The Little Master

Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. Three words, one name. One batting legend, the embodiment of one team. One man, the hope of a billion Indians.

20 odd years in the sport have been inadequate to dim this man’s enthusiasm and love for the sport and neither have they been enough to satiate his appetite for runs and excellence alike. Time magazine fittingly put it into context when they said ““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.”

Many words have been written about Sachin. Superlatives have been showered freely to the extent that new ones had to be invented because the older ones wouldn’t just measure up. Every time a shot was labelled ‘brilliant’ he responded with an even better one. Each time he was called a genius, he upped the ante. He made life difficult not only for bowlers but also for batsmen around the world. It wasn’t easy for his fans either. Each one of Sachin’s missed innings is an agony for them.

I was baptised late into cricket. Sachin had already started playing by then and therefore I missed out on his centuries against England and Australia. The earliest memory I have of Sachin is a headline that screamed “Boy Wonder does it again!”. I cant remember if it was a test match or an ODI, Tendulkar was apparently still a ‘boy’ in the team but a very popular and respected one. The first full series that I saw Tendulkar play in properly was India’s England tour of 1996 but the two people outshone him then were Dravid and Ganguly. I had to wait until the Newlands test match the following year to see his brilliance. He then followed it by unleashing his full repertoire of skills against Australia; at first in the test series at home against them and then at Sharjah. What followed after that is, as they say, history. Only, in his case, history repeats itself, over and over again.

Sachin has always been a diligent pupil of the game. His dedication and application are the foundation of his excellence. He is always learning and this enables him to get one up on the opposition. We have borne witness to many of his innovative shots. It has been 12 years since he came up with the paddle sweep and we are yet to find a single heir worthy of Sachin’s legacy. Other players have been proponents of the switch-hit and the Dil-scoop among others, but none make them look as elegant as Sachin does. Sehwag might have hit more upper cuts for a six but his attempts are brutal bludgeons compared to Tendulkar’s artistic masterpieces. There is timeless quality about them.

Sachin’s has just turned 37 years old. For many sportsmen, even cricketers, it is a point of retirement. Most of them hang up their sporting shoes and start preparing for the over-40s tournaments. Some become expert commentators, some start coaching or get into administrative posts in the sport and some others live the family life. Sachin clearly doesn’t believe in following that example. For him Time, not only seems to have frozen but is now going into reverse. He is young once again and as hungry for runs as he was 20 years ago. Time too wants to see him carry on until Time itself gets old and comes to an end.

The man is a legend. In the years to come, legend will give rise to myth and myth to divinity.

For many of us, time, age and dementia might rob us of our most precious memories. One of them will linger though; the joy of watching Sachin playing a perfectly straight-bat drive past the bowler. He wouldn't have aged a day.

“We have had champions, we have had legends, but we have never had another Sachin Tendulkar and we never will.”

A special evening.

The fragrance of jasmine flowers wafted in through the partially opened windows. He could hear the noise and commotion from outside. People were milling on the street, going about their evening shopping. He didn’t need to look outside the window to see it, he knew the rigmarole by now. He had lived here for many years and he could tell who was outside just by hearing their voices. People were returning from work and collecting their daily groceries. The children had returned from their evening tuitions, some of them from their tennis lessons and some others from their evening game of cricket on the local maidan. Of course, he didn’t know them personally and therefore had given them nicknames. There was Loud Lady, Mr Peon, The Arrogant Grandma, the Cute Twins and various others. Often he would sit by the window on a dull dreary evening and watch them, amused by their antics but enjoying himself. It often gave him a good reason to laugh and see life in a different light.

Today was different though. He had received a piece of news earlier. It was a welcome piece and brought with it a feeling of relief and joy. It had jump-started him into a frenzy of activity. He had spent most of the day shopping for an assortment of food items. It was a special evening and it demanded a special meal; at least a special effort at making one.

Having prepared the meal, he began creating the right ambience. Candles adorned the room. He had chosen them carefully, some large, some small. Some scented, some of them in pretty looking holders. Partially blossomed roses stood in a pretty vase on the table. Two placemats were arranged opposite each other. A wine glass stood on the side of each mat and cutlery on the other. The table was laid out symmetrically and he smiled at his accomplishment. It had been a long time since he had done something like this. Today was indeed a special day and he didn’t want to fall short on effort.

He browsed through his collection of CDs and chose an appropriate one. Loading it into the player, he adjusted the volume on the speakers to a soft yet audible level. The lights were accordingly dimmed. All he had to do now was wait for her to arrive.

Today was the 24^th anniversary of the day he had first met her. Today he had finally got word of her whereabouts. To say that he was excited about meeting her was a big understatement. He hadn’t seen her for close to 15 years now. What had happened in the past didn’t matter now, he had another opportunity to make amends.

“Still feels like our first night together” sang Bryan Adams in the background. Warm memories came flooding back and he smiled once again. He still remembered her vividly. The passage of time had done nothing to dim his memory of her. She had a beautiful grace about her. A warm, bright smile glit up her face and along with her beautiful large eyes was the first thing he had noticed. Her hair fell smoothly down the sides of her face and ended up in a soft curl just above the shoulders; a perfect frame for a pretty smile. Every time she spoke, her dulcet tones held him in a trance that he struggled to shake off.

