Saturday, December 24, 2011

A bowl of gold dust





She was six when I first saw her.
No. Six days, not years or months. It was a wet August afternoon when Sunil came running to our house, “Uncle ji! A little laxmi has arrived in mamma’s lap.” Papa tapped him and went away to see Sharma ji and Mrs. Sharma. My mother was already there.

Sunil was five then and I was eight, the tallest, the strongest, the least charming and the oldest. Eh! I hate this idea. But when you stay in a company of a six year, five year and a new born one, you have very little to help yourself from the feeling of being old. 

Old at a paltry age of eight! So was I. Sunil was a junior at studies, though we were never to the same school. We, my family including the big old me, stayed in his house as tenants. He kept on hanging in my kitchen as much, because my mom is the most fabulous cook of all time. OK, arguably she is, but I am not in a mood to argue over this. Not today, actually on a second thought, never!

He would turn up with his books to papa for studies and then will keep on playing with my kid brother. They gelled well as they were of the same age group. They both had this habit of pestering my mother for sooji’s halwa (a sweet dish we prepare with coarse flour, butter and sugar). My mother, as much she is skilled, as she is kind, to crap kids.

Me! I was only the wrong’un, who didn’t fitted the picture but Sunil handled me well. Honestly he had little to choose from as I was the only one who knew maths, and the maps, and the drawing and yes! Above all, the marble tricks.

We visited Sharma’s in an official ceremony; the auspicious one celebrated on a kid’s 6 day completion. And there she lie, wrapped in cotton wool, softer than the surroundings, as cute as the fresh siwaiyaan Asim’s mom kept in his Mickey Mouse lunch box, as beautiful as a Asha Parekh in one of the Chitrahaar songs I kept watching secretly with one eye. Ah! As lovable as it gets. She was right there.

She was the youngest and was more of a doll to all. None of us gave her any respect in true sense, though love was flooding in the form of cheek biting and nose poking. Soon she got a name for her, Smita. But none of the other kids called her by this name. She was named mita, seemu, mooli, lakdi and more than anything else I always called her Nanhi for she was so young and cute.

She apparently never liked those names and we never gave an ear to any of her likings. Specially the younger kids would treat her with all sort of fun and she would eventually turn up to me with big droplets over her cheeks, calling them names and to comfort her I’ll have to scold them. At times I would even beat them up for false to make her happy. She would giggle and smile and laugh and clap. Awesome!

She never named me as my brother never did. I was always her Bhaiya and they there were Atul bhaiya and Sunil bhaiya. She would say this to everyone, I’ve three bhaiyaas, one is Sunil, one is Atul and the third one, the biggest is Bhaiya. Name? Uh! He hasn’t any.

Time passed as it always does, the good and the bad, the sweet and the bitter, the little and the big. Years moved, calendars changed. She was a notorious six year old now, when we left her house and moved in to our own. The distance was not much and so the detachment was not felt soon. We kept in touch, daily became weekly, monthly, quarterly and then it was really hard.
There was school, there was cricket, there were a lot of other stuffs and then we were not that much in touch. I missed her smile but the days have to move on, without much glitches they did actually.

I’d meet up Sunil once in a while and enquire about the little Nanhi but those were reducing times and we had a whole world to enquire about. And then I had to move out of town where even my mother and papa were quite out of touch. The dust slowly subsided, the talks faded and she was on the backdrop somewhere, deep, down, buried, yet alive.


I am thirty two now. It’s been nine years since I have been working here and I am now the talent manager here.
Delivering a speech on company ethics and work policies here, I am happy to see the smiling young faces. There are a dozen of kids who just finished their engineering and joined our company with loads of dreams in their eyes. As I finish it and wish them luck for their career, three of them approach me to clarify some doubt over their role in the projects and the locations in coming months.

Everyone is leaving now. I have closed my laptop and my marker, I am about to leave and find her gazing at me, I quickly look around. No! She is watching me, there’s no one else in the room.

“Excuse me miss…”
“Um, nothing… sorry.”
“It is OK. You alright.. Miss ?”
“No! Call me Nanhi.. Bhaiyaa!”

The tears, they are real pearl beads. I am speechless and glowing.
Love is in the air, the chilly wind has unfurled the age old book. The gold dust is floating in the air. And Nanhi, she is as cute as it can get.
A drop wins the fight with my eyelashes; my cheek feels its warmth, my heart feels hers. 

The Christmas carol rolls over… 

Angels we have heard on high
Sweetly singing o’er the plains
And the mountains in reply
Echoing their joyous strains

Friday, December 23, 2011

The anecdotes of a far off friend who just vanished






The night is about to leave; there are no signs of sun yet. Sun anyways is late these days. The fog!
No! there ain’t no fog. No smog, no suffocation. The sky is as clear as a glass of purified water we get to see in one of the charming TV ads.
The wind is not strong, but is enough to talk to the loneliness. Enough to caress the jowl, and certainly capable of making one dither with cold.

The chilly gushes from the nearby river add to the agony. Only hopes of warmth are the dying stars and a couple of lamps twinkling far off the vista.
I still hold the last 100 rupees note inside my right thigh pocket. The pocket and the note help me overcome the cold, what if only a bit.

