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Sachin @ 50: Celebrating a Maestro
For more than two generations of Indians, and cricket fans from elsewhere, Sachin Tendulkar is a name that opened doors and hearts wherever you were on the planet. Even in the days before the social media revolution, Sachin was a truly global icon. It didn’t matter if you were in Sydney or South Africa, Kolkata or Kingston, Sachin’s name was a conversation starter.
The teenage wonder who exploded into the global consciousness with his bloodied nose in Pakistan in 1989, before becoming the greatest batting sensation ever, transcended the boundaries of sport. As with Jesse Owens, Ali, Pele and Maradona, Sachin’s role in making Indian cricket a household phenomenon globally can never be underestimated.
It was not just the runs he scored. It was the manner in which he scored them – with matchless flair, scoring 100 international hundreds in the process.
How do we celebrate Sachin on his 50th birthday? The prodigy with the baby voice, scoring hundreds in abundance with the exuberance of the teenager that he was then? The legend who won India many a close encounter? Or the genius around whom a very good Indian side was built in the 1990s?
For a generation of fans who grew up in the 1980s and 90s, it was always Sachin and then daylight. Many of them have also passed on now, but the stories they shared with their children will always remain. On his 50th birthday it is time to add to these stories. The very best from India and beyond on the man they adore.
Like Sachin, his stories are also immortal.
The teenage wonder who exploded into the global consciousness with his bloodied nose in Pakistan in 1989, before becoming the greatest batting sensation ever, transcended the boundaries of sport. As with Jesse Owens, Ali, Pele and Maradona, Sachin’s role in making Indian cricket a household phenomenon globally can never be underestimated.
It was not just the runs he scored. It was the manner in which he scored them – with matchless flair, scoring 100 international hundreds in the process.
How do we celebrate Sachin on his 50th birthday? The prodigy with the baby voice, scoring hundreds in abundance with the exuberance of the teenager that he was then? The legend who won India many a close encounter? Or the genius around whom a very good Indian side was built in the 1990s?
For a generation of fans who grew up in the 1980s and 90s, it was always Sachin and then daylight. Many of them have also passed on now, but the stories they shared with their children will always remain. On his 50th birthday it is time to add to these stories. The very best from India and beyond on the man they adore.
Like Sachin, his stories are also immortal.
- GenresSports
247 pages, Kindle Edition
Published April 24, 2023
2 people are currently reading
11 people want to read
About the author
Boria Majumdar
71 books22 followersBoria Majumdar, a Rhodes scholar, is a Research Fellow at La Trobe University, Melbourne. He has taught at the Universities of Chicago and Toronto and has written extensively on the history and politics of cricket in India and across the world. Deputy Executive Academic Editor of the International Journal of History of Sport and Executive Academic Editor of Sport in Society, he is General Editor of the Routledge Series, 'Sport in the Global Society'. Some of his books include Twenty-Two Yards to Freedom: A Social History of Indian Cricket (2004), Goalless: The Story of a Unique Footballing Nation (2006) and The Illustrated History of Indian Cricket (2006).
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September 9, 2025
#Binge Reviewing my previous Reads # Cricket
When we talk about Sachin Tendulkar, we are not really talking about one man but about an entire text, a mythology, and a national memory that spans generations. Sachin has perhaps inspired more books than any other Indian sportsman, not just biographies and autobiographies but hagiographies, coffee-table albums, sociological essays, even academic treatises.
His life, stretching from precocious debut to veteran statesman of the game, from the “Boy Wonder” of 1989 to the “God of Cricket” of the 2000s, is not just cricketing history; it is a collective story of modern India itself.
Into this already crowded shelf comes Boria Majumdar’s Sachin @ 50: Celebrating a Maestro, a commemorative work that aims not at rewriting or challenging the existing narrative but at marking a milestone, reframing the familiar career in the light of half a century of Tendulkar’s life.
Commemorative volumes often run the risk of being little more than glossy albums, heavy on photographs and nostalgia but light on depth. Majumdar, however, being both a sports historian and a cricket chronicler who has himself worked closely with Sachin on Playing It My Way, is uniquely placed to avoid that trap.
He knows the man’s story intimately, but he also knows how to situate it in the wider sweep of history, economics, and culture.
What he offers, then, is not a cradle-to-creature-of-god narrative like so many “definitive” biographies attempt, but a selective retelling. It is less about giving us everything and more about curating moments, much like an exhibition that celebrates mood and resonance rather than encyclopedic detail. The result is a book that feels like a birthday toast as much as a history lesson.
