The Yembire Strikes Back

A Farewell to Cricket

2012-01-29T03:36:00.015+05:30

If I were to look back and identify the defining series that gave me my cricketing mojo it will have to be India's tour of Australia in 1991-92. I was eleven at that time and even though the tour itself was a complete disaster in which we won next to nothing, my memories of it are more vivid than almost any other Cricket I have witnessed since.

Srikanth in the one dayers, a nerve wracking tie with a first innings score of 126, inconsistently immense seam and swing bowling by Prabhakar, Kapil and Srinath, Azhar's century in Adelaide, Kapil's four hundreth wicket and of course, the coming of Tendulkar. Though he had played a few tests before and even made a century, that summer was when the age of Tendulkar began for me.

It has been coming for some time now but the current series with the Aussies has finally decided it for me. My days as an avid, nervous, fidgety, cynical, heartbroken, mildly jingoistic, rapturous - sometimes all at the same time - Indian cricket fan have finally drawn to an end. The Indian cricket fan mostly plays out games in his/her dreams. Dreams of perfectly played matches or innings or spells or even a single delivery or a shot. Dreams of future matches in which Tendulkar scores a double in a come from behind win against the Aussies at the MCG, or a Sehwag double hundred in a single session or VVS playing to leg (and then to off) to the same delivery. But the present is seldom agreeable. For every well played win there are at least two inept defeats, for every moment of genius there are at least five instances of apathetic nothingness. For every display of steel there several balls of cotton.

It is defintely not a job for the impatient this, following Indian cricket and its players. People who do, and there are a lot of them, need an avenue to isolate themselves whenever an adverse event occurs. There are those that turn to sarcasm and humour, there are those who will blame either or all of Tendulkar, Dravid, Laxman and Ganguly. Some stop talking about it until the series tides over, some turn to F1 or the Premier League, and a significant number takes solace in trolling Rediff message boards. But these attempts seldom help. The pain lives on in our collective memories. And the dreams become more bizzare. How about a Tendulkar triple on a seaming Durban wicket in which no other batsman crosses ten? That would help ease the pain would'nt it.

But I shall not complain, at least not today. There have been moments, I must say, when it has almost been worth it. And there have been moments when the defeats have been personal. But some of these men who in all probability played their last test in Australia, are childhood heroes. A breed that is forgiven everything. I have never cared for the hundredth hundred if you ask me. The man has already done enough and more. And so have the others.

So what exactly is the legacy that my generation of cricket fans can hold on to? Some say this has been the greatest generation of India's Cricket. If that is the case, then it has been an underwhelming one purely in terms of results. In terms of skill, maybe the greatest, but only by a whisker. Their predecessors were no rabbits. Names like Gavaskar, Viswanath, Wadekar, Mankad, Bedi, Kapil Dev, Amarnath are not easily bettered. What will I tell my daughters about Cricket when they grow up, especially if we are still living in distant Switzerland then? They will probably have a thing for Ice Hockey or god forbid cross-country skiiing or worse still curling. Will they ever be able to appreciate the feeling that grabbed their father when Tendulkar would hit McGrath down the ground, when Laxman drove Warne inside out almost for an entire day at the Eden, when Kumble had that look in his eye with his jaw sticking out or everytime that Sehwag walked out to bat? Probably not.

I find it hard to relate to the Dhonis, Kohlis and Gambhirs of this world. Fine cricketers no doubt but they have never influenced how my day pans out if they were to get out cheaply. Tendulkar's wicket (and Sehwag's, Laxman's and Dravid's to an extent) but Tendulkar's above all, has the tendency to send a few million people into a mildly depressed stupor for the rest of the their day in which they do what they are supposed to do but bereft of all joy and vigour. Does Rohit Sharma do that to you?

My favourite Indian Test Cricketers who made their debuts in the 20 years since I woke up to Cricket, in no particular order are: Tendulkar, Laxman, Dravid, Azhar, Ganguly, Kumble, Srinath, Kambli, Raju, Sehwag, Munaf Patel, Akash Chopra and L Balaji.

George RR Martin On Fantasy

2012-01-27T14:01:00.010+05:30

Original Link Here

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least...that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines.

Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La. They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth.

Now that was wasn`t too badly put was it?

Hai Huku Hai Huku Hai Hai

2011-09-30T15:09:00.003+05:30

Of all the songs out there, this gives me the most joy. And I don`t really care what you think.

The mindnumbing predictability of the Indian Male (Vegetarian)

2011-01-18T02:09:00.009+05:30

This post was triggered by a sudden memory of a visit to an Indian restaurant in a foreign land a few years ago. When a bunch of slightly hidebound Vegetarian Indian men step outside to eat, you can pretty much predict the evening down to the last spoonful of 'saunf' that will be consumed.

"Ek starter mangaa lete hain, soup lega kya (kaun sa sweet corn ya tomato?) - what they don't have sweet corn soup? What the fug man. Accha Manchow soup hai kya? Starter mein paneer bolna hai kya? phir mein course mein kya lenge? theek hai hara bhara kabab bol de. ya platter bolein?...masala papad anyone??"

"mere liye ek fresh lime salted bolna."

"main course bhi soch lo yaar. pata nahin kitna time lagayega. paneer handi? nahin yaar handi sweet hoti hai..kadhai paneer bol de? pehle pooch le gravy aayegi ki dry. How about Paneer do pyaza? abey PDP mat mangaana..mostly pyaza do paneer hi hota hai usmein (joke + laughter with at least two people who say - good one). Dal Kaun si lega Black ya Yellow? Dal Tadka bol dete hain. Raita lega kya - Boondi ya Pineapple? Roti kaun si lega? mere liye ek garlic nan bolna. Ek misi roti bhi bol diyo. Butter roti order kariyo aur waiter ko bolo ki roti repeat kar de. Rice baad mein order karenge. Agar sabji kam padi to ek dal aur mangaa lenge."

And that is pretty much is that. All this conversation happens in the space of a few minutes. There might be a few digressions driven by prices on the menu, an interestingly named item like Veg Atrangi (a motley medley of exotic Indian spices and vegetables in mild tomato curry sauce) or the very vague Paneer International (a global touch to an age old Indian speciality)

And there you have it. Everyday millions of groups of Indian men order paneer and assorted items with very little standard deviation in terms of the mix. Of course there are other "cuisines". "Aaj Chinese khane ka mann hai, aaj Pizza khane ka maan hai" types but largely Paneer holds sway. And there will always be someone who will order Chana Masala as if his life depended on it.

But my biggest grouse with restaurant menus is the fact that most items on them are not even for real. Are you trying to tell me that there is actually something call Veg Rajasthani or for that matter Paneer Lababdar? And what exactly, pray, is the difference between Paneer Handi, Paneer Kadhai and Paneer Tawa? And don't even get me started on Jalfrezis and Makhanwalas. And what of the legendary Diwani Handi? Its a frickin' sham I tell you made up of cottage cheese, vegetables of doubtful provenance and delectable tomato gravies, all designed to keep us from eating real food. Leave all that improvising to the French I say. I mean has your mom ever cooked Veg Panchmukhi at home?

Things of course change when a woman enters our lives. But that discussion is for another day. Right now I have a date with Dal Akbari...

In Der Schweiz

2011-01-07T20:49:00.005+05:30

And so it comes to pass that I move to Switzerland, of all places, to work. A vastly different land from the mad chaos of Andheri East.

Its not a bad place this. Everywhere one looks one is confronted with a scene that looks like you've seen it before somewhere in a famous watercolor. And it is a place where all sports channels are currently drooling over the mindnumbingly boring and amazingly inelegant sport of cross country skiing. And the fact that you cannot drive in any direction for more than three hours without being in a completely different European country adds to the feeling of adequacy.

But for now I am just happy to get away from Saki Naka.

Thoughts on Anand vs Topalov

2010-05-10T14:34:00.010+05:30

Following the ongoing World Championship on Mig Greengard's excellent chess blog over the past couple of weeks has been a bit of an eye opener. The banter on the blog has everything going for it - highbrow analysis from Rybka simulations, translations from Shipov's magnificently abstract Russian commentary, cheap shots by fans, a lot of Indian jingoism and some absolute gems from Nigel Short makes for compelling reading. Who knew that Chess could generate such edge of the seat excitement. The match has turned out to be an absolute cracker generating abundant drool worthy content for the layman and expert alike.

Following Vishy's career over the past two decades has been a satisfying experience. Vishy is the perfect blend of insane talent and copious amounts of hard work. Breaking into a predominantly Russian and Eastern European bastion and consistently staying in the top 5 for more than 15 years with three World Championship titles speaks of a steel and resolve for which he is seldom given any credit. Finally all the talk of mental frailties and stage fright for big occasions were laid to rest when he comprehensively beat Kramnik for the World title in 2008.

The current match against the mercurial Topalov has been a fantastic advertisement for the sport. Topalov's off the board antics with his pig-headed insistence on imposing Sofia Rules governing draws have actually made the match more exciting on account of mistakes made by both sides due to fatigue and sheer pressure. Anand has proved to be the better chess player but Topalov's relentless energy and a penchant for provocative moves has kept the contest finely balanced.

The decider awaits tomorrow with Topalov playing with white pieces and a distinct advantage. I cant wait to log in.

PS: Mig Greengard's chess blog is probably the chess equivalent of Pete Bodo's excellent Tennis blog.

DANGER is a dude!

2010-03-29T12:49:00.003+05:30

Who knew? And a moustache too.

Is Bikini mein Jaan Hai and Other Assorted Rants!

2010-02-22T10:22:00.004+05:30

JK Cements must surely get the Golden Lion or the Mauve Monkey or whatever accolades they hand out at the Cannes Ad awards this year. The whole babe in Bikini thing reminds me of an old joke back when I was in Lucknow, featuring the line -

Kuku Naadey wale kacchey. Aapki izzat ka buri tarah se rakhwala.

I know its a bizarre line but the gist of it all was that the underwear featured a 'naada' called 'Kuku' for which no force was too strong. It would just not tear. Is JK cement a metaphor for Kuku Naada? If yes then it has to be the most awesomest wicked ad ever.

Also, on the WTF continuum, is NEO sports for real? Terry Pratchett laid down the definition of the shortest unit of time as the New York second which is essentially the time between the signal turning green and the chap behind you honking. Well, compared to the time between an over ending and NEO switching to the ad feed, the New York second is like a frickin' epoch of a million years. I am sure the person who mans the transition lever is tied to some sort of an electric torture device which penalizes him based on time taken to make the switch. Nothing else can explain the lightning reflex.

