A Guru once said it's the devotees that make the God, and He needs them as much as they Him. When I heard it, I thought it was one more of those abstruse pronunciations. But, it makes sense now. The down side of the devotees defining the God is, He has as many arms as their imagination permits, and feasts on what they desire to devour. We have heard of the God who subsists on sacrificed lambs and quenches his thirst with swigs of alcoholic drinks - a revolting diet He's claimed to have articulated in detail to the blessed few, chosen to look after the omnipotent the Guardian Himself. An attendant response we are well aware of - given the many Gods in the Indian pantheon, each with a litany of incomparable idiosyncrasies - is the distaste for a God, one concentrated on Him for the practices of the zealots who chant His name. Consider, for instance, the compulsion of Vaishnavas to run down Shiva, and vice-versa. If Sachin was 'the' God, then I must ruefully admit I've had to be an iconoclast. My obsession, though, only dawned on me yesterday, as I nearly regretted being at office and missing out on a rather fluent century by the Master Blaster in his final innings; the online scorecard showed him racing along in a manner that was nostalgic.
I have watched and enjoyed Sachin play. I have no misgivings about his talent or his prowess as the greatest run-getter in the world. I have trouble with the persistent proclamation of his preeminence, more often than not through the unwarranted undermining of the abilities and achievements of those who deserve to sit at the same celestial round table as him. Yes, contrast amplifies the perception of depth. Yet it is only a perception.
In attempting to concretize their perception, Sachin devotees resort to something even more obnoxious: the quantification of the intangible genius of the great man. Statistics roll off their tongues like the red carpets laid out to the VIPs at Wankhede's gates. To measure a godly one's worth solely in numbers, be it money, the men he commands, or the runs he has scored is to squeeze the excellence of his existence into a narrow dimension. It is akin to designating Shiva to man the graveyards and Ganesha to hurdle over obstacles, denying the omnipotence you desperately seek to assert.
The other arrows aimed at apostates by Sachin devotees include the unprecedented support he enjoyed, how people would neglect the business of their daily lives to watch him play, how India's fortunes in many a game were held to be synonymous with his performance, how TV sets would be turned off when he got out. While all this is true, it is also a result of the post-liberalization proliferation of TV channels that followed the Indian Cricket team everywhere they went. To even suggest some of his predecessors would not have been watched with as much awe and delight is quite the hyperbole.
Similarly, his evolution into a global icon is a result of the average Indian's love for the game and the enterprise for migrating into cities whose alleys were as bereft of cricket as the roads were of a Maruti.
Is Sachin one of India's greatest sportsmen? Yes. Is his accumulation of runs, especially in Test Cricket, insuperable in extent and class? Yes, indisputably, given the waning public interest in and sponsorship for this form of the game. Is he the greatest ever? I will vouch for that if you let me borrow your time machine so I can witness and write my own report about the past!
Nonetheless, thank you, Sachin. I apologize for the undue resentment I have had for you - a cross fashioned by the mortals who swear allegiance to you. In your farewell address, however, you rid yourself of the tawdry cloak you had been caparisoned with to reveal the essence of godliness: humanity.
P.S: That I can recall a time when you were yet to be the showstopper makes me feel painfully old, though it did elevate the spectacle that saw you off the field for the last time.
I have watched and enjoyed Sachin play. I have no misgivings about his talent or his prowess as the greatest run-getter in the world. I have trouble with the persistent proclamation of his preeminence, more often than not through the unwarranted undermining of the abilities and achievements of those who deserve to sit at the same celestial round table as him. Yes, contrast amplifies the perception of depth. Yet it is only a perception.
In attempting to concretize their perception, Sachin devotees resort to something even more obnoxious: the quantification of the intangible genius of the great man. Statistics roll off their tongues like the red carpets laid out to the VIPs at Wankhede's gates. To measure a godly one's worth solely in numbers, be it money, the men he commands, or the runs he has scored is to squeeze the excellence of his existence into a narrow dimension. It is akin to designating Shiva to man the graveyards and Ganesha to hurdle over obstacles, denying the omnipotence you desperately seek to assert.
The other arrows aimed at apostates by Sachin devotees include the unprecedented support he enjoyed, how people would neglect the business of their daily lives to watch him play, how India's fortunes in many a game were held to be synonymous with his performance, how TV sets would be turned off when he got out. While all this is true, it is also a result of the post-liberalization proliferation of TV channels that followed the Indian Cricket team everywhere they went. To even suggest some of his predecessors would not have been watched with as much awe and delight is quite the hyperbole.
Similarly, his evolution into a global icon is a result of the average Indian's love for the game and the enterprise for migrating into cities whose alleys were as bereft of cricket as the roads were of a Maruti.
Is Sachin one of India's greatest sportsmen? Yes. Is his accumulation of runs, especially in Test Cricket, insuperable in extent and class? Yes, indisputably, given the waning public interest in and sponsorship for this form of the game. Is he the greatest ever? I will vouch for that if you let me borrow your time machine so I can witness and write my own report about the past!
Nonetheless, thank you, Sachin. I apologize for the undue resentment I have had for you - a cross fashioned by the mortals who swear allegiance to you. In your farewell address, however, you rid yourself of the tawdry cloak you had been caparisoned with to reveal the essence of godliness: humanity.
P.S: That I can recall a time when you were yet to be the showstopper makes me feel painfully old, though it did elevate the spectacle that saw you off the field for the last time.
Comments