The Day The Music Died

Imagine you are happily married. Nothing about your life is extraordinary, but life is still good. Then one day, you visit a place you used to visit often as a teenager. A place where you have had good times. You eat at the same place you used to eat 10 years ago. You drink the same coffee. You remember the girl you were head over heels in college. All you wished back then was to marry her. You live in that 10 years ago moment, for a moment, sharing a laugh with your friends. But before you know a sudden sadness engulfs your heart. A sadness that this is no longer a part of your life. A sadness that stems from letting go. A sadness that comes from remembering the good times, and realizing how you will never be so innocent, pristine and happy again. How it will never be the same, however hard you try.

I have felt like a jilted lover since Sachin announced his retirement from ODI's last year. I have been trying to avoid any discussion, thought, rationalization or argument about him. I wanted my moment with Sachin alone. I did not know how to come to peace with the inevitable fact about his retirement, that he will no longer be seen on the green fields, wielding his wooden wand. These last few days have been a rush to accept that fact. These last few days, on the eve of his last test match have been an emotional upheaval. Routine life seems too trivial. As Sachin raises his bat one last time, I cannot ignore the sadness creeping in as he walks back to the stand. I can feel the silence of the crowds within me. They are chanting his name, but that's because they don't know what to do. The silence is discomforting, so they make noise. Every video snippet they have been showing about him, every stroke he played in his last test match, brings back a flash of memories from my own childhood. And then it occurred to me - that this was as much as my journey, in fact may be more so, than it was Tendulkar's.

"As soon as he comes out, the thunder starts

from fifty thousand throats the sun made dry. 

You almost hear the fifty thousand hearts, 

In ragged unison, beat for one boy. "

These lines are still fresh in my mind. They echo each time he walks into the field. I was in 9th or 10th grade when I first came across this great poem "From the Cheap Seats" by Dom Moraes. I chose it for my class' "poem recital" assignment. It was akin to making a statement for me, for someone who had always played it safe with the academic world until then. Just couple of years ago, I had chosen the ever so safe John Keats. But reciting a poem about Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar was not in consideration. You couldn't just take a poem off a local magazine, could you?. It has to be a classic, a famous one. I don't why I chose this, but I did. I still remember from when I was in front of the class-that it didn't mater to me what others thought. I was singing praises for my hero, and for all I know,  it was as good as a classic.

But the Sachin fascination had started long ago. To tell the truth, I don't know how or when it started. To me, it feels like I was just born with it. I remember, like every other teenager my generation having Sachin posters in my room. The good looking posters at Archies were expensive, reserved as birthday gifts, but most of us made do with the cheaper Sarasbaug variety. As a kid, I couldn't get enough of him. That hasn't changed yet. I saved every news article, every photo, every magazine I found. I never realized when this habit become an obsession. There was a phase where my only topic of conversation with the outside world was Sachin. If they didn't want to speak about him, I didn't speak at all. Even when I went to someone else's house, I went through their newspaper "raddi" to find Sachin related stuff because they subscribed to a different newspaper. Eventually my relatives just started saving them for me.

"Ten years ago they mispronounced his name
At Lord’s, where, with a catch, a myth began.

Tall, cold, and arrogant, the captains came
to break this boy, and found he was a man."

I remember when my elder brother got married, my only criterion to make an opinion about his wife was whether she was a Tendulkar fan or not. That's all that mattered to me. She went into my golden list of people when she told me she also has a small collection of Sachin articles, saved from her childhood, which she would happily give to me for safekeeping.

Its been more than 6 years that I have been away from my home. Before I left for the US, I put all my stuff in a closet, including my Sachin collection. When I think back, out of 4 big shelves that I had for myself, 2 represented my life of 23 years. And 2 were occupied by Sachin. This closetful of memories is one of my only treasures remaining. And the treasure keeps building up. Even now, whenever Tendulkar scores a century, when he hit 200, when he announced retirement, every important news about him, I call up my sister back home and tell her to go crazy with magazine and newspaper shopping, take all those magazines and put them in my closet. Each time I visit home, I need one more shelf.

"Thickset and stocky, he takes guard today.

Designer stubble coarsens his young cheeks.
What fetches thousands here to see him play?

You feel the watchers stir in the cheap seats"

I thought I am going to meet my hero some day. And I thought my closet-full of memories will take me towards him. My plan as a teenager was to make a giant scrap book with all my collection, and present it to Sachin. I thought he would like it. I have forever imagined that photo of me presenting it to him, and he carving his autograph on it. And with that heightened enthusiasm, I collected even more. 

Life happened. I came to the US. Things became too commonplace in my life. But Sachin kept on beckoning us. The advent of internet made it difficult to collect. Honestly, there was a certain charm in trying to find that one good article in a used book store. You felt connected. With the internet, there was just too much written about him. I almost gave up trying to store every online article I came across. That's when in a fit of outrage at myself, I made a pact with my close friend Maanas, to start "Project Sachin". The idea was, we would weed through the tons of online material, and select the very best. Review and filter even further. The idea was to "recruit" only the very best variety of Sachin fans to do this. Fortunately, and unsurprisingly, all my best friends are ardent Tendulkar connoisseurs. We even made plans to rope in our software developer friend Varun to make an iPhone app about Sachin. Free for all. Just the very best, no nonsense collection of articles, photos and videos about Sachin. And we were still going to present that scrapbook to Sachin.

