Thank You Sachin
"It seems while Time was having his toll on every individual on the face of this planet, he excused one man. Time stands frozen in front of Sachin Tendulkar. We have had champions, we have had legends, but we have never had another Sachin Tendulkar and we never will."
- Time Magazine
- Time Magazine
I was listening to the lecturer talk about cloud based software when a customary glance at my phone gave me the goosebumps. India were about to start batting, because well, West Indies had folded yet again. More importantly, there was time, ample time, for Sachin Tendulkar to come out to bat. One last time, in all probability. And just like that, out of nowhere, the very nice Finn that my lecturer is, he told us he was done for the day, and we could go our ways and meet again next week. Actually, he said a lot more. But I probably wasn't listening that well. The universe had conspired to let me watch him bat - one last time?I grabbed my jacket and a zillion other winter accessories that you probably need to don before venturing into the cold and set home on my bicycle. Thinking about it on the way, took me back in time.
I used to be this chubby school kid who loved rushing home from school, on his bicycle to watch Tendulkar bat in one of those numerous day-night one dayers in Sharjah. Stopping on the way back to ask a shopkeeper the score and sighing with relief after hearing him say, "Tendulkar maar reha hai!". I still am a student. I still ride a bicycle. And if the Finns had arbitrarily planned shops around roads, I'd still have stopped by to ask if Tendulkar had come out to bat (I did that on my phone anyway). Sixteen years on, nothing seems to have changed. Time indeed stands frozen in front of Sachin Tendulkar.
I don't really remember when I started liking cricket. In fact, now that I think about it, I never quite did. It was Sachin that I began following and cricket was just a part of the parcel. There are various theories to why we Indians are so fond of cricket. We lack the stamina for real sport probably? And for a billion people believed to be good with numbers and mathematics, cricket offers all the statistics that let you take your mental mathematics to a different level altogether. My mother would absolutely vouch for that fact. But yeah, Tendulkar had me hooked on. So much so, that I valued watching him play more than India winning. A victory was just an icing on the cake called a Tendulkar century. Every season of my life that I can reflect back on, has a corresponding Tendulkar memory attached to it. Like the summers spent half-camping in Palampur, where a radio did it's best to explain to me how an emotional Tendulkar reacted after scoring a century, when he had just returned from his father's funeral. Or watching him flatten the egos out off Pakistan's famous pace trio during the '03 World Cup, a moment that gave me a much required inspiration to get out of the rut and finally pass my exams. And those hilariously predictable days when he'd get into the 90s and you'd know he's going to walk any moment now, teaching you how important it is to keep trying, every damn time, no matter what.
My Tendulkar memories are about his success and failures and not India's because for me he was the superhero that I looked up to. In a team sport, he came out as the self-assured figure full of calm and a quite will. There was this short period of time when Saurav Ganguly almost managed to discover the cricket lover in me, but he couldn't quite succeed. I sometimes question myself, why I couldn't come to like another cricketer if not cricket. It's probably because none of them have been such phenomenal show men, and the ones that probably are, are just too inhuman. The idea of a Virat Kohli pumping fists, after scoring a century before opening up with choicest of expletives just doesn't appeal to me. When did I last see Sachin pump his fists, if at all? Probably when he foxed a batsmen with his leg-spin. Bowling was something that he wasn't supposed to be good at, batting was a routine - not to be celebrated.
There is a lot I'd like to remember Tendulkar for. The drives, the upper-cuts, the smile, the weird short paced sprint, the awkward stance... and the list goes on. The slight raise of the bat with eyes saying thank you to the heavens, before coming back to mortal life and acknowledging the crowd. That, is the moment I'd like to take with me to sleep when looking for inspiration. They call him God, master, genius and a few other things. I don't know which of these I can actually relate to - he was fallible, gullible and pretty much human. Somebody who tried hard and harder than each last try. He was Sachin.
