Saturday, August 18, 2007

"Chak De" a nice cool breeze hits theatres

A fairy tale with so many messages mixed in. When did you last see such a fairy tale.??? A tale, which deftly describes anguish of a so called traitor, shows its thumb at gender bender and hurrah come up trumps against all odds keeping you glued to your seats. Yeah that is Chak de for you.

In a country where every second Muslim is deemed a traitor, movie brings a refreshing new outlook. Want few instances of few so called traitors? How about Indira’s tacitly removing Muslim police officers from key areas, how about Azhar’s dropping a sitter at humdinger of a one dayer against South Africa on December 6,1992. Many pooh poohed him and red cherry’s turning hot potato was blamed on Azhar being a Muslim. Of course country was ravaged in communal riots thanks to Babri Maszid being brought down.

In a country where the so called modern parents still prefer a crow over a cuckoo. (An old concept where Visiting of a crow and cuckoo is supposed to culminate into birth of a boy and a girl respectively).

In a country where sports is still not take seriously unless it is meant to be a game of leather hunt by 11 “gentlemen”.

Yeah in such a country Chak De comes as a whiff of fresh air. A refreshing break from over the top screaming non sense movies.

SRK is not playing SRK to start off. Script is well measured and each scene is done very well. Loved the way matches were shot. Camera angles were so well taken that matches looked so real. Humor is sprinkled generously to make it look entertaining. And at the end of the day, indomitable team spirit carries the day.

Yeah 16 Cinderellas get their princes, all in form of a glittering world trophy. Movie ends on a happy note, and we all feel elated.

No need to chuck in , Chak de subtly nudges us and coos into our ears……

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Rehan's Story

Episode 1

Rehan is an engineer, one of those who love to smell machines and who still don’t swear by codes and programs. He is an engineer of those good old times, yet he is young, very young. He has graduated from one of reputed colleges of India. A bright young man he has made his hands dirty in an automobile company that too in an era when they all coaxed him 2 join a software firm. “Get cushioned in an air conditioned office and travel by swanky cars, that’s life dude” His concerned friends used to advise him. Rehan’s dad was a decent man, but very timid person he was. It was difficult for him to believe that his bright son can let go what the whole world was glued to and young man prefers to smell paints and mobil oil to keyboards and thrills of writing ubiquitous codes.

What our Rehan is doing now? A young man of 25, armed with an experience of 3 years he is bit confused now. Where should I head to? What is purpose of my life? This questions haunt our protagonist as he suffers from what we all call “Mid life crisis” . Yeah mid life crisis starts at 25 now. A young man who as a teen swore by likes of Howard Roarks , has lost steam now. “Should I also pursue an MBA just as they all do?” he thinks aloud. Rehan knows that MBA is just mirage and doing it wont make him qualified in real sense.” Yeah it may make me earn better, I can afford goodies in life but is this all I want?” oh our man is as confused as our aam janta who keep sending hung parliament after every election.

Oh is the remote life causing all the trouble? Of course he has to be on his toes, keep running from one place to another to meet vendors and yeah he is mostly away from luxuries a city life love to pamper you with. Rehan listens to an Atif song and is lost somewhere down the memory lane, getting nostalgic he thinks of good old engineering days, He misses them all, his gang—Abhi, Trisha, Sandeep, Vinny, Aakansha and yeah best of them all his bosom pal Supriya. And a faint smile escapes his lips. Oh wistful thinking not again and he hears giving a slight admonishment to himself.

Rehan leaves the day with a note. I want to know the real meaning of life. I want to know if I can make a difference to others . Would some one be happy if he/she sees me overjoyed or would my loss be unbearable to some one? Thinking all this , leaves his eyes heavy and another night is spent on couch with a sinking insatiable feeling..

Friday, June 22, 2007

Back To The Real World


Well I am back from "My City" to the capital. I have a wonderful love-hate relationship with this city called "Bangalore". So coming back has mixed feelings.

Read a book which claims all cities suffer from schizophrenia. Well! Bangalore has to be a pleasant exception. A uniform city in many ways. What I like about city? Hmm... Unlike Delhi we don't have show offs here, those enfant terrible driving cars at tear away speed and blaring loud music to glory being their esteemed trait. Minds are better than Delhi and so are waists, guess that tells us why VLCC is not reaping a rich harvest in this city. Better bookshops and sensible book lovers - who don't dig in pulp fiction alone.

Language is alien but not people; they are not very friendly but pretty nice except when you are forced to catch an auto at unearthly hours. God save you then! India's GDP starts blushing at the shooting rise these meters show and to rub salt to injury, they would demands some extra top up on the "FAIR FARE" So top ups or toppings are pretty favorite here, be it pizza, recharge coupons or very own "making your wallet anorexic" loyalist auto meters.

What else makes Bangalore exciting. What is it that I look forward to? Home is where the heart and mind are, and yeah! Bangalore is where I made wonderful friends over the years, visited few exceptional people in my lives, eked out a living here for two years, cursed the traffic here which is legendary and is just getting better to keep its legendary status intact"

Strange it may sound as I crib so much about the city, so did my wonderful friends but we love to sleep in her tumultuous traffic , so that the affable heart can learn to enjoy, so that the intelligent minds can work wonders.