"Suddenly as the sun, he finds his power.

So, when the ringmaster assumes his place, 

flashes and whipcracks fill the acrid air, 

though he shows no emotion in his face."

There is still a folder named "Project Sachin" in my Dropbox-shared with Maanas. That project remained a distant dream. Unlike Sachin, we gave in to life, and pursued our trivial routines. When I saw "Farewell Tendulkar" section on the Cricinfo website, my heart burnt. That comes close to what we were trying to achieve. That could have been us. Only if we had tried a bit harder. 

But may be it is alright. Just like a 100 in his last game, something incomplete feels more connected. Something more remembered. We will always want to finish that project. That will keep Sachin alive in our hearts.

"The great show’s on the road, the circus tent 

made of leached sky. The tricolour hangs slack.

Not many people know what it once meant.

The marvellous boy refuses to turn back."

Sachin has gone through his own set of struggles. Every hero needs it, to reinvent himself. He needs to grapple with the enormous burden on his shoulders. He needs to grapple with the power he has. Its interesting, Sachin, that you think that we stayed with you for 24 years. It was actually you who held on. Through our ups and downs. Graduations and weddings. You never gave up on us.

The media hasn't been very kind with him in the last few years. Yes, they praise him quickly, but they write him off fast too. I felt disappointed at the cries asking for his retirement. Yesterday, everyone wanted just one more stroke, one more word, one more minute from him. But the same people had called for his head. I know there were "logical" and "numerical" arguments to support his retirement earlier, but I think there was a fair poetic logic in allowing him to struggle at the end phase of his career. Sachin and cricket were in love with each other. They are one and the same. For someone who has given every breath to cricket, the only possible way was to fight staying with cricket. Quitting while on the top would have been a logical decision. For Sachin, cricket came from his heart. As with many things in life, struggle often implies love. I can only imagine, how heartbroken he must have felt, when he heard that they don't want him anymore. His struggle till the very end, shows his love for the game and his commitment.

But it doesn't matter now. As of tomorrow, the world is already different.

"The watchers in cheap seats applaud it all 

with puny wooden drums, instead of words.

Fireworks explode round fences as the ball 

soars up in its huge arc to threaten birds."

His fans have matured with him. We used to fight for him and argue for him. We were hurt when anyone criticized him. We took it personally when he was spoken in a bad light. I still remember a small incident from almost a decade ago. A few of us had gone on a day trip to Singhagad. We were having food at the small hut, a quick fix hotel atop Singhagad. That hotel had a Sachin Pepsi poster on one of its outside walls. It was windy that day. A certain strong gust of wind took that poster down when we heard the owner of that hotel shout out to his waiter boy "Aeee arey bagh toh Sachya padla...". He meant to say Sachin's poster fell down, but it literally translates to "Sachin fell". I still remember throwing bewildered glances at Maanas. We both shared the same thought-how dare the hotel owner say such a thing !

But we have come a long way ourselves. We have learnt that our love for Sachin is beyond numbers, beyond statistics. Just like Sachin, we silently laugh and walk away when we hear critics. Sometimes calmness is an outcome of having enough faith. Noise is needed when we are trying to convince others, but more importantly convince ourselves of what we are shouting about.

They call him "God". Rightly so. And I understand and agree wholeheartedly with the emotion behind it, but I personally refrain from using that term. Not because I don't want to associate him with God, but because it takes away the credit from Sachin. It takes away his genius. The surprising part is; that he is, indeed a human. A mortal. And even then, he is everything else.

"Now strings are pulled, the tricolour unfurled.

But he’s empowered, not reined by any rope.

Tatters of colour, shreds of sound, are whirled 

around the cheap seats, in a rage of hope,

while with his bat he reinvents their world."

Looking back at Sachin's life and career, it makes us feel good about ourselves. Through more than just cricket, he inspires us to be better. To be simple. Watching Sachin finally show emotions on the field was heartbreaking. My heart went out for that one person. Again.

Sir Tendulkar-you were an honest happiness. You were an addiction. An inspiration. A friend. A constant companion. You were always in our prayers. One of the few that were answered. You define our generation. You identify us.

Watching you has been a poetry in motion. I don't know if you are a cricketer first or a musician. A sportsman or a composer. For that willow is more than just a bat. It was your baton. Thank you for being there for us. Thank you for all the joy. Thank you for the music.

It was an absolute honor.

Letting you go is difficult. Very damn difficult.

Nachiket Mehta
16th Nov, 2013

Some moments are etched in our memory...they play like an endless loop.
 It is surprising how we remember everything about them-the silent living room,
the quick prayers, the noise of leather on wood, and then the chaotic jubilation. 

THANK YOU SACHIN

(Sums up the emotions of a billion people)