I paid homage at his doorstep.
And will cry when he walks back, one last time
In school, I rarely came 1st in anything. I was
consistently good – at studies, in sport, in elocution contests. But I rarely
won. I would settle for being 2nd or 3rd in a 100m race.
Or for being in the top 20 of my class (sometimes even worse). Like most people in India, I had little
access to life’s modern luxuries that we have the privilege of enjoying, today.
Which is precisely why I grew to revere Tendulkar.
He made me believe that we could win. He made me believe
that on a track turning square in Eden Gardens, we could make 250. He made me
believe that we could beat Australia at a time when their 2nd 11
could beat our 10 national players. He made me believe we could defend 3 runs
in the final over of a match.
He made me believe in winning. In hope. In beating the odds.
There was a time in my life where I think I made the shift
from mediocre to above average. In everything I did. Studies. Work. Sport. I’d like to believe that the shift in belief
had something to do with my belief in Tendulkar.
And while most people won’t acknowledge it today; it’s
true. For a lot of Indians.
In a time when our nation went through the most confusing 10
years of our existence – the post-liberalization era; where governments fell,
foreign brands brought in lots of desire that wasn’t necessarily accessible to
most Indians, through riots and bomb blasts in 1993, sleeping prime ministers
in 1997 – there was one man who gave us, gave me – the one thing I needed the
most – a belief.
When he made that famous 100 in Chennai after the 26/11
incident, he said that it was the only way he could do his bit for India. No
one can deny that winning that game (chasing 367) made a few of us get the smile back on our
face.
He fought for India. And won. Ajit Wadekar has said that he told Tendulkar
on the eve of the Sandstorm match that it had been fixed. He’s known to have said “Don’t worry. I’ll
ensure we win”. And he did.
When Shoaib Akhtar challenged our batting two days before
the 2003 world cup encounter, Tendulkar sent his first ball over the ropes. And
played an innings whose memories remain fresh in the backsides of the
Pakistanis who were involved in it.
I have no shame in acknowledging the fact that I revere the
man. And idolize him. So much so that I went and touched my head on the
doorstep of his Bandra house.
Yes, Tendulkar should retire. It’s about time.
But it’s not the man we lose. They say “Ummeed pe duniya
kayam hai”. If that’s true, then we lose a bit of the hope that took us through
more than two decades. Today we may not need it, the buoyant, resurgent nation
that we are.
But there was a time when we weren’t one.
And it’s in time that Tendulkar gave us hope. Belief.
That, as Indians, as people, as me – on my day, I could win. I could beat
anybody.
Sometime between 14th and 18th of November, that hope will make it’s last appearance.
And when it leaves, the man leaves; I will cry,
inconsolably.
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