           -------X--------------X--------------X---------------X----------------X---------

“It buzzed”
“What?”
“Your phone”
“Ah! Um.. Sorry! I keep it silent during work hours. Didn’t notice. Thanks.”
“Mention not. It just blinked right away.”


Over the hedge of the barley farms
When the sun is just about to engulf
In the river on the far side of the trees
Right behind the square of bamboo bushes
Let me thank you before the kiss of dusk
For you’ve been a forever allurement

There were days when his texts made me smile.
Now! Now they scare me, if they are any, ever. It’s been six years since the last one.

           -------X--------------X--------------X---------------X----------------X---------

It’s getting heavy. Not the weather, the air filled inside my lungs. As if someone is smoking puffs and barrels inside. I feel like drowning, suffocating, and my eyes wide open. I’m trying to cry out loud but couldn’t, I am numb and I am deaf. I am about to turn blind. All I can feel is the pain, the emptiness, the shame and my veins… my veins are bursting.

Why didn’t you turned up? Why have you always been so careless? What is the point of being so pointless?
Casual! No, you ain’t. It ain’t any excuse. Words must count and this should extend to a time period also known as always. You yourself collar this time and again. Ok, you have had in quite past.

           -------X--------------X--------------X---------------X----------------X---------

I was in your city after 14 years. You married a couple of years back. No, I didn’t. I’ve no such intentions, never had any. Not counting your’s for the sake too. To be honest, I recently came to know this. Someone told someone else and it propagated. I don’t know the order of proliferation, not sure if you would even mind that at all.
At least I would not. It has never been my business anyway.

I didn’t inform you about my visit, I never do and you have known that now for eternity.
You nevertheless know that I am in the town. Ain’t we at the luxury of having common friends? Does it matter anyways?

We didn’t see each other for eight years now. Um.. wait! 9 years and half I suppose.
Wasn’t it you who said it is all over between us?
Over! For the matter of nothing! Ok, take my head off, almost nothing.

           -------X--------------X--------------X---------------X----------------X---------

The shivering has eloped. Not sure if months have rallied or only I have aged. I don’t feel any colder now. The hand cuffs, the wrist bones, the ache. The Vandyke, I just want to loosen it up. My hands are getting wet, actually only the palms are. Yes, the armpits too. You never miss to remind me of my panting oxters.

I feel like something flowing on the back of my right ear. It feels like I can not breathe. I’ve been encroached by a huge python and his coil will leave only hay out of me. The blood is about to flood out of my nostrils. I just take out my hands from the pocket. The note, it is acting as a tissue paper in my hand. At least one of my palms are dry, the expense looks quite less at this hour.

           -------X--------------X--------------X---------------X----------------X---------

“Keep this. In case you do not wish to come back, it will make you come back.”
I had no option but to accept your generosity: had it been those days and I have been writing it then, I would simply called it your love.
We met a number of times since then, you never allowed me to return the favor.

Turning back, when I ask back to myself…

I wanted to pay… Yes!
I tried to pay…Yes!
You wanted to take… No!
You tried to take… Doesn’t matter!

I still hold that note and roam around. Not sure what has kept me going. I don’t want to do this. I never wanted to. OK; I actually did at a point of time but that’s an age old thing now. Only if I could take out my hand and return it to you, only if you could hurt me beyond my threshold, only if I can set free of the web, only if the sun could come out early in the mid sky.
If only we can meet and cry and week and fight and……fade!

           -------X--------------X--------------X---------------X----------------X---------

The silence is so intense that my breath notes seem to be talking within themselves. As if I cannot miss a single note, as if the world’s rhythm is dependent only on me. As if this responsibility is taking off all the weight from my shoulders, freeing me up. As if I would never get a better morning. The air has the warmth and coziness I’ve been missing for years now. The sky is getting darker as if the spark of the day is just about to take oath. The river meanders in the shape of a beautiful smile. The happiness seems to be inherited in every twinkle of the stars.

I see a couple of fireflies moving from leaves to leaves, from twigs to twigs, burning, fuming, leaving, flying, sitting and vanishing in to the identity of the dwelling they take shelter at.
The flow is so neat, so clean, so pure, so painful but so effortless at the same time.
I take out the note from my pocket, straighten it up. I simply keep looking at it. It means almost you to me but I want to set you free. More than that, I want to free myself up. Dropping down when time is right is way better and commendable that hanging forever for no reason. Not all leaves are painted on the walls; they have to fall when time comes.

I tear it up, in 2-4-8 pieces and free them in to the flowing river. The sun has come out. The first ray just kisses one of the bits flowing through and finds its way to my face. I can see you, free from all malaise, I can see other chunks glittering, shining on the calm surface. I am feeling light, I can count them. I can feel myself; I can feel the freshness in the air.
I can hear the nightingale singing the melody of happiness.

           -------X--------------X--------------X---------------X----------------X---------

One of the pieces does not take the destined course though. It has messed up with a nearby bush against the flow and I could not free it up.
I am leaving your city and you. For ever!
I won’t be back if I talk senses.
But something somewhere like the last piece of the note is still hanging from the cliff.
Someday, sometime if you could just call, just wish… I won’t be very far!
After all life is all about beliefs and memories! And death! Even that does not seem to defy a thing… I believe, I do.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Complaints!! My Willow!!