On Ordinariness

2010-01-17T11:38:00.006+05:30

Virender Sehwag's comments on Bangladesh's lack of ability at Test Cricket has, predictably, led to a lot of wailing and gnashing of the teeth. People have accused Sehwag's attitude to be bordering on arrogance and utterly lacking in political correctness, but then, that's the way Sehwag is. He has never refered to a spade as a digging device and probably does not know how to do it.

It is also hard to spot the flaw in Sehwag's argument. Bangladesh most definitely are not an extraordinary side. And their record, since being allowed to play test cricket is ordinary at best. Bangladesh are a guerrilla side. Successful with the odd ambush against giant teams but not having the artillery for a direct confrontation. Runs against Bangladesh and Zimbabwe are still considered cheap amongst the international cricket cognoscenti. And its actually refreshing to see someone like Sehwag calling them out for what they really are.

This will obviously anger them. But it should push them to work harder, not start complaining about lack of respect. Respect has to be earned on the field.

Dil To Bachcha Hai Ji - A Gush

2010-01-15T11:04:00.004+05:30

kis.ko pataa tha, pehlu mein rak.kha
dil aisa paa.ji bhi hoga
Hum to hamesha samajhte the koi
Hum jaisa haa.ji hi hoga
Haan yeh zor karey, kitna shor karey
Bewaja baatOn pe ain.wey gaur karey
Dilsa koiii... kameenaa nahin

Now that's what I am talking about. When Vishal Bharadwaj and Gulzar combine, they have a propensity for producing nuggets that are almost Wodehousian in their choice of words and metaphor. In this case the two have outdone themselves. The masterstroke in the above para is, of course, the use of "ain.wey" instead of the more pedestrian "yoon.hi".

Have been listening to the track non-stop for a full day now and the smile on my lips refuses to go away.

Great Song, Great Song.

Steig Larsson's Millennium

2009-12-15T14:09:00.026+05:30

Spent the better part of the entire previous week devouring Steig Larsson's excellent Millennium trilogy. And at the end of it all there is a sense of contentment, of a finality and a feeling that all is right with the world, or Sweden at the very least.

The series is a staggering acheivement on several counts,which is all the more surprising because it breaks quite a few rules of genre crime fiction writing at several places. Larsson shows a tendency to employ digressions at key moments, which drag you away from the plot to explain, say, the backstory of a lesser character or completely unrelated trivia. It is also written in an extremely matter of fact style with very little embellishment (it could be because of the fact that the work is translated from Swedish). But these elements work perfectly in Millennium helping create a keen sense of anticipation in the reader at key moments only to suddenly whisk them away to a more mundane place leaving them gasping for breath.

What places Millennium a few notches above your standard issue crime thriller is the quality of its lead characters. Lisbeth Salander, it fiercely independent female protagonist, is an exasperatingly difficult person to deal with - she is more intelligent than everyone else around her, anti-social, a victim of horrific atrocities with a temparament that is liable to explode at the slightest hint of provocation. Mikael Blomkvist, is in many ways the exact opposite. He is a reluctant celebrity, a pathbreaking journalist with almost infinite patience and quite the ladies man. The promiscuity in general displayed by the characters, apart from the horrifying tales of misogyny, would be quite a shocker for the lay Indian reader. Not that India is in any way devoid of crimes against women, but the general impression of life in Scandinavian countries in our minds would probably be best described by high per-capita incomes, midnight suns and a sanitised lifestyle almost bordering on the boring.

Not since I read Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell has a large work of fiction so consumed me (I tend to think of any book that goes beyond 500 pages as a large work of fiction.) I read the books in about five sittings with a strange nervous energy egging me on. Such was the lure of Lisbeth Salander and friends. My favorite book remains the first installment of the series- The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, for its leisurely depiction of the Scandinavian landscape, the weather and the lifestyle in addition to being a genuinely scary and disturbing crime investigation.

Highly recommended.

PS - Hat Tip to Jabberwock for the strong recommendation in his review. I would have steered clear of these books otherwise, especially given the corny titles.

On Dravid

2009-11-27T16:49:00.004+05:30

A superb article on Rahul Dravid by Suresh Menon in Tehelka. This line sums up Dravid's ethos quite beautifully.

"While Tendulkar dominates through attack, Dravid lets his domination remain a secret between the bowler and himself"

Thoughts on Inglourious Basterds

2009-10-02T21:37:00.008+05:30

Going into a QT film assures at least one thing - it will never be a staggeringly bad film. Which is not saying much but at least you know where you stand. Quentin Tarantino understands, and appreciates, badassery like few other directors do. Or to put it more accurately, Quentin's films and characters are more consistently badass than most other directors. My favorite bits in all his films are the digressions characters choose to take during key conversation pieces and how it all ends with almost poetic violence.

The opening scene in Inglourious Basterds is a classic instance of how to build up to a denoument which the audience already anticipates. From the moment the farmer hears the hum of the German motorbikes approaching you know serious evil is afoot and that people will die before the scene ends. But its the treatment of the scene that takes the breath away. And of course it helps if you have a character like Hans Landa to work with. Chrisopher Waltz approaches the character like a chemist would when performing a titration experiment. His affect on people around him (and the audience) is slow, assured, awe inspiring and eventually deadly.

Sylistically Inglourious Basterds is a departure from Kill Bill, infact almost its mirror image in the sense that KB was a series of set piece action sequences with sporadic bursts of dialogue where as IB is a series of conversation set pieces with intermittent spells of violence.

A nod especially to Melanie Laurent's Shoshanna who is hauntingly gorgeous in every frame she inhabits. The Basterds themselves were fun but, ironically, probably the weakest link in the film.

On Interesting and Unreal Place Names

2009-09-13T20:32:00.005+05:30

A lot of wailing and gnashing of the teeth has manifested itself over the years among the anti-cognoscenti in this country over the naming/renaming of landmarks and roads and places and other eyesores that pop up from time to time. The majority market share has remained with the Gandhi family with a spot of competition from assorted regional and mythological players. In my book its a crime at par with defacement by photoshop, another national pastime.

Indian cities are such a repository of exquisitely named places, its a pity that very few have been analyzed or dissected in great detail. For example the Kempegowda Bus Stand area in Bangalore, is popularly known as "Majestic". Someone coming across"Majestic" for the first time might imagine that the city probably has more places like it - "Splendid" perhaps or "Pathetic" or even "Far-Fetched". Another favourite of mine in Bangalore is "Michaelpalya" which is just a very cool name.

Its hard to think of any Indian city that I have been to and not found a name that's profoundly WTF and memorable. Agra's Chippi Tola ( a place that sells springs of all sorts), Gadha-Pada, Man-Tola and Raja Ki Mandi; Lucknow's Bakshi ka Talab and Narahi; Raipur's Lendi-Talab, Mumbai's Chinchpokli, Tulsi Pipe Road are just some that I can think of right now, but I am sure there are hundreds more.

Will probably do a more detailed list of all such names that I can recall, later perhaps.

On Character Backstories

2009-05-27T18:21:00.001+05:30

Dr Evil's is my favorite.

"The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it"

The Advent of Jacky B

2009-05-27T18:04:00.003+05:30

I wait
with eager anticipation
for a starson
to debut
last name Bhagnani,
if you thought that was tacky
his first name is Jacky.

Watching Federer and Nadal

2009-02-03T22:49:00.008+05:30

There is very little joy that I derive out of watching Rafa and Federer go at each other. There is just too much stress for me to enjoy the sheer quality they bring on court when squaring off. Each point bitterly contested, full of brute force, grace, speed, turns, impossible angles and above all the possibility of something unique.

For me the real genius of Federer's game is not in its precision or aesthetics but in the fact that Federer always plays on the outer boundaries of his abilities. Its exhilirating to watch because of the extreme risk it entails. You would rarely see Federer playing a safe shot. In fanboy parlance I tend to dig Roger Federer's game. And the Aussie open final left me bereft of all adrenaline and I lay slumped on my bean bag for almost an hour after Federer started crying on court.

I have always harboured a prejudice against Nadal for no reason whatsoever. Perhaps its because he is the only player who makes Federer look human on court - irritated, hurried, pensive, resigned even. To top it all Rafa is such an amazingly gracious champion that it grates. But the man has won me over this year. For all its star power the Sampras-Agassi rivalry was nowhere near to what Federer and Nadal have. The tennis they play against each other is for most part unreal.

The great era of M/s Borg, Connors, McEnroe et al had ended by the time I developed an affinity for Tennis. And men's tennis has thrown up players of serious calibre over the last three decades - Becker, Edberg, Agassi, Chang, Lendl, Wilander, Rafter, Stich to name a few. But I cannot imagine any of them posing problems for either Federer or Nadal. Sampras though might have held his own.

The New Year is Here

2009-01-02T09:26:00.002+05:30

Yembire wishes its readers (almost entirely comprising a group of people who search for the word 'cinemascope' in google) an adequate New Year!

Koftey Hard Ho Gaye!

2008-12-19T21:49:00.007+05:30

Jugni Chad Di A.C Car

Jugni Rehndi Sheeshe Paar

Jugni Moh Mohni Naaro Di Kothi Sector Chaar

( Jugni Hasdi Ve..Hasdi ) Te Dil Vich Basdi Ve..

Dibakar Banerjee must have spent the better part of his formative years as a fly on the inside wall of a Punjabi family in Rajouri Garden. What else can explain this phenomenon. The guy gets Punjabis the way Shakti Kapoor gets shady.

Khosla ka Ghosla was inventive, mad, funny and uplifting. OLLO is outrageous, dark, witty and depressing (all in a good way). Dibakar Banerjee has created a parallel Punjabi universe that is at once endearing and cringeworthy. And the music. Bat out of Punjab! Superchor has been playing on my mind in a loop ever since I heard the thing.

Badi "varaity" hai ji is ladke mein.

On Joseph O'Neill's Netherland

2008-11-22T21:10:00.022+05:30

A ringing endorsement of Netherland on the cover of the book says, " ...The story is hard to put down, for its characters are so real and their preoccupations so urgently of the now, that the book has the vividness of breaking news." I am not sure if I agree with this analysis. Most characters in Joseph O'Neill's Netherland are so fantastic and their preoccupations so laid back and meandering that its hard to imagine it as any kind of news.

That however is just a rebuttal of the blurb on the cover and not a criticism of the novel itself. For Netherland is a spectacularly written novel stitched together with sentences that at once evoke awe, nostalgia and admiration for their preciseness and lucidity. It is a complicated yarn which dabbles in philosophical musings on the nature of love, marriage, friendships and cricket and paints a vivid picture of the three cities that its protagonist inhabits - New York, The Hague and London.

Netherland is a first person narrative by the excessively brooding and given to digressions, Hans Van Der Broek, a Dutch investment analyst with an English Lawyer wife and a tragic love for the game of cricket.

