Sachin, Sachin, burning bright..
November 15th 2009 05:22
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".
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