And at the Crossroads

On a cold November morning, circa 1989, a precocious child stepped into the world of international cricket. Sachin Tendulkar was barely 16 and, as can be expected, was demurely flirting with the elusive damsel called bravado; there were stars in one of his eyes and anxiety in the other.
After all, even though the excitement of an India cap was palpable, the setting itself was straight out of a nightmare: Karachi was burning with unknown rage and the crowds were perceptibly hostile.Almost everyone was on the edge.
Tendulkar suddenly found himself in the midst of giants, in a world rustled by cunning men and fierce ambition. He couldn''t sleep at night as doubts ambushed him at every turn. Was he good enough to succeed at this level? Could he survive the combined fury of Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis or the mesmeric guile of Imran Khan and Abdul Qadir?
It was, indeed, a lonely and frightening trip to Pakistan. He had to fight various fears, plus all the demons dancing in his own mind, all by himself. But then, almost in a flash, the nightmare passed. A Waqar bouncer sprang at him like a vicious viper, spilled blood and stirred the warrior in him; a man was born that day and the child within accepted defeat and walked out of his life, forever.
Tomorrow, on November 15, 2004, Tendulkar will complete exactly 15 years in the world of cricket. For most part of this period, of course, he rode the game like a colossus, dominating bowlers, winning over fans and delighting purists with his unfettered brilliance and audacious simplicity.
Some day in the future, all these years (and hopefully some more) will be recalled fondly as another glorious era in the history of the game.
But at this moment, as he ambles past his 32nd winter, he finds himself trapped in a sweet irony, at the crossroads: Does he go back to his earlier days when he was the kid in the line-up, and batting was all about hitting the ball over the boundary? Or does he stay with his elderly status, allowing the responsibility to dominate him and curbing his natural instinct?
Tendulkar is probably torn to pieces every moment in this conflict. As an intelligent (and aging) person, he knows that he is on the threshold of numerous records and milestones; he also understands that it''s just a matter of time before they all bow down before him. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he must also be aware of how he is taking himself away from the pantheon of cricket''s greats.
Not too long ago, people were willing to travel miles, across countries, to hear the delicious sound of thunder off his bat. He was the king and he ruled with his cracking shots and crisp drives; defence was just a tool to buy time, to hoodwink the bowler and lure him to his destruction. Slowly but sadly, he was overcome by desire, and inevitably overtaken by fear all over again.
As his body creaked noisily, he felt that he was running out of time; as his bones and muscles ached and complained, he feared that he would not be able to reach his lifetime goals. He took precautions; and then finally, he forsook the one quality that made him extra special: his strokeplay. The hook vanished, the punch of the backfoot evaporated and the frontfoot drive on the rise became rarer.
Suddenly, he had become mortal, just another batsman, culling singles and amassing runs. He got a double hundred in Sydney just last year but how many really remember that knock? How many cherish it? Haunted by the sharp inswinger, and humbled by the cover-drives, he took a bold almost diabolical decision: he buried that stroke during that innings.
Tendulkar was hailed for his abstinence by his loyal fans. But the triumph was a double-edged sword: on the one hand, it showed the strength of his character and the depth of his willpower; but on the other, it proved that he could be overwhelmed by stifling situations, or indeed by dogged adversaries.
The last couple of years have not been so generous to the little master-blaster. As he went into a defensive shell, runs came at a lethargic pace, almost in slow motion; meanwhile, Sehwag and Laxman exhilarated with their flair and cavalier batting while Dravid surpassed him with his supreme technique and steely determination.
Tendulkar the emperor had suddenly become one of the generals. The tennis elbow also came at the most inopportune time, just when he was eager to regain his pre-eminent position. As he waited on the sidelines, the mourners sharpened their knives: time to quit, they declared. It''s all over, others proclaimed.
He looked almost out of place when he returned to Nagpur. The first innings in Mumbai confirmed the belief that the devils of 15 years ago were again playing in his mind; but then, luckily, the magic reappeared and unfolded in the second innings.
He walked in with India staring at another humiliating defeat; he watched the first couple of overs cautiously and then unshackled himself from all his chains. Drives, cuts, pulls and punches off his backfoot, they all came out in celebration; he even danced down the track to tackle the spinners and hit his first Test six in months, probably years.
For those two hours or so, it looked like Tendulkar was a precocious child again. The shots were coming off crisply and the follow-through too was almost perfect. Unfortunately, the 34th century eluded him again and one could see the despair in his return walk; but hopefully, the knock has taught him an important lesson: strokes are his lifeline; they alone make him SACHIN TENDULKAR and not the other way round.
Yes, the country wants him to play his natural game; the team too will benefit if he sheds his inhibitions and attacks more than he defends. After all, records are also like butterflies: they will never come within your grasp if you chase them; let them be and they will chase you.
As Tendulkar enters his sixteenth year in world cricket, he will hopefully take the road less-travelled all over again and ride away to greatness on his strokes. Just like he had done a cold November morning, 15 years ago.