At its simplest level, sport is about possibilities. We fans dream up spectrums of possibilities. We align ourselves based on these spectrums, pledge our allegiances and set ourselves up for emotional and sometimes even physical reactions based on how things actually turn out. Most times our dreamt up possibilities are restricted by our citizenship - in itself a simple piece of paper, if you think about it. It is perhaps then all for the good that there still exist a few in the realm of sport who make you forget about these restrictions and think only about the sporting possibilities. It takes no special skill to surmise that I am talking about Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar and the possibilities that only he brings to the sport that he adores and so beautifies and typifies - cricket.
I lay the blame squarely on Sachin Tendulkar - for making it so hard to write yet another article on his prowess and achievements and landmarks, which show no signs of fading away. Superlatives pale. Praise falls flat and comparisons do not seem to fit, if only because we are finding it harder to find appropriate standards of comparison as time goes on. Cricket's prolific writing community has driven itself against the wall praising his two decades in the game. It has worked itself into a fury trying to explain to the layman about his passion for the game; his unsurpassed mastery of the art of batting. It has tired of continuously extolling his virtues on and off the field as a champion and a true sportsman. So much so that when you want to write about Tendulkar or his exploits it pays to take some time to think deeply to try and not repeat either yourself or the numerous others who have tried their hand at the same exercise over the years. I have a confession to make. Nothing seemed to suggest itself as exemplary enough. As momentous and unique enough to grace yet another occasion, yet another peerless achievement by the maestro. For a while I was stymied when trying to write about his latest achievement - that of scoring a double century in an ODI contest. Yet another time when he carried his bat through and batted for his team's entire quota of 50 overs.
I have heard it said that emotions tend to illuminate even the darkest paths where the light of reason fizzles out and leaves you alone. This is a case in point. If following sport is in essence a vicarious pursuit into which you throw not yourself but your faiths on individual players and/or teams, then nobody qualifies to be a Vicar quite as much as Tendulkar. The magnitude of emotions, enjoyment and realization he has been able to convey and amplify to millions and maybe even billions of people over the years across borders of nationhood, religion, economic means, caste, creed and colour ensures that it is so.
It is not difficult to describe the drives, the cuts, the pulls and the cutest of nudges that he essayed today en route to the first ever double century in One Day Internationals. But it would merely be superfluous. His supporters may very well be in the right if they argue that this was always on the cards. A splendorous 175 earlier this year had already tantalized his fans. Informed and tempted them about this possibility. And when a summit beckons, Sachin cannot be far behind. He finds a way to the top. And so it was today. 200 not out off just 147 deliveries against the 3rd ranked side in the world. A successful man cannot have people simply singing praises about him. Ask his detractors. They would point out that the Roop Singh Stadium at Gwalior had short square boundaries, lightning fast outfields and an absolute marble-top of a wicket. And they would be absolutely right. But here is something they might consider. Give a top class artist a canvas. Give him a room and give him a vista. See what he comes up with. For the art produced thereof we credit the artist himself; not the canvas for its whiteness and blankness. Not the room for the comfort it offered. Not even the vista for its having conveniently presented itself. They are all incidental. Art is transcendental. So too is Tendulkar's batting.
Much has been made of his drive for runs. Of the man's sheer hunger for putting bat to ball and staying on there at the crease much to the bowlers' bemusement. Forget the fact that he is largely peerless and matchless. He also appears tireless with the bat in hand when you observe his speed and skill when sprinting up and down the wicket putting pressure on the fielders at 36 years of age. Countless have been the questions posed to him about his desire to play the game and of the day when he wants to hang up his boots. Perhaps they have been posed in an attempt to find out just how long the game will be graced by his presence. The game's own need of his genius does not however go far when trying to explain his superhuman dedication to the craft of batting and of the sheer determination that has powered him to make several sacrifices in order to be there for his team. In typical Sherlock Holmes' fashion, if we eliminate the possibilities one by one it only leaves one last item. That Sachin Tendulkar needs the game just like we mortals need our oxygen, our daily fix of sports and the fount of vicarious joy it promises. That his bat is not an extension of his body as has been often said. Perhaps quite the opposite - that he is an extension of his bat. That his body arranges itself conveniently so that the bat may strike the ball at the most opportune time with optimum speed. All the better for our vicarious enjoyment. That he gives of himself every time through his bat so that we may once again experience the heady breathlessness that sports brings into our lives. So that over the years we all have a bit of Sachin Tendulkar in us. And that he suggests, in the true spirit of Vicar-ship, the existence of sublimation and transcendentalism in sport, also leaving us with the comfort that even after he ceases to perform his superhuman deeds on the cricket pitch he will live on in our minds - fuelling our dreams and defining our spectrums of possibilities.
It is that time again, when one scours the mind to get a hold of those elusive adjectives. Well, the adjectives themselves are not elusive. They rather suggest themselves. But the problem is to try and not repeat oneself. To try hard to find new ways to describe the same old genius of Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar - and miserably fail. Twenty years of driving headlines and inspiring prose. Making romantic writers out of hard-as-nails former cricketers and jaded cricket correspondents. Twenty years of pleasing almost every cricket fan in every country. Not in the process of trying to entertain - as Lara proudly proclaimed at the end of his career, but in trying to enjoy the game and doing whatever is required for his team to win. Twenty years of exclamation marks. Of breaking records. Of living upto promises. Of rigour and discipline. Of surmounting difficulties - internal and external. Of the body and of the mind. Twenty years of proving most people right and some people wrong. He never tires. Our very own tiger, Sachin Tendulkar.
To borrow William Blake's famous lines:
"Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry"?