 “First time our eyes met, same feeling I get

Only feels much stronger, wanna love you longer”.

Lost in his reminiscence, minutes ticked by and turned into hours. He began wondering what had held her up. She would meet him, of that he was sure. He walked over to the bookshelf and picked up her portrait. She smiled back at him with a mischievous look in her eyes. His heart skipped a beat or two as he ran a finger along her cheek. She was very beautiful.

“I’ve got a feeling that's beginning to grow.
There’s only one thing I can say.
I’m ready, to love you,
I’m ready, to hold you,
I’m ready, I’m ready,
I’m ready as I’m gonna be”

As the CD played in the background, he settled himself on a recliner, holding the portrait close to his chest. The night was going to be a long one.

Dawn had broken out and sunlight filtered in through the window. The CD player had continued playing tirelessly throughout the night. The maid would be in any moment and he was still in the recliner, pale and tired. Shortly, the maid had arrived and began her daily tasks. She was surprised to see the elaborate layout on the dining table and the number of burnt out candles in the apartment. “Is it Diwali already?”, she mused. The bed was not slept in. “Looks like he has fallen asleep in the lounge again. When will he change this habit!”

Sure enough he was on the recliner. She tapped him on the shoulder. “Wake up saab ji, the sun is beating on our heads.” He slumped forward at her touch. The portrait slid from his hands onto the floor. A beautiful face looked up and smiled at the maid. Across the lower end of the picture were scrawled the words “See you in heaven tonight sweetheart.” A smile was drawn underneath it.

The maid’s scream pierced the silence.

“Forever, we will be
Together, just you and me

For all of my life you know I’ll always be…

… right there.” went on Mr Adams.

(image by Anne-Marie Ladegaard)

F1, Chinese buffet

China is looked upon as an exotic place by many. A land of mysteries, martial arts, buffets and Bruce Lee. It is only fitting that a F1 race held there is comparable in reputation. The Safety Car ensured there were 2 more starts than normal and drivers went back to the starting line, just as one goes to the food bowls at a buffet.

The drivers thus made up for lost time and Alonso seemed to profit most of all. He had been through 5 stops, including a drive through penalty. To finish 4^th was entirely down to the safety cars. I believe he should send race control a thank-you card for that. Above all, it was a race of challenges, changing conditions, difficult decisions and daring moves. Some got it right, some didn’t and paid the price. A lot will be said about Schumacher being the rain master and many questions will be asked regarding his ability to do so again. Critics have already got their knives, guns and daggers out against him. They say that he is beyond his prime, he shouldn’t have returned and made a mockery of himself. For a few moments he showed us today why is a great driver, albeit in an unfamiliar car. I will put my reputation at risk here and wager that he will bounce back next year, might even win the championship. In an interview yesterday, there was a smile on his face but a steely resolve in his eyes as he said, “I am happy with the way things are going”. Schumacher is not a man who is happy when he is losing. There is something going on his astute mind. Perhaps he is already working on the car and strategy for next year.

It augurs well for the sport that there are a few good drivers coming up through the ranks. Some put their names in the hat today and some others enhanced their reputation. There weren’t many dull moments in the race, the rain made sure of that. Button, to me, was the driver of the day having made an early call on tyres and then nurtured them throughout the day and emerge victorious without any hiccups. Had Hamilton been in his place, he might have burned through them a lot earlier and either pitted at the very last moment or gone off the course and blew them off. McLaren certainly are pushing their limits. They still are using ride-height control, which other teams are critical about. Hamilton almost muscled Vettel in and out of the pit lane and is once again under investigation. Rumour has it that he was reprimanded, not penalised, for a weird erratic move on someone in Malaysia and has been reminded that if the conduct repeats, he WILL be penalised. Now that was music to my ears :)

If Lewis gets penalised, I suppose action must be taken against Alonso as well who similarly muscled Massa out of the way entering into pit lane. He is a very good driver, ambitious and aggressive. These qualities are a must for a F1 driver. However, Hamilton needs to couple his ambition and aggression with sensibility. It seems that he is on the chase for the top prize and knows of only one way to get there – to shove everyone else out of the way if they don’t move aside. Many times his actions seem to suggest that he wants others to know and acknowledge that he is the best. He needs to mellow a bit, accept responsibility, understand the sport rather than just play it. The day he does that, he will no longer need to chase greatness, it will automatically be bestowed on him.

For the Red Bulls it was a forgettable race of sorts, albeit a very memorable qualifying. Christian Horner summed it up nicely yesterday, “who needs ride height control” as Vettel completed an amazing and brilliant lap to get pole position. Sadly, they lost the plot today. I am sure they will bounce back in the European races. A lot of cars will be getting new upgrades for that race and all of a sudden it will be a different ball game. McLarens might suddenly make big leaps or they might head backwards. They have the straight line speed but the Red Bulls are more balanced in the twisty circuits, which Europe has plenty of. Maybe even the Mercedes team starts winning. Who knows Force India might lead the championship !

