The Story of Our Lives

Read my review of the docu-drama based on the cricketing journey of Sachin Tendulkar published in this month's Spark magazine.

Or as I called it when I saw the movie - a pilgrimage

http://www.sparkthemagazine.com/the-story-of-our-lives/

The Story of Our Lives

Sachin Tendulkar tickles the ball to the fine leg boundary. He completes a century and India completes a famous win in Chennai. It is not just a victory. It is a balm to the nation after the horrific attacks in Mumbai. It is December 2008.

I turn to my son and whisper in his ear over the din of the movie, “Do you know what’s so special about this match?”

My eight-year-old shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

“You were born that day.”

His eyes light up. I have just given him context.

It is a fleeting moment in a movie filled with many such moments. The movie is ‘Sachin: A Billion Dreams’ and it is a documentary drama based on the life of the legendary Indian cricketer Sachin Tendulkar.

I took my sons (8 and 5) to this movie so that they could learn about their father’s favorite cricketer. That was the purported reason and yet, it turned out to be a movie where they learnt a little bit about their father. They saw me animated, engaged, emotional. That is what context does. That is why the children of the 80s and the 90s have warmed up to this film.

This is not a story about Sachin. It is a story of our lives.

For many like me who have followed his career since we first heard of him as a precocious cricketer in 1989, our lives have been dotted with one Sachin innings after another. They ceased to be just runs made in a cause. They were milestones in our lives.

The movie lays them in our path within a span of two hours.

A young Sachin, born into the middle class household of a sensitive poet, a hardworking mother and loving siblings puts aside his love for mischief and discovers an undying passion for cricket when his brother takes him to the famed coach Mr. Ramakant Achrekar.

The movie traces these moments in Sachin’s life through the wonderful enthusiasm of the child actor portraying him. The movie takes you in through the journey of the little boy who combined his precocious talent with a formidable work ethic and a strong support system to make it to the Indian cricket team to tour Pakistan at the age of 16. The message that talent alone is not enough without the will and hard work to see it to its logical end is there for everyone to grasp.

Tendulkar narrates most of the movie himself, with his family members, his teammates and opponents all pitching in.

As the years roll by, his pursuit of the World Cup gives the movie its rhythm. Through this turmoil, the rise of Tendulkar paralleling the rise of India in the 90s is shown. His great innings start rolling on the scenes and I could hear knowledgeable people in the theater nod their head when he carts Caddick for a six or smashes Kasprowicz in Sharjah. Don Bradman makes an appearance when he talks about how Sachin reminds him of his younger self and Akram chimes in to say that their strategy to win against India was centered around getting Sachin out.

Sachin lays clear his self-doubt when playing his first test match, his frustrations at being dumped as a captain, his thoughts on the the match fixing saga that enveloped cricket, the pain of the many injuries he suffers. But those looking for spicy tidbits or controversy will be largely disappointed. To that end, the movie panders to the non-critical fan, not the neutral observer who might be expecting to hear about the Ferrari controversy or the famous 194 declaration incident.

We get a glimpse into the partnership that makes him tick – that with his wife Anjali. We get to see him as the goofball father who regrets not getting enough time with his children but makes every moment count when he is with them.

I sat through the movie absorbing this life story even though I knew everything there was to know about it. I could recognize every statistic that was mentioned. I had reveled in all the victories that were shown and I had felt heartbroken at every defeat that we had suffered with the little man at the center of it all.

And yet I stayed glued. A.R. Rahman’s pulsating background score with chants of ‘Sachin, Sachin’ remind the viewer of what stadiums felt like when Tendulkar was in the middle. James Erskine does a good job as a director and his most important feat was getting Tendulkar as a narrator to very simply and effectively tell his own story. Special mention must be made about the editing of the movie for it could not have easy to walk through hours and hours of footage and pick the right gems that people could relate to.

The movie rides on nostalgia. It rides on emotion. And that is appropriate. For calling Tendulkar a mere batsman, however good he may have been, does disservice to what he meant to people. There is a poignant moment at the end where Ramesh Tendulkar says with pride, “The thing that gives me most satisfaction is that people think of Sachin as their own. As part of their family.” That sums up the reaction to this film. That sums up my emotions as I sat through this.

Even die-hard Tendulkar fans accept that post retirement, his aura has dimmed as he tries to find a footing in the world outside cricket with constant product promotions and social media pandering. This movie can either be viewed cynically as another rung down the ladder for him or a sincere attempt to share his inspiring journey with the world. I chose the latter.

I have never cried in a movie theater before but found myself welling up quite often. My sons will grow up in the age of Kohli and in the razzmatazz of the IPL. And yet they’ll have known now that Sachin is special. Because the movie said so. Because their father was teary eyed.

Sachin wistfully says in the movie, “Cricket is like oxygen to me.” Surely he must know that for the India that witnessed his growth and continues to shower love on him despite him struggling to find a way to stay relevant post retirement, he has been like oxygen.

At the end of this very subjective review, I can only ask you to watch this movie in a theater. You’ll not be disappointed.

Are you still moping over India's loss at the World Cup? Here's something to add to that feeling smile emoticon While India has done well by winning to World Cups, the losses tend to linger. This is my write up in the Spark magazine, mirroring my cricket watching journey with India's losses at the World Cup over the years. Read on.

http://www.sparkthemagazine.com/?p=9039 

The Cup of Misery

The 2015 cricket World Cup has wound down. There is a new champion in town. India kept saying ‘we won’t give it back’ until they did, to Australia. Some heartaches somehow stay longer and affect you deeper, like a breakup that refuses to leave you. Indian fans have had it good and Indian fans have had it rough in World Cups. This story is not about the successes. This story is about the quintessential Indian cricket fan’s heartaches.

1983 was when the World Cup appeared on the Indian horizon. This was a dream that was undreamt. An against–the-odds story of how a team with no dramatic presence in the one day international (ODI) sphere denied the all-conquering West Indians the chance to win a third consecutive World Cup. Kapil Dev’s catch off Viv Richards, running backwards, against the grain, summed up how an impossible task was suddenly made real. What this win did was to kick start a revolution in the cricket world. A billion people came onboard with a lot of passion. Kapil’s Devils raised expectations among an Indian populace that expected very little until then. Nothing short of a win each time would satisfy them now.