And its time for nostalgia to take a back seat now, let wistful thinking die down and let reality beckon. Time to perform in Capitol beyond my capabilities.
Pubs can wait,
so can quizzing clubs,
my favorite bookshop can hold on for a while,
and so can those who love me unconditionally.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Woo These Woes Away


As a child I used to glue to my TV set. I loved my cricket matches, Tennis matches and like all those typical children love to pamper myself with a heavy dose of funny cartoons. If I am not arguing away to glory with my friends in a field trying to better a Tendulkar, Akram or Bergkamp exploits, I must be up there nurturing my liaison with idiot box, a love which typically starts at a tender age and dear cupid can be kept on hold.

But then watching TV was a great fun, not because you anticipated a great episode or a nail biting one day pot boiler, it was more because you were kept on tenterhooks, will I be able to watch it today? Yeah summer seasons mean power cuts and much dreaded load shedding, and as a child biggest imperative to me for throwing tantrums. I used to be really crazy to miss out on some real eye feast TV was willing to offer but for fickle minded power to snatch it away. And then my father in his typical style used to run his hand through my hair and say “You lucky fella! Do you like smell of rain, bright sunlight , shimmering tree leaves , wind breezing through your hair?” As a child I used to nod my head gleefully. “Come on Papa who doesn’t like it” . Hmm and then came the smart retort “Well, Son because they don’t have to depend on these sarkaari babus , just think of horrible world if these little pleasures too lean on them”. It was difficult for me to understand and I used to shrug my shoulders and start playing some pranks to while away my time.

But last week as Jeff Immelt came calling to India and made light of a seemingly difficult poser from Pranov Roy , I was forced to think the same old story. “What should be strategy of Indian government for next 10 years Mr Immelt? “. “Nothing, Just focus on your infrastructure and let everything else take care of itself “Came Mr Immelt’s Reply. Sounds pretty in your face and casual? Think twice,. This is the truth, the bitter truth.


So in a murky setting you end up wasting two hours on a Banerghata Road traveling mere 5 kilometers, in a remote town called Chattarpur you end up shelling 60 bucks for a can of drinking water or still leave a god chunk of your younger ones to burn midnight oil literally. Infrastructure woes are here for quite some time and it a problem looming large over whole India in different forms. Time we understood and took comprehensive action to give monster a quick death, we don’t need GE CEO and Chairman too tell this, something we can understand on our own right?

