I remember this conversation with Appa. He came home for his evening tea, and there was a game. Amma brought some snacks and we all sat before Television (oh, I used to have one those days). Sunil Gavaskar was invited as a special commentator, and he giving some talks, calling out names for their performance in the previous match.
He was calling out my favourite players and said that they could have scored faster. I couldn’t see that. I was angry. I know he was a top-class batter, but I didn’t see him in any of the innings. The only scorecard that came to my mind was 36 (174). I threw that scorecard on my appa’s face, who seemed to have agreed to what his favourite player was telling. He was glad just to see him. Amma was neither agreeing to me nor nodding to my appa. Maybe, her focus was on snacks. Of course, she wouldn’t want to miss a ball of the relay which was about to begin.
I mean, I belong to this generation of people who gave a different meaning to cricket. No, not that generation who thinks IPL is the best format, but the middle one, who still believes Ponting used spring bat and there will be a rematch. Oh, don’t blame me. I think heartbreak is lesser this way.
Now, let me get back to the story. I asked him why he loves Gavaskar. He smiled. He asked me why I loved Tendulkar. I was too young to answer, and my answer was that he fought for India when nobody else did. He smiled again.
I asked why does it even matter when Tendulkar would eventually go on to break his records, I said. He told me, if not Tendulkar, somebody else would. If Tendulkar goes on to break his record, tomorrow, somebody else would break Tendulkar’s record. It goes that way, he said.
However, the hope Gavaskar gave us is not even close to what Tendulkar did to him, he said. I fought once again. I took my diary, told him the scores Tendulkar made in that particular year. He again said that someone else would perform better than Tendulkar in future, but that wouldn’t change the way you love him, right, he asked. I was confused, and I nodded. He said that things work that way for many of us. He said he fell in love with cricket because of the Gavaskar and that didn’t change in years. As the match began, all three of us sat and watched it and a few minutes later, appa returned to work.
Days later, I finally got to watch Gavaskar’s play for the first time. I was scared to even see the run-up of many bowlers he faced, and he was doing it with a floppy hat and not even helmet. He was different from the image I had when he was a commentator. I still believe that it is two different people.
In the next match, Gavaskar once again was talking about different things about how the players should improve their running between the wickets and many things. This time I was less angry. Though I wasn’t ready to hear his commentary, I believed there were plenty of them who were just glad to catch the glimpse of him after the retirement. The impact he had on that generation is phenomenal.
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He had the patience to leave the ball that was outside and he would be quick to play those that were in the line of the stumps or close to him. He loved to stand up against some of the scary bowlers and took them on.
Despite him playing millions of deliveries for a pretty few runs, those were worth it. People really did wait for the magical square drive he would produce then and now. Even that means waiting for 100 deliveries, the fans were ready to do so. He not only drove the opponents crazy but also taught the skill to his younger generations.
I wasn’t around when Gavaskar began or ended his career. Most of the followers today is not around or was not a cricket fan when Tendulkar began or ended. The cycle goes on. The talk goes on. The fight goes on. The comparison goes on. However, these cricketers will not be known just for their numbers but more than that. They all drive the nation. They are the Gods of their generation. Oh, Cricket is crazy as religion, isn’t it?
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