What Tendulkar denied to the world

For years, almost 21 now, writers have been obsessed with Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, his scores, his chaiwala, his voice, groin, his humility and the joy he has given to millions people around the world. Maybe it is time someone talks about what Sachin denied to several people, unwittingly of course. It is my faithful and sincere attempt to capture some of those atrocities he committed.

To Rahul Dravid: The tag of the greatest Indian batsman of the 90’s and ‘00s, arguably forever. The poor man completed 12,000 runs the other day and is the third in the list of the all-time highest run-getters. Yet, not a word of mention anywhere!

To pretty Anjali, in her teens: The shallow pleasures of being courted by the neighbourhood boys.

To an entire generation of youth: Logic, as they steadfastly believed that India would win the match (every time), simply because he was out there, however ridiculous the odds. It is he who is solely responsible for deluding the whole of the young Indian male brigade, just like that Pathan called Shahrukh who misled the same populace into believing that any girl would fall for them as long as they had a shred of sincerity in their hearts.

To his colony: Any concept of privacy.

To writers who started out in the 2000s: Any original thought, since everything about him had already been written.

To anybody who ever happened to be the second wicket to fall for India: Applause from the crowd. Actually, they did applaud and cheer vociferously, but only because Sachin was walking in. Ask Dravid how it feels.

To Damien Fleming: Any feeling of succour, on his 28th birthday. Incidentally, it was Sachin’s birthday too, the 24th of April. The final of the ’98 Sharjah Cup, Sachin smote anything that came out of an Australian hand to the fence, as India chased down a formidable 272 to emerge champions.

To Coca Cola: A million drinkers. They really couldn’t take to that, when Sachin was drinking Pepsi, eh?

To me: Any money at the end of a cricket World Cup. Every four years, when the World Cup would commence, my family would set up a betting pool of our own, each contributing a princely twenty rupees. The person who would correctly guess the winner of the would get the whole sum at the end of it. Sadly, my love for him never let me place money on any other team and I lost hundred bucks from ’92 to ‘07. I never learnt.

Twenty-one years, boyyo! Curly hair to short hair, Boost to Pepsi, a decade of losing overseas, a World Cup final heartbreak, an ODI double-century, thousands of critics, we saw it all together. Twenty one years boyyo, and fifty centuries later, I still remember our first date of ’89.

P.S - The Narayanan family is rich now, and has raised the stakes. Each one places hundred bucks this time. Of course I will win back all the money I lost, in two months from now, when he scores a century at Wankhede and trounces the Aussies!