Friday, April 20, 2007

Epic journeys to surpassing greatness

No man might have ever played tennis the way Roger Federer does. The Swiss master constantly stretches the limits of the possible, exploring new vistas in his own luminous soul. His great matches are not athletic contests; they are timeless compositions. This is why Federer is a greater athlete than Tiger Woods, the man who might end up as the greatest golfer of all time, writes Nirmal Shekar.
The very best of sport is not sport at all; for, it is only when sport breaks its often well-defined boundaries and ventures into alien territory and becomes a sort of super-sport that it is at its very best.
This is precisely why when you experience some of the greatest sporting moments, you don't often think of them as moments of mere athletic excellence but something way beyond that.
It first happened to me in July 1984. I was floating, although I couldn't have described the feeling in any clear terms at that time, a time when `I' and `Me' were lost, pushed back to the recesses of consciousness, a time when experience itself was dominated by a glorious new unity, magically encompassing everything — the experience and the experiencer, the performer and the performance, the stage and the setting, on a balmy summer afternoon at the All England Lawn Tennis Club in Wimbledon.
John McEnroe was playing Jimmy Connors in the final of the men's championship. That, of course, was the external reality. For, internal experience told you something else. Old Johnny Mac wasn't playing anybody; for this wasn't a match as much as it was an inspired composition with a tormented genius in communion with the truly life-enhancing creative depths of his soul.
Then, it happened to me again 15 years on, at the same place, also in early July. Pete Sampras was playing Andre Agassi in the final in 1999 and from midway in the first set to early in the third, the great man "walked on water'' as his opponent would concede.
The last time I experienced this almost indescribable feeling was quite recently, at the Australian Open last month, on a Thursday evening indoors at the Rod Laver Arena. It was an evening when Roger Federer, His Royal Lightness, danced a celestial dance on air while playing Andy Roddick in the semifinals.
"You feel like he is barely touching the ground. That's the sign of a great champion," said Rod Laver, a man who knows a thing or two about greatness, having swept the Slams in 1962 and 1969, a feat that may be beyond even the Swiss maestro.
All great athletic performers, when in flow, when they are in the zone, may come close to producing in the spectators/viewers such an exalted experience. But, few actually manage to elevate their act to a reality-altering experience as did McEnroe in 1984, Sampras in 1999 and Federer a few weeks ago.
Of course, such soul-lifting masterpieces are not limited to tennis. I remember a tournament in Sharjah in the late 1990s when Sachin Tendulkar turned a desert into a blooming paradise, so to say, playing innings after innings of such breathtaking beauty.
So, indeed, have a few other great sportspersons, not the least the enigmatic Diego Maradona in Mexico in 1986, Tiger Woods at the Augusta Masters and at the British Open, the gymnast Nadia Comaneci in the Montreal Olympics, Steffi Graf at the French Open in 1988... well, you could go on and on.
Yet, the question is this: has any athlete touched this almost otherworldly high as often as Federer does these days on the tennis circuit? Has anyone ever `walked on water' not so much as a once-in-a-lifetime, near superhuman effort but almost as a matter of habit, as does the Swiss master?
Over the last few months, there has been a lot of talk in the world of sport comparing Federer with Woods, sizing up two young men treading unique paths to surpassing greatness. Not surprisingly, both the Swiss and the American are keenly aware of where they are headed, possessed as they are of a rich sense of history. They have even met a few times, exchanged notes, patted each other on the back and remain good friends.
While Federer won his 10th Grand Slam title in Melbourne, Woods stretched his unbeaten run on the PGA Tour to seven tournaments, something no man has done in 62 years. While Federer, aged 25, is well on his way to beating Pete Sampras's record of 14 Grand Slam titles, Woods, aged 31, is six short of Jack Nicklaus's 18.
Given their respective ages and the quality of opposition in their sports, both men can be backed to set a new benchmark.
Woods, perhaps, has a little more time than Federer, given that golf can be played and mastered at the highest levels a lot longer — Jack Nicklaus won the last of his majors, at Augusta, in 1986 when he was 46 years old — but Federer has fewer challengers pushing him than Woods.
"The only thing going for me is that I have longevity in my corner,'' Woods said recently.
But, then, Federer is so dominant in men's tennis that he may not take long to win another five Grand Slam titles, which is what he needs to leave Sampras behind.
Sampras himself has acknowledged this. "I don't see anyone pushing him, so I could see him winning 17, 18, 19 majors. He has 10 already and he is in the middle of his career. He just came along at the right time and is playing tremendous tennis and I don't see him stopping now,'' said the seven-time Wimbledon champion.
Federer is so far away from the rest that, as a competitive sport, men's tennis has become a bit of a joke except on clay where Rafael Nadal has so far dominated the Swiss great.
In ranking points, Federer (8120) is 3345 ahead of Nadal, ranked No. 2. If you took away that many points from what Nadal has (4775), you get as far down as No. 17! What is more, Federer's record against his Top Ten rivals is incredible. Nikolay Davydenko is ranked No. 3. Federer is 8-0 against him. Only Nadal has a superior record against Federer (6-3), although it is significant to note that the world champion has beaten the Spaniard the last two times they have met (Wimbledon, Shanghai Masters) and the trend may well have reversed already.
Against Andy Roddick, Federer is 13-1, against James Blake he is 6-0 and against Fernando Gonzalez, whom he beat in the Australian Open final, the world No. 1 is 10-0.
Playing a sport that is a lot different from tennis, Woods may not have run up such impressive statistics. But the gifted American is almost as dominant as Federer is, although he did miss the cut at the U.S. Open last year — the equivalent of Federer losing before the quarterfinals of a Grand Slam, something that has not happened since May 2004.
This apart, Woods has had to do business in vastly different conditions from week to week. Given that golf courses can be very different from one another, and given the influence that weather conditions can have on play, Woods certainly has a harder job, although tennis too is played on different surfaces and the wind and the heat can be more than minor influences during matches.
Where Woods is ahead of Federer is in his sweep of the four majors — the Tiger Slam — a feat he accomplished in 2000-01. While the American has won every one of the four majors in golf — the Augusta Masters, the British Open, the U.S. Open and the PGA championship — at least twice, Federer is yet to win the French Open, where he was beaten in the final by Nadal last year.
But, after watching Federer's progress over the last six or seven months — a period during which he has lost just one match, to Britain's up-and-coming Andrew Murray — I believe that Federer has turned a corner. He has a better chance of winning the French Open — and beating Nadal on clay — this season than he did ever before in the past. His confidence has, predictably, reached stratospheric levels, and Nadal has not come close to beating him since the French final.
"I think he can (win the French Open) because he grew up playing on clay and he's come close the last two years,'' said Sampras during a recent teleconference to announce his return to the game, playing a few events on a tour for over-30 players. "I really believe he can win there.''
If Federer does win the French, it would be a major step towards the pinnacle after being celebrated by Laver himself as the greatest to ever wield a tennis racquet.
"That (winning the French) would be a dream come true,'' said Federer, a day after taking his 10th Grand Slam title in Melbourne.
But, to me, these — the French title, the number of Slams, weeks at No. 1 — are minor details when it comes to Federer. What matters to me is not how many titles he wins, or how often he wins, but merely how he wins matches. I spent a whole match at Melbourne recently watching his feet alone, not his racquet, not his opponent. It turned out to be a marvellous lesson. The man does dance on air, or at least he gives you the impression that he does, so light of foot he is.
If it is rather pointless and plainly illogical to compare athletes across eras, then it is even more absurd to compare athletes from different sports based on their records alone. After all, Woods hits a stationary ball and Federer one that moves, a distinction that is hugely significant. Yet, the temptation is irresistible, and even professional athletes cannot seem to resist it.
"It's a joke if you think Tiger's better than Federer,'' the Havard-educated James Blake was quoted as saying in the tennis website www.insidetennis.com recently. "Not to take anything away from Tiger because he is an unbelievable golfer, I'd make a case for Roger being the best athlete of our time — not tennis player — athlete.''
This, of course, is a case that has a lot of merit. For, no man might have ever played tennis the way Federer does. The Swiss master constantly stretches the limits of the possible, exploring new vistas in his own luminous soul. His great matches are not athletic contests; they are timeless compositions.
"You know what?'' an old friend and long-time tennis fan said — on telephone from Mumbai — the morning after the Federer masterclass that ended in a humiliating defeat for Roddick in Melbourne. "Roger is not sport, watching him is a spiritual experience.''
Although I am a well grounded naturalist and materialist, I told him he was right. I could understand why my friend should have felt the way he did. That is precisely why we human beings experience the best of music and art quite often as a sort of spiritual experience. It's a myth. But it doesn't hurt, does it?
Few will say this of Woods. We are often in awe of the great golfer, like an earlier generation of sports fans were in awe of Don Bradman. But Mozart and Van Gogh don't come to mind readily while watching Woods on the fairways and greens.
They do when Roger Federer dances his celestial dance on air.
* * *
SO THEY SAID
On Roger Federer
Oh, I would be honoured to even be compared to Roger. He is such an unbelievable talent, and is capable of anything. Roger could be the greatest tennis player of all time. It's hardly fair that one person can do all this — his backhands, his forehands, volleys, serving, his court position ... the way he moves around the court. I think the art of Roger is probably the best I've ever seen.
— Rod Laver
He's the most gifted player that I've ever seen in my life. I've seen a lot of people play. I've seen the (Rod) Lavers, I played against some of the great players — the Samprases, Beckers, Connors, Borgs, you name it. This guy could be the greatest of all time. That, to me, says it all.
— John McEnroe
We have a guy from Switzerland who is just playing the game in a way I haven't seen anyone — and I mean anyone — play before. How fortunate we are to be able to see that. If he stays healthy and motivated — and the wonderful feel he has stays with him — he is the kind of guy who can overtake the greatest.
— Boris Becker
On Tiger Woods
There isn't a flaw in his golf or his makeup. He will win more majors than Arnold Palmer and me combined. Somebody is going to dust my records. It might as well be Tiger, because he's such a great kid. He has the finest, fundamentally sound golf swing I've ever seen.
— Jack Nicklaus
At the end of the day, is Tiger better than Jack, or is Jack better than Tiger? We won't know until it's all over and done with. But with the numbers he's putting up now, you have to give him (Woods) the edge.
— Greg Norman
The most impressive player that I have seen to this date, at this stage of his game, and without question with the most potential that I have ever seen — his mannerisms, his maturity, his basic fundamentals and approach to the game is Tiger Woods. He is the soundest young player that I have ever seen. The only guy I can think about that would have been close to that in youth and ability was Nicklaus. We played the other day and even Jack agreed that he didn't have the poise and the stature that Woods has right now.
— Arnold Palmer

