Ramblings - ii

It is a wintry Saturday evening. I sit in the farthest corner of a small eatery, my table almost touching the large glass wall they have constructed. I mull over life with a cup of steaming coffee in hand. Outside, a city limps back to life from a paralyzing snow storm. Heaps of snow line the streets in big clusters, and all rooftops are decked white, signaling that they will defy the night and retain a touch of brightness with them. I look beyond the rooftops and see the skies darkening – of course, it is late in the evening. Progressively, the sky changes color from dark lavender to indigo. Off to my right, a splash of orange and frightening red still remains. Huge clouds lie scattered, and in the backdrop of these fascinatingly colored skies, look the darkest shade of purple ever imaginable, without quite being black.

The clouds appear quite close. I peer closely and realize they are moving slowly to my left. Why am I here? I do not know. A familiar feeling envelopes me – that of being very close to a message, as if it is almost in front of me, but hidden so I have to find it. I peer harder, and my brow furrows. What do the clouds tell us? What answers are just waiting to be discovered? What if we are all just walking blindfolded without knowing how close we are to wisdom? I become more and more convinced that there are things waiting to be learnt, in sublime moments like these. Just waiting to be learnt.

Maybe answers to life’s perpetual questions, maybe a key to unlock the vaults of happiness within. Maybe a serenity that can be grasped, to peacefully coexist with the unknown.

I do not know how much about life, or about the journeys within, but all I know is that there are momentary inspirations like these that lead us to believe there is more to life than the mere mundane. I feel there is so much to be done. If only I could know what.

I come out of my reverie and see the cup of coffee is almost drained. As I walk into the center of the restaurant, I notice the music has changed. Rihanna starts to sing - “Oh na na, Whats my name?” I smile lightly as I exit and walk back home. Nice to see I am not alone in introspecting.

The Forgotten River

Once a wayfarer, aged and weary,

In the midst of an endless journey,

Upon a river, happened to chance

“A bubbling oasis!” he thought and advanced.

But he saw not the sprightly sparkling waters’ dance,

No sound of gentle rumble let him to a trance,

There was but dry and caked earth,

In the place he recalled as the town of his birth.

Seized in memory’s grip, transfixed he stood,

Reminded of youth and mirthful boyhood.

This very river had been, back in its day,

Roaring and alive, but now lifeless it lay.

How he had plunged into its waters blue!

How he had found love, calm, and refuge in it too!

How it had sheltered, fostered and prompted life,

Flora, fauna, and eager human-folk alike!

“You were all things moving, and all that was still,

And all boundless joys that could a heart fill.

In your slow dreamy course, lay enchanted infinity,

Have you forgotten yourself, my love, and even your glory?”

Greeted by silence, he turned back, dismayed,

And left, wondering why God creates, only to separate.

But the memory of gushing mirth from ages and ages ago,

Lightened his heavy tread, and made his heart glow.

Why Pakistan should have won today's semi-final

So I was one of the fortunate few to watch today's T20 world cup semi - final between Pakistan and Australia. I almost stopped watching, when Australia, chasing a mammoth 192, needed 56 from four overs with merely 4 wickets in hand, assuming it to be a foregone conclusion. And how astonishingly I was proved wrong by Mike Hussey, who won it with five extra runs and a ball to spare!

But I reiterate, Pakistan really should have won the semi final today. That I am Indian, and hence a hatred for the Aussie team comes but naturally, is not a factor here.

Pakistan have the most messed up cricket board and system right now. They are banning players left and right, and Shahid Afridi was made the captain by a pure elimination policy, i.e there really was no one left to be made captain. He's about the farthest from a leader you can imagine, but there really was no other go.

No one really wants to play Pakistan anymore. All their home games are shifted and their schedule is changed incessantly in keeping with notorious activities involving the country that their sportsmen have to bear the consequences of. Not to mention that they have the worst cricketing infrastructure amongst the test playing nations. They have already lost the hosting rights to next year's world cup, and it may be very long before we see a match in Lahore or Karachi again.

Also, they have had the least quality T20 experience till now. Disallowed from the IPL, their players have partaken in only the local tournaments, which are devoid of international talent. Crucial players from all other countries have enjoyed participation in IPL2 and 3, immediately putting the men in green on the backfoot.

But in spite of this, they have reached the semi finals 3 times, and the finals twice. Almost a third time, but a certain "Mr. Cricket" had other plans.