"...I was once again confronted by the seemingly irresolvable conflict between, on the one hand , my sense of an innings as a chanceless progression of unorthodox shots - impossible under local conditions - and, on the other hand, the indigenous notion of batting as a gamble of hitting out. There are hornier dilemmas a man can face: but there was more to batting than the issue of scoring runs. There was the issue of self measurement. For what was an innings if not a singular opportunity to face down, by dint of effort and skill and self-mastery, the variable world?"

and elsewhere

"...There was nothing, in principle, to stop me from changing my game, from taking up the cow shots and lofted bashes in which many of my team mates specialized... I could not, more accurately I would not change...I would stubbornly continue to bat as I always had, even if it meant the end of making runs"

Cricket in New York is at best an amusing diversion and the sole preserve of a motley bunch of Asians and Caribbeans. Hans is the only "white" cricketer in the entire group and yet finds himself completely at ease in this diverse group. A bunch of ordinary people attracted by the lure of the great game in a foreign land.

Chuck Ramkissoon, a character who looms over the novel's landscape is, to define him in cricketing terms, a genuine all rounder. He speaks with authority on topics eclectic and exotic. He is a charming rogue - go-getting, mysterious and impulsive. A calypso Huckleberry Finn who has managed to age gracefully. His dream is to bring to America, the unalloyed joys of playing and watching cricket. Hans' and Chuck's is a friendship that is rooted in the reality of mutual expectation. Chuck needs Hans' credible exterior and patient audience for his shady dealings and grandiose pronouncements while Hans looks forward to his meetings with Chuck as a means of getting away from the lonesome reality of his post 9/11 New York life and troubled marriage.

The most striking feature of the novel is the freshness of its prose and its aptness. That itself makes the novel a definite must read. It does help though, that the characters and the narrative are first rate too.

"Some people have no difficulty in identifying with their younger incarnations...I, however, seem given to self-estrangement. I find it hard it muster oneness with those former selves whose accidents and endeavours have shaped who I am now...
I still think, and I fear will always think, of myself as the young man who got a hundred runs in Amstelveen with a flurry of cuts, who took that diving catch at second slip in Rotterdam, who lucked into a hat trick at the Haagse Cricket Club. These and other moments of cricket are scorched in my mind like sexual memories, forever available to me and capable, during those long nights alone in the hotel when I sought refuge from the sorriest of feelings, of keeping me awake as I relived them in bed and powerlessly mourned the mysterious promise they held."

In Anticipation of Terry Pratchett's Nation

2008-10-20T17:30:00.012+05:30

Terry was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's earlier this year. A condition that he then described in his typical style as an "embuggerance" has now slowly started affecting his brain functions earmarked for day-to-day activities. There seems to be very little medical science can do at this moment to cure or control this disease. Its a highly rare form of dementia and the fact that it should have struck Terry of all people is proof enough that gods do not have a sense of humour. Terry himself is not taking this lying down. He has pledged a million dollars in support of Alzheimer's research and is actively crusading for more government spending on dementia research. Here's a link to an impassioned article he wrote recently in a newspaper talking about the disease and what it does to perfectly normal people.

I spoke to a fellow sufferer recently (or as I prefer to say, ‘a person who is thoroughly annoyed with the fact they have dementia’) who talked in the tones of a university lecturer and in every respect was quite capable of taking part in an animated conversation.
Nevertheless, he could not see the teacup in front of him. His eyes knew that the cup was there; his brain was not passing along the information. This disease slips you away a little bit at a time and lets you watch it happen.

By all standards Terry Pratchett's output has been staggering. Not only in terms of sheer volume, he averages around 1.5 books a year, but the quality of his writing has been first rate throughout. As a humourist Terry is in the same league as Wodehouse and as a humanist he is in a league all by himself. To typecast him as a purveyor of fantasy is akin to labeling the Beatles as just another cute boy band. He is not so much a writer of fantasy as he is a fantastic writer. He writes with equal felicity on topics ranging from the nature of belief, fundamentalism, organized religion, sexism, racism, political strategy, foreign policy, pop-culture, rock music, shallow patriotism, journalism, corporate greed, education to policing while making you laugh and think at the same time. This is a rare gift.

Nation, his latest book, which is incidentally a non-Discworld novel was released last month amidst much fanfare in relative obscurity (as most of his books are). I had to order it online and I receive my copy tomorrow. And it will be with a sense of anticipation and appreciation that I will commence my reading of it because there is a possibility that he might be no longer as prolific as he once was. But then again given the near certainty with which million-to-one chances come good in his books I am sure he will be just fine.

Nil illegitimo carborundum Terry.

PS: A minor rant against Crossword, the book store. I am not sure if it passes muster as a bookstore of any consequence. With the temporary closure of the Landmark store owing to the fire incident at Infiniti Mall, I had to go to crossword to see if I could lay my hands on PTerry's 'Nation' and Joseph O'Neil's 'Netherland'. Crossword did not have either. Buggrem.

No Bylines

2008-10-20T17:26:00.001+05:30

Have you noticed, most articles on Cricinfo covering the Australia tour have no bylines. Just a "Cricinfo Staff". Wonder why.

The Quality of Sprawl

2008-10-16T16:33:00.015+05:30

Nice. Us Likes. From Al-Lude's blog.

The Quality of Sprawl - Les Murray

Sprawl is the quality

of the man who cut down his Rolls-Royce

into a farm utility truck, and sprawl

is what the company lacked when it made repeated efforts

to buy the vehicle back and repair its image.

Sprawl is doing your farm work by aeroplane, roughly,

or driving a hitchhiker that extra hundred miles home.

It is the rococo of being your own still centre.

It is never lighting cigars with ten dollar notes:

that's idiot ostentation and murder of starving people.

Nor can it be bought with the ash of million dollar deeds.

Sprawl lengthens the legs; it trains greyhounds on liver and beer.

Sprawl almost never says, Why not?, with palms comically raised

nor can it be dressed for, not even in running shoes worn

with mink and a nose ring. That is Society. That's Style.

Sprawl is more like the thirteenth banana in a dozen

or anyway the fourteenth.

Sprawl is Hank Stamper in Never Give an Inch

bisecting an obstructive official's desk with a chain saw.

Not harming the official. Sprawl is never brutal,

though it's often intransigent. Sprawl is never Simon de Montfortat

a town-storming: Kill them all! God will know His own.

Knowing the man's name this was said to might be sprawl.

Sprawl occurs in art. The fifteenth to twenty-first

lines in a sonnet, for example. And in certain paintings.

I have sprawl enough to have forgotten which paintings.

Turner's glorious Burning of the Houses of Parliament

comes to mind, a doubling bannered triumph of sprawl -

except he didn't fire them.

Sprawl gets up the noses of many kinds of people

(every kind that comes in kinds) whose futures don't include it.

Some decry it as criminal presumption, silken-robed

Pope Alexander dividing the new world between Spain and Portugal.

If he smiled in petto afterwards, perhaps the thing did have sprawl.

Sprawl is really classless, though. It is

John Christopher Frederick Murray

asleep in his neighbours' best bed in spurs and oilskins,

but not having thrown up:

sprawl is never Calum, who, in the loud hallway of our house

reinvented the Festoon. Rather

it's Beatrice Miles going twelve hundred ditto in a taxi,

No Lewd Advances, no Hitting Animals, no Speeding,

on the proceeds of her two-bob-a-sonnet Shakespeare readings.

An image of my country. And would that

it were more so.

No, sprawl is full gloss murals on a council-house wall.

Sprawl leans on things. It is loose-limbed in its mind.

Reprimanded and dismissed,

it listens with a grin and one boot up on the rail

of possibility. It may have to leave the Earth.

Being roughly Christian, it scratches the other cheek

And thinks it unlikely. Though people have been shot for sprawl.

A thing for Saambaar

2008-09-12T17:36:00.004+05:30

I like Sambaar. I like eating it, I like cooking it and there have been times I must confess when I have craved for Saambaar. This is usually when I am travelling and I start resembling a grumpy South Indian man of about forty by day three. A few people have asked me pointed questions if I have any confessions to make regarding my guilty food pleasures- is it chocolate, is it cake, is it chocolate cake? I tend to just give them a crooked smile, a wink and a nod. I am not sure if it is socially acceptable to reply Saambaar. They'd think I was a grumpy old South Indian man of about forty.

And why do I bring this up? I am writing this post sitting in Melbourne's Tullamarine airport waiting for my flight to take me home, and if we were to rewind back to within two hours from t-now you'd have spotted me at Laxmi Vilas Vegetarian Restaurant in Dandenong happily immersing myself in what could well be the most 'dhansooo' Saambaaar in the Southern Hemisphere. With a couple of Vadas to boot. Me content. Me sated. Me back to being a cheerful South Indian man of about twenty nine.

Just the right amount of 'hunnse-hannu' juice, podi like mum makes it, thoda takkali thoda magic. For a few minutes there Melbourne almost equalled Madras.

The Great Ball(s) of China - Jeeban Bhai's Olympic Diary

2008-09-01T11:52:00.032+05:30

Wanted to give meself a bit of time to settle down and drown out the effects of the massive games hangover before I did a full length post on mine experiences at the Olymbics.

Summit Chaurasiya (sumcha@indya.com), my esteemed former classmate, purveyor of poetic profanities and philosopher extraordinaire, had he accompanied me to the Games would have summed them up in his typically pithy fashion thus: "Raita Phaila diya chinkion ne." And Raita indeed was phailaoed in unmeasurable quantities in Beijing.

21st August
Minor disappointment upon arrival. Our flight docked itself at Terminal 2. Was really looking forward to checking out the new and 'gajab type' Terminal 3. Ah well, bugger that for a lark! It would take a lot more to put me down. We were picked up by one of the organizing committee reps, put into a fantastic car and shipped to our hotel. All very efficient and well done.

Bhokaal Alert no. 1
En route to the Hotel, I noticed that while our car was zipping along at a reasonable 90kmph on the empty leftmost lane, the other lanes, all three of them were packed with traffic crawling at Abey Kuruvilla like pace. Curiosity was aroused. I asked the driver "Dost, yeh kaisi chaal?"
Aparently one lane on every Beijing road, especially the main highways, had been earmarked for Olympic visitors travelling in specially accredited vehicles. And not one sod had the temerity to even touch this lane with his vehicle. Ah, the joys of unilateral decision making.

The hotel was plush, in the "bahutey mehenga" category with a well endowed Hospitality lounge for Olympics guests - round the clock food, drink, internet, television. I felt like Castro. There was an army of efficient volunteers who handed out our passes, tickets to venues and a list of must do's and absolute dont's. China is a largely unambigious place. There are things that you can do and things which will probably kill you. I had tickets for the Athletics that night. The last bus was leaving at 5pm. Ran into my room, dumped my bags, changed into new T-Shirt especially bought for Olympics, out came the camera and J was ready to go.