Greg vs The Guys: a tragicomedy

Another one by Nirmal . I am huge fan of his writing and still wonder why the man doesnt get as much adoration as he richly deserves. A gem of a writer and that still remains an understatement ......


Forget the World Cup in the Caribbean. Forget, too, the evergreen Sanath Jayasuriya's marvellous heroics with the bat and the ball. Pay no attention to the celebration of the great Glenn McGrath's final hurrah. Say goodbye to Guyana and Antigua and quickly turn your attention to our own Mumbai, a teeming city where nine-tenths of life is an argument.
For, Indian cricket's intriguing, never-ending game within the game has begun once again. And the stirring, unmissable climactic scenes of the Blame Game are scheduled to be enacted in India's commercial capital on Friday and Saturday.
Nothing validates Friedrich Nietzsche's idea of Eternal Recurrence as convincingly as do the crises in Indian cricket.
In the context of the nation's sporting religion, the more things change the more they remain the same. "Life is but a dream whose shapes return," wrote T.S. Eliot in The Waste Land. Substitute `nightmare' for dream and you might get an idea of what it is like in Indian cricket.
But then, who cares in what shapes these nightmares return? After all, it is another round of riveting entertainment for a cricketing public still mourning the premature departure of Rahul Dravid's men from the World Cup.
Washing dirty linen
A complaisant audience will be treated to the latest episode of the long-running let's-smear-each-other-in-public tragicomedy. And this will be screened at convenient times, during daylight and early evening hours — you don't have to keep awake through the night to watch the drama and then land up slightly disoriented and bleary eyed at work the next day. Of course, we must thank Indian cricket for such small mercies.
One must admit that the sneak previews have been awe-inspiring. If they are anything to go by, we can look forward to seat-edge thrills on Friday and Saturday.
Then again, for all the seeming sameness, there is indeed a touch of variety these days. In the old days, the villains used to be men living across the border from us.
These days, the bad guys happen to carry Australian passports. Or, are they Indian passports? Are the bad guys home-grown ones? We are not even sure at this point. Not bad at all _ cricket is certainly doing better than Bollywood and Kollywood movies when it comes to plotlines.
So, welcome, then, to Greg versus The Guys, senior guys I might add. Forget a possible Australia-South Africa face-off on April 28. This — what is going to be played in Mumbai — is the mother of all finals.
And now, to the big question: who is right and who is wrong? Who are the heroes and who are the villains? It is no surprise, of course, that all these questions come up only when the team fails — which, these days, is often enough.
Collective failure
But the truth is, it is a collective failure — collective not merely in the sense of the coach and the players put together but in a sense that encompasses everything, even things that go beyond the sport in question.
For, it is a systemic malady. Poorly engineered leaky systems will always throw up situations in which such nightmarish scenarios arise time and again.
In a stimulating book The Lucifer Effect: How Good People Turn Evil, Philip Zimbardo, Professor Emeritus of Psychology at Stanford University, comes up with the argument that evil is not only about those who appear to cause it but, more importantly, it is about the situations and systems that let it flourish.
As much is true of all the stink in Indian cricket. For, it is not merely about individuals, their behaviour and attitudes; it is about the overall system that makes room for such behaviour and attitudes.
Surely, we can point a finger at Greg Chappell and say that the Aussie coach never thought it a virtue to keep his mouth shut, especially in the company of men and women whose job it is to make public such pearls of wisdom as may have been on offer.
After all, over the last two years, Greg Chappell-interviews have been as much a staple in newspapers and television channels as are weather reports. But the problem does go beyond Chappell's loquaciousness.
Surely, we can point a finger at some senior players for wanting to `own' their places in the Indian team, for living on past glory and believing that their celebrity alone would help them stay in the side forever. But, again, the problem goes beyond such selfish attitudes.
Clearer vision
To get to the root of the problem needs not only perseverance but also the willingness to cast away the old foggy spectacles through which we have come to view Indian cricket and its crises. It calls for vision in a business where visionaries are in short supply.
It is because of this, it is because a massive system-overhaul — something that shakes up the greedy, complacent and largely inefficient administration for a start — does not seem likely that I believe whatever comes out of the BCCI meetings on Friday and Saturday will make no big difference to the long term health of Indian cricket.
And life — and cricket — will go on as ever in this country. For, this is one product that has never witnessed any consumer resistance in India. Whatever the quality, tens of millions are ready to lap it all up.

