Remembering the Titans

The Titans

A long long time ago, I led a cricket team. Though we were never really more than a bunch of friends living close by who liked to play ragtag gully cricket, we thought the world of ourselves, and of our indomitable spirit, and we called ourselves ‘The Titans’. And what a team we were!

The Titans exist from May 2005 to roughly July 2009. We played with most of the teams from the suburbs , and played many a cricket match in those 4 years. We won from many impossible situations, when one would have thought no hope was possible, and threw away quite a few cakewalks as well. We fought with other teams, we fought amongst ourselves, we polished our skills, we grew up as individuals, we lay down on muddy grass and stared at the infinite evening skies after a victory, we looked at each others sweaty faces for belief during defeat, we bunked college for matches, we spent entire holidays on the ground thereby angering our familiess, and when no matches were possible, we went on dinners to stay connected and talked about everything and anything under the sun. Basically, we lived four entire years in the world we had made for ourselves, where we sought elusive glory and that feeling of being champions at our favorite sport. By the end of it all, we were no less close than brothers.

Coming to think of it, for the first two years, we were too oblivious to the thought that it might all end someday. We in our naiveté, somehow always thought we’d live on forever. We were, after all, the Titans, and who had ever heard of Titans ceasing to be? But our destinies caught up to us one day, and we finally realized that our dream team too, was like all things in the world, mortal. By then, there were only a few months left, and not as many matches as we would like to play, and not enough days left to go for dinner on. We woke up, and realized that it was ending. The season of lasts, was finally upon us.

As life would have it, we separated as a team. I miss the match day mornings, when the tense feeling in the pit of the stomach would make you feel like wanting to throw up, and run till your lungs threatened to burst, all at once. I miss the toss, and the little pre-match speeches, where I tried to motivate the guys while hoping I wasn’t sounding like Sunny Deol from Border. I miss the straight faces they tried to make during those moments. I miss the huddles and the ‘go Titans’ , the triumph of victory, and the crushing sadness of defeat as well.

Now, with half of us in the states studying, and the other half too caught up in the vicious cycles of life, we know that it is impossible for all eleven of us to meet once again on a cricket ground. The few infrequent meetings that still take place, are by the handful of remnants , who meet in the same hotels as before, sit on the same tables, which were once filled with boisterous camaraderie, and have vacuous conversations about the past, and how free we were, and how we won on a particular day. Overwhelmed with nostalgia, they too leave in a while, and get back to their lives. Nostalgia makes you uncomfortable after a while.

But I will always be a Titan, and a proud one at that, for it taught me many a thing beyond how to bat or bowl. I learnt to lead, too take tough decisions and back myself, to be part of a team, to face challenges with a smile, to feel fear and yet joke about it for fear of scaring the guys, to shake off defeat, and remain modest in victory. Probably the reader at this point might think I am making a big deal of a little thing, but I strongly believe this team has shaped my personality in a way nothing else could have. When faced with life’s hurdles, I still think of that team and how we briefly achieved the impossible, and I think to myself, well I’ve led the guys to that, how much tougher than this be? And always in that analogy, my comfort I find.

Fellow Titans, I hope you’re doing well. Forget not the Titans, and how golden we once were.

Ramblings

I am sitting at my balcony right now. Friday 6 pm. Done for the week. It is a glorious hour of the evening, golden sunlight, pale in its fading glory casts long slanting beams of brightness amidst deepening shadows. The swimming pool, with its still water, almost smiles at me in its mute permanence. Flowers, yellow, purple and blood red, add color and romance to the scenario. There is a slight chill in the air, a slight, but ever present forewarning of colder days to come.

A rare pause in the frantic struggle.

It’s amazing how much the mind can work during moments of external serenity. What every man feels during such moments of solitude shall be special to him, and him alone. I miss the place I come from, and despite the picturesque scene before me, I feel there is some beauty in the world that just cannot be replicated.

I feel empty without the one I love. It feels as though years have passed, though it has not yet been two months.

Gentle zephyrs tickle my face. I decide to indulge in one of my favorite games, one I have played since I was a little child. I close my eyes and try to guess and imagine which place the wind is coming from. The futility of the game never dawns on me somehow.

I look up at rapidly shifting clouds in the skies, moving and changing colors at the same time. What is happiness? Is there a God? What has he planned for me? What do the stars tell us at night?

I realize that I am but one man, pondering over what has perplexed mankind for centuries. A sense of inertia envelops me, and I sink back further into my chair.

I decide not to spoil the special moment. Not knowing answers makes life worth living, and the good fight worth fighting.

If only

If only

If only her face on the screen, that oh so near seems,

Lovelier still, than in the most artistic of my dreams,

Could be reached out to, and with trembling fingers touched!

If only her tresses, that to mischievous zephyrs sway,

And in their jet black beauty, many a heart waylay,

Could brush across my face, just once enough to last!

If only her eyes, that from a million miles away,

In their lasting muteness too, so much appear to say,

Could glisten with tears of joy, and not separation or pain!

If only her voice, the sweetest of sweet sounds I’ve heard,

That speaks my name in longing, from across the wide world,

Could sound the same, as when in my ears warmly whispered!

India!

(The outcome of a homesick first week in the USA)

India!

Out of my window I gaze, at landscapes unseen,

At golden night lights, glitter and sheen,

And ask myself to find fascination in such,

And miss not my people and my past so much,

My heart replies, ‘I wish you had earlier known,

That beauty is useless when enjoyed alone!’

Oh sweet India, how I miss you so!

Where a hundred thousand mud lamps glow,

Land of hearty chaos and maddening melee,

Divine music, and enchanting philosophy,

Pray, become beautiful again, and pull me slowly,

Back to where, I know my heart will always be.