1987 was the first test of that expectation. It was a World Cup that was held in India and its neighbouring countries. India was a favourite to defend its title. The team gave an outstanding performance in the league stage against New Zealand with Sunny Gavaskar scoring his first (and only) ODI century and Chetan Sharma taking the first-ever hat-trick in a World Cup match, and the first one by an Indian bowler. Although I was witness to some celebrations during the 1983 World Cup, this was the first World Cup that I have strong memories of. India’s march to the semi-finals was strong and India was expected to romp through against England to meet Pakistan. It was hoped that Pakistan would beat Australia to setup a dream final. But Gooch and Gatting had other ideas. Gooch in particular swept the Indian bowlers out of the Wankhede dustbowl. The sound of Phil Defreitas’s delivery crashing into the off stump of Sunil Gavaskar in what turned out to be his final ODI innings deflated the crowd and India’s title defence. The dream lay in tatters.

If 1987 was a dream shattered, 1992 was a nightmare fulfilled. India wasn’t a favourite for the tournament and rightly so. They struggled throughout in the round robin format of the tournament (where each team met each other), and only managed to win two games, losing five (with one abandoned). Indian cricketers playing in the first World Cup with coloured clothing brought little by way of cheer. The only exception was a victory against Pakistan, never mind that they went onto win the World Cup. I remember throwing my hands up in frustration watching India lose to Australia by one run in one of the closest finishes at that time in a ODI game.

1996 brought the World Cup back to Indian shores and with it, buckets of expectations. India had, after all, a decent bowling line-up in their backyard, a strong batting line-up and a certain talismanic cricketer who by now was the best batsman in the world. What could possibly go wrong? Well, the pitch in Eden Gardens, Calcutta, for the semi-finals, had different ideas. After Sri Lanka had recovered their way to 251/8, it was always going to be tough. Tendulkar led the way with a quick half century, but once he got out stumped, the rest of the team fell like a rack of bicycles. This enraged the Bengali crowd so much that their anger boiled into a dangerous riot. It was also the day the results of my first semester of engineering were announced. Torn between my sense of loyalty to the Indian team and my desire to know if I had passed the exams, I had hung around till Tendulkar got out and then went to my college. By the time I called home to relay my score, effigies were burning in the stadium. Needless to say, India’s loss stung more than my below-par marks.

1999 was a blur barring Tendulkar’s little gulp-inducing return from India after cremating his father. The World Cup, held in cold England, had a bunch of good performances from India, including the now mandatory win over Pakistan. Their loss to Zimbabwe would hurt them later in the Super Sixes stage. Between the last World Cup and this one, I had gotten myself an engineering degree. India’s wait to regain the World Cup would be longer. At this point, having religiously followed the game for nearly 16 years, I suppose I could have looked at my firecrackers and asked “kab phodenge?” (when will I light them up?)

2003 was an uplifting experience. Recovering from a poor start to the tournament, team India discovered the kind of streak that they had never before encountered in World Cup cricket. They found strength within themselves, huddling and befuddling the opponents. Nothing exemplified this more than the upper cut that Sachin Tendulkar hit off Shoaib Akhtar, lifting all of India to a higher plane. All the promise of a second World Cup win, all the potential came down to a final hurdle: the Aussies. I remember watching that game in Seattle, along with a thousand crazy India cricket fans. A gentleman who accompanied me had not seen an Indian cricket game since migrating to the US in 1966. He had shown up to see what the fuss was about, particularly around Tendulkar. India would go on to lose badly. Nay, crushed, bruised, demolished, steamrolled, all in the course of a Seattle night. Till date, I blame my companion for India’s loss. Perhaps his exile from cricket would have served us well.

If 2003 was heartbreak, 2007 was heartache. Watching cricket in the US is never easy and I – and countless others like me – spent 200 dollars and some small change to buy the package for watching the World Cup. Little did we know that India’s challenge wouldn’t be worth a tenth of that money. Beat Bermuda, were shocked by Bangladesh and then lost to Sri Lanka in a must-win game. Nothing about the campaign was right. The Indian players were unhappy, the audience was unhappy and the whole campaign seemed out of focus. It was exemplified by the singular moment when I went to answer the doorbell to receive my renewed passport only to miss the moment when Tendulkar was castled by Dilhara Fernando.

2011 was the moment of truth. The crowning moment of Tendulkar’s career and Dhoni’s captaining mastery. But let me not dwell on the positives. After all, this is about the crushing distresses of the Indian cricket fan.

Which brings us to 2015, the last chapter in this series thus far. No one expected India to do well after the pounding in the Australian tour. The bowlers were bad, the batsmen were iffy and the chances of winning on Australian soil bleak. But they turned it around, shockingly well. Beat Pakistan, beat South Africa, gave rise to the Mauka jingle, and cruised into the semi-finals, taking 70 wickets in 7 games. And alas, just like the 2003 juggernaut ground to a halt against Aussie might, so did the 2015 speeding bullet. Everyone from Anushka to Dhoni was blamed, ignoring the fact that they were beaten by a superior team.

And so it is, the story of the Indian supporter. The agony and ecstasy of supporting a team that tries its best, raises hopes, occasionally delivers, but mostly leaves the supporter with a bitter sweet feeling after putting its hope in eleven men and a shiny object they call the World Cup. Here’s hoping that in the future years to come, there will be more chances for them to call themselves the World Champions.

The World Cup 2015

And here we are
Yet again
With hopes aloft
And dreams amiss

With God watching
From a comfortable seat
His kingdom assured
His deeds writ

But the lambs go on
To slaughter ordained
Going down under
In Down Under?

Will the champions
Bring it home?
"Won't give it back"
Or pass it along?

The Final Goodbye

So, it is finally here. The second test of the Sachin Tendulkar test series, his final one in whites, his final appearance for the country in a cricket field. It is a time for reflection, for applause and above all, for emotion. You can see the outpouring of emotion coming from all wakes of life - I have spent the past few days reading article after article from person after person whose was either directly involved with Tendulkar or whose life was immeasurably enriched by the presence of the Master in their daily life - a living deity beamed into their rooms.