Trashing Tendulkar isn't cricket

One old article on Sachin Tendulkar by God of all writers on sport who else but Nirmal Sekhar.
All i can say is the man has made me smile whenever i got hold of an article by him . Savor the man and find him at his stupendeous best as ever........


MANY a connoisseur of cricket may have come to believe, on Sunday, that the unthinkable has happened when Sachin Tendulkar was booed all the way back to the pavilion at the Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai by sections of the crowd. But, in truth, it was unimaginable only because we may have failed to scratch the surface of our fast-evolving cricketing culture, only because we have probably failed to see the fast-emerging darkness in the very soul of a once-great culture, which is dumbing down rather alarmingly.
Trashing Tendulkar for an uncharacteristic failure is much like attempting to dismantle the Taj because one of its walls has developed a minor crack over time. It is simply not done. And the shocking incident in Mumbai says more about where we — as a nation of cricket-obsessed people — are headed than about Tendulkar's own travails in the twilight of an unmatched career.
In the fullness of time, we will know whether the great man's nightmare-run with the bat is a temporary slump in form or, perhaps, the beginning of a much more serious career crisis. But, right now, this issue is less relevant than the fact that people who may have never had the good fortune to let their spirits soar to exalted levels with each Tendulkar symphony chose to greet his first innings departure with catcalls and booes to leave a scar on the not-so-pretty face of the game in India.
If the poignancy of that dark moment on Sunday afternoon went way beyond sport, then it was also a quick reminder that as sportslovers quite a few of us have now become ``here and now'' people in the worst possible connotation that term can take on.
For, if the ones that booed the little maestro had had the good sense to look beyond the man's momentary struggles at the crease to the grand monument he has left behind, his dismissal might have brought a sort of heaviness to their hearts and tied up their tongues in sheer disbelief.
Then again, for many sportslovers, that is precisely the problem today — they have lost the capacity to appreciate history, to look at the larger picture, to go beyond the most recent stimuli and understand events in a historical perspective.
Worshippers of instant celebrity
Many of us, thanks to the influences of the age in which we live, have become worshippers of instant celebrity. The non-stop dross coming at us from all directions has forced us to wilfully conclude that today's success is the greatest success ever achieved, that today's seat-edge thriller is the greatest game ever played, that today's superstar is the greatest megastar of all times.
When our sporting culture has suffered this sort of corruption, when its essential core has been eroded by these giant new waves, it is hardly surprising that a great icon such as Tendulkar should himself become a victim in his own backyard.
The point is, Tendulkar never promised any of us a masterly century in every innings that he might get to play. We were the ones who set that impossible goal for the little man. That he has failed to meet that unrealistic goal is no sheen off his greatness; it merely throws light on our own foolishness.
At no point in his remarkable career did Tendulkar tell us that he was immortal; we turned him into a sort of superhuman phenomenon — where none exists in the known world — because we were perhaps ashamed of our own all too human limitations and wanted someone not-quite-like-us to look up to.
Never in the last 16 years that he has been dominating our sporting consciousness has Tendulkar ever hinted that he was invincible; we turned him into an invincible champion because we felt the need to bolster our own sense of everyday reality with something supernatural.
Harsh reality
The harsh reality of the capricious business of sport is this: every champion that has ever drawn breath, every champion as yet unborn, can be sure of one thing — some day, he will fail. The world of sport is yet to toast a truly invincible athlete.
But, then, in dealing with Tendulkar's failure — or any issue of this sort — it is very easy to find the answer we want; much, much more difficult to find the answer that matches the truth.
Of course, as passionate followers of the game, we are entitled to our own opinions. If some of us believe that the great man may not deserve a place in the team if he continues to fail, that's fair enough. Nobody owns a place in the Indian cricket team — not even Tendulkar.
But what is not fair — and will never be — is to stoop down to the sort of mindless pettiness that triggered the Mumbai booing on Sunday.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Let some die a thosand deaths...

