Respect

Dear Rahul,

It is exactly one year to this day since you retired. Your press conference still streams through my mind. I have not seen many, looking dapper with the India blazer and the tie, on similar occasions (or choose to don the India colours). But then, you were always the studious gentleman, weren't you? I can imagine you as a student in the classroom, refraining from tantrums and truants, and, instead engaging in very well-mannered frivolity, away from the eyes and ears of the teacher! Yes, that was probably what you did too...

Well, what else has happened in the past one year? Economic meltdowns, political turmoil and inhuman rapists aside, you did go quietly about your business post-retirement too. First, there were numerous emotional articles, writ with perfect diction and correctness, that can only be attributed to you. For some writers and journalists, you seemed to bring out their best strokes. If one ever had a doubt that you were an ethereal underdog who never seemed to get his due, the media and the blogging world lay this argument to rest with resounding success. Why, you were even bestowed with the country's third highest civilian honour! Honestly, the words- wall, consistent, dependable, technique, gentleman, champion, among several others took to a new level. Some of the articles and comments have truly been tear-jerking and I shed quite a few too. Gradually, philosophical ideas overtook current reality that, time does not wait for anyone. Alas, fans will now have to get used to a gaping void at the third position of the scoreboard, eventually to be filled by a bunch of letters, but, never again capturing the essence of India's greatest one-drop batsman.

Secondly, the felicitations from the governing bodies of cricket and the media followed where you had to struggle to keep yourself from breaking-down. And, you began laying the foundation of a perceivable future brick by brick in all those memorable speeches. Each carefully prepared, judiciously studied and eloquently delivered. I could not help but notice the tight bond between the core group of the team and time, which now form fairy-tales from yore. It was truly wonderful to realize that even in a professional environment, there could be true friendship and respect for peers.

A few months down the line, when the cacophony of the IPL ended, not many realized that the Rajasthan Royals finished up on top of the table for fair-play. I am sure, your presence at the helm would have resulted in that achievement. Budding players, blinded by the arc-lights of fame would have had a re-assuring arm on their shoulders telling them that individual brilliance is all fine ephemerally, but true worth lay in putting team over self, humility over arrogance, perseverance over lethargy. You would have told them that the five-day version of the sport would remain the summit to scale- the pearl in the oyster. I truly hope they would have taken this advice.

You then dabbled in some public appearances with your book launch, at leadership summits and literature festivals, lots of public awareness campaigns, where you appeared to feel right at home. There was the one very odd award ceremony where you looked completely at sea, sitting among film personalities and leggy lasses. One could see your face turning crimson red when you were interviewed by a model! Perhaps, clean-bowled by a fair maiden? But, it was nice to see you loosening up, albeit only momentarily, in these events.

You also did a measured stint in commentary and writing, which should be favoured areas of interest in the future as well, considering your penchant for the written word. You must be satisfied with this new guy, holding up your desk in the office. He does not seem to be too bad. But, hopefully, he is able to grab your baton in overseas conditions. We will have to wait and watch, for a repeat of his current performances can hopefully, bring down the anxiety levels when India is 2 for 1. Maybe, he can figure out a way to calm the nerves over the next ball, the bowler charging in after his success, the crowd behind the home team, and the ball released with fiery pace is safely "well-left" to the keeper without any hassle. It will be a thrill to hear the buzz in the stadium turn into an exasperation. Maybe, he has it in him to battle the whims of the weather-Gods and bide time for sunnier moments at Leeds. Perhaps, he can summon his yogic concentration levels in sweltering heat in the dust bowls of Rawalpindi, much like you did....

So, yes, I have been following your activities over the past one year with great interest and curiosity. For a select few of us, stationed across continents, you have been one of the prime source of conversation exchange. That is perhaps, a fresh accolade to your overflowing cup. Over time, I do see you getting more involved in cricket. Perhaps, you can team up with your legendary mates and spread the awareness of test cricket to the smaller towns in the country. Perhaps, you can engage in unearthing talent from different parts of the country. Perhaps, you can dig into the grassroots of Indian cricket, and volunteer to clean it up, just like you did, in the Indian colours.