Overheard a colleague mention to another colleague, what I think is the understatement of the year. "Theek thaak kiya hai arrangement mere hisaab se."

The bus beat a path down the Olympic lane at a fair rate and within 15 minutes as it snaked up a flyover we spotted the 'Bird's Nest.' There are various theories going around about how the Nest was conceived. Some say that the architect did not have the foggiest as to what he was thinking, some call it a marvel of abstract visualization, some see it not as a nest but a cage symbolizing China's control freakishness. But the fact remains that its an arresting spectacle. The way the bars rise out of the ground in random directions and somehow manage to hold everything together is a fascinating sight. Engineer colleague from REC background immediately remarked, "Abey ismein load bearing column kaun sa hai." To which Engineer colleague from IIT background responded, "Khurmi-Gupta ke students ke bas ka nahin hai yeh sawaal."

Ze Bird's Nest

Athletics Watch Update:
W 1500m Semi, M Decathalon High Jump;
W Javelin Final; M 800m Semi;
W 4X100m relay 1st round; M Triple Jump Final
M 4X100m Relay 1st Round, M 400m final, M Decathlon 400m

The highlight was definitely the 4X100 relays which featured baton drops during the last transfer for both the US men and women's teams. Such hearbreak. Wonderful drama. Tyson looked everything but Gay. The triple jump again was fascinating and made even more so by the fact that we were sitting right in front of the pit (merely 11 rows away). Philip Idowu, he of the gangsta rapper looks, flattered to deceive and ended up winning silver.

Idowu tries hard but doesnt make it

Bhokaal Alert No 2
Celebrities spotted: Usain Bolt

All in all an excellent day, met all expectations and then some.

22nd August
This was the day we were supposed to do the tourist thing by paying a visit to the Great Wall. We entered via the Badaling Section (I wonder if there is a double-meaning Hindi connection here) which is also the most popular one via an outrageously steep and noisy ropeway. First impressions on the wall from Tambram colleague - 'itna bada diwaar banane ka jaroorat nahin tha'. The Ching dynasty emperors must have turned in their graves.

Just the fact the wall covers more than 6000km is enough to boggle the mind. Never mind the fact that they took 2000 years to complete it. Which makes it about 3km per year. Better than BMC even then. Bought a few T-Shirts and a bag as part of mandatory tourist souvenir shopping. The shop owners were a pleasure to chat with:

J: How much for this T-Shirt
Chinese Shopkeeper: 120 RMB
J: How about 15 RMB?
CS: Sold. You want more? I can give discount.

There is something highly unsettling about this kind of a conversation.

The programme for the evening was the big ticket basketball semis featuring Lithuania, Spain, Argentina and the USA. The basketball stadium looks from the outside as if they could not complete it in time so they had to cover it with a large curtain. On closer inspection it emerged that the curtain like thingy was a design element. Overheard colleague from Kanpur say, "Do kaudi ka design hai."

Bhokaal Alert No. 3
Celebrities On View:
Ricky Rubio (the outrageously gifted Spanish point guard), LeBron James, Kobe Bryant, Jason Kidd, Pau Gasol, Luis Scola

Major Major Celebrity Spotting: Diego Maradona (bachpan ka sapna poora category)

The games themselves were slightly underwhelming what with the Spain/Lithuania match marred by numerous fouls and the US/Argentina match not living up to expectations as a match-up of the two best sides in basketball. Nevertheless unhealthy amounts of fun was had.

Kobe going for three
23rd August
We were all quite exhausted by the rapid Guy Ritchie style pace of our itinerary so far. Add to that a diet consisting exclusively of Bread, Butter, Biscuits and Salads for a fundamentalist vegetarian like me, things were not quite fulltoo. But we atent seen nothing yet. Day 3 was the baap of all days. Early morning start to the Olympic green where we were supposed to visit the company pavilion and generally hang around until lunch time. Now the Olympic Green can be best described an outrageously large area of land consisting entirely of concrete pavement and chinese volunteers. For every tourist the organizers had 3 volunteers. Even I thought the place was a bit crowded, and I live in Mumbai. But to be fair, the Green was so large that it could have probably accommodated at least two Mumbais (Navi included). I must have walked more than 10kms all day.

Post lunch was the Football finals featuring Argentina and Nigeria. We had the best seats in the stadium and a pair of binoculars each. "Mere paapon ka ghada was bharoing at the rate of knots". The game itself was quite sedate with a few random flashes of brilliance, one of them resulting in a goal for Argentina.

Bhokaal Alert No 4.

Celbrities on view: Leo Messi, Juan Carlos Riquelme

We mucked about after the game visiting sponspors' pavilions, collecting freebies, drinking coke, comparing India and China and pointing out how individual freedom is sometimes highly overrated. Overheard snatch of conversation amongst Indian tourist group at McDonalds, "Banaya to accha hai lekin jo bhi kaho India is India." And I always thought India was Korea.

Evening programme was another Athletics fest.

M Javelin Throw Final, W High Jump Final, M 800m final;
W 1500m final; M 5000m final, W 4X400m relay final;
M 4X400 relay final.

Fascinating round of events with a couple of Olympics records and a superb high jump contest. My camera by this time had started shedding tears. Tambram colleague was visibly overwhelmed by the High jump contest and remarked, "ladki log accha kood-ta hai"

Celebrity Spot: Sergei Bubka, Juan Antonio Samaranch, Raja Randhir Singh (WTF), Suresh Kalmadi (keh do yeh jhoot hai).

We returned to the hotel at 10:30 and a group of like minded hungry desis made a mad dash to a nearby Indian restaurant. The chap was just about to close when he was confronted and forced to reopen. Butter Chicken, Mutter Paneer, Dal et al were ordered in 'anaap shanaap' quantities. The general consensus at the end of it all was, "khana theek hai"

24th August
The last and final day featured only the closing ceremonies. A hundred thousand people were expected in the national stadium so we were advised to be in by 5pm for an 8pm start. Before that we made a trip to the famous Silk Street market. You might have thought that what with the Olympics and all in progress there might be a big crackdown on the Chinese farji goods market. But nothing of this sort was on. The farji Guccis, Pradas, Armanis were out in full strength. I had to buy a suitcase and had an interesting time buying it:

Chinese Salesperson: Where you from?
J: India.
CS: Ohhh..Great Country
J: How much for suitcase
CS: 2000 RMB
J: Too much.
CS: How much you pay?
J: 200 RMB
CS: Ohhhh. You very tough. Final price. 1500 RMB
J: I give you Indian souvenir (10 Re Note). Final Price 300RMB
CS: Sold. You buy more. I give discount.

Had to buy some clothes for the missus and here is another conversation
CS: Where you from?
J: Guatemala
CS: Ohhhh..Great Country.....

Which brings us to the closing ceremony. Spectacular in every sense of the word. Kanpuria colleague remarked, "abey thoda sa crouching tiger type item hai" He was not too far off. It was choreographed by Zhang Yimou of Flying Daggers and Golden Flower fame. One Chandu Bhai that I knew from Hathras had had once sagely remarked, "China ke andauon mein udney ki kalaa ab abhi payi jaati hai". He was speaking the truth. It was all highly breathtaking.

Celebrities Spotted: David Beckham (well!)

On our way back we spotted several armoured vehicles on the streets. Tambram colleague warned us thusly, "Deere deere chalo warna wuda dega"

And thus ended my Beijing experience. Lots of people kept calling it a once in a lifetime thingy. But I dont want to do that yet. I'll see if I can make it to London. Because I seem to have become addicted to the Olympics.

Beijing Ahoy!

2008-08-01T11:42:00.005+05:30

Will be heading off for THE games later this month. My itinerary includes a day of athletics, the soccer finals, both basketball semi finals, water polo and the closing ceremony. Lets just say at this point that I am slightly more excited that Navjot Sidhu on one of his off days.

It all feels a bit surreal really. I mean who goes to the Olympics, seriously. But there it is. Me am going. Looking forward to the Triple Jump finals. Had a fair bit of talent at the old hop, skip and jump as a lad I did and my personal best stands at just about 5 metres below the world mark set by Jonathan Edwards (18.29m I believe). Its a pity Edwards has retired though. Also hurray to the fact that soccer teams will feature the very best talent available. Here's praying for a Brazil-Argentina final. Also praying on the side for an Argentina-US matchup in basketball. Only grouse is not being able to catch the aquatics (water polo does not qualify for me). Catching Michael Phelps in action would have made the trip about adequate. Nevertheless one shall not crib.

Dark Knight

2008-07-17T13:36:00.002+05:30

Quint and Massawrym from AintitCool have gone apeshit mental over the Dark Knight. While that in itself does not mean much, I for once, want to believe the hype.

Will be catching it over the weekend. Agog all.

Brokers of the world unite and Go to Hell!

2008-06-09T17:08:00.014+05:30

If ever there was to be penned an unabridged history of the life and times of Jeeban Ram, the one word that would never be used to describe me would be 'Vindictive'. By all accounts I am a largely forgiving man preferring to forget rather than plot and fret. I don't hold a lot of grudges against fellow men you see. Of course this trait of mine has been severely tested in the past in the form of Arun Lal, Rameez Raja, BMC, Amar Singh and other suchlike creatures of the netherworld. But even when R Raja said "ache-chually" and Arun Lal said "a dot ball is like gold" for the millionth time I kept a lid on my emotions and chose to take the high road.

But the one class of men who consistently bring my blood to a high-pressure-boil and turn me towards dark thoughts involving pickaxes, shovels and free swings are Real Estate Brokers in suburban Mumbai. A clan of men unimaginably vile, with a penchant for being the type of shady that would put even Shakti Kapoor to shame. Why the rant you might ask? And tell you I will.

Landlord pulled the plug on my lease last month citing unavoidable circumstances. And thus began my tale of woe. Now in Mumbai, as a lot of you will no doubt know, the standard specs for a house undergo the equivalent of a Fourier transform and emerge from the other end completely unrecognizable. Missus and self had a fairly modest requirement - "Apartment, reasonably spacious (1000 sq ft or so), 2 Beds, 2 Baths, 1 Kitchen, a smallish balcony and if we were to push it a separate washing area" Now I am sure even the meanest mind amongst you will not consider this as asking for the moon. But as it turns out the moon might have worked out cheaper.