No, these are not the words anyone spoke to me. These are the breath-notes of the finest gentleman this world has at this time. OK, arguable. My statement holds hard soil when we talk about sports at the least.
It has not been a new phenomenon to forget people who don’t know branding/marketing. It’s grievous and an act of awful shame that we always had a tendency to forget the real worriers. Be it Ramayana, Mahabharata, Struggle for Independence or our own parents, we don’t give that a damn.
Aanhaa! Disagreeing buddy? Without asking Wiki, do tell me Chandra Shekhar Aazad’s Birth Day. Here you go!! You will only remember Gandhi Jayanti. Oh! Won’t you?

Time and again we have been a disgrace to ourselves. No wonder we have been good for nothing for ages now. Now cut the crap about man power, GDP, IT hub Gurgaon and rising nation. Get over and face the cruelty i.e. the truth.

Lot many people are writing about him, you know who, these days. Emotion is flowing through twitter and facebook. Not to mention cricinfo as well.
Can’t we stop being filth, dirt and a sack of lie? I mean no one, not a single crap writing author/writer or follower of sport (minus a bunch of truly dedicated fans) has written any great things about this man and now he turns in to a great man over night?
Insane!
Shameful!!
Loathsome!!!
And I would rather say, offensive.

                                                   XXXXXXXXXX

Rahul Sharad Dravid, a most humble person, a lean and a good looking batsman debuted against England 15 years back. I started watching test cricket that very day.
It has been 15 good years and we have been asking him whatever we can and the reply has always been the same “Yes. I will do it.” with a broad smile and tons of assurance.

“Hey Rahul, We don’t have a number seven, will you?”
“Yes! Gleefully.”
“Hey Rahul, our number five is unwell. Can you do it?”
“Hey, you need not request. I shall do it.”
“Hey Rahul! You are slow in ODIs. Will you move out?”
“Ah! Never mind. There are better folks. I have been lucky to play this far.” Even after scoring more than the replacements.
“Hey Rahul! We have a problem. We only have spinners and all we need is a player with real good reflexes at slips. Will you do it?”
“Why not? The pleasure will all be mine. I would get to learn and contribute.”
“Hey Rahul! Would you mind coming in at 3 in tests? Actually, we are going on lush green grounds and our most experienced player has returned home after having a rough time with the captain.”
“No Problem. I am up to the task. I shall present myself for the team.”
“Hey Rahul! I told you, you would go places at number three. Can you take that position in ODIs as well?” As if you did nothing on your own.
“Why not? I would respectfully take it and perform my duties to the best I can.”
“Hey Rahul! Ours’ is a weakly balanced side. Will you mind if I ask you to keep wicket? Actually no one wants to do it, and everyone said that you can do it. You can actually do anything.”
“I certainly will do it. I will have to bend a little more but OK I have no problem if it is good for the team.”
“Hey Rahul! We have lost once again and our captain has no courage left to face the media. Can you…”
“I will take up this challenge and shield our openers, bowlers, fielders and anyone but me.”

                                                   XXXXXXXXXX

And the days passed, he took every burden and performed like Hercules. Stone after stone, steps after steps, runs after runs, catch after catch and we had a WALL of our own.
Relatively newer, more humble, more grateful yet, stronger.
And then…the requests were taken for granted.
“Our pacers are too weak. They can’t field. You need to run from first slip to third-man/fine-leg and get the balls.”
“I will take that responsibility.”
“We don’t have an opener. We have brought a rookie and he might not see the first over itself. You need to consider yourself as an opener and play all day long holding the fort.”
“I will play for the whole five days, it is an honor, though I do not deserve this much respect. Why are you worried?”
“Though he is a cricketing god, he can’t open under any circumstances. And you know, we must not ask reasons to god. So, it has to be you only.”
“No need asking him. I can do it as well.”
“Our god is playing yet again for his record, like a snail. Do the honor of calling him back. Mind you, that you take all the blame.”
“As ordered! For the spirit of a team-man.”
“Hello Rahul! Captain a team where we don’t have bowlers and openers.”
“Aahaa! It is the highest honor for a kid like me. I have never even dreamt of it. I am not that good for it.” After scoring 20000 international runs. You kidding me?? Are you?
“Hey! We can’t bowl, we can’t score runs. You have to win against West Indians on your own.”
“Affirmative. I shall comply.”
“Rahul! Go for the 20-20 world cup.”
“No! Give youngsters a chance. I will convince other senior fellow as well. We won’t take part.”
“Rahul! We don’t have an opener and we want to play Yuvraj. Sachin and Yuvraj are not keen to open.”
“I am the captain, I’ll do it. I will face the fresh leather.”
“We won’t listen to you, Rahul. Either you stay or we will.”
“Ok folks. For the good of the team, I quit.”
“Rahul! We are dropping you from ODI side.”
“I must improve. I have not been great.”