But, whatever you do, it has been an absolute privilege watching, discussing, understanding and aping you. After a year, the hat of great "Ambassador to Cricket" now fits nicely, just like that India blazer and tie did a year ago. Thank you, Rahul, for the memories.

Siddarth.
 

Catalyst

In placing due importance to the the famous Independence speech by Pandit Nehru, India awoke into the pangs of ignominy at the turn of the century. A nation felt betrayed by scandals and testimonials of epic proportion in a sport which ran rich and thick through it's veins. The first man of cricket was brought to his knees in astounding revelations and it seemed as if turmoil on the political front seeped into the cricket field as well. While one end of the country was losing her brave soldiers at the high peaks of Siachen, at the other end, it's people wept and felt cheated by icons of the sport. To some, Prime Minister, A.B.Vajpayee's oratory skills provided comfort and served as a balm to soothe the pain of the causality India was suffering at Kargil and at cricket. 

But, all that was to change. Day after day, the Prime Minister's brilliant speeches and intent, created a massive ripple that gripped the nation and gave it belief, that she could come out of it scathed, yes, but stronger and belligerent. To this end, we owe a truck-load of gratitude to our brave soldiers, who survived all odds to scale great heights and stamp the authority India was to have in the high peaks of the Himalayas. As a result of this new found confidence, people across the country began to look up at the sky again. The successful nuclear tests and the long range ballistic missile tests conducted during this time further strengthened the country's might and India announced herself to the world rising like a dragon.

Over this period of excitement, every Indian citizen began his day with the hope that he too can scale great heights. It was against this backdrop that a visiting Australian team arrived on Indian shores with the dream of conquering it on the grass-fields. It was against this backdrop, that a nucleus of players with highest integrity and deepest love for the traditions of the game came together to brush away the tragic drama that had engulfed the sport. Aggressive competitors on the field with a demure persona off it, these titans performed duties battling cramps, broken-jaws, hamstrings, dehydration, sore backs, short-pitched deliveries and thrust the new found self-belief into the face of the nation and especially, it's youth. For that, this blogger will be eternally grateful.

An Indian team got up to defend it's land and protect it against the all conquering Australian team. Led extremely admirably by a captain who believed in taking the bull by the horns, it's batsmen stood up to face the heat. It's bowlers acquired new desire to run in hard and bend their backs with each delivery. It's fielders threw themselves on the ground-leaping, flying, shedding blood to blunt the opposition. In due course of time, as India became a global power who could not be ignored, an Indian team and it's brave-hearts stepped onto the play-field literally wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Not to be subservient anymore, not to be bullied anymore, but to fight and win within the
boundaries of sportsmanship.

It was against this backdrop the India vs Australia series of 2001 unfolded and will remain etched in the minds of my generation for ages to come. When every player begins to believe that he can perform beyond his potential, what transpires on the field is a revelation. Each of these players assumed a larger than life grit and will-power and gave it his all for the cause of his country. That group of players attained divinity in the minds and hearts of their supporters. Bloodied but not beaten, injured but not down, they collectively embodied a nation's calling for a shot at her destiny.

And what a legacy they left behind! One, that cannot be surpassed, not because records cannot be broken, but for the immense levels of valor that went into shaping that legacy. No one can dare put a prize to that and no one should. To exemplify the fact that, this level of greatness was achieved with the utmost humility and stood out in the standard that was maintained in keeping up with the traditions of the game is a resounding achievement. This Indian team not only protected the country's soil against invaders, but went on to battle for supremacy on foreign soil. Battlegrounds in England, West Indies, Sri Lanka, Pakistan and Australia were conquered. Those present, witnessed and stood in unison to laud these legendary warriors who enthralled the audience with grit, determination, audacity, tenacity, guile, perseverance and more importantly, love for the game and respect for it's peers.

Today, as I look back fondly at this time India rose, I recall how her warriors on the battlefront and off it performed admirably. A nation's collective calling was answered by a few men who took guard against bullets and bouncers. Against bitter cold and sweltering heat. To stand up and fight did not require might but strength, did not require rage but resolve, did not require hate but skill. Today, as India pushes herself up to greater heights, I cannot help but smile at the catalyst that spurned this process. At the men, who gave their all.

