Master and his Protege

For a moment it wasn't clear who had gotten to his century, Yuvraj or Ganguly. When Yuvraj cracked one of the best hundreds seen in recent times with him at the crease, fittingly enough, was his mentor Saurav Ganguly. Friend, philosopher and guide are words that flow too easily through the words of young achievers when asked to describe their mentors but in this relationship each of these words ring true, though at different times.

Ask any Yuvraj detractor, a list growing shorter by the day and including several illustrious names like myself (lol) , the first thing that is agreed upon is that he's indeed a special talent. No objections raised. But it is in translating his talent to performances that he has been found wanting. And it was Saurav who kept his faith in him throughout his lean patches and defended him often in the face of harsh public criticism. Strangely enough , the major part of his successes have come under the captaincy of Rahul Dravid when Saurav was struggling to keep his plae in the team. But one is likely to believe that the foundation for the mental toughness that he displayed during those excruciatingly close run chases were laid during Saurav's tenure. This was the guiding part.

A very special feature of his innigs today was the grit, the determination to put to full use this one opportunity given to him in extremely fortuitous circumstances, with respet to him that is. The basic philosophy was the same for both the batsmen in the middle, to prove their worth to the team and to answer critics and a lot of them. That Yuvraj had with him at the other end, a man who has realized the value of each innings would have helped him immensely.

Through the innings and during that rightfully exuberant celebration one could see that the retaionship between Yuvraj and Ganguly had matured, much like Yuvi's strokeplay. If one though that it was still a guru sishya reltionship where a certain distance had to be maintained, the hug was clearly the indicator to the contrary. While Yuvi was soaking in the moment Ganguly could well have patted himself for finding the right prince to hand over his legacy.

The Prince is alive and kicking, long live the prince.

The Smiling Assassin

"I meant to spin it one way and the ball went the other way," Muttiah Muralidaran 03/12/2007

That people, was Murail's answer to describe the delivery which got Collingwood out bowled and handed him, for at least an eternity, the record of Test cricket's highest wicket taker. And it is these words that best describe the man. Humility in the greatest moment of his life. What a man!

To understand how much he means to Sri Lanka as a nation one just needs to look at the series of stamps which have been released to commemorate this feat. All through the series of portraits one cannot miss the intensity of his eyes and the intent which it conveys. His geniality is expressed in his bowling and his love for the game in his wide grin. I say love, for passion is not the word. Passion is owed in some part to an external stimuli but love is totally from the inside. It was clear how much this meant to him, for the ever present grin just got wider and wider and it took a few minutes before some sense of calm returned to the playing arena.

It isn't often that you see children in school uniforms assemble in such big numbers to watch a test match and in this case I presume they even had the permission from their teachers to be absent themselves from school to see the wizard produce one of the most poignant moments in recent cricket history.

Warne might have been the the most charismatic of all the record holders, for he revelled in his excesses. He may have revived the art of spin bowling but Murali helped in redefining it. He may not have had the most beautiful action nor the smoothest run up but then his wrists are worth a museum display. The rip he gives the ball and the turn and bounce he extracts off the wicket are just a reflection of the extraordinary talent that he is.

The critics may claim that he owes his wickets to his dubious delivery action and in part to the number of test matches that he's played and wickets he's taken against Bangladesh and Zimbabwe. In all fairness to him and as he himself rightly pointed out its not his fault that Sri Lanka's itinerary are strewn with test matches against those teams. But if there's one thing which goes tremendously in favor of Murali its his record against India and in particular Tendulkar. He can claim to be the only spinner to have dominated against India and Indians will not forget too easily his destructive spells against them. On the other hand India remained as Warne's Achilles heel and this is something he'll have to carry with him to the grave. Warne's greatness lay in his craftiness and the way he worked towards getting a batsman out. On the other hand Murali believed in keeping it simple and his untiring approach was the key to his success. And it is this philosophy that has enabled him to maintain such poise when hounded by the critics.

In his unbridled enthusiasm and child like innocence cricket has found the character that its supposedly made for- the gentleman.

Confused

Is there any word/phrase to define a state where you start to pen a few lines on as many topics as you can think of and then delete it without sparing a thought??

How to name it (II)

Fighting bouts of nervousness and fits of boredom thanks to the continued drivel of CCW, impatience set in. As each passing second grew painfully and exponentially longer PLC was moved to the verge of taking his frustration out on CCW but given his presumed to be calm nature all he could manage was a shrug. As it so happened, at that particular moment CCW was narrating a rather painful experience of his and taking the shrug to be a display of sympathy from PLC, CCW continued his story with renewed vigor. As the tempo in CCW's narrative picked up PLC's shoulder dropped even lower. Yet again this act of PLC's co-incided with a part of CCW's story where his morale supposedly hits rock-bottom. If ever there was any law of conservation of Enthusiasm it was very much at play here. With each passing moment for every centimeter that PLC drooped there was a corresponding increase in the baritone levels of CCW.