I first logged on to those marvels of modern real estate technology - 99acres, Magic Bricks, Sulekha and even something called Kijiji.com. Sample a few ads:

Bandra West, Spacious 1RK (150 sqft), in decent locality, near station, close to Sea, a stone's throw from Buckingham Palace (OK that was my addition. concept borrowed from here). Only 29k. Negotiable" - contact Rajesh Broker

Translation: Shanty in an overrated upmarket locality. It will feel like you're in Sex and the City (because you're screwed if you live here.. ha ha). Faces the sea in the same way that the planet Jupiter faces the sun, a stone's throw from B Palace only if the stone is an intercontinental ballistic missile and throwing is being done by a launch vehicle

Thane, Godbunder Road, Spacious (800sqft), 2 BHK, Modern Locality, Reserved parking , 24 hour power backup 18k Rent, Negotiable. Contact Rajesh Broker

Translation: Bugerall Pigeon Hole in the middle of nowhere, Reserved parking for pigeon, 24 hour power backup (for night lamp), Rent depends on whatever number I can think of, negotiable in a vague non committal sort of way. We'll make you pay sucker!!"

Rajesh Broker seems to own 75% market share in most of these websites. The rest are owned by Chandrahas Broker and probably Ali Broker. So there. Websites taken over by brokers. Might as well call one of them. The conversation went thus:

J: Looking for a 2 BHK, 18k tak budget hai.

Broker: Sir budget thoda badhana padega. 18k mein kya aata hai

J: Sony ka flat screen TV, Hero Puch, Handycam, Singapore ka return ticket, 1500 plates of pani puri...

Broker: Arre kya joke karte ho sir aap bhi.

J: 18k majaak nahin hota yaar.

B: Aap aa jao sir..main aapko mast makaan batata hoon.

J: Aur brokerage?

B: Wohi standard sir two months...aur renewal pe one month...

J: Matlab 2 sony ka TV, 2 hero Puch, 2 Handycam...

B: Arre kya sir aap joke karte ho.

J: 36k majaak nahin hota yaar!

B: sir aap ke liye consider kar lenge...paanch sau hajjaar kam kar lenge...

One Week and 15 Houses Later, J and Missus find another place paying through their collective noses and the broker is richer by a few Hero Puchs. Buggr'em.

Iron Man mein Bob Christo

2008-05-20T11:01:00.003+05:30

Iron Man is one hell of a film. It was watched over the weekend and liked very much.

Here is another one of Harry Knowles' rabid geek reviews
It’s official, Summer 2008 is here – and it is here to kick our ass with a beautiful iron boot.

By the way doesnt Jeff Bridges bear an uncanny resemblance to our very own Bob Christo in this film?

Personal Author Ratings - UP Style

2008-03-24T18:55:00.003+05:30

Terry Pratchett - Total Bakait

P G Wodehouse - Maha Bhokali

Tolkien - Guru Ghantaal

Tom Sharpe - Raita Phaila Diya

Douglas Adams - Baanke Bihari

James Joyce - Jeero Batey Sannata

Award Alert

2008-03-24T18:28:00.004+05:30

A few weeks ago during one of my random channel surfing sprees, I happened to chance upon a rare gem.

Some form of Indian Television awards ceremony handed out to Amitabh Bachchan, the prize for "Ultimate Eminence".

Yes, you read that correctly. The category was indeed called the lifetime award for "Ultimate Eminence". This kind of a thing makes one wonder. Here is a list of awards I think are fit to be handed out right now:
Shakti Kapoor - Award for Persistent Malfeasance
Vivek Oberoi - Award for Premature Obsolescence
Rakhi Sawant - Award for Eternal Pestilence
Navjot Sidhu - Award for Misplaced Exuberance
Adnan Sami - Award for Erstwhile Corpulence
Anu Malik - Award for Inducing Flatulence

Additions to this list are welcome.

Sahara Pranam

Agra ke Cheerleader

2008-03-24T18:10:00.003+05:30

Lalaa ki chunar munariya

Lalaa ke abba bole
Hey!

Lalaa ki amma boli
Hey!

Lala ke tau bole
Hey!

Lala ke chaccha bole
Hey!

Lala ki chacchi boli
Hey!

Ke dadda manna kari thi
Hey!

phir bhi khelan aaye
Hey!

o baaki khatiya tooti
Hey!
o baaki lutiya doobi
Hey!

Lala tum haar gayayyyy...
oyeoyeoyeoye

Brightly Fade the Dons

2008-01-21T22:22:00.000+05:30

The four horsemen are finally riding together, and what a ride its turning out to be. After all the bickering, showing off one day and not turning up at all the next, displaying flashes of their ability to mass destruct without any consistent threat, some general smiting of the meek and a lot of wailing and gnashing of the teeth, I think they have finally decided that their last few rides ought to count.

And made it count they have. Dravid has lost confidence but has reversed that with sheer bloody mindedness, Tendulkar's no longer a genetic algorithm but a linear program, Ganguly's batting has aged like Sean Connery's bond and VVS is still incapable of ugliness on a cricket pitch.

I am not sure when the planets will align themselves next to produce an Indian middle order touched by such genius, so lets savour their presence now and analyze later. A test match side without Tendulkar, Dravid, Ganguly and Laxman will be hard to digest, so lets count our blessings now and criticize later.

Bakar

2007-12-03T16:25:00.000+05:30

Designer Brand from Andhra

Oggie Oggie Oggie, Oi Oi Oi

2007-11-30T16:43:00.002+05:30

Two words that take a substantial amount of cheer out of my life are "Transit" and "Airport". You might as well have said Arun Lal and Rameez Raja. What is it about airports that is so depressing? Douglas Adams usually had a few things to say about the inherent moribundness of airports the world over. Its difficult to put a finger on what exactly it is that is so off-putting.I personally think its the damn carpet. It tends to loom. And the Duty Free shops would be a close second. Which particular duty these shops are bereft of, I am not sure.

And if you put Air India into this mix, it becomes a deadly concoction. For all the bravado about Best West bound airline (so they say), new generation aircraft and lowest fares (THEY LIE), Air India still is a relic of an outmoded belief system alongwith peers like the Premier Padmini taxis in Mumbai, Vikrams in UP and Ambassador cars in the parliament. Will probably do a detailed post on them later. A lot of bile is waiting to be spewed. But today's not that day.

Spent the better part of a day last week in transit in airports and flights en route to Australia. It was a terribly hectic trip, but I must say Melbourne impressed me no end. It is exactly what Mumbai isnt. Sprawling sidewalks, acres and acres open spaces, a clean and picturesque river and lots of parking. They say that the best cities are those which are friendly to pedestrians. Melbourne scores very highly in this regard.

Had a fantastic time doing a guided tour of the MCG. A charming host, quite elderly, erudite and witty, was our guide and took us around the stadium, its various rooms (including the long room), museum. After the latest reconstruction in 2004, the ground presents a stunning picture.

I have been to a watch a few test matches at the Wankhede and compared to the MCG experience, its about as enjoyable as the war on Iraq. I think there is just one reason for that. Cricket Australia respects the spectator where as BCCI does not. For BCCI the word spectator equals Idiot. Also spent some time by myself on the W H Ponsford stand watching the game that was on between New South Wales and Victoria (Nathan Brancken and Stewart Clark on display). What would'nt I give to be back for the Boxing Day test.

Also walked around the Rod Laver Centre (Aussie Open Venue) and Albert Park (Grand Prix track). All in all a day well spent.

MCG as seen from Hotel

Lillee

Grandstand View

Cinemascope View (Bracken Bowling)

The joys of Rediff Comments

2007-11-12T13:48:00.001+05:30

One of my lesser known "guilty pleasures" happens to be browsing through the comments section of any old article published by that doyen of NRI oriented websites - Rediff. It generates, among other stuff, an amazing amount of bile, candid observations on the nature of race, religion, purity of blood (or lack thereof), caste and in one bizzare instance the size of the captain's balls (sic).

The comments are refreshingly candid, brutally critical and written in a manner calculated to make you smile and wince at the same time. Here is an example of an extremely astute piece of observation from an old timer no doubt.

RE:Kumble has guts unlike sachin
by Yogaguru on Nov 12, 2007
01:18 PM

In cricket the size of the balls of a captain is
important.Sachin adjusts the balls all the time while he is batting.He suddenly
ducks sometimes to adjust the balls although there was no bouncer at that
time.Do you remember folks?

Such felicity I have not seen since the days of Wodehouse and Waugh. And here is another classic example of astute observation and remarkable pithiness.

Take Half the Indian Populationby Reporter on Nov 12,
2007 02:13 PM
If USA takes half the Indian population, not just the students, India
will be free from over-population and excess competition for
limited food and natural resources. We don't care for brain drain. We have
excess supply of brain here: which itself is not optimally used

Joy unfolds exponentially.

Second Wind

2007-10-31T18:51:00.000+05:30

I have not written a post for almost four months now and frankly the blog had started to make the transition from a mere lurker in the mind to loomer.

Thought I'd just write a post for the sake of it, add a self deprecatory little profile, muck about with the title and so on just to get the gears in motion again. Work, lately has consumed me for its own. Not necessarily in terms of having to put in long hours at the office or travel but due to a steep rise in the the sheer number of tasks which I would rather not do. Its this conflict between the mind and the matters at hand that prompted the blogger in me to sulk in a corner all this time.

Nevertheless, I am now officially back with this post. Not that it makes the slightest difference in the cosmic scale of things, but it feels good nevertheless.

The lure of the Super Star

2007-06-18T11:48:00.000+05:30

There are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Rajnikanth lives in Chennai
~ old tamil proverb

A man who almost invariably plays a fool for most part in all his films, a hopeless romantic, rooted in the traditions of culture and family, with two left feet, a face that would probably be called attractive by a good natured liar, an average physique and not so flattering features. A man, who, save South India is treated with good natured contempt elsewhere and bracketed with lowbrow B-movie stars. His pedigree is at best humble and its been more than a decade since he crossed fifty. You wouldn't bet big on a man like that would you?

Why is it then that Rajnikanth is more bad-ass than all other stars of this country put together and then some? He is cooler than a pre-global warming arctic glacier, he is hipper than Jimmy Hendrix on marijuana and oozes a brand of style that makes James Bond look like Razzak Khan. My favorite part in all of Thalaivar's films is the credits at the beginning. Its like the DC or Marvel logo at the start of a superhero film. Accompanied by the rhythmic shouts of "Hey! hey! hey!" in the background you get "SUPER STAR RAJNI" in huge letters (see pic). What it tells you is that this is a Rajnikanth film. No one else in this film matters. Everyone else is just there to fill in the blanks that Thailavar leaves. If you are the female lead thou shalt be wooed and rescued, if you are the dialogue writer thou shalt give Rajni bad-ass "punch" dialogues to mouth, the story writer shall give Rajni insurmountable odds, the director should see to it that Rajni surmounts them in style. If thou art the baddie, then even God cannot save you.