What does this tell you? Leaving apart the dynamics of the IPL, political tensions and the infighting within the team, there seems to be something compelling about the men in green that makes you want to sit up and take notice of them, in spite of all the odds being stacked against them.

To me, they represent a team shining only due to excellent talent and willpower. Raw talent and aggressiveness. They have neither the watchful eye of foreign coaches, nor the world-facilities that the other teams enjoy. They have had the least IPL experience. But looking at India, that hardly seems to be a criteria.

Which brings us to an interesting comparison. For all they were worth, India has failed to win a single super eight match in 2 years. Six losses, despite Gary Kirsten, more than 400 collective matches played in the IPL, a talent pool of nearly 30 to choose from. Not to mention the richest sports body in the world, the BCCI. (Not downplaying the Indian team, but in all due respect, Zaheer, Nehra and co. have looked more like the Amoeba boys from the Powerpuff girls more than a threatening bowling unit.)

Raw talent and free willpower, against well oiled and financed mechanisms. To me, that is what today's match represented.

And there is something within you that wants the former to win, just to prove to the world (you, me, CA, the BCCI) that there is something primal and instinctive about the sport that never gets won over by any of the above mentioned excesses. And that it is possible to overturn odds, however high up they're stacked against you.

At the end of the day, it is about how well you play and how badly you want to win. And no foreign coach or any number of IPL matches can instill that in you. It is something that comes from within.

But ironically, Mike Hussey ended up coming to the party.

Morning

And it is dawn.

Golden sunlight. The air is redolent with the smell of flowers. Lush green greets the eye as I look out my balcony. Splashing water at the pool, and I glance below. Children, unmindful of the still-chilly water, jump and wade around in the water, making a lovable ruckus. Somewhere in distant woods, birds chirp, and the wind carries those welcome noises over to me. Months of dreary landscapes and chilly winds have given away finally to this sunny blissful Saturday morning.

I rest my cup of coffee on the balcony railing. Happy thoughts come to mind.

I guess it is not necessary to have a job, or even the promise of one, to be happy on an early summer morning.

Of IPL 3 and nothing else.

So the IPL carnival has begun, and all attention is diverted to the biggest cricketing event on the planet. Elsewhere, in empty stadiums and on hardly viewed television channels, a test series between a disgruntled and sulky (at having to miss the IPL) England team and Bangladesh trundles on at soporific pace, and Australia and New Zealand continue to slug it out in the other corner of the world, but no one really seems to care about all those things right now, because the moment really belongs to Lalit Modi and his million dollar baby.

Though it captures the viewer's interest so very easily, I tried to think objectively about the tournament, and here are my two cents:

What is great about the IPL:

1. Watching the old maestros still at the top of their game. (Read: Sachin belting a fiery Dale Steyn for 3 consecutive boundaries, while the latter was steaming in at 150 kmph ; Kumble outfoxing the new sensation Saurabh Tiwary in classic fashion - boy how many of those we have seen over the decades! ; Kallis yet to get out even once in this tournament, and pretty much demolishing every bowling attack in his way up till now .)

2. The exposure it gives the youngsters. Saurabh Tiwary being advised by Sachin while both are at the crease, young Manish Pandey batting with Kallis, rookie Ishant rubbing shoulders with Shane Bond and sharing the new ball with him.

3. Captaincy experience for guys who would never gain it otherwise. Dinesh Kartik, Gambhir, Raina getting a first hand experience of leading a side in a high pressure tournament. It matures them much more than anything else they must have been through.

4. It provides inspiration and awe to all the kids in your neighborhood and mine, who were previously inclined to think football and EPL are much cooler than anything cricket has to offer.

What sucks about the IPL:

1. The fact that it has become such an uncompromising format. For a true cricket lover, it is painful to see some veterans struggle to become part of the bandwagon. To watch Laxman (a master of wristy strokeplay and a class act to watch) labor to keep up with Gilly is saddening. Similar is the fate of Ganguly, who is no longer the God of the offside that he so flamboyantly was. His innings of 11, 15 and so on are not impacting the fate of his team at all.

2. Commercialization in its worst form. When Ganguly leaps backward and pouches a single handed catch while bent at an unbelievable angle in mid-air, it is something you will talk about a long time from now. A karbon Kamal catch is the last name you want it to be called, and it is irksome to say the least. When Gilly blasts one over mid wicket into the second tier of the stadium, it is a huge six, a massive hit, and all those names they call it, but somehow 'DLF maximum' almost belittles the moment.