I got back to my apartment and managed to find a live stream, just in time to watch the on-drive unleashed. The stumps were drawn soon, and I set my alarm for the next day's start of play, Indian Standard Time. The alarm never rang, I never woke up to see him score a few more and walk back, and I'll not try to search for the highlights. As somebody who lives a life that relies heavily on Sachin Tendulkar moments for inspiration, I'd like to live the rest of my life thinking about the on drive - give it back to life as hard as it comes at you.
I used to be this chubby school kid who loved rushing home from school, on his bicycle to watch Tendulkar bat in one of those numerous day-night one dayers in Sharjah. Stopping on the way back to ask a shopkeeper the score and sighing with relief after hearing him say, "Tendulkar maar reha hai!". I still am a student. I still ride a bicycle. And if the Finns had arbitrarily planned shops around roads, I'd still have stopped by to ask if Tendulkar had come out to bat (I did that on my phone anyway). Sixteen years on, nothing seems to have changed. Time indeed stands frozen in front of Sachin Tendulkar.
I don't really remember when I started liking cricket. In fact, now that I think about it, I never quite did. It was Sachin that I began following and cricket was just a part of the parcel. There are various theories to why we Indians are so fond of cricket. We lack the stamina for real sport probably? And for a billion people believed to be good with numbers and mathematics, cricket offers all the statistics that let you take your mental mathematics to a different level altogether. My mother would absolutely vouch for that fact. But yeah, Tendulkar had me hooked on. So much so, that I valued watching him play more than India winning. A victory was just an icing on the cake called a Tendulkar century. Every season of my life that I can reflect back on, has a corresponding Tendulkar memory attached to it. Like the summers spent half-camping in Palampur, where a radio did it's best to explain to me how an emotional Tendulkar reacted after scoring a century, when he had just returned from his father's funeral. Or watching him flatten the egos out off Pakistan's famous pace trio during the '03 World Cup, a moment that gave me a much required inspiration to get out of the rut and finally pass my exams. And those hilariously predictable days when he'd get into the 90s and you'd know he's going to walk any moment now, teaching you how important it is to keep trying, every damn time, no matter what.
My Tendulkar memories are about his success and failures and not India's because for me he was the superhero that I looked up to. In a team sport, he came out as the self-assured figure full of calm and a quite will. There was this short period of time when Saurav Ganguly almost managed to discover the cricket lover in me, but he couldn't quite succeed. I sometimes question myself, why I couldn't come to like another cricketer if not cricket. It's probably because none of them have been such phenomenal show men, and the ones that probably are, are just too inhuman. The idea of a Virat Kohli pumping fists, after scoring a century before opening up with choicest of expletives just doesn't appeal to me. When did I last see Sachin pump his fists, if at all? Probably when he foxed a batsmen with his leg-spin. Bowling was something that he wasn't supposed to be good at, batting was a routine - not to be celebrated.
There is a lot I'd like to remember Tendulkar for. The drives, the upper-cuts, the smile, the weird short paced sprint, the awkward stance... and the list goes on. The slight raise of the bat with eyes saying thank you to the heavens, before coming back to mortal life and acknowledging the crowd. That, is the moment I'd like to take with me to sleep when looking for inspiration. They call him God, master, genius and a few other things. I don't know which of these I can actually relate to - he was fallible, gullible and pretty much human. Somebody who tried hard and harder than each last try. He was Sachin.
I got back to my apartment and managed to find a live stream, just in time to watch the on-drive unleashed. The stumps were drawn soon, and I set my alarm for the next day's start of play, Indian Standard Time. The alarm never rang, I never woke up to see him score a few more and walk back, and I'll not try to search for the highlights. As somebody who lives a life that relies heavily on Sachin Tendulkar moments for inspiration, I'd like to live the rest of my life thinking about the on drive - give it back to life as hard as it comes at you.
Listening to: Bonfire Heart, James Blunt
Dedicated to: Doesn't need mentioning
Images Courtesy: Google Image Search
PS: I finally got my act together to write a tribute. Just in time I believe.
