At a friend’s place, on the mantelpiece, sits a photograph of his deceased father. The picture is a strange one. The grimace, the forced smile conveying an undercurrent of despair behind what is – the taking of a photograph – usually a happy moment. My friend later told me that the picture was clicked during the terminal stage of an excruciating illness; the object, once a vital and forceful building contractor, reduced to a mere shadow of the man he was in his prime.
Which reminded me of Sachin Tendulkar's fast approaching final day of international cricket. For, is that not like the impending death of a loved one ravaged by cancer? At least that is what Tendulkar, and his irrefutable, fathomless affinity for game have turned it into.
For almost three years now Tendulkar the cricketer has been in the grip of a festering malaise. While his contemporaries have all heeded the call of their wearying bones – none more exemplarily than Rahul Dravid - Tendulkar has rationed out his graceRead More »from Frozen in memory