At this time, I wish I were in Wankhede, waiting and getting to see the Master in play one last time. It is a visceral experience like no other – watching Tendulkar bat on his home ground. I have experienced it once. From the moment that the second wicket falls, all eyes go to the dressing room. You see a figure move, a tiny speck when seen from the distant galleries way above. The shuffle is familiar to you, the adjustment of the handguard second nature. He trudges down with a bat in his hand and the gloves not quite strapped up. As the departing batsman walks back to the pavilion, I wonder where his mind is. Is he thinking about his dismissal or are his thoughts drowned out by the chanting of a name – a single name of two syllables that becomes a cry of celebration and despair at the same time. “Sachin, Sachin”. Over and over, the voices of thousands ring that battle cry that surely has made every visiting player in India smile in wonder. The small figure crosses the boundary into the field, looks up at the sun, does a few jogs and goes into his zone. Oblivious to the burden on a billion people. He takes guard, looks around, shuffles some more and then settles into what must be the most perfectly balanced stance of all batsmen.

The miracle isn’t that he has scored more runs and centuries and played more games than any other player. The miracle is that he has done so despite the expectations placed on him. When he goes onto the ground one last time in Wankhede, I wonder what will go through his mind. Will he let himself go despite a life spent in restraint? Will he allow the world to seep in for a change rather than shut the noise out?

Tendulkar may not succeed in his last game. The odds are against him. With all this pressure, with all the hype, with all the emotion and his own divorce from the game after a quarter of a century at the highest level, the odds are certainly against him scoring big. But again, if he scores a duck, it will serve as poetic justice. Bradman would be proud. It doesn't matter. As Dhoni said, the important thing is that he enjoys his last match. We all sure will. It is a celebration of a career spent in service of the game and the country.

I won’t label myself a sentimental fellow, but I won’t be surprised if I my eyes turned misty sometime over the next five days. Thank you for all the memories, Sachin.

A Religion Without A God

Sometime, in the week of November 14^th 2013, I will lose my job. When the little man with a giant shadow takes a final bow in whites for the last time and trudges back to the pavilion to a rapturous applause and a standing ovation, one of my vocations as a Sachin Tendulkar fan will come to an end. When I started my blog in 2004, this was what I had put in the About Me section "... and will probably stop watching cricket when Tendulkar retires." In 2004, I never felt I would have had to make that choice:(. Tendulkar was always timeless. The man was God, not mortal. He would never retire, the straight drives would keep flowing, and I would keep practicing my religion of cricket. But that is not the case anymore. His heart has told him it is time to go. Tendulkar is retiring and now we are left with a religion without a God.

Reams have been written about Tendulkar’s effect on India, his effect on the game, his standing among the greats. But the real question to ask is: what has Tendulkar’s career meant to you? Was it a nagging constant as a cricket widow, consigned to watching your husbands and son stuck to the television as they wondered how he does it again and again or were you inexorably drawn to watch him cream a cover drive? Were you as a student always seeking to figure out ways in which to bypass the authoritarian pressures of attendance and education so that you could watch him murder the Aussie attack on a sunny Chepauk afternoon? Were you glued to a computer monitor in a faraway land praying for the pirated sports feed to stay honest while he batted, knowing fully well that he has been known to crash servers which never could handle the scale of his fans? Are you a father who gave his son his first bat and told him two things: this is a great game and Tendulkar is the best batsman of all time?

From 1989 to 2013, the lives of a billion Indians have been punctuated with this man’s presence. For Tendulkar fans, events in life correspond with another one of Sachin’s innings. If that isn’t consistency, I don’t know what is. You can strike up a conversation with someone else on one of Sachin’s great knocks and know fully well that the other person will recall exactly where they were and what they were doing at that time. Tendulkar’s dotted career is replete with lines that folks use to connect to one another. It, as I stated before, is all about what it meant to you. So deep was I steeped in his career that at a Mastermind event, I chose ‘Test centuries of Sachin Tendulkar’ as a topic. There are so many incidents that I can recall where a Tendulkar knock added subtext to a life event for me.

Like the time when we played Sri Lanka in the semi-final of the 1996 World Cup. It was the day that the results of our first semester of engineering were announced. Rumor was that the mark sheet was going to be put up in the college sometime in the evening. I got the call when the second innings had started. The prospect of seeing my marks was exciting and nervous, but nothing would drag me away from the screen till Tendulkar was there. He got out and I got out of the house. The disappointment of the low scores I got was nothing compared to the fact that the man and the nation were denied.

What about the other heartbreak of 1999? I was giving my NCST (National center for software technology) entrance exams the day Tendulkar was setting Chepauk alive with a near impossible single-handed chase against the Pakistanis. His back was hurting, he had no support from the other side, but he kept going on like the last action hero. His 136 was worth its weight in gold, but the rest of them could not get the remaining 17 runs. I remember calling home after every paper (there were six of them) to find out what the score was. A bunch of were walking down to the railway station with a radio between us having its volume turned to maximum. The funereal atmosphere was penetrated with the news of the tailenders giving up one by one.

Or the time I was busy watching him do one more chase at Chepauk. This was a fourth innings chase of a target set by the England team. Sehwag had laid the foundation the previous day and Tendulkar was crafting a masterful chase of the remainder. He was on 53 not out when I was put into another situation where I had to abandon my chase of the chase. Our first baby decided that it was time to come out and see the match as well and it involved a sudden rush to the hospital. Among my first questions after the madness of close to thirty-six hours had settled: how much did Sachin score?

I am sure most people have similar stories to tell. How you abandoned another pursuit, stopped your life for a few moments, met with friends to make it a communal experience, deserted sleep to wake up and watch a game in a different time zone – all because Tendulkar had taken guard. In the age of disunity and disharmony, our lives synchronized for a little while.

It was not just his innings, but a little moment in time of a knock that would stay with you. I often dream of a shot he played against Michael Kasprowicz in the Desert Storm innings. The ball was pitched on a good length between middle and off. It swung slightly in the air and was shaping to move away. He was in position in an instant and you could see him have enough time to adjust his shot, bring his bat down, and in a perfect arc, hit it straight down the ground. It was perfection and it stayed with you. How often have you watched the videos of his upper cut against Shoaib or his bullet drives in Australia against Lee? How many such moments of genius have you accumulated in your mind?

