up with an ear piece for being interviewed by Harsha Bhogle, Ian Chappell, Sunil Gavaskar and Navjot Singh Siddhu. Now these guys were more than aware of Tendulkar’s discomfort towards direct praise, when they playfully decided to shower him with embarrassing compliments, just to have some good-hearted fun. Tendulkar managed to evade every accolade, every praise with his signature “The ball was coming nicely onto the bat”. This was when his idol, Mr Gavaskar, cornered him with “Sachin, I am so fortunate to have witnessed your hundred today. I can proudly tell my grandchildren that when Sachin scored this magical hundred, I was there!” Everyone was waiting to see how Tendulkar would wriggle out of that one. After an awkward pause, a smiling sheepish Tendulkar touching his ear piece went “I am sorry, there’s too much wind, I didn’t catch that!”, only to be at the receiving end of prolonged laughter.  

Only very recently, I had to go through the rigorous ordeal of facing my PhD viva. Although thoroughly well prepared, I was expectedly nervous. ‘What did Tendulkar do?’, I thought. It is common knowledge that just before walking out into the stadium, where he not only encounters the wrath of the opposition team bowlers, but also the unimaginable expectations of the crowd and the cameras, Tendulkar sits in his chair in the pavilion, puts his headphones on and visualizes. He visualizes getting up from his chair and walking on to the green turf. He visualizes looking up to the skies and letting his eyes adjust to the light. He visualizes stepping on to the pitch and taking guard. And then he visualizes himself bat. The cover drives and the square cuts, the hooks and the pulls, the leg glances and the straight drives. He visualizes it all. He visualizes winning the game for India. When it’s his turn to actually get up and do the thing that he does best, he is effectively doing it a second time around. Hence, lesser nerves and better focus leading to a more controlled and relaxed performance.

And so I tried what Tendulkar does. I sat in my chair. I closed my eyes and I visualized walking up the stairs and entering the examination room. I visualized taking a seat after greeting the viva panel and providing a summary of my research. And then I visualized the panel asking me all the probable questions and me answering them. I opened my eyes and effectively walked up to the room a second time, thus helping me focus on the task at hand and keep away those proverbial nerves. The fact that I decided to NOT do the characteristic Tendulkar ‘groin twitch’ at the very last minute must also have surely helped.

Considering the simpleton that I can be, there have been several times when I’ve been outsmarted, outwitted, or simply outperformed by a person or situation at a given moment. The question has always been how should I react at that specific moment? More importantly, what did Tendulkar do? Shoaib Akhtar, the new kid on the block, runs in and bowls Tendulkar out, clearly outclassing him with sheer pace. In that fraction of a second, when I felt nothing but pure hatred for Mr Akhtar, Tendulkar chose to acknowledge being outsmarted by that particular ball – with a subtle yet sure nod of the head. It was almost as if he was coaxing me to acknowledge it as well. He hated that he was bowled, but he loved the game more. That doesn’t mean he accepted defeat. He has played the same bowler several times over and what he did to him in the 2003 World Cup was nothing short of poetry. However, it was important to acknowledge that particular ball, and he did. He acknowledged it, absorbed it, got better and came back wiser.

This ‘What did Tendulkar do?’ saga can run for as long as he has in his career spanning 24 years. The fact that he never visibly engaged in a rebuttal with the attempted sledging tactics of the many menacing fast bowlers he faced; the fact that he reassuringly stated that he loved Mumbai, but he was an Indian first, when agenda-ridden politicians were suggesting otherwise; the fact that he counts his toes even today in the presence of yesteryear greats like Sunil Gavaskar or Viv Richards, the fact that he did not react when some comments made by his friend Vinod Kambli about him on national television were misconstrued/blown out of proportion by the media, the fact that he never had to pay a fine for arriving late at team practice sessions for 24 years – the list could go on.

There truly have been innumerable instances when Tendulkar taught my generation solely by example and not words, which probably is the reason why words don’t do justice when used to describe him. As a Tendulkar fan, I say this with a dose of hesitation yet pragmatism. There may be better batsmen to come in future. His records and numbers may also be overtaken. However, there is not an ounce of hesitation when I say this. There won’t be another Tendulkar. As Gavaskar rightly put it, “When Sachin scores a run, every Indian feels he/she has scored a run”. He somehow makes you feel that those alarming number of runs are yours. Tendulkar’s career wasn’t meant to be seen, heard or counted. It was meant to be felt. I certainly did.