"At the stroke of midnight, when the world sleeps, India awakens to her life and freedom...".

Forever and More

She extended her arms and gently covered my ears. What she spoke seemed like sweet nothings in my ear. Her voice tones were interspersed (albeit, gently) between different levels of melodies

As I attempt to guage her, the yellow skin on her body bears fruity qualities. Her brain tries to guage my mood to continue whispering sweet nothings. A Genius at play, it would seem! As I lay in bed, she engulfed the silence of the night, lying beside me, comforting me. I would fall asleep, in her arms, listening to her lullabies. As I rode in to nowhere, she accompanied me, lovingly caressing my back, gently filtering out the din outside. When I spoke alongside her, her melodious tones seemed more extravagant. When I listened to her intently, my world suddenly reflected the joys of a musical, unfettered by noise.

She was a bit mysterious on occasions. I would not know what she would say next. But there was a very nice medley, all the time. Sometimes, I would ask her to go back and repeat the things she'd just said, just to re-live the euphoria. Not once did she disappoint. Oftentimes, her lustrous face, reflected organization of thought. As she spoke, her face painted a rich kaleidoscope of colours, and sometimes, embezzling the gaiety of her voice. But often, her face was not the object of my attention. She would sometimes respond awkwardly to touch, but her face would glow, radiant and all. I would feed her, sometimes with quick bites, sometimes with elaborate meals. It would never matter to her. She would never flatter to deceive. We would fight too, when she said things I did not want to hear. But the fallout would end when the right chord was stuck soon after. On days when she felt low, a quick charge would immediately liven her up. 

Over the years, she has oft comforted me. Her gentle voice would emancipate worry. Her company on trips livened up an otherwise mundane journey. I would always come back refreshed after being in her arms. As I get up everyday to put myself through the grind, I know, when I come back home, she would be waiting for me, her arms stretched wide open, beckoning me to them....

For Love of the Game -Part2

Pudgy took his guard first up. He strapped on his pads, abdomen guard and gloves. Somehow, he never wore the helmet. Perhaps, he did not like to survey the landscape from the confines of the grill, perhaps he felt it was an irritant to his free hitting style. Pudgy was always a bowler first. A cracker one at that too! He loved to give the cherry a rip as it left his elastic wrists. He loved to dabble in military medium too. But I enjoyed watching him when he bowled spin. A physique like a certain blonde-haired Australian wonder, he had a bowling action quite similar to him too. Maybe a couple of more steps into the delivery...He liked the hard wrought-iron surface we played on. He liked the ball coming on nicely to his bat. He loved it give it a spank. "I am going to hit you out", was the message sent out loud and clear. I never really liked bowling to him. Often, standing at mid-off, I could feel the power and the force with which the ball would leave the bat. Pure disdain, I tell you! It was not a fun time to be fielding at that position too, especially with the cold Pacific breeze blowing through the well-lit makeshift cricket area. Pudgy as a bowler was superbly organized. Hell, I never liked facing him either! He would bowl leg-spin from around the wicket to right-handed batsmen. We had a predicament with our makeshift cricket field. The boundary wall was, perhaps just a couple of feet from where out leg-stump ended. It was almost as if Pudgy took a machiavellian delight in our agony. The ball would come looping from his hand (a beautiful loop shaming geometry!) and dip right on line with the leg-stump. The only way to play the ball was to either move across and back and awkwardly guide it to the off-side or kill the ball in defense. Open stance never seemed to work for me due to the boundary wall. And, I did not have the balls to sweep a spinning, bouncing cobra. In the six overs each of us faced, Pudgy's two were hell.