As I stood outside the Fame Cinema Screen 6 at Inorbit mall this Sunday with tickets to the big Sivaji opening, I couldn't help but eavesdrop into some of the conversations of other people. There was a bunch of guys in the midst of a scholarly discussion on Rajni's "entry" scenes in movies, a genre unto itself. They say Khan is king and AB is emperor. But only Rajni Rules!

A few light years before Wachowskis made Matrix, Rajni had already perfected the art of flying stunts. Remember Guru Sisyan in which Rajni tells the baddies, "ungley yair le parandu parandu adikka poren (I am kick going to kick your ass and levitate simulataneously)" and promptly engages all ten in aerial combat, not once putting feet on the ground. Beat that Neo!

The man has grown old and it shows. They say they had to digitally alter his jawline to make him look younger. His reflexes are slower in the fight scenes and that shows too. He plays, of all things, a 'sofware systems architect' (sic) in this film. But he still wields absolute control over his dominion. To his kick-ass, others merely manage to prod-buttock. To all you non-believers go watch Sivaji- The Boss and tell me if you've seen better WTF scenes. And then try explaining to yourself that Sivaji is expected to top 140 crores in collections.

sixxucu appron seven da, Sivajiku appron yeven da ~ old vivek saying

Was watching Baasha on DVD the other day. The day this dialogue - "yen pare Manickam, yennuku innoru per irukku" fails to give me goose flesh will be the day I win a Nobel Prize in molecular gastronomy.

Rajni Introduction Number

2007-04-22T03:58:00.001+05:30

A neat review of the music for Thalaivar's eagerly awaited release - Sivaji The Boss.

My favourite excerpt.
"At some point, though, the most avowed rule-buster has
to bow down to hoary tradition, this being a Rajinikanth film after all — and
Rahman does that with Balleilakka, where Na. Muthukumar writes what are surely
the most iconic lyrics ever for that sub-genre of the Tamil cinema song
situation known as the Rajinikanth Introduction Number. (Would that acronym to
RIN?) "

Man! I cant wait to watch the film now...

Maradona and Other Heroes

2007-04-12T19:20:00.004+05:30

A neat post by Soumya Bhattacharya in Cricinfo on Heroes and Hero Worship. I love the part which reads

"The late Alan Ross, poet, editor and writer, has the last word on this: ‘I believe that heroes are necessary to children and that as we grow up it becomes more difficult to establish them in the increasingly unresponsive soil of our individual mythology. Occasionally, the adult imagination is caught and sometimes it is held: but the image rarely takes root.’ "

Diego Maradona was the resident deity of the temple in my soccer mad soul. In those elder days archive footage of matches past was a rarity akin finding health food in rural Punjab. In the build up to Italia 1990 there was a show on DD featuring great WC goals and as a stripling lad with a bit of talent in Soccer I watched Maradona score THE GOAL in the 1986 WC quarterfinal. My inner self underwent a catharsis. Such outrageous talent I had never seen. In those days I would often cite my middle name as Armando. I would dream of playing like Maradona. For what it was worth I too possessed a mean left foot and probably still do. Perhaps that was my cosmic link with the great man. And how I cried when a lacklustre Maradona and Argentina lost a shoddy final in Italy. But the legend of the man had left its imprint on me. It has still not faded.

These past few years, watching Tendulkar, another resident deity, has been a sad making experience. And the immense Bullshit perpetrated by that T-Rex formerly known as the Indian media does not help either. The cynic in my adult brain wants to hate Tendulkar for all those moments of immense heartburn. And just as I get into that frame of mind the Child projectionist in the brain wakes up and puts on reel one. The image of Tendulkar opening for the first time against NZ in Auckland and scoring 82 in 49. I realize that with the exception of PG Wodehouse, SRT has given me more hours of unalloyed bliss than anyone else. And for that I shall remain a fanboy till the end of days.

Jo Jeeta Memories

2007-04-09T12:05:00.002+05:30

Yet another absolutely pointless "long" weekend went whizzing by and I managed to reduce my backlog of things to do by minus five. Three days of inane channel surfing, excessive sleep and a re-reading of Terry Pratchett's "Making Money". All in all one of the better weekends Ive had in a while.

The piece de resistance though was a rerun of that "classic" Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikandar on Set Max that I managed to catch. Brought back a deluge of memories it did, and a smile to the old dial. Bollywood has a sketchy history when it comes to making movies on sporting matters. Most efforts have been dodgy at best, and almost universally cheesy. Awwal Number and Hip Hip Hurray aren't exactly what one would call inspirational films that capture the soul of sport.

In this context Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikandar was, in many respects, a first of its kind in Indian cinema, with its central premise revolving around the annual cycle race for boys in a fictional school setting. For a generation of kids who were in school during the early nineties, the film has almost a cult following. Moreover you would hardly find anyone who does not like the film.

And there is a good set of reasons for this. The film never takes itself too seriously and all the characters are rooted in reality. There are no stars. In fact the audience has more empathy for the character of Ratan (played rather competently by Mamik) throughout the film than for Sanju (Amir Khan) who is a bit of loser tending towards asshole. The music is refreshing and the acting just about competent to hold things together. It had everything in it that your average schoolboy/girl could relate to - Anti Establishment behaviour, sporting rivalry, sibling rivalry, a sexy minx, the sweet girl next door who doubles up as best friend,the achiever, the jerk and the demanding parent.

And the best endorsement for the film is that even now in 2007 it does not feel trippy (yes and that inspite of Deepak Tijori and Pooja Bedi) and Pehla Nasha still sounds like music to the ears.

It has it faults but bugger!! who cares. Amir changing gears at the last moment and pipping Tijori to post still retains its capacity induce gooseflesh.

The movie left me shouting gently to myself..sabse acche ladke kaun...veer bahadur ladke kaun....

Che Humour

2007-03-23T11:13:00.000+05:30

This happens to be the latest fad in my household with wife and self trying to come up with dedications to Che...

Why am I inflicting this on the blogsphere you might ask!
For want of anything better....

1. What if Che Guevara were an extremely obese person - Che Gubbara

2. If Che were a Fountain - Che Favvara

3. If Che were a road-side romeo - Che Chhichhora

4. Che will always be to his parents - Che Dulara

5. If Che were a hill station - Che Almora

6. If Che were a Bachelor - Che Kunwara

7. If Che was a Kashmiri - Che Shikara

8. If Che was a vehicle - Che Tavera

9. If Che was a Punjabi - Che Arora

10. Che in the morning - Che Savera

11. Che was a foodie - Che Chatora

12. Che at midnight - Che Baarah

13. Che Celebrity - Che Sitara

14. Che were a dish - Che Bukhara

15. Che were a crown - Che Tiara

16. Che were a cave painting - Che Ellora

17. When Che was pitied he was called - Che Bechara

18. If Che was white - Che Gora

19. Che was a knife - Che Choora

20. If Che was a Goan - Che Perreira

Enough for now...Contributions are welcome...

Superstarku

2007-02-23T17:22:00.000+05:30

#1
Rajni sir is God
Yen vali thani vali
wo podu thalai

#2
Manidan Mannan
Ejaman Vanavarayan
Kodi Parukuthu

Of flying pigs and decent gigs - Roger Waters Concert Review

2007-02-23T08:04:00.000+05:30

I wish I hadnt bought the ticket online. Them buggers were selling tickets at the scene of the concert and handing out free WorldSpace radios. Not quite fair trade.

Nevertheless as I moved along with the throng, in queue, to get into the enclosure, the old heart was agog with more than a spot of anticipation. The appreciation of rock bands is a serious business to be treated on par with that of football clubs or even art. Snubbed you will be, by the powers that be if you dont BELIEVE in the right kind of rock band. And I've had my unfair share of being treated with absolute contempt and the respect accorded, exactly like TTLB does, to an insignificant microbe.

I remember once in a party where I had been regaling the audience with my penchant for highbrowed wit and sparkling repartee, I happened to mention that Def Leppard were a cool band. Suddenly the music stopped playing, people in my group started shifting uneasily in their chairs. Some excused themselves to go to the washroom and conversation drifted to the topic of how lack of taste in good music was the bane of humankind and what could be just punishment for the offenders.

That rather lengthy digression aside, the point I am trying to make is that be very careful about the rock bands you choose to like, because some of them might turn back and hit you on the head. But there have always been some bands in the history of this glorious genre which can be termed "Safe Bands". Eveyone is supposed to like them. If you named one of them in a group, no one would bay for your blood. Led Zeppelin I've realized tops this list. Queen and Pink Floyd would make it unchallenged. And probably Metallica with an outside chance. Then there are bands which very few people have actually heard but have an amazing amount of respect for like Jimi Hendrix, and The Grateful Dead. Death Metal is strictly for college kids in their second and third year of graduation. Everyone secretly adores Mark Knopfler and his burnished fender tone but very few admit it. I refuse to speak of Modern Rock bands like Linkin Park or Evanescence because they lack a reasonable length of demand history to be forecasted properly on the time series of rock longevity.

So there we have it. Me at the Roger Waters concert all agog. The opening was fabulous especially the fireworks on the stage. It reminded me of Bret "the hit man" Hart's entry for a matchup on Monday Night Raw. Some of the favourites were played early on including Mother and Wish You were here (yes, that was a gooseflesh moment).

The diversity in the crowd was astonishing. There were MDs of Multinational companies, their wives, Foreign students, expat executives, college gangs, families of four (couple and two kids), anti social looking men of the age of about 29 with CNC machine cut french beards, people with pony tails, people who work with software companies, myself and believe it or not a Tamil Iyer Mami. All of them bonded by the Pink strands of Floyd. I had a lot of fun watching this group of college kids trying to head-bang during Wish You were here. Poor little buggers.

Then Roger introduced us to his new song called Leaving Beirut, which though terribly political and all that was quite fun. Nice touch to have the lyrics flashed onto the big screen so that the crowd could sing along. America and Bush bashing is again a very safe topic. Not many people are offended by this, so that went pretty well. The much touted pink pig arrived on the scene, provided a diverting moment with its political and social graffiti and flew off into the void.

After a break there was a complete rendition of The Dark side of the Moon with some improvised guitar solos (which in my opinion felt a bit jaded), and American Idol like crooning by one of the support singers. Pink Floyd's biggest attraction for me is the quality of their words which overshadows the quality of their music, which mind you is exceptional. And Waters after all these years still sounds freshly gruff and soothing. The overall sound was decent, but not specacular. I thought the Mark Knopfer concert was much better in terms of sound quallity. And the sound special effects in the form of Michael Jackson's Thriller laugh, psychedelic chants, helicopter sounds only served to distract. These could have been done without.