Majumdar’s strength here lies in his double vision. On the one hand, he has insider access, which lends authenticity and freshness to the anecdotes he recounts. On the other, he has the historian’s eye, which places Tendulkar within the broader context of India in the 1990s and 2000s, a period when cricket itself was transforming.
So when Majumdar talks about Sachin’s artistry on the field—his mastery of the straight drive, his back-to-back Sharjah tons in 1998, his crowning moment in the 2011 World Cup—he also reminds us that Sachin’s career coincided with India’s liberalization, the rise of satellite television, and the commercialization of cricket. In other words, Tendulkar was not just winning matches; he was embodying a changing nation’s aspirations and becoming the face of its global identity.
This makes for an interesting contrast with Playing It My Way, the official autobiography published in 2014, which Majumdar himself co-authored. That book, while a record-breaking bestseller, was criticized in many quarters for being too cautious, too careful, too unwilling to lift the veil on controversies.
It was Sachin’s voice, but a heavily filtered one. In Sachin @ 50, the historian is freer. No longer constrained by the limits of autobiography, Majumdar can analyze, contextualize, and even critique, offering not just Sachin’s perspective but his own. The trade-off is obvious: Playing It My Way had the intimacy of the man’s own words, however guarded, while Sachin @ 50 has the freedom of interpretation, at the cost of that direct voice. One was like watching Tendulkar bat in the flesh; the other is like hearing the expert commentary that explains why that cover drive mattered.
Set against other biographies, Majumdar’s celebratory framing acquires sharper contours. Vaibhav Purandare’s Sachin Tendulkar: A Definitive Biography attempted to be thorough, tracing every phase of Tendulkar’s life with journalistic diligence. But “definitive” was always a difficult claim to sustain—how can one capture in a single volume a career that itself generated libraries of writing? Purandare’s book remains useful as a reference, but it often reads like a scorecard written longhand. Majumdar’s approach, by contrast, is less exhaustive but more evocative, like a commentary that chooses the most significant passages of play to highlight. If Purandare gives us the full record book, Majumdar gives us the birthday highlights package.
V. Krishnaswamy’s Sachin: Cricketer of the Century, published around the time of Tendulkar’s retirement, was an unabashed celebration, a journalistic tribute that sometimes slipped into hagiography. Majumdar also celebrates, but his training as a historian saves him from sentimentality. His admiration is evident, but it is never blind. He is careful to ground his claims in context, to connect moments in Sachin’s career with their wider significance, and to acknowledge the difficulties as well as the glories. He may not dig deep into criticism, but he does not entirely sidestep it either. He paints Sachin as a man who navigated controversies through silence and restraint rather than confrontation, which is as much an insight into Tendulkar’s temperament as it is into his strategy for survival in the high-pressure world of Indian cricket.
If one looks at the many coffee-table volumes—lavishly illustrated, nostalgia-heavy books like Born to Bat or the Wisden collections—they certainly capture the aura and the beauty of Sachin’s batting but rarely offer analysis. They are keepsakes, visual mementos. Majumdar’s book, while not a picture album, matches them emotionally. It reads like a coffee-table book written out in prose, a narrative that evokes memories and emotions but adds the historian’s commentary alongside. For readers who want both nostalgia and insight, this makes it more satisfying than most of the glossy offerings.
It is worth remembering that Sachin’s story has always been entangled with controversy, however muted. His career overlapped with the match-fixing scandals that rocked Indian cricket, though he himself remained untouched. His time as captain was marked by failure, and his relationship with coaches—especially Greg Chappell—generated plenty of headlines. Then there were the ball-tampering allegations, the endless debates about his role in the IPL, and the occasional criticism of his silence on issues. In Playing It My Way, these episodes were softened or avoided. Purandare dealt with them head-on, though without sensationalism.
Majumdar, in Sachin @ 50, finds a middle path: he acknowledges the storms but keeps the frame celebratory, suggesting that Tendulkar’s genius lay not only in batting but in managing to remain largely above the muck.
Where the book is at its best is in situating Tendulkar in the cultural imagination of India. For millions who grew up in the 1990s, he was the one constant in an uncertain world. He was modest in an age of flamboyance, reliable when institutions felt shaky, consistent when everything else seemed chaotic. He was the safe bet, the fixed point, the batsman who carried the hopes of a billion. Majumdar ties this almost mythical status to the timing of Sachin’s career: his rise coincided with the liberalization of the economy, the explosion of media, and the arrival of a consumerist middle class hungry for heroes.