Lefty perhaps played Pudgy the best. Being a south-paw gave him natural advantage. It was a joy to watch Lefty bat. He had the elegance, much like an audacious former Indian captain. Again, standing at mid-off, you can just watch the ball caressed towards the point and cover areas. Lefty was quite fidgety with his stance too. He liked the little details. There used to be an apologetic look on his face after he would send the ball flying, moments after it left your hand. "Sorry, mate", came promptly. After every ball, he would adjust his gloves with the same clinical precision as before. Lefty used to wear his helmet on top of his rotated cap. It provides a solid base for the helmet, he used to say. And he liked trying out new bats too. I recall, he had spent multiple sessions seasoning a new bat which adorned our balcony for a while. Often, Pudgy and Lefty would converse in Kannada. Perhaps it was sledging. No, I don't think it was that. Folks from Bangalore are much too genial. Lefty used to bowl right-arm medium pace. It was great fun playing Lefty. We had to always mind of our foot, though. A yorker was always on the corner when Lefty bowled. And, he kept coming at us. With the same speed, same pace, every delivery. He used to apologize if we played and missed! He was a fine reader of his opponent too, Lefty. He would comment on our shots, the way our feet were moving, balance and all that jazz. And, do it so gracefully. Fine gentleman, Lefty was! He would encourage us to try something new, cater to our requests bowling specific deliveries repeatedly and with the same intensity. He would let you know what to expect when he was trying something new, to get the batsman's perspective! Much like Amby...

Amby always prided in being technically correct. He was equally dextrous bowling with either arm. Amby played Division league cricket and manned the No:3 position much like a certain legend who was India's finest there. Every game we played, Amby used to preface it with a methodical warm-up session of stretching and loosening up. If Amby batted first, it would be a good 10-15 minutes before we bowled the first ball! He used to go over strapping on his pads to putting on his helmet with utter disregard for time. Never rush yourself before going out to bat, he would often remark. Amby used to wear a bandanna underneath his helmet. He would always come out to bat with a dri-fit white shirt underneath his t-shirt. His entire ensemble made for much banter amongst the others but never once was he perturbed. Even while waiting to face the delivery, he would raise his head up at the last moment. Often, we have stopped in our run-up thinking he was not ready! Amby had a very prodigious cut. It was a joy to watch him cut the ball. His shift of balance, while being oh, so nimble on his toes. Like Lefty, he would often dabble in the intricacies of the technique. He handled Pudgy much better with an open stance and was never afraid to launch into the sweep. Against the pacers, Amby would never be rushed into playing a rash shot. But Amby was never about the powerful hitting. There was something insanely serene about him. Even when he bowled, he had the perfect run-up before delivery and his action was smooth as silk. He used to experiment with a new technique each time we played. One session used to be just for out-swing while the other used to be for in-swing. Even when batting, Amby followed a routine that he would have thought of to practice, earlier. And, he used to practice this for his game in the leagues. I hear that even in friendly-matches, Amby would always fancy himself to hold one end up, something he prided in doing in the league games too. To us, he was the most complete player.

Amby, Lefty and Pudgy represent three very real characters with whom, I have had the pleasure of sharing multiple practice sessions. I never cared that Amby played Division cricket, that Lefty represented clubs professionally or that Pudgy was the best bowler of spin I had ever played. To me, it did not matter who was a better batsman or a better bowler, who was fitter, who was more knowledgeable. To me, what mattered was that wrought-iron tennis court and the sheer joy of playing a sport that the four of us loved. To us, the cold Pacific breeze brought the warmth of friendship. To us, cricket provided a stage to let go, be free.

Always for love of the game....

For Love of the Game -Part1

Oftentimes, I wonder what is first. The sport or the players? While professionals who have played any sport will readily admit that none can ever be bigger than the game itself, as a spectator, I am often trapped in a catch-22 situation.

In this day and age, where power, speed, agility constitute a player's dominance, I wonder how much of the romance and elegance gets embodied in him. As a spectator, I followed only two sports in my life. Tennis and Cricket. This I think, was more to do with the history and romance with these, through the people who played it. Sadly, it is slowly diminishing for me...

With tennis, epic matches between Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi generated more interest than scoring points with chicks. I revered Micheal Chang for his amazing cross-court play, Stefan Edberg for his class, Boris Becker for his tenacity and Steffi Graf for her grace (too bad I was not part of the Chris Evert era). But Sampras/Agassi took the cake. Not for the players they were, but for the people they are (I still have to read Open by Agassi!). As a spectator, you have the additional luxury to assimilate players' persona with judgement. You can cross the barrier to ridicule someone for his brashness, or awe someone for this humility. But, in the end, somewhere a part of you wants to imbibe qualities like will, grit, determination, stamina, tenacity, courage, class which, eventually sums up your respect-quotient towards that player. This is what I loved with Sampras and Agassi and strangely this also increased the aura of the game itself. You come to realize that sports personalities are largely different from you and me, simply because of their undying love for something they believe in, something that flows through their veins. So, it follows naturally that a romance for the game ensues. But if one factors this account of "romance" or "love for something we believe" in our daily lives, I am sure we would find ourselves performing our daily tasks much more potently. Sadly, not all of us can lay a substantial claim to that.

