The mortality of Sachin Tendulkar

Sachin Tendulkar is the best thing to happen to Indian cricket since the ’83 World Cup, a legend who has inspired generations and spread happiness. I want it to stay that way, and hence, it is my opinion he moves on beyond the cricket field. It is time he retires.

It’s a sad thought, and it’s only logical that more than a few might get heated up at such an opinion. I know I did, and still do at times when people call for his head.

I am no expert, no forecaster and sure as hell no detractor. I adore him, like billions do. He symbolizes the game of cricket for me. Like you and your neighbor, I’d find it pretty hard to accept the conventional Indian scorecard without the S. Tendulkar statistics in the order. I may skip watching an entire match if he’s not playing. I celebrate when he does his Mozart-thing on the field, and tears through milestones. The day seems a little less bright when he walks off with his head lowered. Hearts skip a beat when he dashes to get that quick single; all of life’s big problems vanish when he removes his helmet with one hand and has his bat raised up in the other.

I want it to stay that way; the emotions running high. Every time Sachin comes out to bat, it shouldn’t be for the sole purpose of answering his critics. His caliber and persona as a sportsman, the one he has created over the decades, deserve accreditation way beyond that. People need to be able to cheer when he treats a 140+kmph with a divine straight drive, and not breathe collective sighs of relief at his survival at the crease. Tendulkar coming in to bat should effortlessly inspire confidence, not anxiety.

Let’s not get into a statistical analysis here; this man is beyond numbers and aggregates. Not because he has a demi-God status or that he is beyond criticism; but due to the simple fact that very rarely do you find people who are in love with their discipline for over three decades, and maintain an astonishing level of energy and enthusiasm towards it. My opinion is not formed around the number of times he has heard his stumps leave their perch in recent times or his so-called string of batting failures. Truth is, you know you haven’t lost even if you are nine wickets down and Tendulkar is still in the game.

No, my point has more to do with the sentimental aspect of it all. We as a nation, pour in a lot of emotion into sports – this is our single greatest strength, which also makes us volatile and inconsistent. We are loyal to those who play on the field with their hearts on their sleeves. Sachin did that for over two decades in his cricketing career. To his adoring fans, he represents the shining beacon for everything sports stands for – belief, perseverance and courage.

Life goes on, and the body ages. This is inevitable; ageing cannot be paused, slowed down or reversed (no matter what you hear on TV). Reflexes begin to retard, the channels of co-ordination clog up and stamina wanes. A sportsman dies twice in his lifetime.

Sachin is unarguably at the twilight of his career – the elegance in his stroke-play is no longer complemented by the blinding velocity his reflexes augmented not too long ago. Hence he struggles more often with pace and bounce, and deliveries which he used to dispatch like a bored drug-lord not too long ago. He has held fort longer and better than most, but even the mightiest mountain erodes over time.

It is painful to see this struggle. It is painful to see him lose to mediocre deliveries. It is painful to see knowledgeable people gun for his head after each match, series and season, and hurl such accusations ranging from twitchiness on the field to selfishness off it. It hurts to see him eyeing every delivery as his shot at redemption, and every inning as a desperate opportunity to prove his critics wrong. It hurts seeing a master receive such colossal levels of intolerance for his errors.

Dawn follows darkness, it has to. Bad patches come with a short expiry date, Sachin’s next masterpiece lurks just around the corner, but why wait for that, and keep pressuring him for that? He is treated like this run-machine that is never supposed to stop. “Cricket is my religion and Sachin is my God, and God cannot make mistakes.” Please.

Sachin Tendulkar is a person possessing extraordinary cricketing skills. He is a part of the Indian Cricket Team, and by virtue of his panache complemented by his passion, he has stayed so for the past 23 years. That is all there is to it. As soon as people learn to accept this simple fact, the joy of watching him in action will return.

But sadly, it won’t. Sadly, Sachin’s shadow has outgrown him. There is no doubt that when he says he’ll step down when he stops enjoying playing for India, he speaks the truth. The fact is that day will never come. If not for the vultures circling him every time he walks to those 22 yards, this would have been the best possible news for Indian cricket.

In the years and decades to come, how would we want to remember him – a guy who played into his forties or the legend who anchored a cricketing nation for two decades, and moved on? There is more to his life outside of cricket; there is a future that exists. Perhaps not greener pastures, and surely not as romantic, but it is better than spending his days just responding to non-believers.

There are two ways you can make an exit, one is to fade into the shadows, and the other is to ride into the sunset.

I want Sachin to ride into the sunset, glorious, strong and proud.