And we talked we chattered we chirped in joy till bang it came that much dreaded expiry date. I was told “every good thing comes with an expiry date”. Eternal romantic in me refused to believe. I looked for new excuses to blatantly disobey these outlandish rules.

Smile came on that cruel face and as a child I had to fall in line and yeah had to be abused as well.

So I told myself I befriended this commodity very late in life, ah that expiry date!!!! I always associated that with those much stinking medicines and irony is today I stand victim to the same.

“What leaves you with heavy heart? ” They all ask and I smile, “Well nothing, I tell you”. I pretend and they buy my story. No hold on some one does not take me on face value, cruel world gauges the inner one.

I tell the person “You are too close to be duped”, I can not do that. “Wish I told you a lot earlier but ego is a shield which won’t bare us to each other”. The person shakes head and gives me that assassinating smile.

It pierces me and I am resigned to my fate. “Holy Bible, how untruthful you are!!!!!!”

“You said meek would inherit the earth”. “Truthful would call the shots”. Well, here is a fella awaiting a death of distrust.

“Take it away’ I scream, I am too coward to face it. But haunting voice asks same silly questions, can it be ignored.?. “Yeah It can be why not’ she says. “Hmm, no ignore it at your own peril” He declares. I am torn apart between seemingly all real and caring suggestions.

“Ah how I wish I don’t need a disclaimer attached to my life “all I can wail in pain as I wring my hurt emotions…………………………

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Being Revisited

And quivering shadow beckons comes sheepishly and sits next to me. I have seen it before but my memory fails me. And it asks in its baritone voice “So, How was it?” The element of sarcasm is irrepressible in its voice. I can spot it. I draw a long pause. How should fire it across. I know what it wants and what it means, but am I intrepid enough to accept it, emboldened to own it?

“Well” I reel off in a trembling unassuring tone, “I know you would come and ask me the same “. “No, I really care for you” It retorts. I can feel pangs of pain and I am on verge of breaking but I hold off gallantly, suppressing all those emotions which undid me in past.

“Ah, really my angel” I end up saying dryly, very sarcastically. It shows a concerned face but knows has been cornered for a while. It raises a hand as to object to me as if the professed sarcasm were blasphemous. I wave it away with disdain I have always reserved for Them. “How should I prove I am really concerned “It utters in a very cagey manner.

I look around; it’s pitch dark and all I can here few dogs whimpering down the next street.

No no wait I am glued to that strange undecipherable sound , have clutched to it yet all I can think its coming from the debris staring at my house up there. Not sure though.

Bad omen, really bad omen I feel. Only a Caesar can show contempt for such omens not me , I am not eager to embrace my maker now, I think and let a faint smile escape my lips.

An awkward silence grips us. I silently pray to God, “Let it be awkward, harsh reality would shear me, let me escape it once more”. Silhouette I see is in no such mood; it anticipates my prayer and smiles knowing God is mere mortal today.” So, would you open yourself” the eeriness is perceptible as It trails off. “But that was long ago, why it popped up again today, I could not bow to those whims and wishes, that insatiable desire for more of me drove me crazy” I heard myself telling him drawing all that fire I thought was quenched long ago, ah tonight I knew it kept on smoldering . “Weirdly trying to justify it “I am snubbed. “No, the culprit is that fleeting moment, which I can’t invoke now how hard, may I try” I make a pale attempt to philosophize. I offer him a cigarette. “But they said you don’t smoke” He queries me. “Yes, I don’t” I mumble. It’s to keep swine like you happy. Let you make some rings, give me precious moment to scurry for cover I am tempted to snap. “Thanks, I am sure it is not a sweetener” He says. “No, assault me I lie bare here” I have given up now. Predator is gauging its prey. I guess it is fiddling and masking its next move. Prey is trapped it knows, it is there for asking all at its mercy. Prey is asking for that coup de grace, awaiting the inevitable. Has ever a prey justified things to its predator, better wait and let It hasten my agony. Wistfully I want my maker to concur with me. Rings of desire being smoked in my face, I inhale it heartily and want to guess my tormentor’s next move. Our eyes meet, confrontation is imminent. It lowers its head and mutters under its breath. “Await the agony, anticipate it , it is fun this way” A cruel laugh reverberates my citadel.

Friday, March 02, 2007

Optimism smolders deep down somewhere

Glut of emotions flush me

And introspection hastens inevitable

Conscience is lurking behind

Truth to deep to fathom.


Gloomy smile covers up the scars

Jarring note in harmony of happiness

Stifling is this nostalgia

Deeper I dig, shallower I feel


Pretensions have wings

They take far away

From blurring footprints of time

Careening off to another fallacy


Blushing optimism winks at me

Gleam in her eyes not unnoticed

Rouge of truth eminent on her face.

