The Silence of Tendulkar and its Ceremonial Breaking
It’s something to realize that, even with his 25 years in the game, few of us have heard Tendulkar actually speak on anything substantial for any length of time. I mean, we know what his voice sounds like because yes, there have been the TV ads (‘I’ve got the Visa power. Now YOU go get it!’ was one from about 2006, if memory serves). And yes too, there have been any number of Man of the Match and the like interviews. But as tends to happen, those are invariably filled with platitudes (‘XYZ bowled in the right areas and made things hard for me’) and clichés (‘We know they’re a good team and will come back hard at us in the next match’). They can hardly give anyone an insight into the kind of person this is, about his fears and triumphs, vulnerabilities and friends. It’s a measure of how private he has kept his life outside cricket, in the face of the most public glare possible, that we know so little about Tendulkar the man, beyond his cricket.
Then again, what do we really know about so many other sports superstars outside what they play? Dhoni? Maria Sharapova? Kobe Bryant? Usain Bolt? Very little, unless they manage to get embroiled in news beyond their sport. Magic Johnson, for example, found out he was HIV-positive in 1991. The way his life has gone in the years since tells us more about him than the years he spent in college and pro basketball. Lance Armstrong’s troubles with drugs paint a picture of him that we would never have got, had we known him only as a Tour de France cycling champion.
This is not to say that such pictures are painted only by essentially negative experiences. McEnroe relishes playing lead guitar in a rock band, for example. If an accomplished tennis player belting out the blues isn’t enough for you, there’s Andre Agassi, who started a school for underprivileged kids. In his autobiography Open, he writes about wondering what to say to the first graduating class. He finally decides to speak about contradictions: ‘Life is a tennis match between polar opposites,’ he tells them. Then this winner of eight Grand Slams tells us: ‘What other message could they expect from a ninth-grade dropout whose proudest accomplishment is his school?
Today we wait for Tendulkar to speak because we want a glimpse, like with those other stars, into his real self outside of cricket. We hope he will lift the veil on this occasion, at least to the extent he can — because today, the usual platitudes will mean even less than they usually do.
When he gets the mike, Tendulkar is unable to speak for a few moments. That’s partly because he is clearly and understandably overcome with emotion, but also because the crowd noise is something fierce, something passionate. Such are the emotions this man evokes in his fans. He can’t begin to speak until there’s a little quiet. So he asks for some. ‘All my friends, please settle down and let me talk!’ he pleads. ‘I’ll get more and more emotional.’ He waits a little longer. The crowd takes its time to quiet down. Then he starts:
My life [has been] between 22 yards for 24 years, and it is hard to believe that that wonderful journey has come to an end. I would like to take this opportunity to thank people who have played an important role in my life. Also, for the first time in my life I am carrying a list, to remember all the names in case I forget someone. I hope you understand. It’s getting a little bit difficult to talk but I will manage.
Tendulkar’s list starts with his late father. He speaks of his mother. An uncle and aunt who cared for him in his youth. His brother and sister. His other brother Ajit (‘you may find this hard to believe but even last night he called to discuss my dismissal, knowing that there was a remote chance of batting again’). Then his wife Anjali (‘you are the best partnership I’ve had’, a nice reminder of when Don Bradman called his marriage to Jessie ‘the greatest partnership of my life’). His children Sara and Arjun (‘the two precious diamonds of my life’). His in-laws.
His coach Ramakant Achrekar (‘Sir has never ever said “well played” to me because he thought I would get complacent’). The Mumbai Cricket Association and the BCCI. Retired teammates Rahul Dravid, Sourav Ganguly, VVS Laxman, Anil Kumble and those now playing (‘all of us are so, so fortunate and proud to be part of the Indian cricket team’).
His doctors and trainers.
His first manager, the late Mark Mascarenhas. His current agency. His manager, Vinod Nayudu.
The media. The photographers.
‘All the people here. … Your support was dear to me and meant a lot. … Thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
And finally, ‘The memories you have left with me will be with me forever and ever, especially ‘Sachin, Sachin’ which will reverberate in my ears till I stop breathing. Thank you very much. If I have missed out on saying something, I hope you understand. Goodbye.’
Extracted with permission from Final Test: Exit Sachin Tendulkar by Dilip D’Souza, Random House India.
Dilip D’Souza is a writer-journalist from Mumbai. He is the author of The Curious Case of Binayak Sen, and FINAL TEST:Exit Sachin Tendulkar. He claims to be not leftist, not rightist, but is a typist. He’s in there like swimwear