All good things need a refreshing look. Taking that into account, i have gone for a refreshing new blog. Please visit it at http://rumblingmusings.wordpress.com
....and leave your comments..
Ruchir
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Brilliant Blond
Seven sauntered but well measured steps towards his prey. Air just kissing his blond hair. A well known and much adored sight on a cricket field. Do we really need to introduce Shane Keith Warne to the world? An illusionist born to mesmerize us, a god to rule over mere mortals.
Strange does it sound that such a man had an ordinary debut , that too in his own den , that too against Indian willow wielders. He bowled like a millionaire at SCG, being spanked by Shastris of the world.
A man who would have made a brilliant captain in Brearley mode, only topped up with better and grander talent. But God decided otherwise. As they say blood rushes towards the mind or towards your sexed up organ and flow of blood decides which one would act. For a man, occurrence of one deceives presence of other. A mutually exclusive event which cost happy texting Warnie dear.
All those balls delivered in the rough a feet away from the leg stump , defying Bernoulli’s law to take off hapless wielders’ off stump would stay a sight in my mind. I would remember world cup 1996 Semi final at Mohali where warnie single handedly destroyed a much comfortable placed Windies to see kangaroos home.
That mischievous grin and that sly mind. Certain things are destined by almighty and one can’t attain it by grind. A shrewd brilliant cricketer does it. Always adored Warnie . He along with Lara and Tendulkar made an exceptional trio . Winning IPL for Rajasthan Royals is another feather to his much adorned cap.
Only if blood would have defied gravity and streamed towards cerebrum and we would have brilliant tactician’s masterstrokes to be cherished . Our loss turned out to be Rajasthan’s gain.
My Friend
Stay beside me my dear friend.
Your unconditional friendship buoys me
Brings different hues of smile
Lets me chortle with glee
Your care for me may not need words
Up there in your eyes I can gauge
Honesty and disarming smile
Purity of innocence sans haze
Green I am I agree
World may be a roller coaster ride
I fumble, I falter
Butted with remarks snide
So I do stumble, limping I steady
Helping hand I don’t need
Pangs of inner hunger may torn me
Keep off that glimmer, don’t feed
I fail but I want to rise
With freedom I would soar in sky
Be there and smile at me
Stunted growth pampers me to try
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Signing in Chennai
While listening to “Bavra mann dekhne chala ek sapna” I am writing another blog. There is something about this song which calms me. It makes me inherently happy, something which is difficult to be explained.
By this time I am pretty much settled in my cozy cocoon at Chennai. I still remember when I checked my email, a beaming mail from Company people was there right at the top of my inbox. The mail read “Dear Ruchir, please report to our Chennai office on 28th of April. I would be bluffing if I said I took it sportingly, to be honest I was lost for words for few seconds . The only solace was that business unit was of my choice and biggest of them all ;mail was floated on 1st of April. April 1, Fools’ Day. I sincerely hoped they have just pulled a fast on me. “May be it is just a friendly banter to ensure better employee-employer relationship” I wished.
But whole Fools’ day expectation belied any hopes as soon Companywallahs made clear that they still are not funny guys and they prefer going about their business sans pranks.
And I ended up at Chennai, sweltering heat welcomed me and Autowallahs helped me in shedding some wallet weight. First week at office was less about work and more about rules and policies that company frame and employees are expected to obey. If I put my thinking caps on , a lot many such rules sound obsolete and many have glaring loopholes , but frankly I give a damn. I still feel few years down the line I want to be one in human resources, nourishing and retaining talent, shaping them lovingly and tenderly so that they put their best foot forward for the company . In lighter vein if that would be difficult I would adopt a child and shape up his/her future.
As it has been a recurring nightmare for any nomadic person (and I have been an inherent one) first ten days were invested in house hunting. Chasing down “Ek mahal ho Sapnon ka” is a tough ask, it is spelt “TOUGHER” when you are in a bit orthodox city called Chennai. You are expected to be married, have a family, better if you are a south Indian Ayer. Well too many conditions and pre conditions. All such conditions act as filter and probability of finding a decent shelter quickly diminishes. Well you can manage one if you wash your eternal sins (not descending from a south Indian Ayer Family and not being married) with some extra bucks. Well money still rules and still has power to win over all thy perceived sins.
