Trigger warning: essay contains reference to the protest by Indian wrestlers against the sexual harassment of young wrestlers by the WFI chief, Brij Bhushan Singh.
In 2019, Sanjay Suri, author and journalist, published a book called Gandhian Affair: India’s Curious Portrayal of Love in Cinema. It works off a premise that is rarely spoken about: Bollywood, especially in the first few decades of India’s independence, cast most of its male protagonists in a mould designed keeping two of its most prominent male icons in mind: Lord Ram and Mahatma Gandhi. India was obsessed with those two and the attributes they represented. The ultimate sacrifice of wealth, love, and all worldly pleasures. Austerity and, in Gandhi’s case, celibacy.
While it seems intuitive to have lead protagonists – mostly male, sigh – have a higher purpose in life than drawing a neat salary and coming home to a loved one, the book studies just how far India took this idea of the perfect male. An entire industry, and all its subsidiaries, spent decades shoehorning these qualities into its characters. Suri has sampled the ten highest-grossing movies, every year, from 1948 to 1959 – the first twelve years of India’s independence – and presents irrefutable evidence about what Indian audiences liked the most. The pedestal Ram and Gandhi were put on is so high that they are still floating somewhere near the Mumbai skyline. The book also delves into an interesting conversation without explicitly calling it out: this tendency to idealise and look for pedestals.
In the first half of the 20th century, there was no bigger personality in India than Mahatma Gandhi. He helped get us independence without lifting as much as a stone, advocated tolerance and equality, and eventually had to pay with his life. Gunned down in public. So cinematic. It sounds perverse now, but Gandhi’s life makes for an incredible movie. Our current dispensation loves rewriting history anyway, so maybe they can market Gandhi as a fictional superhero. Make it a franchise and feed it to the next generation of primary schoolers. The OG Salt Bae. No?
Sorry, I digress.
At an older age, the idea of pedestals sounds dodgy, but we all have done this as kids. Our favourite people were superhuman, infallible and unbeatable. I did that with Sachin Tendulkar and Ronaldo Nazario. Some of the elders in my family still won’t hear a word against Maradona, Viv Richards, or Muhammad Ali.
Actually, it is wild with Ali. I have never come across something like it. For most of my generation, Ali is a silhouette. A rather large one, sure, because we have been fed stories about him in generous quantities, but he remained out of sight and touch. Unlike Maradona or Pele, Ali didn’t carry his public persona into the internet. Maybe an interview here or there, a movie promotion, but that was about it. Now that I think, the last I remember of him is that incredible, moving, sad sight of him in a white t-shirt, shivering, as he lit the Olympic flame at Atlanta ’96. I was six and did not understand the gravitas of that sight. The world’s greatest athlete, a symbol of agility and speed, struggling to move because Parkinson’s had taken over his body.
In June 2016, when Ali passed away, it felt like sport had gone into mourning. A blanket of dense gloom descended on the editorials and sports pages, even my Twitter timeline. An oracle had passed on. The tributes flowed in, and that is where it got amazing. Barely anyone was speaking about his boxing. Think of it - within the ring alone, he had left a legacy that will be near impossible for his sport, and athletics in general, to shake off. The other day, my trainer made me do a footwork exercise commonly known as The Ali Shuffle. Everyone spoke about Ali the icon, the activist, the public personality. Ali was so much more than a boxer. He didn’t need to paint himself in bold colours to be perceived as someone with a higher purpose; he chased it, often having to sacrifice things he held the dearest. Rarely have pedestals made more sense than with Ali. I have seen elders straighten up while speaking about him. No casual jokes thrown, no wisecracks. Just pure, unadulterated reverence. On that June day, Tendulkar called him a hero he could never meet.
I sometimes wonder what it would be like if I ever met Tendulkar. There would be a paucity of time, so I might only get a couple of questions at best. What did it take for a slender, five-foot-five batter to deal with Curtly Ambrose on a treacherous Barbados pitch? He might love to answer that. If the mood is right, I might even throw in a question about the art of captaincy and what he thought of it? Will he flinch?
I wish I get an entire plane ride with him someday. Just him and I. No one to usher me away if I ask an uncomfortable question; nowhere for him to go. Two hours, floating in a tin can. I will ask him about his influence in India. How he feels about the intensity of love and veneration he evokes. Does it also slip into other parts of life where cricket may not have a direct role? Like how, without having an iota of political experience or credibility, he was given a Rajya Sabha seat. What did he make of that? Was it a responsibility, a gimmick, just another wreath handed over by a doting nation? Which policies would he have liked to address at a meeting?
Sachin cares about the commoner, though. Make no mistake. His Instagram profile has videos of him asking people to wear helmets even if they are riding pillion; during the early months of lockdown, he put out well-produced YouTube videos teaching people how to wash their hands properly. Important stuff.
I would ask Sachin if he cares about Wasim Jaffer. He has a good memory and won’t need me to remind him who Jaffer is. Did he consider a public show of support towards an ex-teammate who was axed from a coaching job because of misplaced allegations of communal bias?
Maybe there was a silent text sent, a la Dhoni with Virat, but this incident needed a public display of support. Losing a coaching job because of one’s religion is a far graver issue than scoring a few ducks. That display of solidarity would’ve landed on the eye line of Rajat from Mehrauli, who still watches Sachin’s videos from 1998. His favourite YouTube channel is Robelinda2. Just say the word, Sachin, and the nation will walk behind you. Could you have tried, at least?
As the plane begins its descent, I would ask Sachin if he’s ever been sexually harassed. Or maybe knows someone who has. If he squirms, I’ll ask him how he would’ve taken it if Sara Tendulkar was a wrestler? Would his non-IPL appearances still be limited to advertisements for mutual funds, or would he be sitting at Jantar Mantar, amidst the wrestlers, even as electricity and water supplies get cut off? And should it take Arjun or Sara to be affected for him to understand that helmets are, indeed, non-negotiable at all times?
In a debate about the greatest athletes India has ever produced, Sachin has only one competitor: Major Dhyan Chand. His stature in this country as an athlete is unmatched by anyone born within thirty years on either side of him.
I don’t imagine Sachin will take these questions well. I hope he answers some, though. If he doesn’t, I can’t begrudge him his silence, nor can I assume or judge his intention. But it’s okay, the flight is landing soon. He won’t have to see me again.
I’ll leave him with one final thing as we taxi towards our gate. Watching him play cricket was a privilege. He gave me joy like nothing else, and I will forever have a place in my heart for him. I won’t put up his poster in my room today, though. That, unfortunately, he couldn’t earn just through pristine straight drives. And unlike in cricket, where he sought to be on a different plane to everyone else, he is just the same as every other influencer seeking out to maximise opportunity.
Amazing post, Rohan, as always. Am a big fan of your writing. The way you connected the dots is Bradmanesque. Stars need to do more for those of their ilk. I think monetary considerations trump any goodwill gesture. Sad!
Masterpiece. Post. I love how you took us from macro to micro. I cannot agree more with you. I also see the anger and the show the likes of Kohli are putting out on non issues but not a whimper of protest on the way things are being done to the wrestlers. I have a half written post so it will now go to trash because this is, as I said, a masterpiece. Remind me again though - aren’t these the same set of Indian boys who were lead by Virat Kohli and who ‘took the knee’ for BLM? such fuckin cowards. I have picked fights with people who I still don’t talk to because of what they said about Sachin. I won’t talk to those people but I cannot like Sachin anymore. Blasphemy right?