Flying high with Sachin - Inbox at Cricinfo

There was a general sense of doom in life for the past few days. Dada is going, Jumbo is gone and Dravid is struggling. These are the guys I grew up watching. (Technically, I was 15 when Dravid and Dada made their debuts, but still.) It was a stark reminder of the end of middle class cricket. Sitting around in a canteen,discussing the latest Sportstar, trading posters, going to National College, Basavangudi grounds and watching Kumble play for Bangalore Cricketers (Circa 1991), I even remember meeting Javagal Srinath, whose sister lives down the road. I was elated when I saw his shirt marquee - Peter England. How typically Jayanagar! Cutting edge Bourgeouis Elegance. So overwhelmingly inclusive it felt.

I have just noticed that my general tendency to meander has caught up with me again. Back to the flight.

I stuffed my arm with newspapers and got in. A quick "Good Morning" to the graceful, middle-aged stewardess was followed by a side step to the right to find my seat, and more importantly, stowage area.

Around this time is when time froze. Sitting right in front. Seat number 1F was Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. I shall not trivialise his greatness (Or make this piece tacky) by using loose adjectives of sobriquets here. He is Tendulkar. I'm sure you get it.

I really didn't want to stare. There were already a few pot-bellied trader type guys who were giggling like 12 year old girls. Sachin, now that I was already 25 seconds into my short peek at him, seemed a lot more, what's the word, pink than he looks on TV.

I was going to warm my behind in 1D! Same row, two seats away from the greatest, God-dest, cricketer ever! (Ok, I said no corny adjectives. I thought God-dest was a nice touch)

I said a quick prayer to ensure no loser makes a grab for the middle seat. I shoved my bags under the seat and looked askance to see if Sachin was checking me out. He wasn't. He was busy signing autographs, but I'm sure he did. You can tell these things.

The steward then put on his best accent and made the safety announcements. I was cursing myself. I really really wish I had taken a bath. Now I wasn't sure if the deo was working. What if Sachin wanted to change his seat? Imagine if he calls the stewardess and tells her, in his warm, endearing, boyish voice " This guy stinks. Give me window on the 30th row". I decided to avoid this scene by aborting my plan to hug him.

Five minutes into the flight, a middle aged guy wearing an ill-fitting Ed Hardy Tee and a wild pair of jeans came to our row and started blabbering in Marathi. I 'm not sure what he was saying, but he used a lot of names and had a wide grin throughout. He was uniformy fawning and utterly deferential.

Imagine the horror on my face, when instead of brushing him off by looking outside the window, (like we do to avoid shelling out change to beggars on trains) Sachin patiently replied in Marathi.

It was all so poetic. The syllables seemed carefully measured and worded. I could make out ("Barobar"- Right, Right) and "Ani"- And. Marathi is a beautiful language, Especially in Sachin's voice.

He signed probably 40 autographs at least in the hour long flight. He even blessed an infant. (I remember the name, I am going to track his progress. He's going to be huge.)

I kept thinking to myself," This guy is seriously polite. If he had no talent and wasn't a cricketer, he would have been a great hotel receptionist. Or a Front Desk executive for Air Deccan. No wonder McGrath could do nothing to him. How dare Gilchrist say all those things about him. Should I ask him something?"

I kept quiet and concentrated on the Economic Times Supplement in my hand throughout, except for the occasional stare with my tongue out. What could I tell him? I know so much about cricket. Why can't I come up with a good line to start the conversation? Maybe if I had a bath I would have been more confident. Then I would definitely have impressed Sachin. Maybe he would have called me his friend. Sigh.

'Accentboy' then announced landing. It was now or never. I swallowed hard. Time to go hell for leather, I thought.

"Excuse me, Sachin. Pradeep here, big fan." (D-uh!)

"Hi Pradeep" (Hand comes out.)

I don't shake well. Too soft sometimes, too hard sometimes. But this time, I just wanted to touch. Ideally, I should have hi-fived Sachin. I high-five well.

"Have you checked out the new stadium before?"

"No, that's why I am going early."

I felt quite kicked. It was a reasonably smart question I thought. Maybe it would have looked smarter if I was a girl. People always think girls don't know cricket.

The aircraft thudded and made a fierce landing at Nagpur airport. For a split second, I thought Maybe I could get to save Sachin's life.

Sachin seemed in a hurry to get out." Excuse me", he said, as he made his way to the aisle to pick up his bags. Why is he requesting me? I would grimace in joy if he stood on me and picked his bags.

I caught him one last time and took his autograph for my little nephew." Good luck Sachin for Nagpur", I said loudly as if I knew him. I tried to get a quick snap, but in my nervousness only caught his right shoulder on his way out.

I made a quick mental note to send a box of sweets to the travel desk for booking me in 1D. I also congratulate Naresh Goyal for discontinuing the Jet flight and pushing us into Jetlite. I salute all airlines with no business class.

I'm glad I did my MBA. I'm glad I joined my organisation. I'm glad they gave me MP state to handle. I'm glad there are no direct flights to Jabalpur and the only way is Nagpur. I'm glad I travelled today and not tomorrow.

I really doubt I'll ever sit side-by-side with my hero again. In case Sachin is reading - It was a pleasure traveling with you. Every single one of us on that flight was destined to have a great day on November 4, 2008. Nothing can go wrong today. And thanks, finally I have a story to pick up chicks with.

PS - I really wish I was less emotional about the whole thing, But it's Sachin Tendulkar. I'm sure you understand.