House hunting may cause serious problems . You end up scanning real estate magazines and sites. You compile a list of phone numbers with each name “Ramesh”, “Bala”, “Laxmi” preceded by a BROKER, just to ensure brokers’ names aren’t mixed up with ohers’names. Think of it; my boss’s name and one of broker’s names is same. You can think of funny scenarios if I muddle up in identifying them. House hunting is a psychological task, you play a “Tug of War” with these brokers and potential land lords. You try to maximize your gains while reducing your losses ( Read household amenities and rent/advance respectively ). This particular game has done great to boost my morale and wonders to my confidence as more often than not I found myself on top in these haggling games. Annoying patience, diplomacy, calmness and flexibity are important traits to get better grades in such a game. “Your two years of MBA really wasn’t wasted dude”, was first thing that comes to the mind. Finally we got hold of a good house courtesy “Delhi Da Puttar” Sunny, one of the friendliest and charming guy I have met at Chennai.
Now something over “Chennai: the city “. All I can say is that city has excellent infrastructure. To me , it is second to the national capital lovely Delhi. An excellent transport system is in place. Buses ply neatly and timely on the roads of Chennai. They even have a local train service in place. Roads are very well done, neatly asphalted and traffic c wise it looks heaven if you have seen Bangalore/Kolkata. True, Autowallahs are stigma to the city, perhaps worst I have witnessed in the city.
Cool hangouts? Well till now I fail to fathom these words. I may be a boring person and may not be an expert on listing out cool and hep places of the city, but I can safely vouch for city’s doling nice places of shopping and entertainment to its habitants. Malls are there, Discs are there, Pubs are there, They have excellent tradition of art and culture, so cribber should be kept in check.
After reflecting enough on positives of the city, it’s high time I dig deep and see some negatives too. All good things may soon fizzle out if city doesn’t change its ways . I have visited all southern states and I can still say Chennai is still most unfriendly towards drifting people, specially if they are from the wrong side of Vindhyas (Read north Indian people). Better they learn to be friendly and start respecting cultural differences and show a little more tolerance towards those who do things bit differently.
Mumbai still remains the dream city for those migrating for greener pastures. City embraces nomadics in its arms and let them be their own. This single attitude towards wandering or floating people is biggest contributor to Mumbai’s vast economic growth. All this reminds me of Keynesian model of Economics, ones I had learnt in those economics classes that how money spent by Government has a multiplier effect on growth of economy. I would love to extend this facet of economy to say that migratory public is pretty much similar to the Government and money spent by them too has multiplier effect. They spend more for their basic amenities and thus end up creating more jobs/more opportunities for the local people; leading to enviable growth of the city. Chennai needs to learn this fundamental concept of Economics from Mumbai. While Mumbai too needs to beef up these basic facts Rogue students of Economics la Raj Thakre should either be told to improve their basics or should be banished.
Tomorrow is Sunday and i have a date with beeches of Chennai , right at the dawn. At this hour reaching the beach at six in morning sounds ludicrous but would try and hence this one has to come to a sudden end...................Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Friends will be friends
As we all are at dénouement of our education, ready to catapult to new heights, new glories of an exciting career ahead, we do leave few footprints behind. IIFT won’t really be remembered in the mind, I still don’t really feel attached to the college and its ambience. Nothing much to write about, lesser to think about. Not many places inside campus which I may cherish few years down the line. Pretty much unlike my REC days whose each location still comes alive to me. Be it canteen, café, srinu’s ciggi point(even for non smokers like me), gardens, acad blocks, admin block, senior hostels, messes I still can vividly remember everything, I guess IIFT would never capture the same, true picture may come out few months down the line .After all we always take things in hands for granted.
But IIFTians would be cherished, Few more than others. Some as close as one can ever be. Some gem of friends. Some get mature and help you get more mature in process. Some oppose your views and help you get stronger, help in strengthening your beliefs and faiths which initially was as strong (or as spineless) as Indian middle order.