Finally before the end the audience got what it had been waiting for. A rendition of Another Brick in the Wall, thought most of it sounded lip synced and directly played from a CD. The end though was mind blowing, in the form of Comfortably Numb.

And thus it ended.

Ratings out of *****

1. Feel Good Factor - **** (the fact that one made to a Waters concert is good enough. Everything else is a bonus)

2. Waters' Performance - *** and a half.

3. Entourage - *** and a half

4. Sound Quality - ** and a half

5. Overall - ***** (who tf am i to be rating Roger Waters. Isnt he supposed to be God or something?

Roger Waters Concert - Seen

2007-02-19T09:01:00.000+05:30

Ahoy squirts! it is indeed true that I have seen Roger Waters perform live.... I have now seen Mark Knopfler, Rolling Stones and Roger Waters all perform live. Aha-ha.

Suffice it to say it was a good gig....

Review to be posted soon...

Lara Goes - Confessions of an Irrational Tendulkar Fan

2007-02-04T11:09:00.000+05:30

I too was, like Tendulkar, a bit of a child prodigy. Only my art was that of the armchair cricketer. I was an absolute master of sitting in front of the telly and drooling over the cricket, of imagining strokes that Tendulkar could have played if he had'nt gotten out, of defending him from his prejudiced critics, of making it clear to the supporters of Lara and Waugh(elder) that the best batsman debate started and ended with SRT.

Tendulkar captured my cricketing universe like no other player. He was the harbinger of gooseflesh, of the jaw-dropping moment, of extreme dejection (when he got out cheap), of unalloyed joy and vexing irritation, sometimes all of them at the same time.

And this is how it had always been, until such time that Brian Lara, in an inconsequetial one-day match in Baroda got out in the cruelest of manners at the non-strikers end. Initially there was joy, then the thought that Tendulkar's hundred could well win this match- a much needed riposte to the SRT bashers, relief, and then suddenly utter dejection as one of the commentators mentioned that this was probably the last time Lara batted on Indian soil.

And as I tried to fight the slightest indication of a lump in my throat, the realization dawned that Lara deserved better from me. The loss of course is entirely mine.

But deep within the muddy recesses of my cricketing soul where there still remain a few strands of unbiasedness, I still bat like Lara in front of the mirror. And that is my tribute to the genius. Hope he has a smashing world cup (Tendulkar too!)

The Arun Lal School of Stating the Bleeding Obvious and Other minor Irritations

2007-01-25T11:48:00.000+05:30

My cable operator removed the NEO feed after the first match and subsequent court ruling, and thrust DD National's 7 minute itch onto my television screen.

Now I will not stoop so low as to rant endlessly about the House of Horrors formerly known as DD, its pigheaded refusal to acknowledge that the world has moved on since Baigan Raja was the poster child for daytime television and its aesthetic sensibilities that are only slightly more ghastlier than a Mumbai local. I refuse to do that.

And all this is not say that NEO sports is India's answer to Channel 9. NEO's debut can at best be termed dodgy with an unimpressive and annoyingly large logo, a flying circus of commentators ( with the exception of Tony Cozier probably), appalling graphics and score cards (they expect us to keep track of the number of balls bowled every over as there is no mention of this on the score bar) and the fact that more than half of India can't access them.

Speaking of commentators, I have to put in a word here for the incurably politically correct and the incessently regurgitating Arun Lal. Why does'nt someone gag him please.

"Chanderpaul needs to stay till the end if West Indies harbour any ambitions of a win from here on"

He started off with this statement and repeated it after every ball of every over and probably still is, sitting in his hotel room dreaming of Chanderpaul hanging in there.

Paul Allott is the quintessential third party non-partisan Englishman who is generally expected to sing paeans to the "extraordinary" crowds, "marvellous" wristy batting, "superb" atmosphere, "mesmerising" spin bowling and generally stay clear of controversy by keeping his personal thoughts about all this to himself.

Tony Cozier is his usual articulate self and remains the true and concerned voice of West Indian cricket.Jeff Dujon and L Siva are the insignificant others.

The series has started off well for India but somehow it lacks a certain spark. Yuvraj, Pathan, Sehwag and Kumble are going to be back for the World Cup and rightly so. Wish they asked VVS to join in as well. He's got more pedigree than Jogi Sharma at least.

Yaeeeesh....kasam meter down ki!

2006-12-29T14:35:00.000+05:30

If some corner of your heart still beats for Mithun and deep inside you BELIEVE that DISCO stands for Dance, Item, Singer, Chorus, O se Orchestra then look no further and go here.

Awesome reviews of cult(i) classics and an ode to Indi grindhouse cinema (whatever that means!). I am sure Harry Knolwes agrees.

England's Golden Boys

2006-12-18T13:52:00.000+05:30

I am finally very, very relieved to see England lose the Perth test rather emphatically and the Ashes trophy go back to into the Aussie fold. There is a certain annoying quality about your average English cricket fan, cricket writer and cricket commentator that makes you take a dim view of life. A report card of the Ashes and the hype that surrounds English cricket in general.

1. The Ashes Series 2005
Not, and I repeat, not the greatest series ever played, even on DVD.

2. Andrew "Freddie" Flintoff
He is the "immense" one. Amongst all the allrounders in the world today currently nursing an ankle injury he is easily the standout star. He is big, he is Northern, he is inpirational, and currently he does not have the foggiest. After helping England regain the Ashes with some memorable performances in 2005 he helped Australia win it back in a breathtaking manner in 2006. But Freddie Flintoff is considered beyond reproach in the English team. He averages 32 with the bat and 31 with the ball. Allrounder - yes, Greatest - no.

3. Andrew Strauss
The one with the smug expression. Would have made a slightly better captain than Freddie for the Ashes. As a batsman too he is only slightly overrated.

4. Kevin Peterson
KP is the man of the moment. Aggressive, often puts foot into mouth, scores lots of runs, and has already written an autobiography after his first year in international cricket. Lots of shock value, weird hairdo, a problematic sleeve. Still scores runs though.

5. Steve Harmison,
Tall, bouncy, fast, often homesick and extremely overrated. Bowls super balls and absolute shockers with a straight face. Consistently performs below par (not sure what the par for his course is though) and is often clueless in the face of adversity. Has the goodwill of selectors, fans and journalists. He too has a problematic sleeve.

6. Michael Vaughan
The world's best, most respected and good looking non-playing English captain. He will go down in folklore as the man who got the Ashes back. It is widely believed that he has been granted diplomatic immunity. Superb batsman whenever he finds form, he has an amazing custom designed knee that he can program to fail at critical junctures. Spends most of his time in rehab and providing material for journalists and mathematicians to mull on the probability of his return into the England side for the Ashes in 2017.

7. Simon Jones,
The "greatest" bowler of reverse swing using legal means and pure skill. After the skullduggery precipitated by people like Waqar, Wasim and Co, Jones comes as a breath of fresh air. He can swing it late and at good pace and that too without the use of bottle caps. This is primarily because pakis have a ten year patent on the caps. But all this takes a lot out of him. He is destined to play only three meaningful series without injury in a career spanning 14 years. He has already played two.

8. Ashley Giles,
As fine an example of mediocrity and media hype as you can ever wish to spot this side of the atlantic. He has been very seldom known to get it right, but still continues to be Fletcher's ultimate utility cricketer. Fletcher once said that if Giles were Zimbabwean he would easily walk into any of their international elevens after the year 2004 with no questions asked.

9. English Cricket Writers
A supremely gifted lot which practises its art in publications of some repute. Their favorite two letter phrase is "greatest ever" when it comes to describing anything related to the Ashes. For them International cricket with teams from the subcontinent is an exercise against their better natures for purposes of making a pot of money. England can suck at One Day cricket, get creamed by Sri Lanka in their own backyard, and lose everything else on offer as long as they retain the ashes and they get to use words like "immense" and "greatest ever". Unfortunately for them the ashes dream is over. But the buggers are still going to call it the "greatest ever" loss and an "immense" disappointment.

Lowering the bar

2006-10-05T19:02:00.000+05:30

I like to think of myself as a sophisticated individual.....On a scale of 1 to 10, I would probably rate self 1.1 on looks, 3.5 on general awareness, 2 on achievement, 3 on the ability to speak in english and an over the top 4 on holding strong opinions on things that matter.....These scores would probably place me somewhere in the top 0.1 percentile of the country's elite thinkers.

Like everybody else I too dream of a state that is rid of corruption, of poverty, of beggary and crime, of terrorism and fear and above all of bad roads...I also of course dream of obtaining outrageously large salary hikes, a penthouse apartment in
Bandra and batting at number 3 for India...The only problem with these dreams is that of their attention span...

From a purely management standpoint, I believe that all aspirations of the intellectual elite in India can be categorised into the standard compartments of Strategic, Tactical and Operational. The stratgic aims are often utopian dreams of being a key player in nation building, helping India become a superpower, striking corruption at the root, a hero for the masses and similar blahs...At a tactical level the aspirations are limited to becoming CEO of the company one works for, hoping to fire the boss someday, getting to follow one's passion (rockstar, serial killer, painter, choreographer, day trader etc), becoming an entrepreneur.....
The third level which is the operational is the most important as most of us spend entire lives caught in its fangs. Here the concerns are very real like the next onsite opportunity, the holy trinity of the increment, the bonus and the variable
component, EMIs, tax and ironically its benefits, Sachin Tendulkar's form, Air fares, honeymoon destinations, and above all the frustration at not being able to move onto the tactical and strategic dimensions.

Such, I guess, is life. One means well but there is nothing one can do.

Digressing here a bit, I have often wondered about people who actually burn effigies of other people. And this phenomenon seems to be on the rise lately. People have been doing it to the Pope, delhi traders burnt an effigy of "sealing (sic)" apparently, George Bush is a firm favorite in the middle east, Baba Ramdev went through it recently. My point is..who does something like that? ...I mean how does the whole thing happen.

Imagine this guy who sort of wakes up in the morning and starts doing his daily stuff. He takes a shower, sips into his tea, turns on the telly and sees something he does not like.

"Bugger this, for a frickin' lark", he says to himself, "this calls for an effigy does'nt it".

He calls a couple of his friends and says "Dude, wassup. Did you catch that thing on television? Disgusting man! lets do an effigy before we get to work. I have some wood stilts from last weeks carpentary job, you get some cloth and we'll buy some kerosene on the way" And dont forget to phone in a couple of TV channels man. And get your camera willya, mine is not fully charged"

I mean how jobless can one get!! Its quite funny though watching these lads on television having a ball in the middle of the road. Shouting, screaming, swearing and burning in front of the camera and the police and getting away with it..Every
schoolboy's fantasy come true...Half the teenagers in the country today would love to do something like this frankly...And for all they care it could be an effigy of the planet Pluto for pretending...

