Opinion Vaibhav Suryavanshi, at 14, is no Sachin Tendulkar

Who can grudge the praise showered on IPL’s sparkling debutants Arya and Suryavanshi — the first scored a 100 in 39 balls, the other in just 35? How is it possible to stay unmoved by the highly entertaining innings of two young batsmen exhibiting the same fearless brand of cricket that has been the hallmark of the Kohli-Rohit generation?

Arya and Suryavanshi are incredible stories of change. Arya, son of school teachers, grew up close to the capital’s educational hub, the heart of the country’s UPSC aspirants. The environment at home, or his scholastic surroundings, didn’t impact his career choice.

His parents played along. They weren’t the first. IPL’s increased remuneration has seen a social shift. Parents, these days, pay for cricket training with the same zeal and trepidation as they have historically forked out money for tuition classes at Kota.

The one big reason for the collective cricket punt has been IPL’s famed meritocratic model. If a brochure about cricket’s democratisation were made, the boy from Bihar’s Samastipur, Suryavanshi, would be on its cover. The BCCI reached first, picked him for India juniors and RR stepped in to make him a man.

The benefits of an efficient system tracking talent early are there to see. The young are no longer getting overawed by world-class opposition, their skills defy their age, and their leap over geographical boundaries has been spectacular. There are so many reasons to celebrate the emergence of Arya and Suryavanshi.

So far, so good. But then they go and spoil it all by saying “somethin’ stupid” (Apologies to Frank Sinatra). Bringing Tendulkar and Sehwag in a conversation about IPL’s newest stars is uncalled for. It burdens the untested rookies and undermines the legends of the game.

In the pantheon of Indian batting, Tendulkar is on the highest pedestal. Purists of the game still marvel at that magical transfer of weight from one foot to another. Very early in life, Tendulkar had cracked batting’s biggest puzzle. The microsecond that the ball takes to reach the batsmen was enough for him to decide if he needs to go forward, stay still or rock back. His Team India teammates from the Fab Four era — Rahul Dravid, Sourav Ganguly, VVS Laxman — still wonder how Paaji could read the trajectory of the ball as soon as it left the bowler’s hand.

If the young, those who missed the Tendulkar era, need validation, even the present-day master, Virat Kohli, surrenders to the greatness of his cricketing God. Go to Kohli’s innings during the 2023 World Cup at Wankhede to watch his subdued celebrations on scoring his 50th ODI hundred and breaking Tendulkar’s record. See the reverence in his bow, that almost apologetic expression as he points to his idol in the stands. It was as if to say that the Master’s record can be broken, but his greatness can’t be touched.

So, when a 14-year-old with modest domestic and junior India records gets compared to someone who is universally acknowledged as the last word in batting after one IPL 100, you know there is something broken that needs to be urgently fixed.

Mentioning Tendulkar in the same breath as Suryavanshi is like calling your child Einstein on acing the Boards. Tendulkar’s is the ultimate Michelin star of cricket, that can be earned by sustained fine dining excellence for decades and not by fixing a quick meal at a popular fast-food chain outlet.

India’s batting hierarchy, post the turn of the century, is intimidating. Before reaching the Tendulkar high, there are several stages of batsmanship. In no order of merit, there is Virat Kohli, Dravid, Rohit Sharma, Laxman, Sehwag, Ganguly, Yuvraj. There are also Shubman Gill and Yashasvi Jaiswal. It’s good to aim for the stars, be Tendulkar, but to be there, Suryavanshi first needs to be the next Jaiswal.

Right now, there isn’t sufficient data to even give the 14-year-old an entry into India’s elite batting club. There are signs and promise, that’s all. Suryavanshi has a hearteningly high backlift and eye-pleasing downswing. These two attributes, along with sturdy cocked wrists, make his bat go up and down like a giant pendulum. This is the physics behind the power of the young boy’s strokes.

He also has fast hands and a steady head. His bread-butter shot is the heave over mid-wicket, the stroke that got him most sixes in his record-breaking hundred. It’s a theatrical shot with street-cricket fervour. The power of his “go-to” hit comes from the core of his body. When Suryavanshi spots half a chance, he goes for the mid-wicket fence.

But survival in the tough lanes of international cricket with sly and mean bowlers isn’t all about hitting them out of the park. Suryavanshi is now a marked man, he will be asked questions. With that high backlift can he defend that move around the off-stump? Can this aggression work when he isn’t playing on the dead IPL tracks? Can his leg-side hoicks work against the heavy balls that the Aussies, Josh Hazlewood and Pat Cummins, bowl? Does he have patience and a tight rein on his mind to leave the ball? Maybe, Suryavanshi can pass those tests too, but till the results are out, it’s prudent to hold horses. More importantly, leave Tendulkar alone.

These questions had already been answered when Sachin became Tendulkar and was included in the India team for the Pakistan tour of 1989. Those who watched a young Tendulkar at Shivaji Park days with coach Ramakant Achrekar speak of that famous weight-transfer. It was there from the start. Achrekar would line up his 10 best pacers to bowl to the prodigy. Tendulkar would defend the good balls and step out like a hungry feline to pounce on the bad ones and blast them straight down the ground. A tough-to-please man, Achrekar would nod his head and, when Tendulkar was not around, tell others, “Hero hai”.

Tendulkar’s school-cricket exploits spread across Mumbai and reached the then Indian captain with Shivaji Park roots, Dilip Vengsarkar.

At 14, like Suryavanshi, Tendulkar got invited to the India nets. Vengsarkar would ask Kapil Dev to bowl to the teenager at full tilt. Kapil was reluctant, but he did so once he saw the child star driving him with ease. Tendulkar had passed the test. That same evening he was picked for the Mumbai Ranji Trophy.

At 15, he scored a 100 on his Ranji debut. Even in his first Deodhar and Duleep games, he would score centuries. But still, there were doubts when it was time to take a call on Tendulkar for the 1989 tour of Pakistan. There was a stand-off. The chairman of the selection committee wasn’t sure. What if he fails? What happens if his confidence is shattered?

It was at that point, the West Zone selector Naren Tamhane spoke what would become part of Indian cricket folklore. “Gentlemen, Sachin never fails,” he said. Does anyone have the confidence to say the same about Suryavanshi? If not, then don’t spoil it all by saying “somethin’ stupid.”

sandeep.dwivedi@expressindia.com