Tags:
Journalism of Courage
You don8217;t get to see this every day. Maybe, you can, many years from now. As Team India knocked around with the local provincial side at the Crusaders Cricket Club, a loud tennis ball match was unfolding outside the boundary line. With one player hogging all the attention: Arjun Tendulkar.
His father cooling off in the dressing room, his mother Anjali and sister Sara watching from up above, little Tendulkar had a party, in a dark, blue T-shirt with his dad8217;s number: 10. His captain8217;s name? Sachin, son of a Durban businessman.
Called to play by a group of local children, Arjun, one of the youngest of the lot at 6, waited for his turn to be picked in one of the teams and then promptly planted himself behind a huge drum that was the wicket. You could call it first slip, his father8217;s position.
And as the game started, you could see the famous Tendulkar streak. 8220;Hullo, get ready. Don8217;t look there, concentrate on the game,8221; Arjun screamed at his captain, who was keeping wickets.
Then he started shouting out the scores. 8220;Zero for one, six for two.8221; And finally, it was his turn to bat, left-handed, with the bat almost reaching up to his chest. He swung at the first ball wildly, was bowled. 8220;Give him another chance,8221; said the biggest kid of the group. Another ball, another swing, out again.
He then hung around for a while, obviously itching to get into the action. What did he do? 8220;I am bowling now,8221; he said, plucking the ball from the captain. Again, left-handed, landing on the wrong foot. The first ball reached the batsman on the fourth bounce, and so did the rest of the over.
It was time to run back to his mother.