Ditto for stone throwing...I would'nt have minded throwing a few stones in my time frankly...'cause some of "them" buggers really deserved it!

Indian Cricket's lesser talents

2006-06-20T14:06:00.000+05:30

The generally held opinion amongst the cognoscenti in India is that Anil Kumble is the fastest leg spinner in its illustrious history. This opinion is a myth. The fastest leg spinner was infact Venkatesh Prasad whose stock delivery was the leg spinner bowled using his fingers and a longish runup. Some people called it a slow leg cutter, but they were wrong as usual. Venkatesh Prasad's change of pace delivery was the faster one that he sent down at approximately 115kmph. If we look at the
the effort/pace ratio for the figure that was V Prasad, it emerges as the highest ever in international cricket, though only marginally above that of one Abey Kuruvilla.

The 90s saw the arrival of brash young cricketers from Karnataka which coincided with the meteoric rise of Bangalore as India's silicon valley. And they were a bit like their software counterparts who were fresh out of college, brash, had the social grace of duckweed, could write code in Java, knew PL/SQl like the back of their hands and were put on mission critical onsite projects the day they joined.

Bursting onto the international scene were David Johson, Dodda Ganesh, Sujit Somsundar, and Venkatesh Prasad. Lanky, unathletic, uninspiring cricketers who would have gone onto achieve greater heights only if they had a spot of talent.

David Johsnon was renowned for consistent bowling in the corridor of absurdity. Little wonder that his first test wicket was Australia's Michale Slater aka Slasher. Dodda Ganesh looked menacing and was particularly adept at bowling balls that did
nothing off the pitch or though the air. He also had the knack of bowling a beatifully disguised no ball which would go for four byes. A wasted talent indeed.

But the most striking of these cricketers was Sujith Somsundar aka "Somu mere laal" as a friend of mine used to call him. Once facing Alan Donald in a one day international, he was so overcome with dread that he sidestepped all deliveries by
moving far away from the leg stump. He was not merely giving himself room to play a shot, he gave himself a 2BHK apartment and that too to avoid a shot.

Soon the software bubble burst and by extension these hard working cricketers were laid off. India continued to lose more mathces than it won. It lost most matches playing insipid, uninspiring, spineless cricket and the ones it managed to win it
played mesmeric, youthful awe-inspiring cricket. There was no middle path.

Selections were made based on a need basis. Apparently Atul Bedade was chosen specifically to hit sixes. After the Sharjah tounament he was dropped inspite of hitting a splendid 40 odd in the final. The reason - he did not hit enough sixes. Salil Ankola, Vivek Razdan, Raju Kulkarni, Gyanendra Pandey et al - they came, they saw and they whimpered.

As a cricket fan it was a frustrating period because on one hand there was Sachin Tendulkar being sublime and almost everyone else being subliminal. On other occasions even SRT flattered to deceive. You could predict a result in those days even before the first ball was bowled. Probably match fixing had something to do with it as well.

Nikhil Chopra, Ajay Sharma, Rajesh Chauhan, Gagan Khoda, Praveen Amre (scored a centry on debut too), the karnataka brigade, WV Raman....All men who made Indian cricket outrageously unattractive, inconsistent and cliched.

Mumbai's "esprit de Corpse"

2006-06-14T14:16:00.000+05:30

The city of Mumbai, if you look at it carefully enough is a bit of a gigantic farce. The fleapit formerly known as Bombay has
variously been called the land of opportunity, the city that never sleeps, land of stars and bollywood, and several other bugerall things. But no one seems to state the screamingly obvious point that its nothing but an oversized dump-yard.

Ask anyone what they like about this place. Most of the time the reply would be - "I like its spirit".

Yeah right! I have a theory about this place. I think the life force that drives the people of this city to put up with ant-colony like
local trains, rude taxi/rickshaw/bus drivers, bad roads, badder traffic jams, floods, rains, mindnumbing property rates,bloodsucking brokers, occasional communal riot, slums et al is peer pressure. Everyone has a look on their face that says -
"When I am not bothered then what t f is your problem". So one says to oneself, "Ok, I guess I am just being a plain jerk here. I mean look at these people around me. They seem to rather enjoying running round this huge reeking pile of garbage in
the middle of the road to catch a train bursting at the seams." Once they reach the station they will go through the much practiced push, shove, jostle, swear routine to get into the train and once in, they will try to solve a sudoku puzzle. These
guys do this everyday and aren't bothered the least bit so, again, what t.f is your problem."

And don't even get me started on the slums. The civic administration talks of a slum free mumbai. Frankly that would mean destroying 50% of the city. If to
that you add an illegal construction free mumbai it would probably take that statistic upto 70%. So if one were to get rid of all that, then Mumbai would probably be just another small town the size of a Patna, only infinitely more hep with only three categories of people. The uberrich celebrity gang, the reasonably plush middle class and gujratis. That's because everyone else lives in the slums.
Everyday people die crossing railway signals, falling out of trains, in muggings, of hunger, disease and accidents, but still no worries mate! I mean this is Mumbai after all. These things happen all the time here. So if it isn't you, then all is well. Lets make a quick buck somewhere then.

And then there are the festivals. Some people actually seem to think that the public festivals in Mumbai are cool. I mean who dances on the street and blocks traffic just to please the Gods? How many people you know actually do that. All those buggers
look exactly the same, with faces colored, a fashion street outfit comprising the ubiquitous jean pant and the T-shirt, drunk and dancing to mindnumbingly monotonous rhythmic percussion. Unemployed, angsty youth just getting some leeway to let off
some steam and aggression. That's alright I guess.

Official statistics say that almost 50% of the population does not have access to proper sanitation facilities i.e a frickin' toilet. So by extension people defecating on the streets is a common sight. Nobody minds them. You just ignore them.
Another highly overrated by-product of the mumbai fast life is the vada pav. Its actually a masala bonda inna breadish bun. Its cheap, can be eaten on the move, doesn't taste too good, but its not too bad either. People who don't eat a lot of Vada Pav entertain the romantic notion that Mumbai lives on Vada pav. That is not true. No one can actually live off the muck.

Woman cut veggies on the train to cook when they get back home, people sing bhajans, do the crossword, sit on top of trains, hang on the sides, and even fit in between carriages like spiderman. And they seem to love it. Other who don't do all of this
are quite in awe of them. Also they can talk about these "outliers" with their friends and family. Its an interesting conversation piece in Mumbai, the way people behave on trains.

My problem is that no one seems to have a problem. All mentions of mumbai in TV channels show a vast expanse of the marine drive with fast cars zipping around. But surprisingly no one ever shows the dreaded Times of India signal at Malad, SV Road
in Bandra, Andheri flyover, Chembur, Thakur Village in Kandivali and almost any signal in the suburbs. Kramer once put it rather succintly to Jerry when he said, "The infrastructure Jerry, its crumblin'!!" Only here there was a crumbled
infrastructure to start with.

Life in mumbai during weekdays is a continuous struggle against other people,roads, traffic, elements, stink and garbage. But we all hang on because everyone else is hanging on. No one likes Mumbai. They only say so because others do.

Weekends though are spent sleeping...

Small Town Humour

2006-04-01T19:33:00.003+05:30

Ok picture this...2 dudes hailing from the nethermost regions of eastern UP (gorakhpur, deoria or thereabouts) standing in front of the Hyundai stall at the Auto Expo in Delhi. I dont remember the year. Probably 2001 or 2002 but definitely either of these.

Both chappies wearing elephant bottomed "jean pant", floral shirt and shoes the size of Mt godwin austin. Hyundai had put up a sexy looking double seater open top on a revolving platform. All bright yellow with a mini skirted model in tow, twas looking quite something. The two chaps had been staring at the vehicle for about 5 minutes, giving the car the sort of a stare hitherto reserved for Pushpa, Susma or Kusum back home. Of course one would have thought that the car for them was just a side issue and the object of the stare was the rather pretty looking babe sitting on the bonnet making ingratiatingly cute faces. But I was wrong and how. One of the chaps suddenly came out of his reverie and spake thusly in the vernacular

"Guru, gaadi to gajab banayi hai lekin saala baarish mein phail hai"

No other one liner has given me more joy than the above piece of astute observation. And one could see that the chap was not making a joke. His face reeked of smug satisfaction at having made a very telling point, and the way his partner said "sahi keh rahe ho guru"drove home the point. I think one of the Hyundai bosses heard the comment too because they never launched the car in India.

Small town UP/Bihar is home to some of the most outrageously confident individuals who have an opinion on any dashed subject beneath the sun and probably beyond. Especially the sort mentioned above. And most of the stuff these guys dole out are gems of comic repartee, in fact I would go so far as to say classics of literature. Only no one gets to hear about them. I feel it is my duty to introduce a few of these into the blogsphere. Here are a few samples. And for matters of simplicity we shall assume that the main protagonists in these conversations are called Mrityunjay and Surender.

M - Abey saala dekhe kal kya tum, gajab raaket choda India ne TV par PSLV wala..

S - abey koi badi baat nahin hai...saala do din mein kitaab padh ke hum bhi ek aada chhod sakte hain

M - abey tum hamesha saala train mein WT karte ho (WT - Without ticket)

S - guru, WT ke teen phayede hain..

M - kaun se fayede bey?

S - agar aap WT hain to aana phree, jaana phree aur pakde gaye to khana phree ......

M - guru woh lallan aaj kal hamari colony ki laundiya ko taad raha hai bahut..usko samjha do warna saale ko bistar sahit uthwa lenge...

S - nahin hum trailer de diye hain usko...agar phir harkat patkega to poora 75mm ki picchar dikha denge saale ko...
M - suren suno, aaj ek laundey ko maarne jaana hai shaam ko...5 baje aayenge hum...jeep ka jugad kar liya hai..

S - abey suno, yeh sab kaam saala hum karke chhod chuke hain...aaj kal hum badmasi thoda down kiye hue hain..

M - chalo na yaar..bas samjhana hai aur ek aada kantaap jad dena....hum bole aaye hain ki shaam ko marenge...agar gaye nain to kal school mein bejatti ho jayegi....

and they are eveywhere...lucknow, kanpur, basti, gonda, deoria, eta, etawah, mainpuri, allahbad....all hotbeds of raw humour spoken with complete seriousness....I wish this genre had more takers....

But my favorite vernacular catch phrase painted onto the back of a truck emanates not from UP but cosmopolitan bangalore, on the back of a tamil nadu monster which read - "Wait Machi"