Saachin! Saaachiin! Saaachiiiin!

When the first Indian wicket, Dhawan, falls, India's score is 77/1 in response to West Indies' 182. 

A ball later, the other opener, M. Vijay, too is gone, and while India are reduced to 77/2 in 13.4 overs, the Wankhede crowd wildly cheers the fall of these two wickets. 

For in walks Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, the man they have come to watch. 

The atmosphere is filled with cheers of  Saachin! Saaachiin! Saaachiiiin! 

The crowd refuses to sit. 

Everyone seems to be standing.

It is impossible to not feel the energy, adrenalin, adulation and sporting magic. From player to spectator and vice versa.

It is hard not to choke in the midst of this kind of limitless energy and pure love. 

One can go on and on about the records that were made, the matches that were won, the runs not scored and the matches that were lost. 

One can go on and on about the non-controversial and impeccable record or the need for a more proactive and political stand on matters of importance. 

One can go on and on about how he has single-handedly inspired thousands to pursue cricket and millions to watch it— day after day— despite all the highs and lows that have hit the Gentleman’s Game. 

Was he selfish to make all those records or was he a team player? Or could he be both? 

Is he the best Cricket can ever have or has had?

How important are round figures? 100 centuries, 200 tests, first to cross, last to break. 

Are 99 runs not as good as 100? 

Relentless efforts, relentless. Is that unique to him? Don’t others do that? 

Terrific shots, painful surgeries, pressure of a billion —all right, at least millions of — fans. No we don’t know what that is, that is surely unique to this man, who is at the crease and had patiently waved every time the crowd cheered in the first session as he fielded. 

Did he make us forget our daily worries and the nation's grave problems? Was it a good thing? 

His impact on the industry of cricket, the money, the market. 

His impact on cricket writing and reading. 

His impact on cricket and every other game by virtue of drawing talent, support and fortunes to cricket. Knowingly or unknowingly. His influence on his seniors, colleagues, juniors. 

His captaincy. His ghost-captaincy or guidance on technique and temperament to his team mates, IPL or otherwise. 

His restaurant. Monkeygate. And his Ferrari. And the movie— Ferrari ki sawari. 

There are those celebrity friends and one-bucket-bath BMC campaigns. There is middle class humility and yet such coveted exclusivity. 

Then there is his personal history – his family – wife and his brother, his coach, his record-holder friend Vinod Kambli, his father, father’s memories and tribute. And his mother, for the first time in the stands today.

All the places— Sharadashram school, Shivaji Park, Lord’s. 

All the ambitions and achievements: World Cups and tournaments that were lost, fought for and won. 

Selection of shots— cover drive or straight. IPL or ODIs or Tests.

His curly hair. His peculiar voice. His this. His that. His good. His bad. 

There are so many important people in the stadium but no one cares. Not even the celebrities themselves. It is him and him alone.

As the day’s play comes to an end, the crowd is still thumping and singing everything from moraya re bappa moraya re to just simply: 

Saachin! Saaachiin! Saaachiiiin! 

And as the Mexican waves refuse to let up and the crowd refuses to sit down, I am reminded of Carpe Diem. Not just seizing the moment, but living in it, making the most of it.

I don’t know what went before this and what comes next but this is a moment to cherish. 

I hope all sporting greats and geniuses get this respect and love from us, the aam janta. 

Is it the golden fading sunlight or is there a special glow or is it just my head going tizzy-dizzy with Sachin mania?