Just past midnight on April 2, 2011, a sea of humanity poured out from the Wankhede Stadium on to Marine Drive in Mumbai in a celebration that lasted all night. Sachin Tendulkar savoured the moment as long as he could, staying back in the dressing room with his teammates, inviting his family and one fan into the usually restricted space to hold aloft the World Cup. The hangover of those celebrations lasted nearly as long as the festivities themselves, but it was something with which many Indians were familiar. After all, the World Cup had been won before, in 1983, and in 2007 the ICC World Twenty20 trophy also found its way into the trophy cabinet. However, no Indian connected to cricket — fan, supporter, follower, journalist, player, stakeholder — has ever had an experience approaching Tendulkar's last Test match. The long kiss goodbye began the moment Tendulkar announced that he would play no more than 200 Tests, processing exactly what this means has been an exercise in futility, as there is no precedent for what is unfolding in Mumbai at the moment. Certainly, great cricketers have called it a day before, some with advance notice, such as Sourav Ganguly, some abruptly and quietly, such as Rahul Dravid. But never has a retiring player been so integral to the fortunes of a team, so much a driver of the sport's economy and so influential a force in dictating the emotions of a nation. The celebration of Tendulkar's career began in the sleepy farming village of Lahli, where the little man played his final hand in a Ranji Trophy match, mastering a spicy pitch and spirited opposition to score an unbeaten 79 in a Mumbai victory. That a village with a population of no more than 4,000 supplied in excess of 10,000 people to fill the stands is a testament to the power of one. In Kolkata, plans were certainly over the top, before the West Indies capitulation meant that 199 kilograms of rose petals, procured to be scattered on the ground from an airplane, remain in cold storage. In Kolkata, there were more felicitation ceremonies than wickets taken and more passionate speeches delivered than any one person can possibly remember. In Mumbai, even as 51 giant hoardings were being erected around the ground, each with a photo from one of Tendulkar's Test centuries, he spent the morning before his final Test in a typically focused net session out in the middle. He batted in three nets, and spent a great deal of time watching his teammates train, and in doing so managed to immerse himself in the purity of the sound of bat hitting ball, thereby temporarily putting the rest of the histrionics to the back of his mind. Chitrabhanu Kadalayil speaks to Osman Samiuddin MS Dhoni, India's usually measured captain, could scarcely hold himself back when asked where he rated Tendulkar in the pantheon of all-time greats of the game. “I would consider him as the greatest because when it comes to Indian cricket, you're under the microscope throughout,” he said. “He's seen changes galore, right from the start in 1989. From that time, Test cricket has changed significantly. In ODI cricket, there have been plenty of changes. And then, there has been the introduction of Twenty20 cricket. “It's not only the cricketing aspect; I think what's difficult to handle in India is the success, the expectations of the people. We're expected to win each and every game, which is not possible. “Yes, there are other greats, but there was one thing they didn't have to deal with, and that's the level of expectations. When you're doing well, that itself puts pressure on you. But imagine when you're going through a lean patch: the expectations go up, they never come down. “You've to handle all those things. I have seen some of the foreign cricketers, they handle cricketing pressures well. But when it comes to handling the pressures that are not really related to cricket, they buckle under. He's been fantastic, and there's plenty to learn from him. Right from 1989 when he became a big star, for a quarter of century he's played for India and he's always been a star.” If Tendulkar had the admiration of perhaps the biggest star in Indian cricket at the moment, he certainly had the adulation of India's self-appointed No 1 fan. Sudhir Kumar Gautam, now a fixture at all of India's games, body painted from head to toe, waving his flag and blowing his conch, left his family and life behind to dedicate himself to the cause of supporting the Indian team, in general, and Tendulkar, specifically. “Tendulkar has told me I must continue to support the team even after he stops playing,” Gautam said. “If he says something, I have to follow it. All I will do is change the message I write on my chest each game. From Tendulkar 10, I will change it to Miss U Sachin.” On the eve of Tendulkar's final Test, Gautam was getting ready to put on his match-day look. “I have to paint myself the night before the game and then I can't sleep the whole time as I need to give it time to dry,” says Gautam. “This is tough, but I enjoy it. I get my energy seeing the hard work of the players.” For Tendulkar, the most special aspect of his final Test is that it will be the first time his mother, Rajni, comes to a cricket ground to watch her son play. Over the years, Rajni has suffered so much watching her son that she prefers to catch the highlights the day after the game, with the tension of the result out of the way. Through his 25-year career, Tendulkar's mother has never once come to a ground to watch her son play. As he steps out onto the field one last time, she will be there to watch him, and complete the circle as he walks away from cricket's warm embrace and gets on with the business of living the rest of his life. Anand Vasu is the managing editor of Wisden India. sports@thenational.ae
