Tendulkar's Retirement & You

Sid,

The weather compels me to revisit the 16th of November, 2013. The nation had come to a standstill because it was Sachin who was playing his final test, his 200th, in Mumbai. People with records always get the privileges. I have never been a great fan of the Masterblaster, as they used (and still) call him. I grew up differing and defending my loyalties towards Jonty Rhodes and Wasim Akram, and later Saurav Ganguly and Shoaib Akhtar. South Africa -- the perennial chokers, winning until the Finals, of any tournament. People said I was like that team, rise-rise-rise and then a great fall.

Was that what happened between us? To our relationship? You took to the t20s, while I remained with the tests? You took to the glamour, while I preferred the whites? You had no time, while I was willing to stop it. You know why I remember Sachin's retirement? We made out that day, for that one last time, and departed in smiles. As the West Indians clapped and the Indians cried, we became irrationally emotional too. We heard him speak on the TV and held our hands. We were together after brief and frequent upheavals of any and all kinds. That was one day too. We were out of giving ourselves time, coffee and it was only his timing that made you stay back that one bit longer. 

The day has entered cricketing history, alongside other fascinating records. But there will be one the date will never know. That we held on, virtually. We gave ourselves that one last chance. And like the records, all that remain of us now are memories. And of a victorious innings of friendship. I cherish it, what we have today. Sachin has become healthier in fat, while we have grown in faith. He has adopted villages, while we have adapted to our newer selves. It works. Life has moved on, and without regrets, quite decently.

Except for days like these, when the weather compels me to think of how much swag you would have had while you came closer to me, smelling of Fahrenheit. Now that we do not have diaries, I will preserve this mail in my inbox, and someday, when I am close to dying, or have had a drink too many to overcome, or should it be overpower, courage with foolishness, I will click send, and you will get to read it. 

And get to know that I know how you still love me, as much as I do. It is fate that we are apart, and thank god, 'coz together we would kill each other, but then, would we really? It is a good weather to return to coffee, just the way you encouraged me to acquire the taste of it -- black, without sugar. 

You must be breaking the bread I taught you too? It is sad that I do not know whether to laugh, as I smile, or cry, as I decide. Got it. 

I should just retire :)

Pratitee.