I hope Blake does forgive me for borrowing those immortal lines. But nothing at all seems more apt, more fitting to describe Tendulkar. He still burns bright. And these 20 years seem to sit more heavily on our minds than on his. That in itself is astounding. Astounding only because of its overreaching simplicity. He is not interested in the years gone by. He is more interested in what he can do with the time he still has left in the game. He is still balanced - in his batting and in his mind. More reason why we have to appreciate the "fearful symmetry" framed by some "immortal hand or eye". Today when I re-read this poetry classic, I cannot help but marvel how apt each of these references are when considering Sachin.
For somebody who has had to carry the dreams and hopes of a cricket-mad nation, he can easily shrug off those impostors of sport - victory and defeat. Those who associate talent with mercuriality and genius with temper or the lack of it, should probably observe Tendulkar. I have heard Brett Lee being described as a biomechanical wet dream. If ever there is such a thing, Tendulkar would be a sports psychologist's wet dream! The phrase 'living life in a goldfish bowl' does not really do justice when being used to describe his existence virtually within the pressure cooker that is India.
Yet, for all his uniqueness, he is not standoffish. Nor late to offer a kind word to a persevering youngster. Whether it is Ravindra Jadeja or Suresh Raina he always has a kind and generous word for them. Always fulsome in his praise and extremely subdued in his criticism. He also values the privacy of the dressing room as much as he does that of his own home. 20 years and not a single unkind word for anybody - whether teammate or opponent. Even diplomats might envy such a record.
A couple of seasons ago when Sachin came back from the (in)famous elbow injury, all talk was about how his game had changed and that he had now become almost a liability on Indian cricket. An egotistical player might have given it all up in a huff. He really did not have to prove anything to anybody - even then. But then Tendulkar has never played the game for anybody else. He always played for his team and most of all because he enjoyed doing it. There can be no higher reason for playing sport. Not money, not adulation, not recognition and not even reams and reams of literature written on him.
To be the measuring scale against whom batting genius and promise is gauged for well nigh 20 years can be tiring. Is he, then, still one of the best batsmen if not the best outright? To be sure, he is. Many past players have ventured to profess otherwise - to their disadvantage. But is he then the same Tendulkar who played the 'desert storm' innings? The same man who sculpted, wove and sung through that innings of 98 against Pakistan in a World Cup stage? The question, in and of itself, is moot - if you consider it closely. The passing years may not have given rise to too much grey in his hair. It may not have diminished his enthusiasm for the game. It may not even have taken away too much of his fitness - given that he can still take diving catches and is very much relied upon to stand in reflex-intensive positions such as in the slip cordon. But they cannot but have imparted a maturity, a measure of wood upon the burning fire as it were. Without this maturity, the fire in his batting may have fizzled out all too soon - going by the genius' standards of course. Now, the champion knows how to manage the fire. He lets it burn efficiently and adds the appropriate twigs and sticks as and when needed to keep the fire going. No wonder he still is the guiding light for batsmen the world over.
Lastly there is all too palpable a sentiment that India is not looking beyond this hero. That his rise and, more sadly and poignantly, his fall determine the fortunes of the national cricket team even today. It would be untruthful if one does not admit that this situation was true ten years back. Maybe even as recently as when Ganguly held the reins of the team. But of late, with Mahendra Singh Dhoni at the helm, I sense conscious effort to inculcate the spirit of team performance. It is another thing that India still comes across as a unit relying on individual brilliance. But the effort is there. One has to praise Dhoni for considering Tendulkar as one of the most important cogs in the team, but still not totally relying on this individual for the team's purposes. Another positive effect of such leadership could be a direct effect on Tendulkar's longevity. The lesser the pressure the longer he is going to enjoy his role in the team. Yes, one may talk of even champions needing pressure to come good. But worry not - pressure will always be on Tendulkar as far as the masses are concerned. They will expect him to score every single time and be impatient and even unkind at times. And Tendulkar will keep doing what he knows best - deriving joy from what he does day in and day out. Compete. What else is new?
Nowadays I find myself clinging onto replays of strokes that Tendulkar essays. One more of that perfect square drive. Another eyeful of that exquisite straight drive. Perhaps another glimpse of that immensely artful flick/glance that he plays. These are reactions of a mind which is fearful. Intensely fearful of a story that could end soon. A story that has kept me riveted, kept me clinging to this great, romantic game, kept me hopeful and fretful in equal measure and kept me fascinated with the art of batting for so long. One can argue that this ought not to be the case. That all stories - even the best of them - have to end. That is the mind talking. Not the heart.
I am reminded also of a recent article from Harsha Bhogle where he refers to Tendulkar being more intransient than poetry. Of his art deserving the solidity of prose. Yes, he is right. After a fashion. A case can also be made out that the lasting appeal and the impact that Tendulkar has on the discerning fans' mind is the same as that of poetry. It is timeless and clings to the memory perfectly. A few lines which race straight from the eyes to the heart, virtually bypassing the mind. Almost unconscious in its appeal and impact.
It appears apt again to end this piece with one of Robert Frost's classics which perhaps Tendulkar has taken to heart, luckily for us.
"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep".
It is often said that Flintoff is England's talismanic cricketer. If ever anybody needed an evidence of that, here is an example. Bowling unchanged for 7 overs, Flintoff made sure that Yuvraj and Dhoni could not take a single breath without fearing for their lives. A large part of the credit for Yuvraj's wicket must go to Flintoff because he softened the former up. And then he also picked up Sachin Tendulkar.
With him at one end, England always looked on the offensive, on the prowl and one step in front of the opposition. It is not just his physique which is imposing. It is also his performance. And that is why he deserves his talismanic reputation.
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