OK, here are the statistics. First the 388 one-day internationals during which he has pillaged 15,051 runs with a record 41 centuries; then the 137 Test matches producing 10,922 runs and 37 centuries. Thirty-seven Test centuries: the most any Englishman has made is 22. He needs just six singles to overtake Steve Waugh and move into third place in the all-time list of heaviest Test run scorers. With his amalgamated tally of 25,973 runs and 78 centuries, Sachin Tendulkar is, of course, easily the most prolific international batsman in history.
Staying focused: Sachin Tendulkar practising ahead of the Lord's test
Those are the facts. They quantify a career of extraordinary achievement that has made Tendulkar a sporting megastar and the richest cricketer that ever lived. Quite apart from the restaurant chain named after him and the Ferraris he is gifted, last year he signed a three-year commercial deal worth £22 million with Iconix, the marketing arm of Saatchi and Saatchi. Currently he advertises on TV everything from mobile phones and motor bikes to soft drinks, biscuits, cereal and deodorants. Indians literally speak, eat and breathe him.
But what about the man? What lies beneath the diminutive frame and the cherubic face that has contrived to make him such a phenomenon, and how does he cope with the adoration and expectation of a billion Indians?
Now 34, and in his 19th season on the international stage, can he quell the rumblings of general decline and steer India to their first Test series win in England for 20 years, or will this be the Little Master's quiet swansong?
If Tendulkar had seen reports of the furore surrounding David Beckham's arrival at Los Angeles Galaxy last weekend he would have been permitted a wry smile. It's the kind of thing he deals with on a daily basis back home. Feted by a cricket-mad people, he is gawped and goggled at wherever he goes. Hundreds of rubber-neckers cluster around the Indian team bus as the players leave for the ground at the end of a day. They cry Sachin's name and attempt to touch him or push scraps of paper, rupee notes, even dried leaves at him to be signed. The same circus confronts him when the team arrive a short while later at their hotel. They are escorted inside to the lobby where a third wave of well-wishers - those smartly enough dressed to be let in - descend on their heroes requesting photo opportunities with their mobile phones.
It is an exhausting business being an Indian star and Tendulkar, forever the No 1 target, has evolved a particular technique to deal with such attention. He blanks everyone, deliberately avoiding eye contact. He justifies this by explaining that if he engages with just one face, one person, many others will see his lowered guard and clamour for his attention, and the situation would quickly get out of control. He knows such situations would be emotionally draining. Something has to give.
As it happens this avoidance approach suits Tendulkar. He is something of a paradox. He performs on a global stage yet actually doesn't like attention, invariably preferring the comfort and security of his home and close family to the sycophancy and scrutiny of public life. He is a private person, who occasionally used to venture out (sometimes in disguise) but now invariably retreats to his hotel room after play and, when travelling, plugs into his iPod rather than risk conversing with anyone. A rich and glamorous businesswoman who found herself sat next to him on a plane one day was amazed that he didn't pay her even a single glance throughout the journey.
In keeping with his personality, his batting is entirely methodical. It revolves around careful preparation and an economy of movement. His strokes are neat and compact. There is the occasional streak of virtuosity but his batting lacks the pure showmanship and bravado of other latter day greats like Lara or Viv Richards. Where those men attempted to demolish attacks, Tendulkar dissects them: he is a surgeon at work. To Lara a net was an occupational hazard; to Tendulkar it is the laboratory to create clinical perfection. He plans his innings meticulously and is forever working on something, roughing up practice pitches outside leg stump to simulate facing Shane Warne (he made 155 not out after doing so), or yesterday at Lord's honing his judgment against left-arm swingers and spinners, to replicate the angle and style of England's Ryan Sidebottom and Monty Panesar.
While Lara has been ostentatious in everything he has done - building extravagant homes, dating beautiful women, playing daring innings - living life on a Snakes and Ladders board, Tendulkar likes consistency and routine, residing in a duplex apartment with his wife and son in the leafy, seaside Bombay suburb of west Bandra close to where he grew up, dominated by plasma screens and hi-fis, and probably computer chess.