To watch Sachin was not just to watch cricket; it was to watch India seeing itself reflected on a global stage. This cultural positioning is something that few other biographies have developed with such clarity.
Stylistically, Majumdar’s prose is smooth and accessible. It does not aspire to literary flourish like Ramachandra Guha in A Corner of a Foreign Field, but it does have clarity and resonance. His tone is affectionate but measured, like a commentator who loves the game but knows its history too well to get carried away. Compared to Purandare’s detail-heavy approach and Krishnaswamy’s journalistic exuberance, Majumdar strikes a middle path. His book is more reflective than the glossy tributes, more readable than the exhaustive references, less intimate than the autobiography but freer in analysis.
The question, of course, is where this book stands on the shelf? Better than the coffee-table books, certainly, because it adds depth to nostalgia. More balanced than Krishnaswamy, because it tempers admiration with context. More celebratory than Purandare, though less exhaustive. Freer than Playing It My Way, though less intimate.
Each of the major Sachin books captures a different facet—the batsman’s own guarded voice, the journalist’s fanfare, the chronicler’s reference work, the fan’s scrapbook. What Majumdar offers with Sachin @ 50 is the commemorative lens, the milestone framing, the birthday toast that is both affectionate and thoughtful.
Ultimately, what emerges from reading across these works is the realization that there can never be a single definitive book on Sachin Tendulkar. He is not a biography to be pinned down but a library to be browsed. He is too big, too complex, too mythologized for one text to contain. Majumdar’s contribution is significant precisely because it acknowledges this. He doesn’t claim to have the last word. Instead, he gives us a fresh way of looking at the story, not by piling on new revelations but by reframing old memories in a new light.
What makes Sachin @ 50 valuable is not just the celebration of a man turning fifty but the reminder of why he mattered in the first place. He was not just a run machine, not just a fan obsession, not just a stat in Wisden. He was the symbol of an India finding its place in the world, the collective memory of a billion cricket lovers, the safe harbor in stormy waters. Majumdar’s book celebrates not only Sachin but also the India that grew with him, cheered with him, and sometimes despaired with him. It is this larger cultural resonance that gives the book its depth, and it is this sense of collective memory that makes the celebration meaningful.
And so, in the final reckoning, Sachin @ 50: Celebrating a Maestro is not the definitive biography, nor does it want to be. It is instead a warm, reflective, celebratory volume that sits comfortably alongside the other major works on Tendulkar, adding its own angle to the mosaic. Read together, these books remind us that Sachin is less a single story and more a chorus of voices, less an individual career and more a shared dream.
Majumdar’s book, in celebrating the maestro at fifty, reminds us that Tendulkar is not finished even in retirement; he continues to live in memory, myth, and literature, forever batting in the imagination of a billion people.
When we talk about Sachin Tendulkar, we are not really talking about one man but about an entire text, a mythology, and a national memory that spans generations. Sachin has perhaps inspired more books than any other Indian sportsman, not just biographies and autobiographies but hagiographies, coffee-table albums, sociological essays, even academic treatises.
His life, stretching from precocious debut to veteran statesman of the game, from the “Boy Wonder” of 1989 to the “God of Cricket” of the 2000s, is not just cricketing history; it is a collective story of modern India itself.
Into this already crowded shelf comes Boria Majumdar’s Sachin @ 50: Celebrating a Maestro, a commemorative work that aims not at rewriting or challenging the existing narrative but at marking a milestone, reframing the familiar career in the light of half a century of Tendulkar’s life.
Commemorative volumes often run the risk of being little more than glossy albums, heavy on photographs and nostalgia but light on depth. Majumdar, however, being both a sports historian and a cricket chronicler who has himself worked closely with Sachin on Playing It My Way, is uniquely placed to avoid that trap.
He knows the man’s story intimately, but he also knows how to situate it in the wider sweep of history, economics, and culture.
What he offers, then, is not a cradle-to-creature-of-god narrative like so many “definitive” biographies attempt, but a selective retelling. It is less about giving us everything and more about curating moments, much like an exhibition that celebrates mood and resonance rather than encyclopedic detail. The result is a book that feels like a birthday toast as much as a history lesson.