As the dust settles down and we reconcile ourselves to a new reality where there will be a different number four playing for India in whites, the presence (or absence) of Tendulkar would be understood. The batting records are beyond challenge, but to measure him on account of his batting records is like looking at the maximum speed a Ferrari can reach. The whole is more than the sum of the parts. The whole in this case, is a true gentleman who has shown the way for how genius combines with hard work, ego can be subjugated in pursuit of excellence, a man dedicated to his art sometimes surpasses it.

Cricket is my religion and Sachin is my God. Atheism awaits me now.

An Epic Tragedy

"India scored 6 before Sachin came in and 4 after he got out. To score 17 runs was way beyond their ability." - Arunabha Sengupta, cricket writer.

Thus can be summarized the story of the lone warrior, in one his greatest epics, a tragedy in cricket that will always make you grimace when you think about it. Sachin Tendulkar, on 31st January, 1999 played one of the great knocks while chasing a target down single-handedly. The venue was Chennai and the opposition was Pakistan. The target was 271 and the bowling attack fairly strong. Wasim, Waqar, Saqlain and Afridi more than make a threat when you are chasing a target of this magnitude with so much pressure on you. Predictably, the other batsmen fell in a heap, with only Mongia managing to make more than 10 runs. Sach was life then. Tendulkar was the only man who could have taken India to victory and bit by bit, with brilliant strokes and dogged determination, he began doing that. His back was hurting and he had limited support at the other end, but he batted like losing wasn’t an option. He picked up the pace after his half century and was able to take all the bowlers apart, including Saqlain. And then it happened. The one shot that all Indians wish would undone. The leading edge that went to the offside and was caught. The heroic effort would end in a tragedy, for the others in the Indian team could not put together the requisite 17 runs. The lone action hero walked away to a standing ovation, but surely with a feeling that he left the job undone. When the awards ceremony was going on, he was inconsolably locked up in the dressing room. An innings such as this would have rivaled Lara’s 153* against Australia, but in some sense, the tragedy added a sheen to it that makes it more enduring. Indeed, his 103* against England at the same venue years later seems fulfilling, but not touching in the same way.

My personal tragedy was that despite watching most of the great innings by the little man, this is one that I could not see as it happened. I was appearing for the national level entrance examinations for NCST (National center for software technology), where we were supposed to answer a series of papers through the day. Lord knows my mind was nowhere near the questions I was supposed to answer. After every paper, in the interim break, I would rush out to a payphone, insert a coin and call home to ask the score. I remember walking back to the railway station with a bunch of folks, one of whom had a radio. Tendulkar had just departed and we were subjected to the ignominy of the Indian loss after that. Tragedy begets tragedy, and mine will be being relegated to watching one of Tendulkar’s greatest innings in Youtube videos.

Life's a Test

One of the highlights of this India trip so far has been my visit to Wankhede to see a day of test cricket. Here is my report from the day, published as an article in the Spark magazine.

http://www.sparkthemagazine.com/?p=4974

A Ton Of Joy

For those who were wondering why there wasn't a grand outpouring on fanatic fandom on my blog after Tendulkar's 100th ton, here's the reason. Spark introduced a new section called Lounge (for articles not related to the theme of the month) and asked me to write a piece on it. Honored and Humbled. Warning: this is not a critical article. This is a response to the armchair critics from an armchair fan!

http://www.sparkthemagazine.com/?p=3765

Survivor Series

Someone give me a T-shirt which says ‘I survived the England and Australia tours’. I deserve it. And so do the countless souls who have braved the gut wrenching times that the past two tours have presented. When your team is team is performing like world champions, you can’t wait for the next match to happen. We’ll show you – yes, we will. We have the uncanny Zaheer Khan – he will make you dance to his tunes. We have the supporting cast of bowlers to die for. We have a captain who can do no wrong. We have batsmen who can butcher bowling attacks. Big Three, Big Five – heck we have the Big Eleven. Foreign shores – we are on our way. We have conquered everything in our past recently, we have proved we are good travelers outside. Win a match you ask? We will win the series – all past ills will be cured, Tendulkar’s name will go up at Lords. What can go wrong? Adrenaline clouds judgment and makes hindsight look obvious. What started off as a limp in Zaheer’s follow through after a few over and two wickets was metaphorically the hamstring injury that Indian cricket suffered with (and is still struggling with) for both the series. The chips fell apart spectacularly after that – a bowling attack without venom spent innings after innings giving away runs, and the batting attack could simply not deal with the swinging ball. Greats such as Tendulkar and Laxman were looking like schoolboys at times. Tendulkar’s 100^th ton’s appearance as an albatross around his neck began in England and it threatens now to consume the twilight of his career. Dravid was to spark brilliantly in England; plowing his way at workmen centuries that weren’t enough to avert a whitewash. Yes, it was a series win after all – but not by the team that were the purported favorites. The team’s bizarre team selections were only beginning to show – taking a half fit Zaheer and a half fit Sehwag over someone will perhaps lesser talent but better physical state was a sign of times of come. The joker in the pack from the selection committee was bringing in a RP Singh to play a test match when he had just returned from consuming sufficient margaritas in Miami.

That was England, one thought. Australia would bring in different results. After all, our batsmen are lords there. Tendulkar, who was getting standing ovations in the last tour there was definite to score his ton of tons here. And in typical Tendulkar fashion, he started well in the first two matches, only to fall to his greatest nemesis – Sachin Tendulkar. That Sachin Tendulkar, who inexplicably shuts off shop mentally and treats each ball like a landmine. That Sachin Tendulkar, who allows bowlers and opposition captains to get his wicket when they are least expecting to get it. What happened to the rest, you ask? Sehwag flashed and got out, because that’s the only way we bats. Pity that all that flashing was not getting any runs. Gambhir gave good slip fielding practice. Laxman was half a second slow in his reflexes. Dravid, the great wall, gave a generation of his followers the intense heartbreaks by getting bowled again and again. The bowlers had little by way of impact and barring Kohli in the last two matches and Umesh Yadav in patches, the test series was a goner. Another whitewash. The ODIs were not much better, barring the last rather incredible chase by Kohli and India, but we would have to kid ourselves if we thought we deserved to be in the finals. A time down in the dumps, rife with internal fighting and with a captain who did not even know that India had any chance of qualification, before the Sri Lanka game was always headed home in a hurry.

