Tendulkar walks off the pitch for perhaps the last time in competitive cricket. Photo: Satish Bate/Hindustan Times
At Wankhede, fans had a hard time coming to terms with the reality that soon there will be no more Tendulkar in their lives
A little after 10.30 on a hot Friday morning in Mumbai, a deathly silence fell across the packed Wankhede stadium after Sachin Tendulkar hit a rising ball from Narsingh Deonarine to Darren Sammy in the slips. He was out for 74.
And then that thunderous chant of his name broke out as Tendulkar walked off the pitch for perhaps the last time in competitive cricket. The image of the little man going towards the dressing room while thousands stood up to salute him was a sight to behold. It was hard not to be moved by the emotional upsurge for the man they call God.
Tendulkar was batting towards what his fans were hoping was an inevitable century. He was in fine nick when he came in to bat on the first day of the match, after the West Indian batting line-up had collapsed. Two shots on Thursday morning showed that he was in top form: first a straight drive and then a thumping cover drive off the back foot against Tino Best. The crowd went wild with joy with every run—because the whole point of their presence there was to pay homage to the man who has lit up their world for 24 years.
The first big match Tendulkar played at the Wankhede Stadium was way back in December 1988. He was a schoolboy then. There were not many spectators in the stands, except childhood friends who were there to watch his Ranji Trophy debut as well as some of the wise old men of Mumbai cricket. It was already well known around the cricket circuit in the city that this boy would now carry the baton of a batting tradition that had been passed from Vijay Merchant to Vijay Manjrekar to Ajit Wadekar to Sunil Gavaskar to Dilip Vengsarkar.
Tendulkar scored a century on debut that day. The crowds started pouring in as the season progressed. His fame spread. The calculated assault on a Haryana attack led by Kapil Dev and Chetan Sharma during the manic run chase in the 1991 Ranji finals is still remembered in local cricket. As is his classy 233 against Tamil Nadu in the 1999 Ranji semi-finals.
Tendulkar has scored only a solitary century in his 10 Test matches on his home ground, though there were some gems: a lovely 97 against South Africa in 2000, a fighting 76 against Australia a year later when the rest of the team could score only another 100 between them and an unforgettable 55 on a dust bowl against Australia in 2004, when Tendulkar and V.V.S. Laxman set up an improbable India win.
Wankhede may not have been his happiest hunting ground, but the devotion in the stands has never been affected by such empirical inconveniences.
And it is in the stands that the real fervour of devotion has always been evident, the sort of mass adulation that cannot be managed with any amount of money, power, demagoguery or spin doctoring. The chants were in his name, the T-shirts sported the number 10, the posters celebrated his genius, the messages being flashed on the giant screen were for him; even the waving India flags seemed an extension of the special bats with the tricolour motif that he had patriotically chosen to play with.
The public reverence embraced two low-key people who made Tendulkar what he is—his mother Rajni and his coach Ramakant Achrekar. There was wild applause whenever either of their faces was shown on the giant TV screens. The third person Tendulkar owes a lot to—his elder brother, Ajit—typically chose to watch the match quietly with his friends in the Divecha stand.
Ever since Tendulkar began playing there, the Wankhede stadium—and indeed cricket grounds across the country—began to see a curious sight that was on display even 25 years later on Thursday: the stands would empty out once Tendulkar was dismissed. The long weekend ahead suddenly seemed a challenge as Tendulkar was dismissed before lunch.
People had come to watch him. Period.
But every despairing fan clings to hope. Even though Tendulkar played a gem of an innings, there is still the lingering expectation of an unexpected final act before the match ends. One of the mad calculations being made in the stands later in the afternoon was about what should happen for Tendulkar to get a second innings. Most of the hopes seemed focused on a massive West Indian assault on Day Three led by Chris Gayle, so that India would be forced to bat again.
Such talk was only proof that the fans do not seem to have come to terms with the reality that there will soon be no more Tendulkar in their lives.
One fan was more realistic, holding up a banner that said: “I will always remember that I was there when Sachin played his last innings.”
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