You have to go and watch the movie for yourself to understand the feeling of awe that Sachin fans would feel. The prospective provided by amazing direction and equally good screenplay keeps you glued to your seats for the whole duration of the movie. Pride sweeps over you as you see Sachin picking his bat up and making a clean sweep. In the end, all we will say is, its not a movie, its an experience.

You always know what you are in for in a biographical drama. You have seen or read about those amazing sports icons achieving against odds and with meagre means. You want to relive the nostalgia around them and if that comes with some untold stories, nothing could be better than that. On that account, Sachin A Billion Dreams offers a heavy dose of the glorious ’90s, an era in which the BCCI became the superpower of world cricket. Be very clear about one thing: More than a definitive docu-drama, the film is a celebration of the master blaster’s really long career, his humility and rooted approach to life. You get to see how the passion of cricket ignited Sachin Tendulkar, and how his brother Ajit Tendulkar realised his latent potential. His coach Ramakant Achrekar, facing Waqar Younis’s whispering bouncers for the first time, injuries, TV commercials come after that. But we have seen all this. No video footage can make us do something more than mere smiling in the dark when our national hero lifts the World Cup in 2011. Having said that, Sachin A Billion Dreams still works to a good extent, because, well, it’s Sachin Tendulkar. The man who made us cry during his last speech at Wankhede Stadium. I wiped my eyes when the same footage played inside the theatre, I won’t deny that, but that’s mostly because of the nostalgia attached to my teens. It’s reliving the Sachin magic, not a perfect docu-drama on him. Still enough to bring you to the theatres. We have been doing it for years. Maybe one more time.

When the protagonist has been the collective voice and conscience of India’s cricketing history, then he’s a tough subject to make a film on. Naturally, James Erskine puts Sachin on a pedestal and tells the story with an unnatural amount of reverence. It’s a treat to get a peek into Sachin’s childhood. And it’s also a fan-shriek moment to see footage of him in his personal space, looped to Dire Straits and Bappi Lahiri with his wife Anjali, his children—Arjun and Sara, his family and friends. The fact that Sachin is the sutradhar(narrator)who walks the viewer through his victories and injuries is an additional bonus. But, wait there’s a flip side too. Most controversies around the cricketing God are glossed over. Many of us (me included) die-hard Sachin fans are ready to face the fact that our icon may have displayed feet of clay on occasion. However, the film doesn’t take chances. Sachin’s poor performances in some key matches and his reluctance to comment on some of his boorish seniors are just touched on fleetingly. The hagiographic narrative continues with commentators, critics and colleagues--Dhoni, Kohli, Ganguly, Sehwag and Harbhajan are (sigh!) only eulogizing the Little Master. Academically though this film is important one because for a nation that revers cricket, it serves as a reminder that prodigies may be born, but they become Sachin Tendulkar only through perseverance, patience and preparation. Go India go.