She dispels that gloomy despair

Casting shadows of doubt washed away,

Mirage disappears, sunshine caresses me.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Dare me i cant be phony

Well many of my friends have mentioned that I write magnificently when I am on high. To be honest none of them are from my present college. This college is phony and but for my roomies and loomies they all have branded me one of those drunkards

So no point talking to them or taking their counsel. Honestly I don’t care for phony people . world is full of them . IIFT be one of them. There be few friends but let them be mine rather than a thousand pretending to be friend. Strange isn’t it I am writing such a thing which looks so outrageous but who cares. I have an exam to conquer and I feel after eight months I know this place well. An d am contemplating why I am made this way either I am friend or just another those of traitors who play along and by now I know whom to trust and whom to wave away with disdain. The biggest problem is I take pride in is I can see people through . and most of them are phony they cant be your friend .i miss my engineering college and as one of seniors whom I hold in high esteem said Ruchir man study well you are capable enough to do that and bloody MBAs? Don’t try to befriend them they All are bastards all would look for their advantage help them if you wish let me see how many come to your help when you are deep down in ditch. Well to be honest I can bank on few , me a fortunate one.,

So? I know what he said is right. It’s a professional place , am damn lucky to get a few, shouldn’t be greedy.

They may say whatever they want, brand us most unwanted - most unforgiving ones. Am beyond caring, beyond being decoded...

365 days I shall forget most, Life goes in full circles.

And a year later I'll be celebrating my swan song; saying those good things that i REALLY DONT mean.

Hiuh world is so phony, I enact well as I have to go long and I don t want to rub people the wrong way. Long live brethren some time left before we kiss each other good bye……..

Dare me i cant be phony

Well many of my friends have mentioned that I write magnificently when I am on high. To be honest none of them are from my present college. This college is phony and but for my roomies and loomies they all have branded me one of those drunkards

So no point talking to them or taking their counsel. Honestly I don’t care for phony people . world is full of them . IIFT be one of them. There be few friends but let them be mine rather than a thousand pretending to be friend. Strange isn’t it I am writing such a thing which looks so outrageous but who cares. I have an exam to conquer and I feel after eight months I know this place well. An d am contemplating why I am made this way either I am friend or just another those of traitors who play along and by now I know whom to trust and whom to wave away with disdain. The biggest problem is I take pride in is I can see people through . and most of them are phony they cant be your friend .i miss my engineering college and as one of seniors whom I hold in high esteem said Ruchir man study well you are capable enough to do that and bloody MBAs? Don’t try to befriend them they All are bastards all would look for their advantage help them if you wish let me see how many come to your help when you are deep down in ditch. Well to be honest I can bank on few , me a fortunate one.,

So? I know what he said is right. It’s a professional place , am damn luck to get few friends and shouldn’t be greedy . I must confess, who would get so good friends .

Let them say whatever they want they may brand us most unwanted and most unforgiving ones. Am beyond these caring, those who cant shouldn’t try to decode me.

365 days to go and I may forget most of them . Life goes in full circles. so one year later even I would be celebrating my swan song and saying all those good things which I may not mean . Hiuh world is so phony and I enact well as I have to go long and I don t want to rub people wrong way. Long live brethren some time left before we kiss each other good bye……..

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Some Old Tragic Characters

Just continuing from where I left. Yeah I said I was going through an old poem. A poem call it rather poetry on Mahabharata . And he asks ‘Who is your favorite character?”. “Karna” I blurt out and he readily agrees.

My favorite two characters in world of History are Karna and Brutus. Pretty much similar they thought. Both good people who ended up on wrong side. Both wonderful people who were used and abused, but did they ever compromised on their dignity.

Both big idiots with capital I. if I have to write Mahabharata , I would never let a disguised Krishna beg for karna’s kavhca-Kundal , something which ensured Karna too joined ranks of mere mortals. Yes finally Karna could be cruelly killed. Krishna ensures , Karna knows it but embrace that ghastly death Karna all in name of keeping your solemn word. Rest as they say is history.

And what about Brutus?? Someone who stabbed his own greatest friend . Brutus was Caesar’s great friend whether sentiments were returned by Caesar , I have my own doubts.

“Et tu , Brute”? yeah it makes Caesar a hero, who was dead not because Cassius and kaska’s instruments were very fine tuned but he died because he could not take a half hearted faint strike from dear friend Brutus. I feel connotation may be slightly different. Caesar was too ambitious to have many good friends around him, he was simply surprised too see a fool Brutus go against him, Brutus does not have courage and mind to go against me , he will back me against his conscience , a complacent Caesar must have thought. Brutus made a mess of it by allowing Mark Antony to make a heartrending speech. “Friends , Romans , Countrymen Lend me your ears, I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him”…….. and Destiny is sealed forever. Why on Brutus ever did that ? he knew that glib is forte of Antony. And “Brutus is an honorable man” was sarcasm at its best that too for a man who was certainly chivalrous and honorable. Portia don’t need to come and support her husband I guess.

But as has been said , Destiny is cruel and may be the genuinely meek will never inherit the earth. “O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,”

Nocturnal Musings

A good night in offing. There is one soul here who can cheer up everyone and i can connect most to him. People don't take him seriously and he does not hold any thing of responsibility here.The most talented lad around only if is slightly more visible(That's the destiny more for college than for him).We scour the whole place to read an old forgotten poem and beautiful poem shines up the park. Well a hindi poem for all anglophiles that may be a dampner. These days I find myself pretty serene and peaceful. Previously experienced stirrings are missing somehow. Well may be it has effect of not thinking too much about too many things. Why is it so, why it should not be done this way? Where is the thrill in doing it? It’s damn boring leave it. I am not sure whether it’s an escapist in me holding charge of most of my affairs, pretty lazy human being dodging all uncomfortable questions and unwilling to grind . Or may be a sharp mind wanting to optimize its effort and seeing through most of things and which gets bored if things are not exciting and challenging.. Or may be it’s a combination of all three.