Some with whom you can take liberty of getting down right rude. Rude what would sound to others is forthrightness among friends. One does not rate friends but few are much closer than others. Mentioning names would be like praising them, so I won’t name them.
Life goes on and as you part with great chums you always know another wonderful bunch is round the corner………….
Engineering the managers
Ajeet Nazre while addressing the audience during “Al Gore Sustainable Energy Competition” on 12th of February touched a right chord. After a long time I heard someone whom I instantly liked. But what really spiraled into brooding was his statement “I adore engineers and not managers “.
Circa 2000, few aspiring engineers are being addressed by principal of one of better engineering colleges of
But things go the way they should or should not. I cant comment on that. Engineers who should build
My take on it? We Indians are still in conceiving ideas , we still are far away from nurturing it in a motherly manner. I do adore engineers, I do like managers.
Still I know we produce quality engineers. Managers? We still are chasing the mirage; we are still away from being the best in this breed.
I have witnessed sheer razor sharp brilliance of Indian engineers; I have yet to see brilliant managers, yearn to see them sooner than later.
Pied hues of happiness
As I sit in my cozy chair and wonder aloud what really is happiness? Truth is , we have no concrete answer. And do I really abhor those whose happiness is not similar to me? Answer is staunch no. happened again to me, being direct person that I am sans many layers of diplomacy I ended up being down right rude to some one and of course the person concerned felt the pain. But may be it was because our views clashed and they were as stark as it could be. We both retreated perhaps surrendering our arms before we could hurt each other even more.
May be I am a person of too strong opinions, may be I love confronting uncomforting views, but it is sheer delight to fight them. Try to please one and all and you are grounded. Better voice your opinions and be sounded a “spoiler”.
But that is beauty of life, if they all are clone of me or me a clone of them, world would be so less interesting. World is beautiful as it has so many hues so many shades. I live to have some more fruitful some more “high” interactions.
“Everything still stays gray”
In Awe of Awesome
A beautiful song is being played in the background. Eyes of the lady is being compared to the deep seas. Yes moody and self willed sea. Before you can come up with couple of more thoughts , he blurts out “Awesome”. A single most oft abused word. No I have nothing against the word but I want the users of the word to know that please do differentiate between different degrees of feelings or greatness you attach to different events, different people. Awarding an awesome to everyone is like awarding a gold medal to one clocking 20 seconds for a 100 meter dash. Before the word means everything and loses its charm. Lets put a moratorium on it and use it when it only warrants it. Needs few examples? Cross court shot of Federer . Ball by Warne to get Gatting clean bowled in famous Ashes Test. Poems of Keats. Delivery by Al Pacino in “Scent of Woman” . beautiful articles by Guha, Beautiful Snaps by Rai. But terming every second thing awesome just takes the aura of the word.
Awful was another awe inspiring word which lost its charm because of overuse.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Smells Like Team Spirit
Few days are special and January 19.2008 will be etched in memories of Indian cricket lovers for a long time. Whacking Australians at WACA takes something and mind you saying so is a gross understatement. And this “something” has been done finally. Kudos to
Well with too much cricket played all around, with players complaining of sore limbs and tired shoulders, these days every match stands like an entity going down in record books. Few tons scored, few fifers taken and adding up to statisticians’ delight.
Among these matches,
So it was pleasant surprise to see bunch of 11 gentlemen in white flannels emerge as super fighters and take wind out of Aussies’ sails. What was even more pleasing was the team coming as a winner sans any single piece of individual brilliance. There were notable contributions but in the end they gelled as a team celebrating each other’s moments of success and consoling few moments of despair. The desperation to give it back to hosts was palpable on every single Indian face. None symbolized it better than Dhoni’s desperate run to deep third man to hold onto a remote offering by
Excellent victory to savor gentlemen, we all await many more over somewhat overweening Aussies. Soar like a Team and your ear to ear grins will be maintained.
PS: Win at
Old Trafford, Manchaster:
WACA,
Lost in a magic world
Good work of art needs to be effortless. Garnished by a certain degree of serendipity they appeal to heart as they ooze of grace. Dreamy streak comes so naturally to them. A thing of beauty can not be made up. Laden with artificiality it turns you off. Natural charisma weaves a magic world, a world you want to end up wandering in. To me Khoya Khoya Chand signifies same natural, beautiful, innocent and enchanting world.
