The Tallest Man

THE TALLEST MAN

Lets go back in time,

The clock ticks, regardless of anything else. And with its hands, so easily, changes everything. People come and go, live and die, play cricket and retire from it. There isn't much one could do to stop all this from happening, not even if it's the love of his life that is going away; it's his best friend who is dying; or it's Sachin Tendulkar who is retiring from cricket. We could really not do anything about this. These are moments when you feel helpless. You begin to think of all your limitations as a human being. You tend to question any power you ever thought you had to change things and make a difference. These are tough times, really really tough times.

However, the trick is that we are enough smart and delusional to find a remedy for everything. At least, a mental remedy. Optimism is a funny thing. And it leads me to think that I have been exceptionally lucky to have been born in the era when Sachin played. I am luckier that I could develop a keen interest in cricket at an early age and a fairly decent understanding of it as I grew up. Just as it must be special to have spoken to Aristotle, it must be special to have shared a joke with Oscar Wilde, it must be special to have seen Beethoven performing live, it is special, incredibly special, to have seen Sachin Tendulkar bat.

The fact that he is the best is an aphorism. Only the unfortunate or the ignorant would doubt that. I pity them. Their life must be dull. The idea of there being a better player than Sachin in the future reads like a flimsy tale of popular fiction. Sachin's technique, hundreds, stroke-play have dominated a tremendous amount of both verbal and written communication that I have ever been part of. Conversations about him have been the background music of my life.

The sheer amount and quality of joy that Sachin has given me, given us is unparalleled. He could take someone out of depression with a straight drive. A paddle sweep might encourage you to always look for a smarter way out of trouble. A back foot punch might be enough to revive the optimism of a generation. And a cover drive, in a moment, could win more hearts than the most gorgeous woman you know can. Sachin Tendulkar's batting is the closest the human race has come to perfection of any kind. There is abundant art in everything that he has ever done with a cricket bat. He is the only piece of poetry that is not written. He has, after all, been Sachin Tendulkar.

The first thing I ever wrote by choice was a letter to Sachin Tendulkar. He has lit up my childhood better than  most of my friends. Personally, the memories of his various knocks, strokes, cricket battles are some of my best ones. I haven't read and discussed more about anyone else. I don't believe in idols, but if I did there would be no two ways about him being the one for me. I don't believe in god either, but if I did I would be convinced that it is Sachin. I do believe in admiration though. And I have admired Sachin more than anyone else. He has influenced my life, constantly given me a reason to smile and rejoice. It's surprising that someone you have never met or interacted with could play such a huge role in your life. I have not done anything for him in return. Yes, I have NEVER doubted him during the worst of the phases of his career and have occasionally been stupid enough to hope that he would never retire. But all that came to me naturally. It was more of natural admiration than something that sounds as grand as standing up for someone. What use has he been to me? Well, no use at all. As Oscar Wilde said, all art is useless.

Sachin is now gone from a game he defined as much as the game defined him. I don't want to make this sound like an elegy. It's not one. In the language of cricket, Sachin Tendulkar is the longest and the most brilliant  sentence ever written. Cricket has punctuated it today by adding a full-stop. Cricket is a great sport. The show must go on and it will. The sun will rise on a cricket field again tomorrow. It will find thousands of fans once again cheering for players who walk out in colorful clothes to battle it out for a hundred overs. It will find the sport being played in different formats. It will find cricket more evolved as time progresses. And it will find the game played as frequently as it would love. What the sun will not find, however, is a tiny man who raised a bat towards it each time he scored a hundred and gave it its best reason to rise again.

This is just a small attempt to do something for the inspiration of my life.