Dada ko bhool kyon nahi jate?
I was not much into watching cricket back then, but the 1996 World Cup had laid bare the soft spot for cricket, that was an inherent part of me, being the middle class Indian that I am. And so surfing through channels one day, I had seen a sheepish looking debutant southpaw, post a century at Lord's, the mecca of cricket as they call it. I have never been too much into the technicalities of how the game is played or how they have to grapple with the conditions out there, so I never weighed the particular innings on scales such as degree of elegance, or the style and charisma involved, but in an Indian team that for me, was always sent out of the country, so that the opposition could feast on its, shortcomings, seeing someone take the attack to the home team, with frightening quickies like Dominic Cork in the attack, it just felt exciting. The batsman, by the way, was Sourav Ganguly.
Ever since, there have been instances all through, that I have come to associate with, no one but Sourav Ganguly. Be it, debating the umpires to restart a match after bad light, to enable India win a thrilling final against Pakistan (a rarity in itself, as much back then, as now), or making a statement with not the bowl or the bat at his home ground, but by holding Steve Waugh and his army of invincibles to ransom as a leader of men, or telling Andrew Flintoff who the real boss is, by going topless (that is what media seemed to make it look like) again at the Lord's. I am not really a fan of Ganguly's, nobody but a Bengali could be, given his, princely ways in a team, where he was not even the first among equals, but his, ways or lucky ways to describe it rather aptly, always got him to something of note, whether it was on his first tour in 1990, Australia, where he refused to carry drinks, apparently, out of sheer frustration, or his debut test match at the Lord's where he stole the show, from Rahul Dravid, touted as India's future or while making a comeback two years back on the bouncy South Frican turfs, where he top scored out of all the Indian batsmen on show, a big surprisre again, given his so-called flawed technique.
I would have never known it, but for a casual look at the editorial pages of all our national dailies, some days back... the speculation over Sourav's career is back after the selectors dropping him from the Rest of India squad for the Irani Trophy. More interesting than the column footage that these people have dedicated to writing Sourav's obituaries is the kind of views that people harbour and want to go public with.
So we have people saying that he is one of the greats, a true servant [?] of Indian cricket, and hence should be accorded a VIP's farewell, where in he is allowed to choose when he retires from the game. Didn't they say Cricket was a team sport, much above individual gains and egos?
There is another school of thought, doing the rounds as well... He's not really performed in the recent past, (how recent) a mere liability, and hence needs to be done away with, from the BCCI's luggage. This, for Indian test team's top scorer, and best averaging batsmen in the last one year. A case of short lived public memory I guess. Here's my suggestion - why don't we leave it to the player himself, to decide if he's finished with himself or not, and shorten our already short memories, a bit more, for his comfort? Why don't we rather let Dada fade from our thankless memories?
Ever since, there have been instances all through, that I have come to associate with, no one but Sourav Ganguly. Be it, debating the umpires to restart a match after bad light, to enable India win a thrilling final against Pakistan (a rarity in itself, as much back then, as now), or making a statement with not the bowl or the bat at his home ground, but by holding Steve Waugh and his army of invincibles to ransom as a leader of men, or telling Andrew Flintoff who the real boss is, by going topless (that is what media seemed to make it look like) again at the Lord's. I am not really a fan of Ganguly's, nobody but a Bengali could be, given his, princely ways in a team, where he was not even the first among equals, but his, ways or lucky ways to describe it rather aptly, always got him to something of note, whether it was on his first tour in 1990, Australia, where he refused to carry drinks, apparently, out of sheer frustration, or his debut test match at the Lord's where he stole the show, from Rahul Dravid, touted as India's future or while making a comeback two years back on the bouncy South Frican turfs, where he top scored out of all the Indian batsmen on show, a big surprisre again, given his so-called flawed technique.