Why, they ask me? My friends, colleagues, curious onlookers, once followers of cricket. Why do you still follow? I don’t have any cogent answers other than the fact that I must be a glutton for punishment. Cricket lovers – true cricket lovers, not the ones enamored by the IPL tamasha, are like that. When you have followed your team through thick and thin (mostly thin, when it came to the test arena) over two decades, you don’t abandon ship so soon. When you have followed your favorite cricketers when they turned in world-class performance year after year against great bowling attacks, and in fact have raised their level to take your team to the top of the test world, you don’t stop following them at the sign of the first leak in the boat. You sit through it – you learn that cricket, as in life, is about the ups and downs and while frustrating, it is a rite of passage to stick through it. True passion isn’t all joy, it is a sweet debilitating pain – like getting stuck on 99 centuries, lying in agonizing for that one final hurrah.

Hum Intezaar Karenge

It was the late hours of the evening, where the professed time of sleep for my son had arrived. I was due to perform that duty, reading a set quota of books to him, written by authors I have never heard off. I fired up my trusty Windows smartphone to see what the score might be. On the other side of the world, near the shores of the Arabian Sea, a diminutive giant of a man was heading towards a statistical Everest. Flurries of boundaries as well as an upper cut over the ropes were showing up in the twitter-like commentary that the mobile version of the site was providing. In due deference to the moment that was to arrive, I asked my wife to drop whatever it she was doing and take over my task for the night.


I was an ‘I was there’ moment for me that would translate into an ‘I wasn’t there’ moment for my son; but I am sure he’ll understand when he grows up.

I rushed down to the hall downstairs, switched on my laptop, headed to my list of streaming sites that I trust to bring me the telecast, and cozied myself into my sofa seat, ready for the inevitable. Since updating my Facebook status while cricket goes on has become a regular habit since the World Cup, I posted the following: “I have nails to bite and I am biting them. He has 99 centuries and he is on 94. Hmm, 99.94 :)”

I have enough cricket-crazy friends on my Facebook list to not have to explain the significance of that number. I wrote that, clicked enter, and shifted to the window with the live feed. Ravi Rampaul, the one who produced a brute of a delivery to get Tendulkar’s wicket in the World Cup game, played a similar hand. Ball pitched just short of length, and bouncing just a tad more. Tendulkar, who had batted beautifully until then, decided to hit a trademark backfoot punch. Wrong choice of shot. The celebrations of Rampaul and Sammy would not have endeared them to Indian fans, but hey, they had every right to rejoice.

One mistake and the interminable wait extends. With Tendulkar out of the ODI series against the Windies, the onus shifts to MCG and the Boxing Day game. I know that Australia is one of Tendulkar’s favorite opponents, but a tour of Australia should not have had this landmark to contend with. More drama added to this tale.

I frequented some news articles on the missed opportunity, and as with any Tendulkar article, you realize that he is damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t. People, who would scarcely score a run in gully cricket, call him selfish and playing for records and hogging place in the team; never mind that he still remains one of the top scorers in the team. People who don’t know in swing from out swing believe that he remains incapable of scoring another ton, never mind that he has scored 99 before this. 99! If your mind doesn’t jump everytime you read that statistic, it is simply because nothing Tendulkar does will ever be good enough. He sets a benchmark and keeps excelling it. That single-minded pursuit of greatness, without losing his humility is a very rare cocktail, one which has brought him thus far.

When will century no. 100 happen? I don’t know. At the start of the World Cup, I had posted on Facebook that my dream was that Tendulkar would score a century in the final at Wankhede; his 100th, and then India would lift the cup. That came very close; yesterday was very close, and perhaps there are a couple more heartaches along the way. Nonetheless, watching the man play is a blessing that we should enjoy, without getting lost in the absolute numbers. Sometimes, a straight drive hit right between the stumps and the bowler, is worth its weight in gold. Century no. 100 will happen. Until then, ‘hum intezaar karenge!’

The Blade Of God

The fiend runs in
Thunderbolt in hand
Legs pumping
Arms extended

He hurls it at the
Stationary figure
Serene among the chaos
In a zone of his own

A billion hearts skipping
A collective beat
As the ball hurtles down
At lightning speed

When victory is de facto
And defeat is unacceptable
When a game ceases to be
“Just a game”
When matter of “life and death”
Isn’t just a phrase

In that fraction of a second
When all I said was true
The brute released
A torrent of questions

Then the feet moved
The toes went off the ground
The arms lifted the heavy bat
The cut unleashed on an
Unsuspecting ball

As it sailed into
A jubilant crowd
The ball carried with it
A message clear as day

Mortals won’t win today
For God has taken guard
Batting at number one
For India

P.S> In case it is not obvious, this is an ode to THAT upper cut that Tendulkar hit off Shoaib in the World Cup game in 2003

Win it for Sachin!!

The big event is almost upon us. After years of talking and years of waiting, the World Cup is so close you could almost smell it and touch it. Well, only metaphorically. Actually, teams will have to climb over other competitors, conditions, injuries, bad luck, bad karma and sentiment to touch it and hold it. World Cup no. 6 beckons for the best batsman of all time, certainly in the ODI arena. Although it might be too premature to say anything about a man whose longevity surprises everyone, this very well might be his last outing in colored clothing in a World Cup. He holds all the key records in World Cup history - all except having the World Cup itself. He has done everything one man can do to get his team close to the goal. However, it is a team event and this time round, the rest of the team will have to step up to win this. The team is not completely stable, and I feel unsure about our bowling and middle order batting. Once more, the onus will be on Tendulkar to give good starts to India and guide the middle order through the innings; letting them show their aggression as he holds one end. The competition is tough, with a resurgent England and South Africa, not to count out the dangerous Sri Lanka. Australia for once is not the favorite, and that might work in their favour as well. I see India making it to the semis, but beyond that, it just depends upon the day. Although traditionally home teams have never done at the World Cup, I am hoping that the home supports helps. Dhoni though, gets a good share of luck as a captain and hopefully, he can extract good performances from the resources he has. I for one, am looking forward to watching the games live (or as much as is possible) and watch history being made. For years, the maxim has been: Sachin, win it for India. Now, it should really be: India, win it for Sachin. After years of tireless service to the game and the nation, we owe him that.

