Pretenders move away, the king is back

The stage was set. The emperor was returning after a hiatus. Doomsday sayers were having a field day. Even some of the experts of the game were out with their verdict that the great man’s glory days were over. Fans were circumspect, edgy and tired of arguing by mere words. They needed some tangible show of prowess from him. Of course, they all overlooked the most vital fact in question- the person being talked about goes by the name of Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar.

So here is what happened. On a pitch that had ridge on one side which made the ball to keep abysmally low at times and on other times snort straight to the throat, where Rahul “zen monk” Dravid could not get his bat down in time for the one that kept low, where the Clone was cleaned up by a similar one and where the new superstar of Indian cricket M. S. Dhoni looked a mere mortal, one man remained invincible. Tendulkar scored 141 (not out) with 13 fours and five sixes and took India to a score of 309 in 50 overs. Soon the doomsday sayers found out that the field was not large enough to hide them, the experts ran out of adjectives to describe the glory of the emperor and the fans looked up to the heavens in unison with their hero when he scored his hundredth run, thanking their stars for the privilege of witnessing the master write yet another script in his saga of glory.

He did give one chance though. When on five he edged one back and in the eternal confusion between the first slip and the keeper, the keeper dived and grounded it. From then on it was Tendulkar show all the way. Everything from the straight drive to the flick past midwicket to the upper cut was on display. Three of his sixes were over cover, hit inside out, a l’a Richards with utmost contempt. Clean precise hitting. It did not matter much whether the ball was short of good length or pitched up, the same shot the same result. How can someone coming back after an injury, start off again from where he had left? If anything, he looks hungrier to score more runs.

It’s a pity how often we are in a hurry to dismiss greatness. How readily we anointed Ponting, Dravid maybe even Dhoni the new king. How quickly we forgot more than 70 international centuries scored all over the world in all conditions and the numerous matches he had won for us. How we reached conclusions like he cannot bat anymore, he is not good enough for this level. Not good enough for this level! Most of us would give anything to be born gifted enough to reach even half his level. Brian Lara, no stranger to greatness himself, said again what he always says “Sachin is a genius.” Possibly the only batsmen of this generation who can match him has no doubts about the brilliance of the man and yet we in all our wisdom chose not to see it.

Tendulkar like always listened to everything and responded in the only manner he knows, by let his bat give yet another eloquent display of his genius. At 33, Tendulkar is far from over. The 2007 World Cup is around the corner and of course there things he still has to do, like score a triple century in tests and break whatever records are still left in other people’s name. Perhaps Roger Federer and Tiger Woods need Sachin Tendulkar to form the most sublime trinity in the history of sport. Three rare breed of people, who are legends in their lifetimes, who every time they play create history of some sort. Move over the Dravids and the Pontings of the world, take a bow. The King is back. Long live the King.

Five Years Forever - IV

If first year was the time to test the boundaries and see how they can be stretched, we realised in the second year that there were no boundaries at all. The only thing that could limit us was our own sense of where to draw the line, where to put the foot down and say “this is it.” All this however was far from my thoughts then. When I look back now on the second year the only word that comes to my mind is “freedom”, simple unrestricted abandon to do anything, anytime.

Staying in a paying guest accommodation in the first year, there were rules that we had to grudgingly comply with, especially the curfew time of 10pm (followed more in its breach but still...). Now we had moved in to a new place, which was a lone residential flat in a commercial building. By ten in the night everyone would shut shop can go home and we would become the sole masters of the building. Just because we had the option of walking in anytime, we made sure that we invariably returned late in the night, say around one. Not that these late hours were spent on some wild partying. What would happen was that all of us to gather around the flat around 10 and then walk down the road to the bus stop on the other side, lazily sink into the chairs stretch our legs and talk. Just talk. Five or six twenty year olds (God! Already feels as ancient as “once upon a time”) talking in their own childish way about life, the truth and why the world was in dumps, to who was the hottest babe in class and how all of us could sweep her off the feet in no time to why movies suck and why we still ended up watching everything twice and the likes. This was as intellectual as we could get.

I really pity the poor bus stop. If it could have willed so, it would surely have moved away, chairs, signboards and all to a place where even our shadows could not haunt it! Our path breaking philosophical discourses, for so it seemed then, look so naive now that the whole seriousness with which we took it never ceases to amuse me. I must admit though, that there was a certain honesty and innocence in all that which almost five years later looks difficult to have. Boys then, we were courageous and uninhibited; on the way of being the men we want ourselves to be now, we all can do with a bit of that fiery idealism and innocence.

So while we did elevate the bus stop to place of intellectual importance, other activities did not cease. Sporadic visits to the college continued. I must confess though that the second years had the most boring of subjects. Add that to equally boring professors and our own wise conclusion that college anyway is for people who have nothing better to do and it resulted in even lesser attendance percentages. Personally I hardly attended any class in the second year. I did put up a brave front in the beginning but could not help from dozing off in the class. So figured that I would better sleep in the flat rather than go all the way to the college and listen to monotonous lullabies of professors that would put to sleep even a bat in the night.