                                                   XXXXXXXXXX

Two years passed and Dravid did not play any ODI. He has been playing only tests and never asked for any break/rest and was never sick. Flawless!
“Rahul! We are going to bouncy tracks and we don’t have players to last 50 overs. Join us.”
“It is an honor, I will do it.” He was the second highest scorer and yet he was dropped after the series.
Two years later, India- Dravid struggled in England. And the facts:
                    Everyone except Dravid skipped the practice match. Count SRT too.
                    Everyone except Dravid, struggled.
                    Everyone except Dravid played at his normal position. Dravid kept and opened, yet again. Not for the last   time though.
And bingo!!!
“Dravid! We need you back in ODI. O savior! Please save us.”
“OK. Though I wished to retire from ODIs without any fuss today, as you have asked I am committed for this series.”

                                                    XXXXXXXXXX

How long man!!
How long will we insult him and in this course, the game of cricket and his humbleness?
It is not a frailty or a crime on his part to be good and kind. Agreed, he might not been the most exciting to watch for many. Taken that he might not be the all time best, he still is the finest human being and greatest sportsman the history will remember.
A true team man and a real worrier when the odds are stacked against, he never ever learnt to complain. This man knows only one thing and that is playing for the game and he does it with all the serenity a yogi could have. He is stuffed with the calmness only gods are authorized to, the strength only mountains have and the application only wind could possess. Rahul has never missed a single game (count domestic games, practice games and what not.). And our gods, they can't even field for the whole match. What shame!!

The game has seen many flamboyant and charismatic characters throughout the evolution but there have not been a single perfectionist as RSD who makes us believe why cricket was termed to be a gentleman's game.
Someone once said, no matter how highly everyone out there is rated only one person can stand anywhere with his bat. Yes, even on the mine fields having explosives everywhere. And that is Rahul Sharad Dravid.
He must have deprived us of his services in this ODI series but given the kind of gem Jammy is, this was expected that he will do it. He will do anything for the game.
Unfortunately, Scotland and England have understood his worth better that ourselves but then, this is how we Indians have been. Thankless bunch of non-sense zombies. Ah! I wish zombies don’t take it as an offense.

Somewhere 40 years later, I will be telling this to young kids:

There once was a humble tree
Who let everyone absolutely free
Anyone could have demanded anything
He would dance, write, choreograph and even sing
For his deeds he always stood second,
he was humble and never tried to pretend
None after him who could seed that faith
Even in the evening we will be safe.
For his staying and even a defense
I could throw down every crossing of fence.

No! He is not an unlucky player to not get the appreciations he deserved.
No! He is not an underachiever who could not make it large when time loomed.

It is us, the fellow countrymen who are the losers.
It is us who missed to read the art he sketched on the field.
It is us who missed standing and appreciating his stature.
It is us who never returned the faith he has given to us.
It is us who could work for he stayed there holding the forte.
It is us who have been thankless insects who does not value the cold light from moon.
It is us who do not actually know what batting is.
It is us who lost the opportunity to watch the classic and the class.

Saying anything for him would literally be less, he is the ultimate star and role model both as a cricketer and as a human being.

Salutes mate! For giving me pleasure for 15 years and honor for life!!

You simply are the best on and off the field!!!
The Knight India never deserved but always needed...
Miss your back-foot cuts, miss your river like calm celebrations, miss your cover drives, miss your sharp nips at slips and I will miss cricket in its classical form. You have been the sportsmanship personified. Period!






Thursday, February 17, 2011

The game before the game!!









You are certainly not going to like it; you may be kind enough to read it though.
OK, fine. First thing first- Living in a cricketer fiendish country ( Ah! You read it right mate, it is not cricket; it is cricketer) we have almost nothing else to do when this mania arrives.
Being a sports lover is one thing and being a popcorn wizard is another. Watching the prodigally hyped, utterly non-sense, completely rubbish pre-series, post-series, pre-match, post-match, warm ups, country travel over the great INDIAN TV/newspapers, starts three tournaments ahead of the actual one.
A usual game that begins at 2:30 PM actually forces one to switch the TV on at 10:45 for the god damn pitch report et al! And even if Sri Lanka goes on to beat Canada into pulp in a matter of 70 nanoseconds; the whole crap would take the good old 12 hours to end. You know post match programs and analysis.
A good-for-nothing bowler with 1 wicket at 570 in 13 matches he played in some 1989 series adjudges the strategy and tips Chaminda Vaas to better his performance from 8/12. Woilla!!!

Not yet mate, not yet! In the next game, an Ashish Nehra’s 3/106 would be termed as the grandest in-swing (what is that?) bowling ever by the same man, because India has won on the last bowl of the match by a HUGE margin of 2 runs (even after scoring some 639 in 34 overs)!!!

When seen as such, there is nothing wrong in this behavior but I demand a bit of ribs in the back. Only pulp is not what I choose to call man.
Taken that not everyone can be Sachin Tendulkar and has the right (and ability) to praise and criticize anyone but that demands a little bit of fairness. Statements in general should be based on facts and analysis and not on emotions. For that, one is always free to support from home. But declaring in a national daily shows that you are a complete non-sense.

We, the people of fastest emerging/growing economy (I can disagree for another 200 years on this without being exhausted) came up with 20-20 and the reason was very US/Japan like. We don’t have the time to watch 7.5 hours cricket. Agreed, but alas!
We see 3 matches of 3 hours a day. Combine it with the caps-and-tails, it sums up to 16 hours DAILY!!!

