Sachin- A Personal Gen-Y Tribute

An author writes for himself. An appreciating public- just like any other form of art- should be the by-product of his hard work as well as the desired end result of all writing, but a writer essentially must write for himself. One may write on current topics, one may write on philosophy, one may write to teach, one may write to preach. One may create controversies, one may create passion, one may create fear, or one may teach a new skill, but as long as he is true to himself- an author must write for himself. And that is this essay all about. I do not wish to forget what I feel today. I do not wish to forget this emotion, this perception, this sensitivity, or even this pain. I knew I was growing up for the past 23 years, but today came the sudden realization that the most tangible connections I had to my childhood are being lost slowly, and I may have just witnessed a hero even I did not know how closely I harbored play for the very last time. I write this essay not for others but for myself, so that I can look back years later and relive the great times that I lived in. This essay is my diary, my closure, and me trying to move on.

Due to a force of habit, I looked at my news notification as soon as I woke up. The first thing I read today morning (4.30 Hours after IST) was that God Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar had retired. Knowing for years that he was soon to retire and even knowing just yesterday (when he got out for 74) that he might not get to play another innings against the readily folding West Indies, to my utter surprise it was still a shock to realize that Sachin will not be playing international cricket anymore. The knowledge of his retirement plans and all my rationalizing did not bring me any sense of comfort, and my eyes were filled with water reading his final speech. Having had such a depressing start to my morning, I tried to settle down to focus on my studies, but gave up even before trying. It was a day about Sachin, and mere attempt at any other assignment was bound to be futile.

I try and rationalize once again. I am an Indian by birth, but have for years considered myself to be a global citizen. I admire the feats of Jordan as much as Sachin. I am full of adulation when I read about Tesla or Einstein, and I was as devastated when I heard about the typhoon in Philippines. I can find no reason to rationalize patriotic feelings, and am more of a global patriot than merely a national one. Also, despite having played cricket for a long part of my life, I am not a die-hard fan of the game and have watched it only sporadically in the last 5 years. I realize there are other greats who have done as much, if not more, for their game and I feel no lesser reverence for them. So the pain upon Sachin’s retirement was definitely not patriotic. And then, as I read the news of Viswanathan Anand’s unexpected loss of a match in the World Chess Championship, I realized that I am maybe an anomaly. I don’t root for the lesser man, I don’t root for the weak. I don’t root for a man based on the circumstances he went through, or all the pain he suffered. I, rather quite simple mindedly, root for the genius. Any genius, in any field of human endeavor.

But then, that still does not explain the pain I felt. I have seen many geniuses retire and felt sad, but still this pain was more intense. I know that records are meant to be broken, and someone somewhere may already be working excessively hard to become a Sachin to Sachin. It may take 10 years, or it may take 50, but records break. And the more I think, the more I feel this has been a personal story for me. By the virtue of being born in India, Sachin was definitely the first sportsperson I learned the name of (or rather, remember.  I was too young to know whose name I learned first). I remember cheering Sachin in his epic battles against the other geniuses of the game. Stopping in my tracks every time I crossed a TV with a match on, hoping to catch one of those master strokes. Taking 10 minutes TV breaks when an India match was going on the night before an exam. I remember he suspense of the World Cups, and the insecurity over his fitness. I remember breathing as hard as Sachin himself when he was in one of his famous nineties. I remember wishing friends congrats when Sachin scored a century. The causal questions “How much did Sachin make?” I cannot forget all those moments, all the 23 years of my life searching the scorecard for just that one name.

I won’t give numbers here; they have been too well documented at other places. I won’t talk about the records he broke, or the kind of man he was. At the age of 16, when I was still learning to deal with my personal demons- my anger (my old friends will stand testimony to it) and my place in the world (something I have still not figured out), he was shouldering the responsibility of the hopes of the whole nation. And he kept doing that for 24 long years, more successfully than anyone ever has. That itself stands testimony to what he is. I would rather want to speak about the simple deeds he did for us. His is a profession of an entertainer by its very nature, and he has provided entertainment in copious quantities. Agreed, he didn’t solve world hunger or poverty, but he has given hope to millions for short spans of time. He has made people forget pain, given them the sense of togetherness, and helped people forget the limitations of caste, region and religion. Life is just a sequence of events, and happiness is the ultimate aim. He has given the millions a set of memories that will last a lifetime; what more can one expect from an entertainer? He will soon receive a Bharat Ratna (Jewel of India or Gem of India, in English), the Republic of India's highest civilian award, for performance of highest order in any field of human endeavor. He would become not only the first and as of yet the only sportsperson to have received it, but also the youngest person to receive it as well. If not him, then whom? If not now, then when?

My fear is not that I will forget him.  He will be there working actively as a MP in Rajya Sabha, and hence he will be as public as one could hope for. His advice will still be sought when any new cricketer joins the game, his opinions will still be valued when any cricketing rule is to be changed, and his name will still be mentioned when the greatest players of history are being mentioned. Forgetting him will be nigh impossible, even after all the records are gone; his name will stand long after our sons have stopped breathing as well. The fear is that I will forget the kind of person he was, how it feels to be attached personally to a man who doesn’t even know of your existence, or of how one person cannot let you abandon hope till he stood on the pitch. The fear is that I will forget what it was to feel like shouting for a man who is miles away, for the genius that a person personifies, for a story that is every man’s fairytale. The fear is that I would become immune to feeling happy on a stranger’s achievement, that I would forget the power of the belief of one man in himself. The fear is that I would learn to live without him.

An old adage says “Love him or hate him, you can’t ignore him”. Sachin is the kind of person whom you can love or you can ignore, but you just can’t hate him.  A group of maybe 150 Indians living far away in Germany in a small town called Aachen, while celebrating a very late Diwali party started shouting Sachin’s name today, completely unrehearsed and spontaneous. We all knew Sachin will never come to know of this gesture, and just for that, for me it was the best tribute he could get.