Whatever happens, I hope that we have a smattering of rain for every race. Otherwise it will be a dull, boring event. For today, I offer my gratitude to the Safety Car. They are my heroes today !

An English summer's day.

It was a bright summer day. The sky was clear and blue, there was no cloud in sight for as far as the eye could see. Sunshine bathed everything and everyone present around me. The stage was set for the first of the toughest battles of the summer. One such battle was already underway.

The batsman had taken guard, the bowler was at the bowling mark. Their eyes were locked onto each other. This was a battle for honour, for first blood, for victory. The bowler began the run up, arms flailing about and hair blowing away in the gentle breeze. A delivery leap later, the ball hurled towards the batsman. He swung zealously but missed the ball. It was a moral victory for the bowler. In came the bowler a second time and the effort yielded a similar result. Six times the bowler hurled the ball and six times the batsman swung wildly without connecting a single time. This carried on for a few more minutes. Finally the bowler took mercy on the batsman, for he was seething with anger and almost in tears. The bowler walked up to the batsman, smiled at him, ruffled his hair and then gave him a big hug.

The bowler in question was a young girl, roughly 8 years old and she was bowling to her little brother. Such a dedicated display of devotion I never saw before. Tirelessly she toiled under the beating sun in order to make him happy. Quite clearly she knew what cricket was about; her father must have taught her. She had a beautiful run up and a smooth straight arm action. Her golden, back-length hair fluttered in the wind as she ran towards the crease. Her younger brother tried his best to hit the ball. After many failed attempts she started bowling under-arm to him. It seemed the least she could do to bring a smile to his face. When all else failed, she sat him down, opened a bag of crisps and they enjoyed a light snack. After that she sat him on her bicycle and took him for a pleasant ride. A touching moment on the cricket field, if ever there was one, was this.

If my sisters had ever taken a similar level of effort, my brother would have become a better cricketer !

A few yards away Sale were playing Irby. It was the first match of the season and both were keen to earn maximum points. It was more important for Sale as they were playing at home. A few people had gathered on the sunny day. Somewhere in the distance a barbecue had been lit. The aroma wafted with the breeze into the ground. It stirred up hunger. Players wanted to finish the game early and head off for a good evening meal. It had been a sedate affair with Irby losing wickets regularly and Sale scoring at a good clip. Although there was no clear phase of dominance it was safe to say that Sale were always in control of the match. There wasn’t much to separate the two teams but Sale’s approach and attitude towards the game made the difference between defeat and victory. The men were after all men and the boys were still learning.

Chicken crossings...

Lately while driving to and from work, I have noticed a lot of fowl play. Chicken are being killed indiscriminately on the roads. Carcasses lie strewn over most major roads and along country lanes. A couple of weeks ago there was a bulletin on the radio about how traffic on the M6 had to be stopped due to a stray chicken attempting to cross it. This led me to think whether there is a mass road-crossing in the offing. Perhaps it is their way of a protest, just like the BA staff going on strike. Maybe the chicken want better living and feeding conditions. Maybe they have a political agenda and are going on suicide missions to achieve their goal. Is this their way of waging a spiritual war on the world? Will there be a time when the chicken of the world will hold motorists at ransom for better feed at the farms? I wonder if KFC will now raise the price of a Zinger fillet burger. It seems to me that tough times are ahead.

A few renowned and respectable minds of the world envisaged this many years ago. They propounded various theories but none of them could explain the phenomenon satisfactorily.

I had received an email about it from a kind friend; birds weren’t tweeting electronically in those days, and that’s how I came to know about it. I thought it was about time I shared with the rest of the world.

Here is what they had to say -

Kindergarten Teacher: To get to the other side.

Aristotle: It is the nature of chickens to cross roads.

Saddam Hussein: This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and
we were quite justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it.

Martin Luther King, Jr.: I envision a world where all chickens
will be free to cross roads without having their motives called
into question.

Moses: And God came down from the Heavens, and He said unto
the chicken, "Thou shalt cross the road." And the chicken crossed
the road, and there was much rejoicing.

Richard M. Nixon: I just want to make one thing perfectly clear.
The chicken did not cross the road. I repeat, the chicken did NOT
cross the road.

Machiavelli: The point is that the chicken crossed the road. Who
cares why?  The end of crossing the road justifies whatever motive
there was.

Bill Gates: I have just released the new Chicken Office 2000, which
will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important
documents, and balance your checkbook.

Oliver Stone: The question is not, "Why did the chicken cross the
road?"  Rather, it is, "Who was crossing the road at the same time,
whom we overlooked in our haste to observe the chicken crossing?"

Darwin: Chickens, over great periods of time, have been naturally
selected in such a way that they are now genetically disposed to
cross roads.

Einstein: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road moved
beneath the chicken depends on your frame of reference.

Buddha: Asking this question denies your own chicken nature.

Ernest Hemingway: To die. In the rain.

Nietzsche: The chicken does not exist.

Colonel Sanders (KFC): I missed one!?

The time has come, it seems, when chicken world over have to make a tough choice. They have to take a side. Blue pill or red pill. To cross or not to cross; that is the question.