Sport | Cricket
Two days with a future legend: Sachin Tendulkar
The first thing Tendulkar did on turning 18 — on becoming a man — was to head to the local driving office to apply for a licence. It has been full speed ahead ever since
- By Robin Chatterjee, Deputy Managing Editor
- Published: 00:00 November 15, 2009
- Image Credit: Supplied
- Sachin Tendulakar
I wish I could have been fortunate enough to get a front row seat every time Sachin Tendulkar notched up a century, but under the circumstances I'll take what I get. In my case it was two days in the life of a cricketer who went on to transcend the game.
The otherwise manic city of Kolkata seems to notch up the madness in the month of April. Summer descends on the metropolis with all the vengeance it can muster against a passing spring - the humidity, smog and searing heat makes for a mind-numbing combination. Journalists prefer to stay indoors and work the phones for their stories.
I found myself doing the same. In my case it was a long-distance call to Mumbai trying to convince (I call it hustling) Sachin Tendulkar and his brother Ajit to give me time for an interview.
It was April 20, 1991, and the mercury was climbing steadily. My mission was to fly down to Mumbai in the hope that Tendulkar would give me an interview and an insight into his life. It was to be a glimpse into the life of a boy about to turn into a man on his 18th birthday on April 24. I had some kind of premonition that his life was about to change forever and before it did I wanted to archive a few normal moments of it.
Time is a four letter word for Tendulkar. It has an enormous price tag attached to it. It was hard to come by in 1991and it is equally difficult in 2009.
An hour later, buoyed by the fact that he could spare 30 precious minutes during a Ranji Trophy game, I took a two and a half hour flight to Mumbai on April 27.
Three days earlier our protagonist had turned 18, thus becoming eligible to drive a car through the pot-holed streets of Mumbai.
He may not look tall when he walks up to you but one cannot help but look up to him. Tendulkar wore his celebrity well. He did not seem to be buckling down under expectations.
The frills of his success as a cricketer had begun to emerge then — courtesy the power operated windows fitted to a blue Maruti 800. The tinted glass on the driver's side rolled down and a teenaged face with a mop of thick curly hair stuck his head out to study me with a curious and naked interest.
Then suddenly he stuck out a chubby paw to shake my hand. "Hi, I'm Sachin, how are you?" The grip was sure and firm. Test cricket's second youngest centurion had the clasp of a man.
The first question, after all the esoterics were over, seemed to beg itself. I asked him about the first thing he did when he turned 18. He explained in a halting tongue: "I went straight to the local driving office and applied for my license. I had already filled up my forms before my birthday. I'm just crazy about driving and cars..."
...Mumbai folklore now has it that when a certain Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar is in town the silence of the night often gets punctured by the howl of a Ferrari engine.
The story has remained constant but the car has been upgraded to a Lamborghini Diablo, or so I am given to believe. It's just a case of a man who drives out seeking the darkness and solitude of the night to be with himself and his thoughts.
In retrospect, Tendulkar had been incredibly generous. The 30 minutes we had slotted for the interview stretched to two days.
During this time he treated me to an impeccable Ranji Trophy knock of 88, which ended due to his own impetuosity rather than great bowling; an insight into his life and a glimpse of the simplicity with which he lived it, along with a family who never allowed him to forget who he was.
We drove through the streets of Mumbai and to his house talking about his cricket, his priorities, his family, his friends, his privacy, his music, his state-of-the art stereo system, and even the possibility of taking a sip from the magnum of bubbly that he was awarded after being adjudged man-of-the match for becoming the second youngest centurion in Test cricket against England at Old Trafford.
I couldn't help but wonder if he knew what he was going to be. It was a bit like Superman slowly coming to terms with the vast range of his powers and how best he could use them.
Today while pondering over the growth of Tendulkar one cannot help but wince at the enormity of what he has achieved. He has stood out for India during moments of victory but more importantly, he has sparkled in defeat, battling and scraping with the best of them to earn the respect of his opponents.
There are so many milestones in his career, but for me just a few stand out. His bowling (yes bowling!) at the death to Allan Donald in Kolkata. His air-dash to Mumbai when informed about the passing of his father and then returning to World Cup duty for India to score a century illustrated the steel in his character.
He looked up at the skies after that hundred and offered a silent prayer in homage. This has now become his trademark ritual after every milestone.
Back-to-back centuries
There were the two back-to-back centuries against Zimbabwe and Australia in Sharjah and the failed attempt to win a Test against Pakistan in Chennai after taking India to within 17 runs of the target.
The five or more occasions when he clawed his way into the nineties only to lose his wicket reminded us of how human he could be. But he took it in his stride.
More recently, he dazzled the crowds in Hyderabad with a scintillating 175 only to end up on the losing side.
The four run loss was heartbreaking but the symphony conducted by his art of batsmanship left the critics and the crowds in a trance. The stature of his innings gained prominence over the defeat.
Tendulkar has concealed the lines between greatness and genius. This has made criticism of him immaterial. He has made it evident that even in the second decade of a record-filled career he plays cricket for the sheer simplicity of it all.
To score runs and be part of a winning team that represents his country. To this end he is humble but, more importantly, he has humbled us.
"Something has changed," he told me excitedly when I asked him in 1991 about the transition he was making from young boy to hero. He found it difficult to explain the phenomenon. "I can feel it, but I can't quite place it," he confessed, his eyes and his brain were locked in a struggle for the perfect response before he gave up.
Today, all Tendulkar has to do is look around him to find the answer to that question. The world lies at his feet and the plains sometimes can be clearer when viewed from the mountain.
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