Learning a new language

Ever since Virender Sehwag became the new Tendulkar, the old Tendulkar's been given a right bollocking for not being his old self. Pressure, burden, caution, restricted are the words used to describe his batting now. He used to be free-flowing, manic, electric and risky. Commentators say that he needs to play his own game, that his back foot moves across too much, among other things. Newspapers mourn the old days, when good ol' Sach gave the ball a wholesome tonk. Sniff.

Tendulkar repeatedly said that not much had changed, and all he was trying to do was bat for longer periods. But his words were buried under pages and pages of opinions on how he could get his batting magic back, disregarding the fact that he didn't think he had lost anything in the first place. It was needless, harsh, and probably annoying. Last night, after shutting Bangladesh out of the game, he let fly in one of his more ferocious post-match performances.

"People who are talking about me not enjoying my batting, better get it right. It's a wrong perception. Those who understand the game wouldn't be talking about it." It had been building to this. A private man had had enough and he was going public. It could not have been easy. Try empathising with him. You score 40 in 30 balls and you're offered advice on how to stay put for longer. You then score 80 in 110 and everyone says you've lost your groove. You try not to read what the papers say because it messes your head. So does the telly. Everywhere you look, someone has a reason for the way you play, and no one seems to understand that your changing game is a conscious decision. It's like being 16 with a billion parents.

Yesterday, for a brief while, Tendulkar batted on a different plane. He started slowly, with his bat and feet not coordinated with his mind, but gradually, the ball went where he meant for it to go. Out of the blue, he slog-swept a ball for six, and then charged at a bowler and changed his shot as the ball headed towards him. For a small period of play, there was raw energy. It was free-flowing, manic, electric and risky. Tendulkar hadn't lost it, nor was he short on enthusiasm. The tools were all there. He's just choosing which ones to use.

It's useless to compare him now with what he was then. He's 31 now, not 16, when he could bat with a bugger-the-world freedom. It's been 15 years. Fifteen years. It would be silly, and very worrying if he didn't change in that time. We'd have been calling him one-dimensional by now. Even Rahul Dravid changed. Chances are, Sehwag will grow old and not thwack three fours an over. He'll become more responsible. After all, who wouldn't want to bat for a while longer if it means cutting out a few shots?

His 241 at Sydney was like that. Remember how ball after ball went by his off stump teasingly, taunting him to drive? Remember how he restrained his drives and cuts, knowing they had failed him earlier in the series? This was a changed player, a player who knew his game, and was finding out what to do in different situations.

At the highest level of anything, change is gradual. So it is with Tendulkar. He's finding his balance in this new method of batting, and is getting it right more often. Sure, he doesn't play like he used to, but it doesn't mean the magic isn't there. And here's what makes the future even more tantalising. He spoke to Dileep Premachandran a few weeks ago, and said the thought of retiring hadn't occurred to him. His batting would have changed even more by then, and considering the manner in which he began batting in 1989, that, in its own way, is a magical thought.