Tributes to Tendulkar

In a couple of ways, both are joined at the hip. One is through mind-numbing statistics. Don Bradman’s batting genius is expressed best by his batting average of 99.94. This one simple numerical value reveals more about his skills and performances than would the countless books that have been written about him in the past 80 years. Tendulkar’s Test average, in the late 50s, is clearly not the yardstick of comparison. But 50 Test centuries is a whopping number. Add 46 more in ODIs - plus some more that are surely there in the future — and you could reach a figure that is likely to boggle the mind of all future generations, much as Bradman’s batting average has.

Every newcomer that walks into the dressing room has a Tendulkar story to narrate. It is usually about their observation while watching the legend preparing for the game. Many have tried to emulate him in all earnestness but given up as the standard set was too high and far too many sacrifices had to be made. Moreover, the ingrained meticulousness that Tendulkar has been born with was tough to cultivate. As a senior journalist once said after having tea in Tendulkar’s hotel room, “He prepares tea like he is cooking biryani.”

There is no doubt that scoring a half-century of centuries is a remarkable feat in itself. This achievement speaks volumes for the cricketer`s temperament and his ability to adapt to changing times in the sports world. In fact, 20 years is a long time in the international sporting arena. Surviving for that long takes courage and determination. It is, as such, also about having enough passion for the game over that long a period to keep one`s fitness level at the requisite level.

As prodigious as he was murderous, Tendulkar exemplified in that innings a 36-year-old veteran who was celebrating, as it were, the teenager he had been, the one a nation could not but adore. We got it all in that 81-ball hundred: the impudent straight hits that disappeared into the stands; the textbook cover drives that split the field; the canny improvisations that yielded runs behind the wicket; the flicks off his legs to backward of square; and the hoicks in the arc between mid on and mid wicket that were destined to be boundaries no sooner had they left the bat.

He was the guy, remember, who’d make up on the cricket field for our everyday inadequacies as a nation, for our singular failure to excel at other sports and for his team’s lack of support — he would, for the length of his innings, offer respite from all-round underachievement. Post-Mandal, post-liberalisation, post-Cold War, India’s doing better, other sports and the cricket team too. But he still stands out.