Retro look is the modern mantra today. Those belly bottoms which were adored by our moms and aunts are back into fashion, doted on by svelte lasses supposedly expert in haute culture. Even in a world which seemingly swears by metro sexual male, his ruggedness is lapped up with alacrity. So it was not great surprise to see rushes of a movie some times back which created aura of 50’s. of course this seems to be best time encash on retrospection , my heart told me. To top it all, those who watched it weren’t really enthused by the show. They rather trashed it , deeming it a beautiful looking movie with nothing in it. Well they almost dampened an already sagging spirit. Well movie could have been a damp squib and throwing all these friendly reviews to winds we dared to venture out to watch it. Reasons? No, I wasn’t too sure of Sudhir Mishra’s exploits though he won over all of us through “Hazaron Khwaishein Aisi”. But he was the man behind a loud bombed one called “Chameli” too. Shiney Ahuja is a marvelous actor but he has been wasted before. But I still preferred to take on perennially inclement December nights of Delhi as ticket came cheap and frankly I had little work at hand .Killing time can be so tough sometimes. And yeah against all negative publicity there was a lovely friend of mine who egged me on and said “Go , watch it” .
First half was nice spell cast on me. A beautiful combination of exquisite background, creditable acting and some real innovative direction took my breath away. Shiney Ahuja was simply brilliant as suffering son, looking for identity and dignity. Many actors have come and gone, but to see a non UP/Bihari actor excel in garb of a young man from Lucknow , who is confident yet somewhat insecure, was refreshing and don’t expect many to outshine his effort soon. He was caring yet egoist, he was loving yet abusive, he had tender heart yet managed to hurt, did not have a secured future but had pluck in those eyes I simply could not help but falling all over this character. To be honest somewhere down there felt traces of it were too well known.
Second half was not as charming as the first one. It was difficult to match those soared expectations after the first half. Still it was not a damp squib. At some point felt it being far fetched at others weird and at some other hopelessly romantic. Characters had different hues and shades unlike those eternally loved and abhorred ones. End was sudden but not completely unanticipated.
Watch this movie it you have human feeling deep in side this human drawer called heart. If there is a dreamy streak in your eyes, if you can imagine beautiful things, if you love being lost sometimes, if you are a wandering soul and can appreciate feelings and things of beauty, better shell out some buck you may rue missing an opportunity lost. Storyline is nothing great to rave about, it’s less about content and more about presentation, Style with certain substance would be best way to sum up this tinsel magic.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
For all those hearts immersed in eternal romance
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
I have found gulping typical mushy movies down a Herculean task. Not that I have something against feelings they try to imbibe but execution betrays the novel idea they undertake .which was the last romantic movie which moved me? Which made me wail? Which had an awe inspiring couple in lead and had each single frame of it frozen in my mind? I may not be the most demonstrative person on the earth nor a maudlin who needs excuses to moisten his eyes. Tears may well up there, but with a probability which is waning anyways.
“Eternal sunshine of spotless mind” came as a pleasant surprise which defied typical remorse I used to have after choosing another romantic movie sans strong undercurrents of love. Somewhere down the line I could see a line blurring between wannabes and true lovers. After a longtime I felt I was gliding in a wonderland, was careening off to world of magic and mysticism leaving the much hated reality road.
Novel concept leads to exhilarating cinema. A hopeful and loving heart may win over all odds even the odds stacked in a mind ,ready to refuse reality, ready to forget a true love . Sometimes it is confusing, othertimes perplexing and few moments of despair too, but glimmer of hope may wan, but is always there to beat goliaths of despair and amnesia.
To accept and cling to true love is something only courageous can do. To repel a feeling of vengeance which may so easily creep into human mind and not to forget a true love even when your mind implores you to do is the true love for me. Not to suffocate in maze of myths and hypocrisies of your mind , rather let it know that all tortuous mazes can be made simple because true love has to come out trumps.
