Sachin Tendulkar: Yes, I hear you

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and should be taken as such

I haven’t really allowed the armchair stage of life to take over yet, what with endorsements, parliament sessions, and lest anyone forget, Test cricket to keep me occupied. But since the day I went public with my decision to quit limited overs cricket (that is right, I will continue to play Test cricket till my legendary love for the game persists), I have often wondered what has kept me going for more than two decades.

I have batted and bowled, bowled and batted, caught and dropped, dropped and caught. Triumphed and lost. There has been ecstasy and there has been bitter resentment. But I have been sufficiently chronicled for you to know that. What you perhaps don’t know is how much I have “heard” as a cricketer. More importantly, all that was heard was also internalized. The voice of the fan, words of advice from teammates and coaches, strident criticism from people who barely know the game, and of course, the family. There were times when it made me feel insignificant. One would think that as you mature as an artist, you will be left to chart your own destiny. You would think there would be fewer people to teach you a trade that you’ve worked on diligently for the better part of your life. But in the last 10 years of my career, I have discovered, often to my surprise, sometimes to my anguish, that it works just the opposite way. Human propensity to offer advice, or at times, to just speak, is infinite. The more you endear yourself to them, the more those words would be forthcoming.

But what will perhaps surprise you is that when that propensity to speak is matched by an appetite to hear, it makes for a good team.

What I recall most fondly are words of encouragement from my own teammates. I remember a time Rahul came up to me and told me he’d just finished “The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari”. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rahul Dravid without a book off the cricket field, but that’s not the point. He said something about the Japanese practice of “Kaizen”. I found it useful, and my system took it in. Then there was Viru. He never reads. The only time I have seen him with a piece of paper was when he had to carry the team-sheet to the toss as stand-in-captain. But that’s also not the point. Viru told me his fondness for humming Hindi songs. They soothe him, he said. Again, I found merit in it. And another advice internalized. Although, I preferred Lata Di to his Kishore Kumar.

Then there have been the not-so-pleasant words of advice. There was Chappell with his De Bono philosophy. While I never quite got what he was driving at, I made it a point to neither smirk like Dada, nor offer a bemused Sehwag-like look. There was also this one incident just outside my house, when a fan (I presume he was one) walked up to me, garlanded me , and then said I was leaving quite a gap between bat and pad and was vulnerable to the inswinger from the right-arm quick bowler. But what surprised me about myself is that I didn’t just brush those words aside. I thought about them, watched a couple of videos of my previous innings, and thought maybe the guy had a point. And this was 16 years into my international career.  It wasn’t as though I was unsure of myself. But I could never brush anything aside, ever. Regardless of the source.

More than anything else, this is what made Sachin Tendulkar. There have been frustrations, and there has often been anger. But it pales into insignificance when compared with what I have gained from it. No matter what people might say, nothing is ever really just MY decision. It is always a considered response to all that my ears take in. Please continue to say things, because I’ll year you. All of you.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and should be taken as such