Death By Batting

You don’t know what a sigh of relief is unless you have had one now that you have realized that the ongoing test match between India and Sri Lanka just ended. In five days of relentless onslaught by batsmen, only 17 wickets fell. Not a single session was dominated by the bowling side, though there was only a small point in the match where Sri Lanka could have gotten through to India, but then Tendulkar the immaculate accumulator stepped up to the plate. Cricinfo ran a good stats article today about the batting averages of Asian batsmen within and outside Asia. Not surprisingly, only Tendulkar has an average of 50 both inside and outside the sub-continent. Players like Jayawardene confirm their stature as subcontinental batting bullies. Jayawardene in a classic case. In this test match, he broke Don Bradman’s record for most number of centuries in a particular location. This was his 10th or 11th century at the SSC. Ask yourself: how valuable is this record if this is the regular fashion in which this pitch plays? In fact, Sri Lanka has a simple plan – win the toss, rack up a big score, and hope the score induces enough pressure that the team chasing cracks for them to win. This happened in the first test match, where Malinga and Murali (with Malinga in particular) exerted the pressure and got through to India. What is remarkable is that Sri Lanka seems to win the tosses with regularly frequency! Maybe Dhoni should skip batting practice and do some practice to ensure he calls the toss right :)

This match brought back memories of test matches in Sri Lanka in the early 90s. Sri Lanka consciously prepared home tracks with the objective of ‘not losing’. Winning would have been a bonus. Batsmen racked up huge scores at that time (and of course, India was on the receiving end on several occasions), including the highest test score of all time. But it made for terrible test cricket, with no hope of a result in sight. Sub-continental pitches are notorious for being batsmen-oriented, but statistics highlight the attitude of teams in play. Sri Lanka and matches played in Sri Lanka have the highest percentage in terms of number of draws for matches played.

Harsha Bhogle’s article today talks about how curators are burying bowlers with these kind of pitches. That is spot on. I’d like to add that they are burying the spectators and the game too. Test cricket has enough going for it to thrive, but you need to get the bowlers back in the equation. The ongoing matches in England are a case in point. Australia is due in India in October for two test matches. The Ashes hype aside, this particular match-up has been consistently produced good cricket for a few years now. I hope the pitches for these matches are sporting enough to have a chance for a result. That’s the least that can be done. And oh, no more India-Sri Lanka matches please!

Flash Backwards

I was watching the highlights of the day one of the test match at Brabourne being played between India and Sri Lanka and felt instantly nostalgic. The last time I was in there was in the year 1989 watching Australia play Pakistan in the Nehru Cup. 1989!! Given that there is a twenty year gap between a strong memory I possess and today, I must be growing old. I remember going into the match with my father, with the heightened expectation of seeing my cricketing hero in flesh and blood: Allan Border.

Imran Khan, Wasim Akram, Waqar Younis and Abdul Qadir formed a formidable bowling line-up for the Pakistanis and it was always going to be an engaging battle. These were the days when one-day scores weren't of the run-a-ball variety seen today. Pakistan went into bat first and scored over 200. Several times, Border ran back to the boundary to chase the ball and I jumped up and down in excitement. Wasim Akram hit a couple of huge sixes towards the end of the innings and I was pretty certain one of them was going to come in and hit me on my head. Thankfully, nothing of that sort happened and I spent the entire lunch excited in the anticipation of the run chase. Turns out the excitement was to end there. Imran Khan bowled exceptionally well and won the match for Pakistan. When the second Australian wicket fell, my heart lept in pride when the section of crowd I was in started chanting "Border, Border". To my rather limited worldview then, it was heartening to know that my favorite cricketer had other fans too. I joined in the chorus to the best that support my lungs could provide. Unfortunately, it was not to be the day I got to watch him rescue Australia. He pittered and pottered around for a while and ultimately got caught in the gully of Imran's bowling. When you don't watch a match from behind the bowler's arm, you lose out on so much of the details. In those days, there were no big screens on the ground and it was only after I got home and saw some highlights in the news on TV that I realised how much prodigious swing Imran had managed to extract from that pitch. It was not a match that had India in it, but I could hardly be called neutral.

There is something about that ritual: of waking up early in the morning to go to a cricket stadium, of a father taking a son along, partaking in the excitement and curiosity of the young one, creating memories that fire up after so many years. It is a rite of passage, a bonding ritual, a tender lesson. Here's to the hope that someday there will be at least one more trip to Brabourne, by a father and son with the last name Pandya. Perhaps twenty years after that, that son might reminisce the occasion as fondly.

T20 is DLF (Destined to Last Forever) Maximum?

These mornings seem a little quieter with the IPL having completed its second version in South Africa. For the past month or so, I had IPL being relayed to my television set at home for my father to enjoy watching some cricket in between breaks of taking care of his grandson, and also at TV monitors across the Microsoft Redmond campus, where one could catch a few glimpses of the game while getting some coffee or heating some food.

I have not been fully convinced by the twenty twenty format, but I am at least fully convinced that it is here to stay, with the IPL 2 also having completed its edition successfully. This year was more interesting than the last because the bowlers actually had a say, unlike the first edition where a bowling machine would have served the very same purpose. At least some batting skill was required, which allowed ‘test players’ like Dravid and Kallis to display their wares and actually make it to the final.

I won’t go into details on how the tournament went. There are reams of paper and online space devoted to it. Some things that stood out for me was the repeat success of an Australian captain, supposed oldies playing so well, the fake IPL player blog providing more entertainment than the cricket at times, the unbearable level of commentary and Tendulkar’s destiny to never succeed as a captain.

With talks of two IPL editions in the same year, a T20 world cup to follow with hardly any breathing space, a champion’s trophy for T20 teams at the end of the year and the seemingly unstoppable momentum of the different cricket boards in adopting T20, the fears for the health of test cricket are well and truly alive. As Rob Steen pointed out correctly in this Cricinfo article what motivation do players have to play for their nation when they could be earning big sums of money for a few good games a year? Andrew Flintoff already screwed himself and the English cricket team ahead of the Ashes by playing for money. How much more time before we have T20 specialists who have no ambition to play either test cricket or any other form of cricket for their country? How much more time before the FTP (Future Tours Program) is abandoned by the ICC? How much longer before test cricket will cease to exist beyond the top four teams or series might have not more than two test matches?