In-spite of cricket being a team sport, Indian cricket players have always held a super-stardom status. So, automatically, they "become" bigger than the game in the eyes of the spectator. We are often interested in how a player defines himself outside the field of play. How well he carries himself, how controversy-free he is, how he values ethics of the sport, and the like. I would love for someone to talk about his first visit to the Lord's dressing room, what he felt when he walked out on to the field at the Eden Gardens, how best he related with history at the Adelaide Oval, what does he think when he sees the honours board in the venues across the world, how soon his focus moves to the zone where nothing else matters besides the duel between bat and ball, how he finds comfort within the game he plays, how he feels to be part of an opponent's team's psyche in nerve-wrecking duals, what he thinks of the Ashes urn, what runs through his mind when he sees trophies on display. These, in my opinion would encapsulate the beauty of the sport and the game that is played within it's quarters. We have been very fortunate to have been part of an era in Indian cricket where a certain nucleus of players came together at the break of the century to guide the spectator's imagination for love of the game. The class of 2000 was not merely a group of individuals, but were our symbols of hope, courage, intensity, agony, ecstasy, respect. They became entities that defined the sport itself. That, their personalities grew in stature in our eyes, is a mere corollary to this. Or is it?

This is where I am caught like a deer in front of headlights. Am I lured by the romance of the sport or am I star-struck by the achievements of the legends? As I go over what I have written so far, I am amazed by the amount of ambiguity I generate. Sometimes, the competition to prove who is better, the instinct to win, do not take precedence when you want to focus on the regalia of the traditions of the game.

To judge a sport for it's game or the people who played it? The question plays itself all over again...

Affection

"We have come together a long way", she remarked. He agreed. From childhood to the present, at the cusp of her matrimony, her calling, her desire, all were to materialize soon. We did have a jolly good time, didn't we, he asked. She nodded approvingly indicating that good times were always with good company. She did not believe in partying out, of jars filled with beer, glasses flowing with alcohol, music generating high decibels. Her's was a simple motive. Of giggles and squeaks, of good-natured bantering, of discussing sitcoms and the characters it entailed. Such was the definition of time well spent. It included too, her time spent with family. Just being in the present. Just being there...

"You will be going to a whole new world", he said. There won't be soul-sisters at beck and call. They will be asleep when you are awake. "You will have to deal with new found silence. And that will be a good thing." He had gone though the same rigour too. Suddenly, noise around him was muted. He could hear the bird chirp, the wind hustle. He gave into this wonderful peace. "Some might call it drone", he cautioned. "But, don't mind them. This will be a break. This is your time away from it all. Enjoy the silence. It does not fall into someone's lap this easily." Absence of noise, even in it's presence can be wonderful!

"How did it feel when you gave it all up? To return to simpler times and people. Do you miss it?"

"I do, more than ever. Because, I was able to perceive sound as an entity there. So there was a clear demarcation when it was present and when it was absent. Here it takes more effort. I have to struggle to know when to switch-off. It is a lot harder. But, then again, it feels nice to come back to one of your own. This is where I belong now." She tried to come to terms with it all. All through one's life, man searches for stillness. But no one really knows how to achieve it. Perhaps it's all relative. One need not go to Mansarovar to experience stillness. One can experience it in the darkness of the night, in bed, just before dozing off. Just need to be gracious enough to accept it.

"I don't really know what to expect. This contrasts with the excitement, vigour this new phase in my life would bring." She seemed confused. Her large, round eyes exemplifying the fact. "You are definitely entitled to it! All I am saying is, don't get caught up in the physical world, trying to please everybody. You can have your own approach to it all. Try and switch-off every now and then. You will notice that time appears to be on roller-skates there. Take a walk, breathe in the cold crisp air. Try to slow it down. You will notice yourself relaxing." This is not yoga or meditation, he was quick to add. "Sometimes, to handle responsibilities, you need to first underplay them. Soak it in, don't act instinctively. Let it engulf you. You will see yourself handling it better."