I would have never known it, but for a casual look at the editorial pages of all our national dailies, some days back... the speculation over Sourav's career is back after the selectors dropping him from the Rest of India squad for the Irani Trophy. More interesting than the column footage that these people have dedicated to writing Sourav's obituaries is the kind of views that people harbour and want to go public with.
So we have people saying that he is one of the greats, a true servant [?] of Indian cricket, and hence should be accorded a VIP's farewell, where in he is allowed to choose when he retires from the game. Didn't they say Cricket was a team sport, much above individual gains and egos?
There is another school of thought, doing the rounds as well... He's not really performed in the recent past, (how recent) a mere liability, and hence needs to be done away with, from the BCCI's luggage. This, for Indian test team's top scorer, and best averaging batsmen in the last one year. A case of short lived public memory I guess. Here's my suggestion - why don't we leave it to the player himself, to decide if he's finished with himself or not, and shorten our already short memories, a bit more, for his comfort? Why don't we rather let Dada fade from our thankless memories?
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The Gold Digger
India finally shot gold at the Olympics, and the first individual one. It took 8 long long years from Leander Paes's Bronze at Atlanta to Rajyavardhan Rathore's Silver at Athens, but the transition from Silver to Gold has been rather quick, and we have found are gold digger in none other than Abhinav Bindra, who at least for me had been a choker, up until now. For a start, this achievement will ensure a few things. One, we will get to see India at a higher position in the medals tally than we have been used to seeing. Two, shooters, whatsoever they shoot with, will start getting recognition. And last but not the least, India will finally have a gold medal to show off, after a long, long time.
The last time that happened was at the Rome Olympics 1980, when the Indian Men's Hockey Team won a medal for the last time.
On to Abhinav Bindra for now...
He has already been awarded the highest award for sporting excellence in the country, The Rajiv Gandhi Khel Ratna, after his magic double gold medal winning feat at the 2002 Commonwealth Games, but then had disappointed a little too much after that, at the Athens Olympics and the World Cups.
No more of that, you can bask in the glory of your win man, something that has done us all proud as Indians.
For the record, the 25-year-old, who qualified fourth for the event, shot an overall score of (596+104.5) 700.5 in a thrilling finale which went right to the last shot, only for his Chinese competitor to loose.
And here's what the very first quotes coming from China, attributed to the gold digger himself read like: " Life will go on. Gold is alright" Just that? Maybe, he's a bit more than just human.
Here's an excerpt from his own blog written on August the 7th, a few days before.
"Today is my day off and so i am going to spend some time soaking in the village and actually getting my mind to do something it has never done before.... NOT THINK ABOUT SHOOTING!!!
So instead of thinking about shooting perfect bulls eyes... today i am going to think of the pretty women in the village, the weather, the great city of Beijing and whatever else pops into my mind will be allowed to stay as long it doesn't involve the words "rifle", "shooting" in it.... hey all it is a great time to be an athlete and this event is what we all live for..... "
Read more here.
And to think he is the Gold medal winner already, is a big icing on his Olympic cake.
The lad flies back home Thursday, and as is usually the case, praise has started pouring in from all quarters, ironically on a day when the Indian cricket team has lost a test series to Sri Lanka. Nothing new about it except for the fact that, India seemed to have forgotten the art of playing spin, something that has been known to be their forte. Time for a new beginning maybe? Not reading too much into it for now though, just a big CONGRATS for Abhinav Bindra.
And yes, the Indian Railway Minister has announced a free travel pass for the new found hero! Will he ever need it, is another story.
The man, The Legend
So Pepsi has chosen not to extend Sachin Tendulkar's contract as its brand ambassador. As much as I don't really understand the commerce and politics of the queer world sport marketing, I know one thing for sure and pretty well at that, after Dhyan Chand, Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar is the greatest sportsperson the nation has produced. And given the era that the latter has played in, he was, is and will continue to be a genius. Agreed, he's not good at carrying the expectations of cricket crazy billions, falters many a times when we don't want him to, and is not entirely engaged in playing for the country given the way he makes money, through endorsements, food chains and playing paying cricket when he's not entirely fit, but then of the current lot and probably the past ones as well, who doesn't?