A sudden gush of posers before me by someone at this unearthly hour, so it culminates in an unfinished dream. Escaping from Delhi or not, all he asks. I concur; will be back in a jiffy.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

A fulfilling day interwined with starry night

It’s almost 5 in the morning and I can dream with open eyes. Yeah I am back to life of insomniac. People have different reasons for insomnia. Some are plagued by worries, some fall prey to Venus’s charms, some get crumpled under old age and some simply don’t have refuge to take that appearing snooty nap. No, none of these reasons beguiles me yet I am sleepless in Delhi.

I have run out of energy for a change. I am feeling high today (No it’s not alcohol, haven’t taken it for a while), I am happy because I feel spent after doing something worthwhile. To be candid, I must say I always felt my days at my office would be well spent. Hurly burly life I relished there for a while but lost interest once it got repetitive. Yeah I had a great boss and lovely teammates yet pangs of ennui just kept me grimacing.

And then IIFT beckoned. Yeah, I was in ever churning stable of managers. Future managers if you want to adorn it and make an arrogant manager a bit flamboyant.

Well I deliberated for quite some time before arriving at decision that MBA(IB) won’t hurt though suppressed desires wanted to settle for nothing less than numero uno . Hmm my one of the best friend’s residence, the very same college.

That much required serenity dawns on my room, my roommates are already off to meet their dream queens (in their dreams of course). I can clutch to every single movement made in this campus, every unheard sound is perceivable.

Languid elegance holed up somewhere in me lures me now and as an deferential child I am ready to agree to all her whims and wishes. Time to call it day, one of more fulfilling days.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Grammies are Strange....but gets redeemed in the end..


I wasn’t a fan of The Doors in my college days. Fan? Well I did not know who Jim Morrison was before I knew Coordinate Geometry. It was a quiz where it all boiled down to One poet and one writer whose eyes were trained on future ( yeah Poet was Blake and writer Aldous Huxley). And question which had to decide the winner was about a band inspired by one of Blake’s poems and Brave new World’s author. Lame me could not think of anything but “Tiger Tiger Burning bright” and it was curtains for us. But it wasn’t “the end”, the band fired my imagination and yeah that chilly December evening the doors of perception were cleansed somewhat.

So it all started in tears but irony is this band of four(Morrison, Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger and John Densmore) from California brightened many a dull moment for me, and I remembered hushed advice from my friend “Careful dear while playing the original version of The End at your home , you know folks may not like it”.

Morrison was cryptic and controversial, a lethal mix if you want to be an overnight celebrity. Teeny Boppers all over the world fell and they do keep falling, yeah world over Howard Roark is a young woman’s first crush but then move over Roark screamed the media we have found ours in Jim Morrison. Yeah Teeny Boppers lapped him up. Be his accidental fall or profanity filled The End Mother mother I want to *&)(&)(&(. Yeah Morrison died at young age of 27 and eternal romance of ours with death made him a legend .Yeah tragedy always makes legends , Bradman won’t ve been the same if Hollies delivery was well read by run machine and that much sought 4 runs in last innings were duly completed. That’s life, what could have been excites us more than what has been.

Ah loved you gentlemen, and finally Grammy knows what a fool it had been not to be adorned on deserved heads, it’s too late to be blessed with a Grammy but Grammy redeems it self by Lighting fire of million of ‘The Doors’ fans, not all ‘The End’ are controversial and tragic, few can be sweet and pleasantly surprising too

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Trespassing the self

Few days are as serene as the one I am spending right now. After recharging my batteries for a couple of weeks, the world looks a changed place back here. Well these are still early days of what promises to be a stormy affair (the third trimester).
Beautiful cold creeps in, embracing you in a way you start craving for warmth more than ever before. But mercury may choose to dip, it soars my spirits. The early morning mist and dew caressing the feet (yeah I was forced to experience that twice this time around) are warmest experience I could ever have. And those leaves shimmering with dew who just waited for me to drop their blessings.

Sometimes it’s fun to be alone, marooned on a lonely island? Nah, I’ll prefer to be alone in deluge of humanity. It’s fun to be lost out some times. As of now even a room shared by 3 non stop loudspeakers wears a very tranquil look. Everyone absorbed in his own work, well that’s what life is. It’s so much hustle and bustle in this room, but golden silence dawns on us , that too with characters like Sid, Mickey and Ah me too around.

Yeah I said that’s life is all about. Sounds so cruel and yet so true, few years down the line that’s what life is supposed to be. Everyone busy is his/her own world, when everyone would long for the moments passed by.

Expectations?? Hah the biggest dampner surging emotions can handle. Tempers were sent flaring when they weren’t met and heartaches followed, sounds so somber, each smiling face has thousands stories to tell and few keep haunting as it did back one chilly evening of gone December. The world feels I am mature and I make a fool out of me by letting child in me come to fore. Unexpected surprises can beguile the best in business.
Oh some moments are fleeting. Serenity is still here, but usual suspects are back (all mentioned above) are back and yeah another fruitful discussion in offing.