A tryst with the Lord

We were at the Hilton, Mumbai on the evening of Saturday, minutes before the MI/RCB IPL clash. Fans had thronged the lobby with autograph books and throbbing hearts. After a long wait, familiar faces (heroes to some) began coming out of the front elevators in trickles, building up the cadence in the hotel, slowly but surely. As kids and grown-ups flocked around them alike, we observed the pointed gleam in their eyes. The stars reciprocated, some with autographs, and some by getting just plain chatty with the crowd before they headed out towards the bus.

And then a few minutes later, the security guards began persuading the crowd to step back a little. A certain excitement gripped the air as five bodyguards blocked the passage between the main foyer and the elevator. Out came the Lord himself, in full blood and flesh, like a divine ray of light. There was a moment of silence, almost disbelief, before the crowd erupted into a loud roar chanting 'Sachin' like obsessed devotees. But unlike the other players, and much to the disappointment of many, he went past everyone without as much as a cursory glance of acknowledgement. His eyes and face gave away nothing - not the ecstasy of his achievements, not the dismay of betrayal when he was in the pits, not the grimace from his endurance - just a stoic calm that said he was not done yet. He was there not for the accolades, he was there not for the titles. He was there, only to play for passion.

And while some misconstrued his indifference as sheer arrogance, I saw it as the mark of a true champion with a linear focus.