Don't we get goosebumps watching that exquisitely timed Sachin™ cover drive played on the rise, or that kiss on the tiny Indian Tricolor that he proudly plants as soon as he is through with one of his centuries? What about the way we switch off the TV as soon as Sachin Tendulkar starts to walk back to the pavillion.
We might have come to adore the fielding prowess of the Yuvrajs or the big hitting capacities of Dhonis but the truth remains that if I still watch a live cricket telecast, its just because of the chance of a lifetime of watching Sachin post another century, break another record, and so on...
And so when the numerous TV channels (when I say numerous, I don't mean all. There are some that can still be relied upon for there authentic reporting.) begin interpreting Pepsi's step as another moment in the sunset of Sachin's carrier, all I can do is smile sarcastically. With due regard to its Youngistan crap, youth is not just about falling for the ball whenever it comes your way... its also about, rather more about being able to pep up the droopin moods on the field, having the child like hunger for more, all the time. And the most one comes to associate such things with, is a guy called Sachin Tendulkar.
Commodities have shelf lives, not legends. They have antique value, something that only increases with time. And only time will tell whether Pepsi was right in doing what it did on the pretext of building a youngistan.
Do vote in the iNFINITY poll of the week to find out what most of us think about it.
Don't we get goosebumps watching that exquisitely timed Sachin™ cover drive played on the rise, or that kiss on the tiny Indian Tricolor that he proudly plants as soon as he is through with one of his centuries? What about the way we switch off the TV as soon as Sachin Tendulkar starts to walk back to the pavillion.
We might have come to adore the fielding prowess of the Yuvrajs or the big hitting capacities of Dhonis but the truth remains that if I still watch a live cricket telecast, its just because of the chance of a lifetime of watching Sachin post another century, break another record, and so on...
And so when the numerous TV channels (when I say numerous, I don't mean all. There are some that can still be relied upon for there authentic reporting.) begin interpreting Pepsi's step as another moment in the sunset of Sachin's carrier, all I can do is smile sarcastically. With due regard to its Youngistan crap, youth is not just about falling for the ball whenever it comes your way... its also about, rather more about being able to pep up the droopin moods on the field, having the child like hunger for more, all the time. And the most one comes to associate such things with, is a guy called Sachin Tendulkar.
Commodities have shelf lives, not legends. They have antique value, something that only increases with time. And only time will tell whether Pepsi was right in doing what it did on the pretext of building a youngistan.
Do vote in the iNFINITY poll of the week to find out what most of us think about it.
es wird Deutschland sein!
As I write this piece, I'm still busy thinking of ways, of watching Germany play Spain LIVE! on TV i.e. I must accept that I've never been too much of a soccer fan all my life, and my sudden love for the game doesn't impress my folks much, which means I've to do lots and lots of persuading to be allowed to switch on the TV set at midnights and disturb the peace loving people's sleep with my cheers and catcalls.
When it comes to European soccer, Spain's artistic prowess is beyond doubt, France's resolve in the face of uneven resources is admirable, England's high profile stars letting them down at just the moment is hilarious, Croatia's build up is as spectacular as their sudden ouster is not, Turkey's own surprise at how we got here is dainty, Russia's rise is indication of the future, but my favourites are always going to be the Germans.
My liking for the the so called powerhouse of European football dates back to the 1998 WC, just how they didn't get to go all the way through is was always a mystery for me then, given my scant understanding of the game, in a cricket crazy environment, where incidentally I didn't consider myself a bad batsman either. It was only at the next WC in South Korea /Japan, that I began understanding the game better, when I was given the responsibility to report for my school magazine. The main problem with my way of seeing the game was, and in fact still continues to this day is that I compare each and everything happening on a and off the field to a supposed Indian National team - be it the player's average heights, their jersey designs, material and texture of the fabric use (YES!) their shoes, fan following, the surface they get to play on, the training facilities, and of course the stamina. And if you happen to compare the Indian team(s) (considering the fact that some of the Indian clubs play better than the National team on a given day) with the Germans on the last count... well the only thing you end up doing is... adore the latter.
