So much has been written about Nelson Mandela in the past few days since his passing, that it seems almost gratuitous to attempt to add to it. 

I can almost hear you asking why that same logic didn't stop me from sitting up long into the night and writing pages and pages on a certain cricketer by the name of Sachin Tendulkar. You might even argue that Mandela is a far worthier subject; someone who stood steadfastly for justice and equality against seemingly insurmountable odds. A man who without question left the world a slightly better place than he found it. And you might add to this the fact that he is now departed, while Sachin has merely stopped playing competitive cricket. So, you might conclude (with righteous anger slowly rising up inside you) that if anything is gratuitous, it is the tributes to the Little Master and not the heartfelt eulogies for a giant of our times. 

Tendulkar, as I have written about before, occupied a small but constant space in the changing landscape of my life- from the playful green fields of my childhood through to the more rugged terrain of the mid-thirties where I find myself now. It is difficult to overstate the importance of the familiar during times when things seem to change so quickly and without warning. Friends, school, college, jobs, all these are amazing and yet all these are new and scary, at least to begin with. Finally, one day when you wake up and find that your journey has brought you to that scariest of all places- Adulthood, these little intangible links to your childhood become even more precious. 

I read somewhere that it was somewhat ironic that Tendulkar’s last match started on the 14th of November, which is celebrated as Children's day in India. (Other countries have it on other days; in India it coincides with the birthday of the country's popular first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru). Watching Tendulkar play was to feel like Peter Pan, if only for a little while. When he walked away for the last time, something within us went with him.

Millions of people, both in South Africa and around the world, are most likely feeling greatly amplified versions of the emotions I felt when the curtains finally came down on Tendulkar’s career. Emotions they may even struggle to make sense of. For me, Nelson Mandela was a more distant figure than Tendulkar, someone whose battles were fought and won in a place and time that seemed, at least back then, far removed from my own reality. 

Of course I knew of him; this man with the kind face and the wide smile. A man who spent 27 years- equal to the entire lifetimes of people such as Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, and Jimi Hendrix- locked in a prison cell, and yet when he emerged, it was not with a lust for power or revenge, but an even stronger resolve to realise his vision of a united South Africa. A politician who actually willingly stepped down after one term as President. 

Whatever one's feelings are about him, most people will agree that ‘Madiba’ was special. He transcended boundaries of race, religion and nationality and made us believe that in the end, however twisted the road, we can still arrive at a place of goodness. For that reason alone, he will live long in the memory. 

PS: Whenever I think of Mandela, I think of this poem by William Henley, said to be one of his favourites. It was featured in the 2009 movie Invictus. Slightly theologically flawed perhaps, but inspiring nevertheless.