Now, who dares to not agree with the big daddy?
And India is the big daddy in cricket. Naah! Not for the quality it offers, nor for the force it is (it is however some force), but for the money it brings to the sports. We are the maddest people about cricketERS.

The thing which made my soul drenched in cricket, the grandest fiesta of this sport, the mighty world cup is back!!

I agree that with ICC Champions Trophy, T-20 World cups, IPLs (The worst germ in the cricketing history) and Champion Leagues, the ODI World Cup is loosing its shine and pedestal in the memories of fans.

It is however a delight, a warm breeze, a nostalgic feeling for purists like me. Not for it promises the same intensity and quality (people can hang me for the use of the word quality) as we would like to see but for the enthralling memories it brings back from the deep inside.

The Bevens and Mcgraths, the Gillis and the Kalus, the Cairns and the Gangulys, the Pollocks and the Kronjes, the Rhodes and the Karims, the Streaks and the Flowers, The Knights and the Flemings are surely to be missed. May be I can be termed as an old age, stinking, 262-is-enough-to-win kind of person who loves battle and not war. But this is how I would like to be known for a few years to come.

The festival is about to begin in some 26 hours from now on and would run for 6 maddening weeks. I am glad I am not at schools this year. I would have certainly made a mess of my exams.
The most prolific thing about world cup has always been that there are certainly more than one winner(s). Reaching to a place which is better that your given status is always seen as some pride. Then there are minnows and they can create some upsets, eating out career of a few big names standing at the twilight of their career.
Life and cricket can be so cruel but then the show must go on.

This edition might not be so different on these maths but is certainly not matching the shin, it once had produced for the white ball and the smell of dust.

When I look at the tournament which canvases 49 matches (why not make it 50 by adding a 3rd place play off?) I could not forgo writing my take on the participating teams.
Hence, if you are not already dead reading 776 tons of pages/GBs here-there-and-everywhere, if you have not cursed me enough for writing last 1187 words (go and count, come back and curse again!!) here is my take on each of them:

Netherlands: The kid who has nothing to loose wins the most number of coins outside the bar and in Ryan ten Doeschate they have a more than eager man. This future Knightrider would make many eyebrows turn and fans who like feet movement would love to watch him. I wish he gets more support from other batters. Bowling seems fine and the fielding can never be a problem to any team when we have butterfingers like Pakistan and India. Placed in a group where they can not cross the first stage (their India like fans may sue me on this), they can only better their record. England and West Indies certainly have something to worry while playing against them. I would not be surprised to see them not-at-the-bottom in the table. But that should be the end of the road this time.

Ireland: Only in their second world cup, they are already a force amongst the down town teams. In the last edition they played as many games as India, Pakistan and Zimbabwe combined could. In Poterfield and O’Brien brothers they have potential match winners. Add to that they have signed ex-english Ed Joyce. Watch out them for their excellent fielding and tight bowling. Had it been somewhere else in the world, they would have surely been in the quarters but here they would have to lift their game a bit too much. But it is not something they can not do. Go Ireland go! Make the Trim castle proud as much as you can. All the best!

CanadaEight years back, someday there was a hurricane from Canada in a loosing cause. He was John Davison turning 40 the day world cup starts, probably playing his last cup. Stocked and piled by NRIs, the team might pull a thing or two but looks out of sort to me. Placed in a group of non-chokers (Pakistan is the sole exception) they don’t have many chances but I would love to see Ashish Bagai and Rizwan Cheema bat sensible in a match or two. They can at least make life tough for others. Cricket is not only about winning. It is also about not loosing and by the way no one is here to loose.

Kenya: I don’t want to be, but I have to be true. Kenya this time looks completely out of tools. At best they are a shadow of what they were once. I find it real tough to see a match when they play. They look just a filler team to make the tally even. There are a few good prospects in Patel and Waters and experience of Tikolo, Odoyo but with no Karim, Obuya turning a batsman and no Suji, I can not see them beyond Canada. Actually they are not pathetic but then if you are at the stage for so long, there have to be some more expectations. They don’t seem fulfilling them this time.

Zimbabwe: The less we say, the better it is. They have that element to beat anyone any day, but they have this tendency to loose to any one at any day as well. Ironically the latter looks more than a routine now a day. Personally for me I would watch out for Ray Price, he puts most on the runs he concede. An international economy of 3.88 per over at any standard, any opposition owes some respect. But it is almost certain that they would be shown door by the league.

West Indies: You have Sarwan, you have Gayle, you have most reliable Chanderpaul, you have Bravo, you have Pollard, you have Roach and you have Benn but you are the worst team and look so certain to loose every game. That is certainly a shame for the world cricket. Hope they can give some farewell to Shiv for the long classy service he has given to a country obsessed with brutal hitting. Anything below a semis berth looks low to the potential but for now even reaching quarterfinals looks real tough nut to crack.

New Zealand: You won’t get anything to answer this but here is a question from my side. Which team never made it to the final of the world cup and played most number of matches in the all the editions combined only second to Australia (4 times champion)? Yes, they have always been a fine tuned, low-on-talent team and performed above expected on the bigger stages. They are in one of the worst form in the near past but then, when going gets tough, NZ gets going. And they have the nastiest hitters and to win this cup, you just have to ensure 3 knock out games. Reaching quarters don’t look tough for them. So, here comes the first potential winners but as the history says, they simply can not win it. We will see.