It is very hard, he added. "I still am struggling to come to terms with slowing things down. Looking at a proposition from multiple angles becomes your Art of War. I might take a lifetime to find my Art of War or even put it to full use. But, I do know that failing to react instinctively to responsibilities often got me out of icky situations and enabled me to approach it better." Hopefully, it earned me some admiration, some respect, he drifted off...

"You never craved attention, anyway. So, I can understand this bubble you generate. It is like your stage. Your theater without any act." That is some analogy, he joked and gave her a hug. It was time...she would be leaving soon. Bouncing ideas off each other would rarefy. Space for intellectual thought will be shared with someone else. Hopefully, she will find time to get away from it all every now and then....

Marital Piss

There comes a stage in every male loser's life where he needs to start browsing through matrimonial websites for a potential bride since he did not have the balls to go out and score himself a chick. I am going through that process now. Hell, a little self-deprecation never really did hurt no one!

So, yeah, matrimonial websites. I think this is a place where the rudest people have an account. The website itself gives you cheesy tags like "Express Interest", "Dislike", "Dislike with message" and the like. Of course, I never really got to "Disliking" anyone since I have always been "Disliked" immediately after I "Liked" someone! Anyway, God has funny ways of humouring himself. Be that as it may, these girls and their parents think no end of themselves. When one sends in a "like" request, these buggers take five hundred days to respond with a "Sorry Sir, but I don't think the horoscopes match". What the fuck! It took you five hundred days to say that? And, are you living in 1856 to be matching horoscopes? When the celestial bodies say that the boy and girl are not suited for each other, you hang on to it as if it was a pearl of wisdom. But, if the same celestial body declares that from tomorrow you are going to suffer from diarrhea for the rest of your life, you say, "Oh, I don't believe in that crap". Bloody hypocrites.

The weirdest answer I got was that the "girl was not ready". FUCK! Why the fuck did you put up her profile on the website then? It's not like she was super hot or anything. Even for this, the attitude is too much, I reckon. Anyway, the description on the profile is even more annoying. Typically, every parent HAS to mention, "..we are looking for a boy who is cultured and has good values..". So what is the benchmark for that? I can proudly declare that I ate my chocolate bar with a knife and fork (just like our very lovable George Costanza). So, does that make me cultured? Or are you looking for someone who consumes cultured fat? What do you mean by good values? Does it entail putting salaam to uncles and aunties? Does it mean that I shut my trap when elders are talking (or bitching about someone)? If I were to do this, then you will label me as subservient. If I were to open my trap and disagree with their one track opinions, you will label me as pompous and arrogant. So where the fuck do I draw the line? More-so, who the fuck gave you the authority to judge me?

Secondly, every profile indicates that smoking and consuming alcohol is an absolute no-no! Why the kolaveri against this? I can see your daughter's profile photo right outside a pub. Did she go there to find out what soft drinks are being served? So, you think if I emit a couple of puffs and down a few cold ones, I am the baddest guy around? Or the most annoying? Even more than Shah Rukh Khan?? That is a personal insult!

Thirdly, if the girl says that she would like to get to know the guy, be an ideal partner to the guy, respect his family, give her space, take my space, how the fuck do you hope to achieve this if you do not respond to the guy's interest?? Just like your space, you think the guy is going to drop from space? And, even if you do land up talking to someone, you dismiss him after a couple of calls saying, "we are not a match for each other". So you expect me to be all chivalrous and accept that I have just been KLPD'd?? Well, screw you. I already had plans of rejecting you. You just made it easier for me! My male ego will only get more inflated and I ain't gonna mess with that shit.

So, in effect, whenever I see male animals trying to impress a female on National Geographic, I think of myself. Well, at least that bird-of-paradise got his female by showing off his colours. And I am sitting here writing this. Fuck, sixth sense FAIL!

PS: This is not a rant. I know I am awesome!