Growing up with Sachin, Ganguly, Dravid and VVS: an Indian fan's saga

It was just another day. All seemed normal and clockwork. I was coming back from my coaching class when I checked my phone. A message flashed that read,” The greatest ODI batsman has retired.”

Words were pointing to the end. I took time believing that it was him. I read many times over,  convincing my heart it couldn’t be. It had to be him. It was him. Sachin Tendulkar had retired from ODIs. Yes, he had just walked away partly deciding only to play tests. That too, as they think, for not too long.

I felt wronged that day. I felt like not watching cricket any more. It did’t make sense to me. I watched cricket for a reason, and the last of my reasons was walking away into sunset. The legends had gone away into the sunset, one by one. I looked out of the bus window. The last call was near. The end was nigh.

Times had changed.

Indian cricket has become stronger. We can beat anyone on our day. We aren’t underdogs any more. We carry expectations to win. Famous Test series conquered. Huge ODI scores chased. Even the World Cup has been conquered. It was different then.

It was a different experience watching a team do things for the first time. It was a good feeling to kill giants and be praised. It was an honour to watch classy Indian batsmen being applauded by global cricket media.  It was a different experience watching them grow into the best batting line-up of the world. I felt like being part of them. They represented a growing India.

In 2000-01, when India played against Australia in Kolkata, nobody gave them a chance. We had a team written off even before the match begun. It was a team of stragglers. Two quick  Australian wickets and then,  a miracle. A century against McGrath and Warne was a miracle. A win was a fable.

Back then, centuries were rare and memorable. I remember watching Laxman and Dravid play out a day in Kolkata. It was sheer class. It was no less than an art form. Being treated with sublime shots against the best bowling attack. It was a revolution brewing up, of which I was a part of.

Every Indian fan was. It was like supporting a David who took on Goliath. A win wasn’t expected at all. A little fight was cheered like a jab on the giant. It was fable, and I watched it being staged. A certain 11-year-old fell in love with Test cricket!

India didn’t become Invincibles, but Australia were too good a side to beat; it could humiliate a World XI. It could bowl out any opposition in double digits. It used to defeat oppositions mentally and on the field. It was a champion team in those days. It was a colossal of legends who worked together as a team.

India was different. It was a struggling, slow-moving group that had its problems. It was hungry. I watched them struggle. I watched them get out on ducks and make centuries then. They were hungry to succeed. Ganguly took India to the World Cup final in 2003, a miracle. Sachin looked destructive. India looked young but a team in transition. The Indian batsmen were in thirties, an age of peaking.

In the fall of 2003, India went Down Under. A team that was tagged a bad visitor. It took on to the Australian attack. Sehwag, Sachin, Ganguly, Dravid and Laxman – all got runs. I used to wake up at 4 am to watch the lion-hearted India inch closer to a miracle. The miracle of beating Australia in Australia. I watched a miracle being staged again. I fell deeper into love with test cricket.

It separated, as they say, boys from men. Our men were tough. Our spirit tougher. The world stood up and admired. I did too. With pride writ all over my face, I felt Indian.

The perfection of Tendulkar, the fight of Ganguly, the resistance of Dravid and the class of Laxman. Indian batting was a class apart. It scared bowlers. It tired them and outclassed them.

It was an experience watching them post mammoth totals. It was worth bunking school. It was worth feeling passionate and proud. It felt like a throb of pride when some English commentator appreciated Indian batting. It seemed a wonderful feeling. Our India was rising and catching eyes. It felt poetic justification that our economy too was developing. We wanted to conquer the world.

Times of transition arrived. We rose in ODI cricket. The younger and talented lads with nimble fielding skills started to get attention. The ‘Fabulous Four’ were on the wrong side of 30; Ganguly’s performances not up to the mark. In 2007-08, Kumble led a resurgence again. It felt like a reassurance. But he retired soon, and it felt weird. It seemed apprehensive.

Everybody talked retirement. It just didn’t feel timely. It felt wrong. Sourav Ganguly hanged his boots soon too. It was one down, the other big three had come into discussion, and ” who will retire when” was a hot topic. I hated the discussion. I hated the smell of the end. I pushed the thought away.

When our ODI team won the World Cup in 2011, our Test team slumped to its worst form in years. In 2012, they were not scoring any runs. And as fingers were being pointed at them, people became logical in an emotional cricketing nation. the question is why all of a sudden? They were heroes not long before. They were not now. Why can’t we let emotions override.

Dravid couldn’t take it any more and left too. It took time sinking in, that. That famous Adelaide square-cut seemed like yesterday. Was he really going? Have I grown old? My cricket idol had decided to walk away without a farewell Test. It didn’t look apt. As a cricket fan, I deserved to watch the doffing of the hat and the standing ovation. He didn’t want the glare. He broke hearts that day. I felt wronged as a fan. It looked treacherous. It wasn’t apt.

Two months had passed, Laxman decided to walk away too on an afternoon after being picked in the Test team. He was hurt. So was I. No farewell Test. No emotional departure. No farewell knock. Just a few Eden memories and a sad media presentation. Didn’t we deserve that wristy flick past mid off one more time? It was just not apt. It wasn’t.

Laxman and now Dravid. Two setbacks, and that too silent. Away from the attention. Like a news report.

Just when 2012 was walking away from that dream of yesteryear. On that day in the bus, I got this news of Sachin. An enthusiastic part of me died a little. It won’t be the same. The time is near. On another dull day, he’ll quit Tests too. It will make headlines, tributes will pour and cricket world will move on. And the Indian team would change then.

These names would only be part of records and some lunch time talks. New young stars would take the centre stage. India will win more series. Be world-beaters. But that feeling of growing up with a team won’t come. Like any other fan sitting in oblivion to the legends in my home, I have accepted the passing of an era. It isn’t easy to see them go though. It isn’t.

Sigh!