Majumdar’s strength here lies in his double vision. On the one hand, he has insider access, which lends authenticity and freshness to the anecdotes he recounts. On the other, he has the historian’s eye, which places Tendulkar within the broader context of India in the 1990s and 2000s, a period when cricket itself was transforming.
So when Majumdar talks about Sachin’s artistry on the field—his mastery of the straight drive, his back-to-back Sharjah tons in 1998, his crowning moment in the 2011 World Cup—he also reminds us that Sachin’s career coincided with India’s liberalization, the rise of satellite television, and the commercialization of cricket. In other words, Tendulkar was not just winning matches; he was embodying a changing nation’s aspirations and becoming the face of its global identity.
This makes for an interesting contrast with Playing It My Way, the official autobiography published in 2014, which Majumdar himself co-authored. That book, while a record-breaking bestseller, was criticized in many quarters for being too cautious, too careful, too unwilling to lift the veil on controversies.
It was Sachin’s voice, but a heavily filtered one. In Sachin @ 50, the historian is freer. No longer constrained by the limits of autobiography, Majumdar can analyze, contextualize, and even critique, offering not just Sachin’s perspective but his own. The trade-off is obvious: Playing It My Way had the intimacy of the man’s own words, however guarded, while Sachin @ 50 has the freedom of interpretation, at the cost of that direct voice. One was like watching Tendulkar bat in the flesh; the other is like hearing the expert commentary that explains why that cover drive mattered.
Set against other biographies, Majumdar’s celebratory framing acquires sharper contours. Vaibhav Purandare’s Sachin Tendulkar: A Definitive Biography attempted to be thorough, tracing every phase of Tendulkar’s life with journalistic diligence. But “definitive” was always a difficult claim to sustain—how can one capture in a single volume a career that itself generated libraries of writing? Purandare’s book remains useful as a reference, but it often reads like a scorecard written longhand. Majumdar’s approach, by contrast, is less exhaustive but more evocative, like a commentary that chooses the most significant passages of play to highlight. If Purandare gives us the full record book, Majumdar gives us the birthday highlights package.
V. Krishnaswamy’s Sachin: Cricketer of the Century, published around the time of Tendulkar’s retirement, was an unabashed celebration, a journalistic tribute that sometimes slipped into hagiography. Majumdar also celebrates, but his training as a historian saves him from sentimentality. His admiration is evident, but it is never blind. He is careful to ground his claims in context, to connect moments in Sachin’s career with their wider significance, and to acknowledge the difficulties as well as the glories. He may not dig deep into criticism, but he does not entirely sidestep it either. He paints Sachin as a man who navigated controversies through silence and restraint rather than confrontation, which is as much an insight into Tendulkar’s temperament as it is into his strategy for survival in the high-pressure world of Indian cricket.
If one looks at the many coffee-table volumes—lavishly illustrated, nostalgia-heavy books like Born to Bat or the Wisden collections—they certainly capture the aura and the beauty of Sachin’s batting but rarely offer analysis. They are keepsakes, visual mementos. Majumdar’s book, while not a picture album, matches them emotionally. It reads like a coffee-table book written out in prose, a narrative that evokes memories and emotions but adds the historian’s commentary alongside. For readers who want both nostalgia and insight, this makes it more satisfying than most of the glossy offerings.
It is worth remembering that Sachin’s story has always been entangled with controversy, however muted. His career overlapped with the match-fixing scandals that rocked Indian cricket, though he himself remained untouched. His time as captain was marked by failure, and his relationship with coaches—especially Greg Chappell—generated plenty of headlines. Then there were the ball-tampering allegations, the endless debates about his role in the IPL, and the occasional criticism of his silence on issues. In Playing It My Way, these episodes were softened or avoided. Purandare dealt with them head-on, though without sensationalism.
Majumdar, in Sachin @ 50, finds a middle path: he acknowledges the storms but keeps the frame celebratory, suggesting that Tendulkar’s genius lay not only in batting but in managing to remain largely above the muck.
Where the book is at its best is in situating Tendulkar in the cultural imagination of India. For millions who grew up in the 1990s, he was the one constant in an uncertain world. He was modest in an age of flamboyance, reliable when institutions felt shaky, consistent when everything else seemed chaotic. He was the safe bet, the fixed point, the batsman who carried the hopes of a billion. Majumdar ties this almost mythical status to the timing of Sachin’s career: his rise coincided with the liberalization of the economy, the explosion of media, and the arrival of a consumerist middle class hungry for heroes.
