Inside the Chaudhary Bansi Lal Stadium, there are no TV sets to gaze at. If you miss a delivery, too bad. At the pavilion end, a newly-constructed top tier is closed off to the public and lies deserted, offering an exquisite vantage point.
With paddy and sugarcane fields all around the ground, a goods train rumbling along in the distance every few hours and the village crowd in full view, it is the most uncommon, the most alternative venue to watch a Tendulkar innings. The occasion made it memorably unique.
You can hear every sound from every corner but it's not intrusive, save the sound of bat and ball and the occasional encouraging yell from the captain of the fielding side. Away from the big city's claustrophobic crush of spectators, miles removed from the frenzied electronic buzz over Tendulkar's upcoming retirement, for a few minutes it seemed like a throwback to an era when village and county cricket was all the rage.
No one was continuously checking the scoreboard. The crowds didn't seem fussed about fours and sixes or the asking rate. They were free to focus on the man in the middle who will not bat here again.
Tendulkar did not need to play in Lahli. He could have saved himself for the bigger occasions in Kolkata and Mumbai in a few days. Whether he does well here or not hardly matters to his legend. But having chosen to turn up, he has not only drawn millions of people all over the globe to this particular game. He has reminded us of the sanctity of India's domestic cricket scene, often overlooked these days when international stars are constantly playing at a city near you.
It's often forgotten that Tendulkar straddled two worlds of cricket with equal aplomb. His roots are old-fashioned, more about pride than commerce; his quest for technical perfection a quiet tip of the hat to an art he loves being good at. Yet he is a modern icon who he plied his trade in changing times, sometimes even being the fulcrum of that change.
When he came in to bat on Tuesday, Tendulkar raised his bat in acknowledgement of the cheers and the Haryana team's guard of honour. Then, for the second time in this match, he went up to the middle of the pitch and touched it.
Then he touched his chest and forehead in a gesture of both respect and prayer. That was when it sank in that in a few days, we won't be seeing this man bat again. Especially when, later in the day, he played an exquisite cover drive off Ashish Hooda that had the small crowd - in Tendulkar's terms - gasping in awe.
As a parting gift to the Ranji Trophy, Tendulkar gave the tournament something it sorely needs: a reminder of its presence. Hopefully, a few fans will hang on after this game and see this season through. And a few young cricketers will have watched him in Lahli.
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