AN HONORARY CENTURY - It will be

http://www.telegraphindia.com/1120312/jsp/opinion/story_15211175.jsp 

AN HONORARY CENTURY - It will be a pity if a hero turns into an embarrassment

Ashok Mitra

The following is from the annals of Santiniketan, Tagore's abode of peace, in its early phase. Several of the poet's early associates and acolytes had continued to hold, for decades on end, teaching or other assignments in the institution. They had made significant contributions towards building Santiniketan into what it became, and were dearly loved and adored. They, however, had a problem. They had reached doddering old age, their faculties had declined steeply, their hands and arms shook, their speech was hardly audible, yet they would not consider retirement. They were much too attached to Santiniketan to contemplate an existence detached or away from it. The authorities on their part were most reluctant to do something that might seem rude or unkind. In that era, there were no hard and fast rules; it was left to an individual to choose the moment he would walk into oblivion. Youngsters in the faculty felt helpless. Santiniketan, they were convinced, must keep open house for new ideas. For that to happen, fresh faces had to be allowed entry into its precincts. Given budgetary constraints, that was not possible unless the seniors vacated the space they occupied. It was a stalemate of a situation. Suddenly, events began to stir. A ceremonial function was arranged on the occasion of one of the oldies reaching his 80th year. Accolade after accolade was rained on him on the occasion; he was unable to bear the strain of such high-flown stuff; and died within three months. Exactly the same thing happened with the oldie who was honoured next year on his 80th birthday; he too breathed his last within three months. Faith took charge at this stage. The young generation prepared a roster of the seniors they dearly wanted to bid adieu to and would insist on organizing serial birthday bashes for them. It worked like magic, so much so that the moment an ancient, yet-to-retire veteran would espy a cluster of young colleagues and students approaching in his direction, he would run for dear life on his wobbly legs. An unsavoury story, a wicked story, a tasteless story, but the context is so glaringly obvious. How to persuade Sachin Tendulkar to withdraw from international cricket, while a minimum of dignity still attaches to his persona, is threatening to emerge as a major national issue. Tendulkar keeps chasing what more and more looks like a will-o'-the-wisp, the one-hundredth 100 in formally recognized international cricket. By now, at least 15 opportunities have come and gone for him to reach the target. To no avail. For whatever reason, he has stumbled on every occasion, a few times getting out in the nervous nineties. Age is evidently sneaking up on him. His reflexes have slackened and his intuition has begun to malfunction. He has of late been consistently unable to cope with the swinging ball. Snide comments have come from the lips of the captain of the India team — more than a dozen years his junior — on the current quality of Sachin's fielding. Sachin has made the country's upper and middle classes proud by his achievements spread over nearly a quarter of a century. He has millions of wildly enthusiastic fans. His cricketing talent has also made him one of the wealthiest persons in the country. The media have treated him not just as an idol, but as a god. The milling crowd of frenzied admirers could not have agreed more. He has been a gold mine for those in the world of public relations and advertising. Had he chosen to take the bow, say, about six months ago, the Indian establishment — and the cricket-crazy multitude — would have continued with this idolatry. To try to run down Sachin Tendulkar would have been not merely lèse majesté, it would have been heinous blasphemy. But Sachin's timing failed. He has possibly the wrong set of advisers, or he is too knuckle-headed to listen to them. Why did he not take the cue from the great Australian cricketer with whom Indians are fond of comparing him? Don Bradman needed to score only four runs in his final appearance in the Tests to attain the unbelievable average of 100. As it happened, he scored a duck in that Test innings against England. He, however, was not tempted to revise the decision he had earlier taken. Even though the tantalizing and apparently not-at-all-unattainable goal remained unreached, Donald George Bradman is, however, no less Donald George Bradman. It has not detracted from his greatness that his Test average is not quite a full 100 but a shade less. On the contrary, admiration is showered on him on account of the restraint of character he demonstrated in sticking to his original decision. Future generations would similarly have hardly bothered if Sachin Tendulkar scored altogether not 100 centuries in international cricket, but one less; to score 99 centuries at that level is by itself an amazing feat. Posterity, on the other hand, would think a little less of Sachin because of the manner he has allowed himself to be tempted to keep trying, umpteen number of times, for that elusive one hundredth 100. He had no further need to prove anything either to himself or to others. The consequences of his misjudgment could be tragic. Who knows, future generations might even refer to him as the comic character who missed scoring the one hundredth century and went off his rails. At this moment it is an awkward state of affairs as Sachin would not retire and neither the selectors nor the Board of Control for Cricket in India would dare to make him retire. Asking for his retirement, it is being hinted, would be an affront to culture as defined in the neighbourhood; after all, India carries the load of 5,000 years of civilization. Conceivably, the BCCI has more mundane considerations as well; it can hold the view that the Tendulkar name is still the best advertisement for Indian cricket and it is not a sensible thing to pack off the hen that lays the golden eggs. Here too, the Board can learn from Australia. That country's current cricket legend, Ricky Ponting, failed to click in four or five successive one-day international matches. He has been unceremoniously dropped from the team by the country's cricket governing body, Cricket Australia; Ponting, too, straightaway took the hint; he announced his formal retirement from the ODIs with immediate effect. We in India have a different approach though: we keep pretending to squeeze the lemon even if it has turned all dry and desiccated. Why not admit it, nobody retires in this country on his or her own volition. Not politicians, not academics, not race jockeys, not musicians or film stars or professional crooks. The ancient texts did, of course, talk of voluntary banaprastha, the coordinates of living were then of a fundamentally different genre. As brave new worlds unfolded through history, brave new codes of behaviour have come to dominate the social ethos. Continuance in a position where one has attained unique distinction has at present many specific rewards: it is not merely pelf, it is pelf accompanied by honour, prestige and power. Indians, despite the abracadabra of their claimed philosophy, are intensely materialistic. They adore the smell of money. They adore, too, the extra dividends affluence brings in, including social recognition. They therefore stick it out and remain where they are until wretched doomsday arrives. The cricket establishment would be reluctant to let Sachin Tendulkar vacate centrestage; he himself appears incapable of exercising the necessary self-will. The hero is turning into an embarrassment and, worse, the butt of biting humour. The other day, a suggestion was set afloat in cynical Calcutta. Since the city suffers from scholarly pretensions, the proposal bears the trace of academic passion. The Board of Control for Cricket in India, it says, should persuade the International Cricket Council to permit it, the BCCI, to confer on Sachin Tendulkar a century, honoris causa, at a grand congregation to be organized in Mumbai. There would be an informal understanding with the celebrity: now that he would have his one hundredth 100, he would announce at the congregation his retirement from international cricket; the cricketing world would thereby be relieved of further tension. Maybe a cruel, unkind piece of humour. But never was such unkindness more richly deserved.