Bangladesh:  Cricket can be an individual’s game (OK, in India it was a decade back). You don’t believe this? Watch out Shakib Al Hasan, He comes from a different planet and certainly not from Bangladesh. Having all their group matches on home ground, they can even clinch the top spot in the group. What next? You never know with their quality spinners, but Tamim, Kayes and Shakib have to ensure a total near 240-250 and they will have a game in their hand. Not really the World cup winning material but don’t be so surprised if they reach to the semis purely on merit. It would be a shame if they get out at the group stage.

Pakistan: Assume a day when 50% Pakistan is declared militant/terrorist, another 25% thrashed and devastated by earthquakes and draughts. 24% choose to migrate to Arab countries and remaining 1%-11 are found fixing/doping and what not. Still this wonderfully talented country can produce 11 world beaters. The bowling resource simply never drains out. The entire pace men in the world combined are less that half of the pacers Pakistan plays every season and each of them (read each of them) performs. The batting is certainly not of that class but in Misbah and Yunis they have poles around which Afridies, Akmals and Razzaks can hop, and luck permitting can be brutal murderers on their day. Lucky for them, they need only 3 such days. A true cricketing sense says that they should not be in top 8, but if they are in, they can well reach to become the winner. But to be honest enough, I will never want them to reach even the semifinals. Given the way they have been playing recently, it will be a real shame for other nations if they progress to top 4 and further.

South Africa: Almost perfect! They have always been. OK, not really in 2003 but otherwise they have been fantastic. But alas! It takes innovation and guts to be the world beaters. Clinical approach may well place you at the top of the table, but to win knock outs, you need that X-factor. I have highest regards for Kallis and I am amazed by the last classical batsman Amla but to win this tournament AB will have to murder everyone and every time. The bowling is a big worry beyond Morkel. I am not certain why, but I don’t see Styne a real threat in the subcontinent. And then, they don’t have a 3rd bowler, a 4th bowler and a 5th bowler teams will hate to see. All in all, they can easily beat anyone, but then no one really fears them. And their nerves in knockouts, who can comment on that? Pathetic!
Can they break the jinx? I am not hopeful.

England: This is the strongest English team I have ever seen (even after Australia thrashed them 6-1). OK, they are injury hit but that is a part of the game. They can certainly lift there game and go on to win. They have one of the finest bowling unit at this time. They have batters in good nick and they have the world’s best spinner at the moment. But, the drama starts here!
The weather, the food, the condition, the ground, nothing suits them and they have never done well in the subcontinent. Therefore, although they look set in quarterfinals, a Pakistan or Sri Lanka can simply beef them with the spin and dust. Only if Trott and Bell can carry and Collingwood can get some runs to add to hiss cunning bowling, there is no reason that England can not win the cup.


India:  Which team has the luckiest man as captain? Which team has an opener whose individual tally scores over the sum of a number of squads in the tournament? Which Team is considered lion in his den? Which team has number of followers only next to the religion Islam? Which team has been publicized as the would-be-winner of the tournament every time they play after 1983? But then, when we come to the reality, the brouhaha created over, looks skewed and that too to an amount worth noticing. With the bowling attack India has (I am not counting Chawla/Ashwin), they are surely going to bleed runs in almost equal measures as the Battle of Thermopylae did. Luckily to their rescue, they have the Massacre, the Tornado, the Hurricane and the Powerhouse with them (Read Sehwah/Raina/Yusuf/Dhoni), who on their days can torment anything, yes anything. Even a soccer ball!! And in the subcontinent, these days may be more frequent. And they have the god of cricket, Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar! The mantra would be: bat first, score 475 and win by 3 runs. OK, score 375 and win by 10 runs. Fine!!
But then, Nehra, Sreesanth (What a player!!) and Harbhajan do believe in ‘atithi devo bhavah’. So, I do not see India as a certain winner at least. Having said all, they stand a good chance this time. At least better than what dada once had in 2003, perhaps!

Sri Lanka: The most consistent of them all in the recent times. The most powerful bowling attack and arguably the most accomplished team set up. In Sangakara they have a captain whose bat does all the talking. In Mahela, the have a player, who can be extremely consistent. In Dilshan they have a thin, lightening quick sehwag, who can bowl well in the sub-continent. In Angelo Mathews they have one of the finest pace all-rounders. A team where Samarweera and Silva go unnoticed and Mendis and Perera are used to carry towels; one need not talk about their strength. In the farewell tour of Murali, they look the strongest force and are the strongest contender of the world cup if one goes looking strength to strength. The trend that they have been performing at the final stages gives them an edge over teams like India, England and South Africa. But in a knock out, who knows.

Australia: Agreed that they do not have a Warne or Mcgrath in bowling, or a Gilchrist or Hydos in batting. They don’t have a Symo either and they look like their own pale shadow. Add to it, Mr. Cricket (read Micheal Hussey) is out with an injury but still they deserve some respect because they still are Numero Uno team in ODIs all over the globe. The tigerish approach and typical Kangaroo attitude is something which is required to lift the world cup and Ricky’s men are no doubt capable to do it again. Remember 1999? If A Langer/Martin/Bichel can perform so can a White/Haddin/Bollinger. The problem lies in the fact that Aussies have be so above all, that even if some team rises up and win one game against them, they are written off. Actually, they are still good; a win %age of 70+ tells you the story. At the moment though, they really look volatile and an inspired performance by the opposition may shut their doors in any of the three knock outs. But it would be interesting to see Punter’s men and their character to get under the skin as they have been doing for past 1000 years. My personal best bet this World cup would be Shane Watson and Ponting himself.