3. Patronizing almost to the point of nonsense. When Shane Warne, with almost two decades of international experience, chooses to say "Yusuf Pathan's innings of 100 from 37 balls is the best innings I have seen till date" you feel like running over to him and shaking him by the shoulders. Come on Warnie. We know you're a man of the moment (in more ways than one, and lets not get into that) but there's a limit to it. You've bowled to Sachin in Sharjah, Laxman and Dravid on that unforgettable day in Kolkata, seen Steve Waugh bat on impossible pitches in the Carribean, and have witnessed Lara's magic from right across the pitch many a time. And yet you choose to call a 37 ball bludgeoning of Ryan McLaren, Rajagopal Sathish, Ali Murtaza and Sanath Jayasuriya the best innings you've seen? Again, come on.

4. The short sightedness of almost everyone involved. The aim sometimes seems to be merely to maximize the number of 'DLF maximums' in the game. To the point of shortening boundaries well below standard levels in many countries. Most of these IPL big hitters won't stand a chance of clearing big grounds in England and Australia. Hark back to the India- England T20 world cup match in 2009 when Ravindra Jadeja, promoted to a crucial top order spot, couldn't hit a single sixer. The 'Rock-star', (again one of Warnie's fake exccesses) couldn't clear the massive 93 meter boundaries. He went on to play a pitiful innings that cost India the match, and thereby, the entire world cup campaign.

All said and done, it is an interesting tournament to watch. Not close to international cricket, or even comparable to representing India, but enticing nonetheless. Let much be made of it, but only that much, and not a bit more.

The degrees of separation

Paulo Coelho once wrote in one of his books about the word ‘normal’ and what defines it these days. It made for a good read. Just thinking along similar lines, it strikes me as odd that people would do anything to come across as ‘cool’ these days. Also, there seem to be strict rules on what constitutes 'normal'. My student life, both in Mumbai and Atlanta, has given me these insights on life:

You are considered ‘normal’, only if you:

1. Believe in conventions, and find wisdom in what the masses do. After all, there is safety in numbers remember?

2. Attend all lectures if you are in a competitive school/college, not because it enables you to understand better, but because you have paid to get there, or because you feel classmates will look down upon you if you prefer to study by yourself at home.

3. Discuss fervently all questions and answers after stepping out of the exam hall.

4. Store birthday reminders, of even the closest people in your life, on your cell phone.

5. And yet, make a big deal of birthdays. Ask for treats vigorously on others’ birthdays, and treat near ones generously on yours.

6. Sleep for only 2 hours the week before exams.

7. Like Slumdog Millionaire because it went to the Oscars, like Godfather because of the fact that it is the Godfather, and Megan Foxx because of whatever.

8. Can talk about your relationship objectively.

9.Believe that the end justifies the means, or that it is better to find rather than to seek continually – in very broad terms.

10. Believe that those your well-wishers are always right in what they want for you.

It is one thing to be normal. However, who wants only normal? There is an exclusive sub-class within 'normal', that answers to the word cool. Now you might ask, what does it take to become cool?

You are ‘cool’, only if you:

1. Show that you are a rebel. You may not be a real rebel – mind you, but showing that you are ‘anti-establishment’ is very essential.

2. Show that you are busy always. Saying things like ‘I never get the time man’ and all that gives you a kick. Take a moment and reflect – are you really that busy?

3. Go for Friday night bar hopping. Alcohol is cool, getting drunk is cooler.

4. Manage to convince people that you don’t study – and yet manage to get good marks. Remember – the trick is to merely convince – who actually goes without studying?

5. Follow football, while sucking at the actual sport, and support a team from the English Premier League with such passion that would put our freedom fighters to shame. Of course, it is cooler still to support a German Bundesliga team or an Italian serie-A team. And the coolest of all, is being able to quote at will, random players, their goals and passes from games held years ago.

6. Like telling people, that you have a penchant for sleeping really late and getting up later still.

7. Update the latest flavor of your ice-cream on Facebook, and have seven people ‘like it’ in the next ten minutes.

8. Make fun of people who indulge in the (above Number 7) by updating your own facebook status with some sarcastic comment on that.

9. Don’t show emotions, except indignation and pride.

10. Come late to meetings and appointments, with a sheepish smile. And chuckle to yourself at the losers who actually showed up at the right time.

11. Come across as ‘not what you seem’. Who wants to seem like what they actually are?

12. Make sarcastic comments about your country - especially us students who come overseas.

Life has a lot of unnecessary floss, pretense and rubbish. It is best to get rid of these, and live lives with truth, simplicity and unassuming genuineness.

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.