Hats off to unpredictably tender and unapologetically twisted romance. In a mind stuffed with few set toxic Hollywood formulae , there is at least a movie which may leave hard nosed persons smile and say “Love is a beautiful feeling”
Friday, January 11, 2008
Inexplicable joy of a bath in winter
I am a squeaky clean person in metaphorical and symbolical senses. Well may sound a bit too arrogant to state something like that isn’t it? But I would be candid to admit that I am not some one who minds things being messed up in my vicinity. May even skip a bath or two in bone chilling winter days. Well of course such an evasive action has to be taken if water doesn’t warm up to me , it doesn’t really spread amicable vibes around or may be it does staying as amicable as Ali was to Foreman , Lillee was to Miandad, McEnroe to any of his rivals(plus ill fated umpires ) and recently as Symonds has been to Bhajji. On such occasions I used to observe “Dry Day”, I had fewer options you see.
This December has been pleasantly different. How? Unlike first year at this supposedly esteemed college of management, we have plenty of time to spare in bathroom. First year used to be horrible, a single bathroom and six occupants all vying to complete their daily rituals. Your time was ticking away when you were going through process of eradicating exterior blemishes. And if that was not all your crazy friends acted as paparazzis wanting to get any snap worth getting published in centre spreads. Well yeah India is developing at breakneck 9% rate and we at IIFT too feel duly prospered. From those horrible days of making bathrooms feel like Panchali , it is much more legal and tolerable now with two sharing the same. Hence probability of your getting water defying the abrasive pontisque weather increases three times. so this winter has seen me squeaky clean pretty much physically too, letting it to be poured over me . well my pretty much clean slate was destined to be muddled at home where power keeps playing hide and seek and has good mischievous and erratic supply ever done one single good thing to us?? Ask my mom and she would say with tongue firmly in cheek “Yeah, I never had to defrost my refrigerator Son”. True but then it was about to rob me of my squeaky clean record, frigid power supply may not conspire for me. Ah and here comes hand pump, a throwback on good old times when they used to pump it out of earth’s belly. And I am allowed to continue my much loved much dreaded journey along. Yeah home did not break the enviable record for me, rather made me natural. Yeah one more in army of unabashed advocates of going in nature’s lap. May be my slate would stay clean this winter and Aussies would make their marred at WACA . Amen!!!!!!!!!!
PS: and it seems water sourcing and consumption at home hasn’t only made me spotless, it has also helped my arms well blessed and endowed. Two of them complimented fot that and I thanked for taking nature’s call at home this winter.
This December has been pleasantly different. How? Unlike first year at this supposedly esteemed college of management, we have plenty of time to spare in bathroom. First year used to be horrible, a single bathroom and six occupants all vying to complete their daily rituals. Your time was ticking away when you were going through process of eradicating exterior blemishes. And if that was not all your crazy friends acted as paparazzis wanting to get any snap worth getting published in centre spreads. Well yeah India is developing at breakneck 9% rate and we at IIFT too feel duly prospered. From those horrible days of making bathrooms feel like Panchali , it is much more legal and tolerable now with two sharing the same. Hence probability of your getting water defying the abrasive pontisque weather increases three times. so this winter has seen me squeaky clean pretty much physically too, letting it to be poured over me . well my pretty much clean slate was destined to be muddled at home where power keeps playing hide and seek and has good mischievous and erratic supply ever done one single good thing to us?? Ask my mom and she would say with tongue firmly in cheek “Yeah, I never had to defrost my refrigerator Son”. True but then it was about to rob me of my squeaky clean record, frigid power supply may not conspire for me. Ah and here comes hand pump, a throwback on good old times when they used to pump it out of earth’s belly. And I am allowed to continue my much loved much dreaded journey along. Yeah home did not break the enviable record for me, rather made me natural. Yeah one more in army of unabashed advocates of going in nature’s lap. May be my slate would stay clean this winter and Aussies would make their marred at WACA . Amen!!!!!!!!!!
PS: and it seems water sourcing and consumption at home hasn’t only made me spotless, it has also helped my arms well blessed and endowed. Two of them complimented fot that and I thanked for taking nature’s call at home this winter.
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
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
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.
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
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.
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.
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…………………………
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