There are two parties involved here who will call the shots: the administrators (a.k.a. Lalit Modi and the ilk) and the players (including Bravo and Flintoff with altered priorities) in deciding the direction cricket will take in the future. Administrators can focus on preparing dead pitches to ensure no one is interested in test cricket, and players can keep choosing T20 tournaments over playing in a bilateral test series. Aiding and abetting are the consumers thirsty for instant gratification, the curse of our generation. The dwindling minority with people like me will fume and fret and blog about it and in another decade resort to watching old recordings of Tendulkar’s 155 not out against Australia in Chennai or Warne’s ball of the century. C’est la vie.

The beginning of the end

So, it has begun. The first of the modern day greats of Indian cricket has begun the exit march. Saurav Ganguly’s saga has never been a predictable one and the end only validates the theme. I think he made the smart move. He was always going to be the one that would be the first to go because he is the least indispensible of the lot. I wasn’t surprised when he was not picked for the Irani trophy match. Saddened, but not surprised. But when he was ultimately selected for the series, he did the smart thing by latching onto a chance for a graceful exit. Chances are the clamor for young India would have only increased as the series would have wound to a close.

In some sense, this is an exit forced by the new India that disheartens me. We have become a country of snap judgments, of sensational headlines, an impatient nature and opinions expressed in SMS polls. Public memory has never been shorter. The coverage on the 24 hour news channels is depressingly dramatic and aggressive. Yes, we lost the series in Sri Lanka, and yes, every player has his shelf life, but it seems to me like every failure is amplified to gargantuan proportions nowadays. We lost to Sri Lanka due to a collective batting failure but what gives that can’t possibly be enough to sack an entire middle order. Earlier that year, we gave Australia a run for their money and while not in prime form against South Africa, we didn’t lose the series. In the middle of all this was a series of inconsequential one day games which for the most part, no one can remember. What has changed dramatically? Perhaps it’s the romantic in me that wants to see proper respect given to the people of the caliber of Sachin and Dravid and I feel that the nation today is incapable of providing it. Dhoni’s ‘Youngistan’ may go on to do well in the future but I can’t see them being the same role models of professionalism and perseverance as the current middle order. Dhoni’s decision to skip the test series in Sri Lanka has dropped him a notch in the way I perceive him. Test cricket is sacrosanct to me, and preferring to play in T20 over that shows where his priorities lay.

I am rooting for the oldies of the team. I am rooting for these champions to do well because that will at least shut up the doubters for a while. India start this series as the favorites, but the media is already pulling them down by putting this extra pressure on the seniors. Ricky Ponting is a shrewd guy and has already read the situation perfectly. He said in his interview that with a single failure, the media in India will only add to the pressure on the seniors and that will play right into the hands of the Australians. With a new look side that doesn’t have the same class as the previous visiting Australians, Ponting will be hoping for the Indian media and public to help him with the job.

Objectively speaking, I expect India to win the series 2-1 or 2-0. I am most worried about Bangalore because of our track record here and the fact that Australian fast bowlers will do reasonably well. I hope that we press the home advantage and prepare spinning tracks. No shame in that. I don’t expect Ponting to fall to Harbhajan like he has in the past so we better be prepared for the likes of him and Clarke scoring well.

I’ll be eagerly looking forward to catching this test series the best I can (it will start late night for me, so one session at best before I need to sleep). Moreover, I’ll be waiting to catch some gorgeous off drives from the Prince of Calcutta, the most successful captain India has ever had. After this series, on the off side, only one God will prevail.

Chaanta Laga

The “obnoxious weed” (courtesy Matthew Hayden) is at it again. A couple of weeks into the Indian Professional League, Harbhajan has usurped the most entertaining factor in the league: the cheerleaders. Somewhere down the line after the mind-numbing display of batting over the first two weeks, the matches are beginning to be regularly lop-sided. I get it though. IPL is not about the cricket. It’s about entertainment. It’s about Shah Rukh Khan jumping in the aisles and Preity Zinta rushing to the ground to give “her” team a good old hug for finally winning a match. It is about the razzmatazz and the ability to satisfy the short attention spans of the viewing public. The format of the game is biased towards the batsmen and it takes an extraordinary bowler by McGrath to dictate terms. We’ll get to that later. The debate on the merits of this form of the game can be endless. To get back to the top selling points of IPL, the cheerleaders were heralded as the great “innovation”. Vijay Mallya brought to India the pom-pom wielding Amazons from the Washington Redskins. Their presence was warranted so much that Dravid and co. were banned from the ground while they perfected their routines. They hogged the limelight, they hogged TV time by jumping to action anytime a four or a six or a wicket came about (and there were plenty of those to come by) and the hogged the radars of the moralists who are worried about the length of their skirts upsetting the rather delicate minds of the Indians who apparently can’t keep their eye on the ball.

They had the center stage, until Harbhajan arrived. He captained his side, the Mumbai Indians, to a third successive loss in the IPL. Perhaps his patience gave way. Perhaps the culprit, the man who can single handedly bring down India’s cricketing reputation down, Shantakumar Sreesanth, needled him a wee bit too much. But it happened nonetheless. Harbhajan’s hand rose above his head where you couldn’t fault him for not bending his elbow enough, and it came down with the grip of a doosra, one that an inexperienced Sreesanth couldn’t be faulted for not anticipating. It landed on Sreesanth’s face just in the right area sending his head into a spin that he couldn’t handle. On being thus dismissed, he let his disappointment known. Tears rolled down his face uncontrollably and the rest is televised history.

Perhaps Harbhajan took his loyalty to his team too seriously. Aren’t these players a bit like hired mercernaries? Would a Pollock really care Mumbai wins or Bangalore does? What’s his loyalty to the city? As per the franchise system he might get transferred somewhere else. These matches are a bit like matches I played in our building while growing up. Two strong players would be captains and the rest be picked turn by turn. Everyone just played to get their chance to do their bit with the bat and ball. Winning would be a bonus. No teams would be the same over two days and it really was entertainment. Perhaps this simplistic view of the IPL is necessary for me. Cricket after all is my passion and I’ll love IPL, even if I end up treating it with the partiality of a step-child. While IPL doesn’t give me the satisfaction of watching cricket, the least I can derive of it is the entertainment. For that, I need to thank Harbhajan and congratulate him for topping my charts. It’s a slap in the face of the all-domineering cheerleaders.