To watch Sachin was not just to watch cricket; it was to watch India seeing itself reflected on a global stage. This cultural positioning is something that few other biographies have developed with such clarity.
Stylistically, Majumdar’s prose is smooth and accessible. It does not aspire to literary flourish like Ramachandra Guha in A Corner of a Foreign Field, but it does have clarity and resonance. His tone is affectionate but measured, like a commentator who loves the game but knows its history too well to get carried away. Compared to Purandare’s detail-heavy approach and Krishnaswamy’s journalistic exuberance, Majumdar strikes a middle path. His book is more reflective than the glossy tributes, more readable than the exhaustive references, less intimate than the autobiography but freer in analysis.
The question, of course, is where this book stands on the shelf? Better than the coffee-table books, certainly, because it adds depth to nostalgia. More balanced than Krishnaswamy, because it tempers admiration with context. More celebratory than Purandare, though less exhaustive. Freer than Playing It My Way, though less intimate.
Each of the major Sachin books captures a different facet—the batsman’s own guarded voice, the journalist’s fanfare, the chronicler’s reference work, the fan’s scrapbook. What Majumdar offers with Sachin @ 50 is the commemorative lens, the milestone framing, the birthday toast that is both affectionate and thoughtful.
Ultimately, what emerges from reading across these works is the realization that there can never be a single definitive book on Sachin Tendulkar. He is not a biography to be pinned down but a library to be browsed. He is too big, too complex, too mythologized for one text to contain. Majumdar’s contribution is significant precisely because it acknowledges this. He doesn’t claim to have the last word. Instead, he gives us a fresh way of looking at the story, not by piling on new revelations but by reframing old memories in a new light.
What makes Sachin @ 50 valuable is not just the celebration of a man turning fifty but the reminder of why he mattered in the first place. He was not just a run machine, not just a fan obsession, not just a stat in Wisden. He was the symbol of an India finding its place in the world, the collective memory of a billion cricket lovers, the safe harbor in stormy waters. Majumdar’s book celebrates not only Sachin but also the India that grew with him, cheered with him, and sometimes despaired with him. It is this larger cultural resonance that gives the book its depth, and it is this sense of collective memory that makes the celebration meaningful.
And so, in the final reckoning, Sachin @ 50: Celebrating a Maestro is not the definitive biography, nor does it want to be. It is instead a warm, reflective, celebratory volume that sits comfortably alongside the other major works on Tendulkar, adding its own angle to the mosaic. Read together, these books remind us that Sachin is less a single story and more a chorus of voices, less an individual career and more a shared dream.
Majumdar’s book, in celebrating the maestro at fifty, reminds us that Tendulkar is not finished even in retirement; he continues to live in memory, myth, and literature, forever batting in the imagination of a billion people.
Read
July 6, 2023Thanks Trisha for the book! It is an amazing tribute to the Master on his half century!! This is truly inspiring and has a lot of interesting anecdotes that have been shared quite endearingly. The placement of the chapters is also great. Made a good read for me :")
June 7, 2023
About the exceptionally talented cricketing legend
The whole world knows Sachin Tendulkar, considered to be the God of cricket. This book is about him. However, it is not a biography. This is a book of tributes, compiled by Boria Majumdar and his editorial and research team, with cooperation from the Tendulkar family. Sachin celebrated his 50th birthday on April 24, 2023. This book was published to mark the occasion.
There are tributes from his teammates. As expected, these are large in number. However, tributes form the media outnumber his teammates. That shows how popular and respected he is. There are tributes from other sportspersons, from the world of art and from his close friends. The book begins with a tribute from his wife, Anjali and ends with one from his elder brother, Ajit, who was the first to recognize his talent and admit him into Ramakant Achrekar’s coaching school, Sharadashram. The rest was done by Achrekar and Sachin himself.
There are common threads that run through all the tributes in spite of each one narrating personal anecdotes. Sachin’s tutor, Achrekar, recognized his talent and made him play competitive cricket in local circles against much older players to expose him to the real world of cricket. This made it easier for Sachin to qualify for Ranji and then Test cricket at a very young age. He became the topic of discussion in cricketing circles in Bombay (now Mumbai) as the boy cricketer who was exceptional at wielding a cricket bat with confidence which belied his tender years. Later, he lived up to the promise that he had shown by receiving standing ovations in stadiums around the world, scoring a hundred international hundreds and batting it out for twenty-four years at the highest levels of cricket. How did he do this? How could he concentrate on hitting the ball correctly with entire stadiums screaming out his name? How could he continue for so long with serious injuries to his fingers, toes, nose and back? How could he live up to the expectations of a billion people every time he stepped onto the pitch?