They are tall, strong, built tough, and look tougher, of course until they go down wincing dramatically seeking a booking for an opponent... even that seems well... flattering.
they play till the last whistle, Philip Lahm's 90th min. goal vs. the Turks emphasizing the fact all the more.
And the best thing about being a German supporter... you know your team isn't invincible... they're going to lose some, are going to win some more... but they'd still be where you finally want to see them... out of the group stage, and possibly the final. Take the 2002 WC, where they weren't all that impressive throughout the tourney but still went on to be the runners-up, and could very well have been the winners, had captain Oliver Kahn not run into the law of averages and conceded those now famous 2 goals to Brazil. I still dream of making an oil painting of Kahn sitting by goal post at the end of the match and sobbing, the caption? hmmm. "The Final Frontier". They are a dramatic team I told you.
On to today's final...
They say its artistic brilliance, deft touch and possibly form in the shape of Spain vs. brute force in the form of Ballack's army. So what's the problem? I for one don't watch soccer as a substitute for opera. That probably ended with the era of Maradona and I have to get hold of some old videos to watch soccer art. And they don't even serve artistic brilliance at even the Wimbledon these days. So, as far as I can see... Germany its gonna be!
When it comes to European soccer, Spain's artistic prowess is beyond doubt, France's resolve in the face of uneven resources is admirable, England's high profile stars letting them down at just the moment is hilarious, Croatia's build up is as spectacular as their sudden ouster is not, Turkey's own surprise at how we got here is dainty, Russia's rise is indication of the future, but my favourites are always going to be the Germans.
My liking for the the so called powerhouse of European football dates back to the 1998 WC, just how they didn't get to go all the way through is was always a mystery for me then, given my scant understanding of the game, in a cricket crazy environment, where incidentally I didn't consider myself a bad batsman either. It was only at the next WC in South Korea /Japan, that I began understanding the game better, when I was given the responsibility to report for my school magazine. The main problem with my way of seeing the game was, and in fact still continues to this day is that I compare each and everything happening on a and off the field to a supposed Indian National team - be it the player's average heights, their jersey designs, material and texture of the fabric use (YES!) their shoes, fan following, the surface they get to play on, the training facilities, and of course the stamina. And if you happen to compare the Indian team(s) (considering the fact that some of the Indian clubs play better than the National team on a given day) with the Germans on the last count... well the only thing you end up doing is... adore the latter.
They are tall, strong, built tough, and look tougher, of course until they go down wincing dramatically seeking a booking for an opponent... even that seems well... flattering.
they play till the last whistle, Philip Lahm's 90th min. goal vs. the Turks emphasizing the fact all the more.
And the best thing about being a German supporter... you know your team isn't invincible... they're going to lose some, are going to win some more... but they'd still be where you finally want to see them... out of the group stage, and possibly the final. Take the 2002 WC, where they weren't all that impressive throughout the tourney but still went on to be the runners-up, and could very well have been the winners, had captain Oliver Kahn not run into the law of averages and conceded those now famous 2 goals to Brazil. I still dream of making an oil painting of Kahn sitting by goal post at the end of the match and sobbing, the caption? hmmm. "The Final Frontier". They are a dramatic team I told you.
On to today's final...
They say its artistic brilliance, deft touch and possibly form in the shape of Spain vs. brute force in the form of Ballack's army. So what's the problem? I for one don't watch soccer as a substitute for opera. That probably ended with the era of Maradona and I have to get hold of some old videos to watch soccer art. And they don't even serve artistic brilliance at even the Wimbledon these days. So, as far as I can see... Germany its gonna be!
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