And all things unclean, stagnant and rotten,

About my homeland so easily forgotten,

Leaving behind only whiteness so pure,

Emotion tender to the touch, soft and demure,

And when of her I dream, and her love I remember,

It is as if a little child calls out, longing for its mother.

And a fluttering sanity, about itself is held,

By seams unsteady, and weakening thread.

Homesick the soul and turbulent the mind,

In morose poetry, a fraction of peace I find!

After reaching

Atlanta. The capital of Georgia, and the city I shall grow to call my home for the next many months to come.

After many a painful farewell, it has finally sunk in that I am going to be on my own. With that hard fact digested, I have begun to get settled down in this place. Still, I miss my parents. My dad's stoic ways, and my doting mother. I miss my brother too, and all the good times I've had with him growing up, which seem like a distant dream now. I miss the one I love, and feel incomplete even amidst beauty. I miss my home, with all its unique little nuances, that I know inside out. I miss the way I felt at home there. I miss my friends, without whom life would be monotony.

But, new circumstances and new challenges beckon, and what man of him who doth not leave his all behind, to go after unseen horizons?

This is my first post from America. A lot more to come. No more personal diary type blogging though. Back to regular posts now.

Yours,

Bharath

Before Leaving

I've made sure over these years that this blog doesn't become a personal diary. Although I do intend it to be a window into my life, a kaleidoscopic feel to it is what I have tried to achieve. Hence, there are little or no direct references to my personal life, and certainly no "yesterday it rained a lot" or "one movie I liked recently" type posts.

But let me just break the trend a bit. My life is at its biggest turning point now. Tomorrow I leave for Atlanta, where I'll be studying in GeorgiaTech. It promises to be a life altering experience, and I know on some level or the other, deny it though I might, things will never be the same again.

This is my last post from India. Next from the US.

Yours,
Bharath

Not apart at all

Not apart at all

On pristine summer mornings that glisten with dew,

On clear spring nights mysterious, dark and blue,

On pale winter evenings, with sunshine scant and few,

With budding incompleteness, I can only think of you.

But all things in this world that threaten to crush a heart,

Life’s long lonely journeys, that oft end where they start,

Appear meaningless and inane, when at the heavens I glance,

At the stars that glimmer with the secrets of fate and chance,

I know you look at them now too, at this very same shine,

And somehow, somehow, it is like your eyes met mine!

I lean out of my window, savoring the gentle evening breeze,

That brings me your scent from afar, to tantalize and tease,

And as heavenly shades of dusk, like gentle drapes begin to fall,

I realize we’re thousands of miles away, but not apart at all.

The season of lasts

The season of lasts

Soft footfalls echoing through aisles long vacant,

Laughter in peals, unexplained and pleasant,

Shreds of conversation, merry and inane,

A mere touch of love, to forever things change,

And dollops of friendship, over the years to remain,

In memories such the mind abounds,

Reveling in an empty theatre of sounds.

Pensive is the moment, melancholy the air,

As illusions of permanency, now lie threadbare,

And the weather changes on a whim, drastically,

As the season of lasts dawns for all to see.

The summer sun also shall not last for long,

It will give in too, to farewells and swansongs.

Someday ages and ages from today,

We shall forget the pangs of going away,

And maybe meet again, like the times of old,

And regale each other with tales banal and untold,

But my friend now, as the time of parting nears,

Good cheer gives way to nostalgia and fears.

And as blustering storm clouds yonder catch the eyes,

All that remain are the first rains, and the last goodbyes.

On Happiness

What is happiness?

It is,

In rousing music and simple food,

The pristine joys of life to find.

In solitude to find hidden bliss,

And that elusive peace of mind.

To others, merely to do what they always do,

And not what to them they want done to.

To enjoy true company, in joy as well as pain,

To joke and be joked of, in equal forgiving vein.

To be not too careless of friend, or too wary of foe,

And judge a man by effort, not what circumstances bestow.

To be hungry enough each day, to go out, work and earn,

And be loved enough at home, longingly to return.

Money, in just the right regard to hold,

To have enough of it, but not so much to hoard.

To squander not a penny, and spend with utmost care,

And yet for the deprived, always have a little to spare.

To ponder over love, and nurse a bruised heart,

But always to love again, and go over to the start.

To hold love over lust, and yourself above it all,

To hold pride over success, and virtue above all.

To lend yourself, only to causes true,

And promise not in jest, lest a liar of you.

To lose neither heart in defeat, nor modesty in victory,

And be simple in your word, but lofty only in deed.

To excel at sport, to shoot, ride and aim,

And shrug it all away, saying ‘twas just a game.

In hard work all day long, satisfaction to obtain,

And sleep tired at night, without regrets to restrain.

PUB CULTURE

The next time you hang out with a bunch of guys and girls at a mall or a club or some such place that is quintessentially ‘Modern’, beware. The protectors of Indian culture might just beat the living crap out of you, and for good measure, molest all the females present there. The price you pay for doing something that is not termed ‘Indian culture’ is horrifying. They call it ‘Pub Culture’, and I guess it’s one of the blackest sins conceivable.

If ‘Pub culture’ is so bad, why do the sons and daughters of the MPs who are up in arms against it themselves go to nightclubs etc.? Rahul Gandhi partied all night just a few days after 26/11. Sachin Pilot, Jyotiraditya Scindia, and all these scions are frequent visitors on the night club circuit.

But forget that. Why should it even become an issue? Why should ‘Indian culture’ be thrust on you? Why is so much attention given to such trivialiaties when larger security threats and economic crises abound?

That’s India for you. The land of a glorious past and an asinine present. And a future that vacillates in between.