So, agreeing on a fair chance for every team out there I see one of the teams from India, Sri Lanka, Australia and England winning the World Cup.

I do not want Sri Lanka to win simply because they have 20 overs between two chuckers. Now whatever allegation ICC puts on me, I am never going to digest Murali or Malinga. They simply are pathetic. Call it my personal misery but I simply can not see them winning this way.

I do not want India to win more than Sri Lanka, because I can not see the inventor of helicopter shot (ugly, isn’t it?) lift the cup. I can not see Sreesanth and Yuvraj roaring. I can not see Harbhajan turning words more than balls. I can not see Yusuf compared to (or surpassing) Richards/Sobers. I simply can not see Sachin being a part of the winning squad, if just for the sake he has been playing 3 games a year destroying the opening career of Gambhir. I agree that he plays wonderfully when he does but how much does he really play? If you are not fit, move on mate! Life has to be like this for everyone. Bending it for a Sachin and/or a Murali is ridiculous. The above statement does not mean that I am not a fan of Sachin but I want him (or for that matter Zaheer) play every game. At least, a bulk of them. You come once in a year and our opener moves down the order, that is selfish. An injury here and there is OK but resting 8 months a year, I am not sure if any other country has players with poorer fitness than Sachin, Sehwag and Zaheer.
I would want Sachin to score 100000 runs and earn every MOM and the MOS award but strictly no WC.

I therefore choose the two little bit weaker sides England and Australia to put my money on. If asked to choose one, it would be England but I would be OK with Australia as well.

Grit of Collingwood or Charisma of Watson? Tough call boy!!
Let the ball rolling…………..Howzthattt!!!


Sunday, January 23, 2011

Were that you?





Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most beautiful prizes slip through it.

                                                                                                                Georges Duhamel
                                                                                              
                                                       ************

“Heyyyyy!!!!”
“Whaaaa….! Who?”
“Hiii! Is that you?”
“What?”
“Look at you! Yes, it is you.”
“….!!!!!??? Of course, it’s me. Who else?” I mean, it is to be me. I suppose, to say the least.
“Whoaaaa!! I am just meeting Dhawal.” Indeed you are, but what gets you those extra a’s in that?
“Yes! That is my name but how do you know me?” I don’t do TV commercials yet. Do I?
“……!!......!!.....??.....!!” What? Say something!! For Christ sake!
“Hey! Why are you staring at me? How do you know me (repeat)? Have we met earlier?” Staring!!! Are you the last hunk over the earth? A girl ogling at you! You gone nuts?
“Don’t say that.” The voice got real low. Seen a pressure cooker nozzle? DITTO!
“But! Really? Yes.. I mean no..I could not recall. May be I have a poor memory. Could you please help me with this?” Ehh! Not many girls I know, fewer I’ve ever met. How the damn could I miss the name of any of them? And just to add, she is stunningly gorgeous!!!

                                                         ************

Oh! By the way, did I tell you how it all started?
OK, here you go.

Same day, 7 hours back.

“Hi! Puneet.”
“Hey Dhawal, is that you over the line?”
“Yes, you bet.”
“Where? At home? In the town?”
“Answer to both of your questions is yes, affirmative.”
“O dear lord of donkeys! What would it take you to show up?” Shut up you crap.
“At your wish, anytime. I’m game.” I’m not good at meeting-goofing-hanging out. Your call.
“No! You decide boss.”
“Are you sure? I tell you, you’d regret, hugely.”
“Go ahead fella.”
“OK, then. Let’s fix it on your funeral. What say?” Not only you suck mate, not only you.
“Sure dead man! Certainly!”
“OK enough! 6 PM in the evening. Is that alright?”
“Sounds like a plan. Yes, that would do. Anything before 11PM is cool with me.”
“And after that?”
“Stuffs you know…”
“Reliance?”
“You cold hearted can say that.”
“Got ya Romeo. It’s OK.” Both men laugh. Humongous!!

                                                        **********

“Don’t you remember me?” silence. “Smriti!!!” She herself broke in.
Ehh!! That can break the window panes for sure.
“Aanhh, haan…. aan? Smri…ti..? Who..?” Bad, damn bad boy!!
Avantika, Anamika, Priya, Niti, Geetika, Reena, Yogita…Smriti?? What?? No! Not in my database.

“You sure, you are Dhawal.” What? Was that a question? I never expected that. OK, at this point of time, I did.
“To the best of my knowledge, yes. I suppose so.” I got the same word incarnated over my passport to say the least. My PAN agrees too. Yes, Yes, Yes, I am Dhawal. Hence, proved.
I tried to lift the moment by being a bit chirpy and casual. Not to mention, I failed… miserably. Have you seen overloaded carts uprooted from the front, yeah, I looked similar.
“The same one from Bhartee Vidyala school?”
“Yes!!” Woila! How’s that? She knows my history.
“Then I suppose you can recall me. Cannot you?” Think hard you frog eyed fool!!
Her smile was dazzling.

