The shack echoed with a cheerful clamour and claps when Sachin guided the last ball out of the boundary. For him it was just another victory, but for the people there it became a reason to unfasten their shirts button and fly it making a wreath of contentment.
A sweet sillage and drop of water from his torn out roof plunged into his eyes brought him a new morning. Sachin, woke up with the reminiscences of the last night Indian victory and his favorite cricketer Sachin Tendulkar one more century. Sachin, lives in a small slum-house nearby Nizammudin railway station in Delhi. Every morning while rinsing his body with cold water he sings the latest Hindi movies songs. He goes to school with his friends who adore him as much they respect Sachin Tendulakar.
Sachin worshiped Sachin Tendulkar . He often asks his uncle to recite him a story of Sachin Tendulakar first innings in Pakistan, where he was attacked by Pakistani bowlers but later avenged him by making fifty three runs off 18 balls, including an over in which he scored 27 runs off leg spinner Abdul Qadir. A sudden fervor gushed into his veins and he calls for his friends for the next match.
Cricket is not only a game in India but a religion and Sachin is the god of this religion. Sachin exists in million smiles and sighs of India. Sachin is celebrated in this soil. Sachin remembers when he first watched the cricket game on the slum’s only television and still remembers how fortunate he felt to hear his name aloud whenever the lord of cricket came to the ground. The name was given to him by his parents who was not as crazier about cricket as he was for it. He loved when Sachin showed his bat after making a possible victory in a match with Pakistan.
Sachin and his friends played cricket after returning from their schools. The cricket ground for them was the railway track nearby their slum-house. The fear of a train coming was vanquished by their enthusiasm. Friends were often divided into two cricket squad that was India and Pakistan.
The paper boats in the monsoon were superseded by the vibrant game of cricket. The entire colony witnessed the zeal of little Sachin and applauded him whenever he blew away the attacking leather balls. The drizzle merged with the drops of zeal which were running down his body only to smolder him more . The last hit from his bat glided the chunks of his bat askew.
The game ended and it became to drizzle for the second time that night. The drops grew heavier and reflected in the headlights of the cars. It was said by some people that the god was crying for the little child, who was trying to assemble the pieces of his bat. To others it was just rain.
Unfortunately, the clock was ticking, the hours were going by. The past increased the future. Possibilities decreased regrets mounted. Sachin, works in a garment factory. He sometimes stops and be the part of audience watching matches . The childhood dream of becoming sachin tendulakar was brushed by the crude realities of life. For him nobody could have replaced his god who is Sachin Tendulakar.
Sachin now waits for his lord’s last match. For Tendulkar it might just an end of a game but for his devotee it would be an end to his mirth and celebrations.
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