Permanent Insanity

BCCI has done it again. It has riled me enough to wake me out of my blogging slumber. For days I have been searching for something that I feel passionate enough to write about. Trust the greediest organization that exists today to do this. The IPL tamasha has been in full swing. They have put an end to the international careers of people like Shane Bond because they aren’t competing in their twenty-twenty league. Now they are nailing the coffin efficiently by shunting out test matches. I saw a news article today about how BCCI will sacrifice a test match during England’s tour of India to accommodate, hold your breath, seven one day internationals and two twenty-twenty games!!! Ostensibly, the reason being given is that England’s players want to be back by Christmas. Forget for once the fact that Indian players in the past have always had to tour around Diwali. I mean, you can’t expect the Indian board to care about that, right? However, sacrificing a test match to accommodate two or three more mind-numbing, inconsequential bouts of fifty over games is infuriating. Who the hell remembers these games? Raise your hand if you can recollect any of the matches of the seven match one day series between India and Australia last year. Now, raise your hand if you remember what happened in the test series in Australia soon after. I rest my case. I know of course that I am in a minority. I cling by the silly romance of the test match, the belief that it is a true test of skill and quality. I know that most cricket viewers today don’t have the patience to watch a day long game, and would rather be done within three hours. Watching a test match is out of the question altogether. I know of course that in the long term test matches will reduce substantially, what with BCCI in full pursuit. However, I am entitled to my frustration. Today’s cricket viewer probably deems cricket as mere entertainment, where bowlers are props and the number of boundaries and sixers is directly proportional to the amount of satisfaction a viewer ends the day with. Subtlety is a curse. Unfortunately, BCCI will speed track that argument to satisfy its thirst for money. I feel for my game, and the shabby treatment it is being meted out. I wouldn’t be surprised if the pitches for the South Africa test matches turn out to be deadpan batting tracks resulting in draws (akin to the Pakistan team’s turn) thus allowing BCCI more freedom in killing of what is obviously no golden goose for it.

Monkey Business

The verdict is out and Harbhajan has been cleared of the racism charge. After the extreme drama where Mike Procter handed out the initial judgement to the constant pressures applied by the BCCI, this has been the ugliest story of the cricketing season. While the suspension was pushed away until this hearing so that the tests could proceed as planned, BCCI took to extraordinary tactics to put pressure on ICC and CA (Cricket Australia). They threatened to cancel the tour, kept their players in Adelaide etc.

Predictably, the Aussie media retaliated with criticism of the reversal of the charge against Harbhajan. They all talk about how CA & ICC bent over to accomodate BCCI. However, the Australians are missing the point. There issue snowballed because (a) Ricky Ponting decided to escalate the issue despite Kumble's suggestion not to (b) the obviously biased Mike Procter gave a horrendous decision where he took one man's word over another's. That the trusted party was white does not help matter.

Australians need to understand that this isn't the first time Indians and Asians have been at the receiving end of such treatment. The Mike Deniss incident was another case in point. It is the pent up frustration of this treatment at the hands of non-Asian teams and match referrees that has led to this.

If BCCI put on pressure, its only because ICC and CA would understand only that language. The fact is that the first judgement was wrong that the only right thing was its reversal. Is it so difficult for anyone to see? In what court of law would you proceed on one man's word over the other? If it can't be proved that Harbhajan uttered the racist comments, then obviously the charge against him is without basis. I am not a big fan of BCCI. It is a powerful yet greedy organization which has never cared for the betterment of cricket. But on this issue, I support their actions. It is a matter of national pride, an assertion of identity. Non-Asian teams have rolled over the Asians for years now with the consent of the ICC. Now, there's no need to take that kind of nonsense anymore. I can clearly see how only BCCI could have achieved this. Imagine if this would have happened with a less influential cricketing board like Sri Lanka. Do you think the player would have had a second trial and be exonerated? That being said, players like Harbhajan and Sreesanth need to be told by the BCCI to conduct themselves better on the field. For all the drama, Harbhajan had a very ordinary series and I would definitely rather pick Murali Karthik for the upcoming series against the South Africans. Put your performances where your mouth is. There is a reason no one sledges Tendulkar.

42

I rise from the depths of my own Deep Thought. Is 42 really the answer to everything? I had mentioned once in my old posts on Tendulkar's 35th test century: "With apologies to Douglas Adams, the meaning of life is not 42. It is 35." Am I being made to eat my own words? Tendulkar has had a fantastic year in one day cricket. Over a thousand runs scored, fantastic average, and more importantly the starts that have allowed India to win matches against England, South Africa and Pakistan. The glitch? A small matter of scores in the 90s. Six of them. Three scores of 99 (no other batsman in the history of ODIs has them) and the tally of 90s now reads 16. Its heartbreaking. Tendulkar has scaled great heights as a sportsman this year for me. He has proved that he still has the sublimity of a genius, but is prepared to grind his way through like a journeyman when he needs to. He has the footwork and balance beyond mortals, yet pulls out his grit from deep within when he shows up on the job with two left feet. Eventually, it is not about the runs. It is about the one shot in the innings that might stay with you. It is that single cover drive he hits. It is as if perfection has been defined and achieved at the same time. The one shot that makes something in your mind click because you sense you have seen something special. The one shot, like a straight drive for six off Kasprovich's bowling in 1998 Sharjah, where you can sense that he had that extra second to hit that shot; like he saw it coming and time slowed down a fraction for him to execute it. Genius is a lot of things, but at the end of the day, genius is that which reveals itself to the hungry waiting mortals in a brief moment. For the longer he stays, the more he unfurls. When he does unleash his skills and go through to the 90s, the anticipation of the hundred is heart-pumping. The sight of a forty-second century celebration, helmet removed, arms raised, a look to the heaven is now a sight for the expectant eyes. The century is not for him, it is for us. Having watched him come so close six times in a row this year has been agonizing. It is a comma, followed by a semi-colon leading up to a full stop. Get it Sachin. The answer to our impatience lies in it.