                                                ************

I went over the place Puneet and I had decided to meet at around 6 in the evening.
OK, 5:40 to be precise.
By the way, I over do myself in punctuality and I am quite punctual in doing this.

After waiting for some 10 odd minutes over a place in a lively and crowded market, I was bored and irritated. Bored in 10 minutes, seriously!!
These are social offenses and must not be committed so often.
And I totally agree to it, though unhappily.
Following and agreeing go hand in hand, did anyone say that? I’m glad no one did.
BRAVO!!!

I started to take a little walk. You understand road side window shopping, don’t you?
Happily for you, even if you don’t, it hardly matters. Cheer!
I was somewhere in the front of a ladies suit shop when she screamed from the back.

Yuck!
You are awful man! A LADIES SUIT SHOP!!
And add to it, you cannot recall her. This evening cannot get worse. You swear.

                                                    ************

“CANNOT YOU!!” Get up you lagging behind sleeping fool.
“Umm!! I really wish I could. I may, I mean…I will..hmm..umm…”
“That should help.” And I noticed her beautiful smile for the very first time. That was awesome.
I know, I’m silly and that is now CERTIFIED by MYSELF, Period.
“My deepest regrets but it would really help if you can give me a hint or so.” I give up, to be honest. I never felt begging like this before. And I console myself with this statement every time I beg.
“In that street over the Ganges…. ”

“HI MAN!!!!!, where are you? We decided to meet at the T-point. And then your phone? Why aren’t you answering any of them?” Enter Puneet unnoticing Smriti.
Un-noticing!!
How dare he? But eventually, it makes me happy. Not his coming, his un-noticing her does.

“Hey Puneet! Hi mate! Thanks for turning up. I just got to meet an old friend of mine, Smriti. Meet her. And Smriti, he is Puneet. We have been long time school buddies.” Thanks for turning up, huh! What timing, what a brutal timing. I can surly kill you for this.

“Hi Smriti! How do you do?” Puneet displayed his gentleman behavior.
“Fine, thank you. How are you?” 
How is he? He is fine, flabby, rich and lazy. Uhhh.
“Um going great. Nice dress haan! What do you do?” What? Dumb head!!
I didn’t ask a thing till time and now Puneet knows more than me. I am a complete crap. Oh! I said it twelfth time, I better put it as a permanent tattoo over my forehead.

Not that I had any business with her but then there is something called courtesy. I am in a complete mess, really.

“MCom. about to finish this March.”
“That is cool. I am a doctor, a bad one you know.” Acting smart boy!
“Hahaha! And he must be a bad engineering.” What? She knows that much about me. Hey!! What is my blood group lady?
“By the way, aren’t we gathered here for a job treat due on Dhawal?” Puneet never misses over food.
“Hey! Wow Dhawal! Congratulations!! Where man? Calls for a grand party buddy.”
Buddy!! Hmm.
I can reciprocate at least; my words however would be MYSTERIOUS STRANGER!!

“OK folks! As you order. Decide where to go.” Not that I’m so generous and eat out-spend bucks kind of person but I wanted to know more of her. I was trying really hard to recall her.
And yes, I had to keep my promise to Puneet as well.

But, when you press things too hard, they don’t come your way. Isn’t it right?

They just talked and talked over the dining table and I? I was eating-staring-eating-listening-eating-drinking-eating-staring and then we came off.

We three took a walk and again talked a bit before taking leave. I don’t remember what I said or heard.
 She took my contact number (and of course Puneet’s) and as I more often do, I didn’t took her.

I don’t know her, I barely talked to her, neither had I taken her number. All I know is her name.
Fantastic!!
Bull shit!!
I am totally bullshit!!


                                                          ************

It has been 5 months since then today I read this article about huge Indian bullocks.
Suddenly this spurred in my mind.
There was a similar one, a rather bigger one; or maybe I was so small to sense it’s hugeness. Size do not matter, the incident might do.
It was some 16 years back.
In those congested streets on my way back to school, I grabbed a little girl’s hand by my little palms and ran for our lives.
I doubt over my heroics, neither do I remember the exact proceedings but I got numerous bruises all over and won sympathy/acclaims from her parents.
OK, that was more of sympathy to be honest but come on! I think that much is allowed at an age of say 7-8 years.

I never asked her name, what else do you expect me to do in that pain?
I am not sure if they asked mine.
I never met her again.
I had never known her.
She was not in my school either.
16 years is some time, definitely when you are growing biologically. Appearance changes hugely.

Were that you?

Were that you, Smriti?

Oh! I wish Puneet was a few seconds late that day.
I wish I had your number.
I wish you had called me once.
I wish the paper you had noted my name is still intact.
I wish you read this.
I wish someone who knows you might be reading this.

But anyway, if none of these wishes come true, I wish you stay safe and blessed. May be we can cross each other some other day.

All said and done, I strongly believe in the following said by Friedrich Nietzsche:

The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good thing for the first time.

Someday, I would directly ask…………… Were that you? Smriti?? The world is not that big.
See ya!!