Now I must get back to work

The birthplace of Aryabhatta to Ramanujan, India has shown that it is crazy about numbers. And, for a country crazy about numbers, cricket has been the best sporting phenomenon to have hit its shores.

Not only are Indians crazy about stats, they become berserk when the stats are all in their favour, and that is where Sachin Tendulkar quietly made an entrance.

I have no recollection of watching Gavaskar play, though I was born two year before he hung his boots. My baptism therefore, and subsequent induction into cricket started by watching Sachin on the telly.

There have been so many tournaments that Sachin has played in, that I have lost count of how many I have watched, and played shadow cricket in the living room during it. I clearly remember Hero Cup though, watching on those flickering cathode ray tube TVs of yonder years. I remember the tension of watching that tournament with my family, hoping with clenched fists that India will win, and that if nobody can, Sachin will save the day.

There were so many rivalries to look forward to, and Sachin seemed to take the challenge every time it was put to him. The most legendary rivalry was against the two most potent spinners in the history of cricket, Shane Warne and Muttiah Muralitharan. On most occasions, where all other batsmen failed, he succeeded against them. So the commentators decided since he was so good against spin, he must be weak against pace bowling. But he showed his mettle against the likes of Brett Lee on Australian pitches and Shoaib Akhtar on South African pitches during the world cup of 2003. Having lost their bet, the commentators decided that he must have some shortcomings in his technique in general. Apparently he hadn’t any! He could play a cover drive like Gavaskar, and a flick through mid-wicket like Azharuddin. He could play a hook against the bounciest delivery and a cheeky late cut against a squarely spinning one. He even mastered to a great degree the very unorthodox paddle scoop shot pioneered by the Zimbabwean cricketer Dougie Marillier.

There can thus remain no doubt why he was called the Master. He could do all this, and score hundreds of runs mostly at will. And, he could also bowl! For a brief period of his cricketing career, he was the lead leg spinner of the team. But that was not all. He could not only do leg-spin, but also do off-spin and slow medium pace bowling, and had a nifty reverse swinging delivery with the old ball.

He could be called the ideal student of the game, and to study his dedication and the amazing way in which he learnt everything there was to be learnt in cricket and implemented it on the field made us all follow him to the grounds, to watch him play.

Getting a standing ovation, or a rapture of applause at every shot was a privilege of a few when they were at their peak form. For Sachin this was routine. His greatness superseded all else in the history of the game, so much so that just his presence on the field was enough for the crowds to pray for success of his team and to pray for him.

The level of perfection that he brought to the game, and the honesty with which he played it, and filled the statistical history books on the way, made him the God that he is considered today. No doubt there have been greats such as Don Bradman, and Gary Sobers and Clive Lloyd, Sunil Gavaskar and Brian Lara, but all of them have at some point taken their hats off to the achievements that only Sachin could have made possible.

Sachin became the ipso facto world ambassador and the face of cricket. In the face of attrition, he threw sand, and while his contemporaries started falling one after another to the vagaries of age, he continued like an undying spirit to score centuries, win matches and take the occasional wicket.

He was the power station of his team, and his refusal to panic made him like a flowing river of life, showing the whole human race around him that there was still something wonderful in living, and that it could be achieved by doing something that one was passionate about. He was the real hero in flesh and blood, till then seen only in movie theatres. He was someone who showed the cricketing world how the game should be played.

And, now comes the real part, his retirement. His fans say, “God does not retire.” And his fans wish he was one of those immortal Gods in our story books and temples. But, like so many greats of the sporting world, his act of hanging up his boots has created a huge vacancy in his unique cannot-be-expressed-through-words position in the world – the God of cricket. He has left huge sized boots to fill, and even eleven of the most elite of current cricketers cannot fill those boots effectively.

This void will not only create a vacuum in the game for several decades to come, but will also create a greater black hole of desperation in the lives of ordinary people like us so used to inspecting timetables and score-sheets, and planning breaks in our work, so that we can always be present for the momentous cricketing shot played by the Master. There will no longer be distracted work schedules and hasty water cooler meetings, all so that friends can get together in time for the match to start, or for the century to be scored, or the final over.

Sure there will be IPL, and the World Cup and the Ashes and the many test series and one-day tournaments, but now the attention will become somewhat diffused and confused, unable to pick a bright star to pin all our hopes on.

Life will change, in homes and offices and meeting places, until the next avatar comes along to sweep us off our feet again.