The book highlights Sachin, the person as it does Sachin, the cricketer. He has not allowed his tremendous success to ‘go to his head’. He has maintained a down-to-earth public profile. He is a man who takes unpleasant things in his stride. He is soft-spoken going out of his way to help younger teammates. He is punctual and practiced relentlessly. He has a brilliant, analytical mind which helped him, not only to analyse bowlers’ actions but with which he was able to design his practice sessions and his medical recoveries. He treats one and all with respect. He has helped innumerable people without making a noise about it. The tributes have also traced the highlights of Sachin’s cricketing years from the time he started playing till his retirement. The most interesting tribute is from Sudhir Gautam, a ‘Sachinist’.
This book is for Sachin fans. In fact, the book has been dedicated to them. It is also for those who did not see Sachin play cricket but are interested to know why he became the legend that he is.
The whole world knows Sachin Tendulkar, considered to be the God of cricket. This book is about him. However, it is not a biography. This is a book of tributes, compiled by Boria Majumdar and his editorial and research team, with cooperation from the Tendulkar family. Sachin celebrated his 50th birthday on April 24, 2023. This book was published to mark the occasion.
There are tributes from his teammates. As expected, these are large in number. However, tributes form the media outnumber his teammates. That shows how popular and respected he is. There are tributes from other sportspersons, from the world of art and from his close friends. The book begins with a tribute from his wife, Anjali and ends with one from his elder brother, Ajit, who was the first to recognize his talent and admit him into Ramakant Achrekar’s coaching school, Sharadashram. The rest was done by Achrekar and Sachin himself.
There are common threads that run through all the tributes in spite of each one narrating personal anecdotes. Sachin’s tutor, Achrekar, recognized his talent and made him play competitive cricket in local circles against much older players to expose him to the real world of cricket. This made it easier for Sachin to qualify for Ranji and then Test cricket at a very young age. He became the topic of discussion in cricketing circles in Bombay (now Mumbai) as the boy cricketer who was exceptional at wielding a cricket bat with confidence which belied his tender years. Later, he lived up to the promise that he had shown by receiving standing ovations in stadiums around the world, scoring a hundred international hundreds and batting it out for twenty-four years at the highest levels of cricket. How did he do this? How could he concentrate on hitting the ball correctly with entire stadiums screaming out his name? How could he continue for so long with serious injuries to his fingers, toes, nose and back? How could he live up to the expectations of a billion people every time he stepped onto the pitch?
The book highlights Sachin, the person as it does Sachin, the cricketer. He has not allowed his tremendous success to ‘go to his head’. He has maintained a down-to-earth public profile. He is a man who takes unpleasant things in his stride. He is soft-spoken going out of his way to help younger teammates. He is punctual and practiced relentlessly. He has a brilliant, analytical mind which helped him, not only to analyse bowlers’ actions but with which he was able to design his practice sessions and his medical recoveries. He treats one and all with respect. He has helped innumerable people without making a noise about it. The tributes have also traced the highlights of Sachin’s cricketing years from the time he started playing till his retirement. The most interesting tribute is from Sudhir Gautam, a ‘Sachinist’.
This book is for Sachin fans. In fact, the book has been dedicated to them. It is also for those who did not see Sachin play cricket but are interested to know why he became the legend that he is.
May 21, 2023
Sachin Tendulkar recently turned 50 & it is being marked with the release of this book conceived and curated by @boriamajumdar . This book is a collection of anecdotes by teammates, opponents, people beyond cricket, inner world and world of arts. The effusive tone is maintained throughout the book. The strength of the book is that it shows the readers what SRT is like in his fiercely guarded personal life , in addition to his cricketing achievements. However if you're looking for a critical biography of the man then this is not the book to pick up. The book is packed with several heartwarming stories and is a delight to read. The book also strikes a chord with people who are not cricket enthusiasts but are curious about why SRT gets all the adulation that comes his way, not only for his amazing achievements but also for his conduct off the field.
Finally, it's a must read for every person who still gets goosebumps on hearing and shouting " SACHINNNN.....SACHINNN......"
Finally, it's a must read for every person who still gets goosebumps on hearing and shouting " SACHINNNN.....SACHINNN......"
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews