Sachin Tendulkar: the little man who hit the big fellow for six

Now you put it all together and that’s one man, Sachin, for billions of people worldwide, not just India. People everywhere around the world revere him, adore him, cherish him. He’s like their hobby, a way of life and as John Keats would say, a thing of beauty.

I have never really liked the title “God” that fans of the game, although out of love, have forcibly bequeathed upon him. Mainly because that’s the last thing Sachin would like himself to be called as. Some people who don’t like this nickname argue that since he never was the greatest bowler nor the greatest fielder, just by scaling one of its three summits, he can’t be called the “God” of the game.

Some say Kallis is better suited to that. Although that is a very valid argument, an argument to which I myself fell back on more often than not while discouraging anybody and everybody I came across who called him “God”, of late I’ve come to accept that if anyone in the game could ever be called that, it is him. None have ever given shape to a game and moulded it into their own as has Sachin.

Years and years down the line, he has moulded himself to change with the changing demands of an ever evolving game. None have ever accepted cricket into themselves as deep as he has for as long as he has. And while doing so, he has been celebrated and revered by a magnitude of the population that is unmatched by any other, by many a miles.

He has scaled the highest peak possible in the game and has stood there and seen the world the way no eye can ever see. At least not till they let androids play the game, by which time, both you and I will be long gone. So while I accept that if we absolutely must bequeath this title on somebody it has to be him, I’d rather we not call him that. Let’s just call him The Little Master (a title that was previously Sunny’s) or the Master Blaster. If nothing, just call him Sachin; he’d probably love that the most.

We have walked into the stadium, to the pitch with him. We have sat on his shoulders till he stayed on the pitch. We have buzzed in his ears when it got tough for him. We have revelled in glorious joy when he conquered all obstacles and scaled new peaks. And when he finally walks away from the thing he loves most, we will again sit beside him and ponder over the same question – what next?

I haven’t met this man, no sir. Nor does he know I exist. He was taking blows to his body ever so bravely as a sixteen-year-old against fearsome bowlers when I wasn’t even born. On the face of it, there is absolutely nothing to link us. Yet, him announcing his retirement last year confirmed the end of my childhood.

Sachin isn’t just a person to us. He’s much more than that. He’s a link to our past, the pride of our present, a hope for our future. His victory isn’t “like” our victory. His victory “is” our victory. His happiness “is” our happiness.

As Tony Greig so beautifully summed it up on that magical night in Sharjah: “I don’t think anywhere in the world, people can love a guy more than they love him here.”