At moments such as these, fate plays a rather defining role and this case was no different. With 5 minutes till left to go for his first meeting and apparently no escape from CCW, PLC was fast reaching his breaking point when in walked like (in the words of PLC) an angel who was the most beautiful thing God created on Earth. With his lips split apart wide enough for a Hot Wheels car to comfortably move in and park, PLC's eyes followed the new entrant all the way into the Manager's chamber. At this sight if the laws of biophysics had permitted his mouth would have split open even wider. However already having reached the elastic limits an attempt to open it further caused much hurt and with the realization that he was possibly already making a fool of himself he closed it shut like a Venus fly-trap going after its meal for the morning.

For all of CCW's involvement in the narration of his life story he couldn help but notice the change in PLC's stance. Being slightly dimwitted he was a little dumb founded as to how a guy who had shown such sympathy for some of his lesser sufferings seem so visibly excited on hearing about what he thought was the lowest moment of his life. And now for the first time PLC (or the second if you count the initial greetings) started to involve himself on the conversation. Impose would be a better word for over the next few minutes question after question was thrown to CCW about the manger. The answer to the first had revealed to PLC that the female who passed through was not the boss and this was followed by a huge sigh of relief for trying to go after a beautiful lady was one thing but going after the boss would have been pure sacrilege. Besides, chatting up with females was uncharted territory for PLC and he was no Columbus either. The next few questions directed to CCW were intended to figure who exactly this mystery female was. CCW being of the talkative nature, as established, however chose to launch into a totally not required tirade of words to start every answer. Time was running out for PLC.

As much as PLC had spent five minutes hoping to see his boss turn up and relieve him from the excruciating lectures from CCW, the sight of his fellow employees rising one by one to greet a tall, fairly dark complexioned, well dressed young man pained him now. It was pretty obvious that this young man was the manager and it was only left for CCW to confirm this fact by uttering the word "boss" twice in a hushed tone like a 5th standard student fearing a hiding should he get caught talking. Caught between his desire to continue interrogating CCW and the requirement to immediately rush into the manager's room, the choice though difficult was an obvious one for PLC to make. He trudged file in hand, into the room.

How to name it

Preceded by whiff of fresh air, and followed by a stale smell resulting from an unwashed box of Thayir Sadam he had packed for lunch two days back Poor Little Chap (who shall henceforth be referred to as PLC) entered the office with a new found determination. He decided that he had had enough of being bullied around and taunted by almost everybody in the office. He had his group of his friends or so he wished. For he knew as well as they did that it was just a marriage of convenience.

The events of his first day at office was still so fresh in his mind. He had so looked forward to that day. The day he thought would change his life forever. He believed that this was destined to be the turning point in his life, a day which would start off the process of erasing all the forgettable memories he had accumulated through his rather "eventful" school and college life. The very thought of making new friends and acquaintances thrilled him. The first person he met was the guy who would later become his Tormentor-in-Chief ( and who will henceforth be called TIC) . Ah! There seemed to be such a natural bond. It was fate, he opined, that had delayed the introduction of such a character in his life. But, its better late than never. With all such thoughts randomly criss-crossing his mind he walked up cheerfully to TIC and what ensued was the typical first meeting. Handshakes and introductions later they were happily chatting about their respective pasts and how lucky they were to have managed a job in this company.

It was 830 in and the others started to trickle in to the office. Monday morning blues had suddenly seemed out of fashion for all around he could see so many cheerful faces. The previous night had played host to one of the most memorable moments in Indian sport. The first Olympic Gold from an independent event had finally arrived. And the fact that it came in wrestling, that oldest of Indian sports was a surprise and yet not as much a jolt as maybe if it had arrived in tennis, the latest fad amongst the dominant middle class. Not since Bhim had an Indian wrestled with so much energy and vigor, they exclaimed. One thing that never changes with us Indians is the hype which we manage to add to any notable achievement. He would get a reception that would rival that which the Indian cricket team got after they had won the T20 World Cup, beamed a television channel. A rival news channel quoted a "confidential yet reliable" source in stating that the Indian government would present a cheque of ten crores to the champion. An individual olympic gold medal is no mean achievement, but at some point we need to understand that a little bit of understated celebration would add much more value to a victory rather than frenzied reactions of euphoria.


PLC took one more look at the entrance hoping that his first day at the office would, cinema style, would also be the day when he would meet his lady love. Unfortunately in the harsh realities of the modern day world such fairy tale inspired thoughts do not bear fruit and it was with a concealed sense of disappointed that PLC trudged to his cubicle. Newly furnished and spacious to comfortably seat one person, a luxury in these times of cramped office spaces, his cubicle seemed to welcome him into a totally new world. He glanced at his watch, for maybe the 15th time in 5 minutes. Impatience was creeping in. He had to meet his boss, a unknown quantity to even those who had spent months with him in the office and to him he would remain an enigma, forever, at 9.

As he started to count each second down, his eyes fell on a guy who was glancing at him form time to time. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and it didn't seem likely to leave him anytime soon either. Desperate as PLC was to fast forward the ten minutes to his meeting, he decided to go up and speak to this curious co-worker(and as per tradition already established, this new character will also be henceforth be referred to by a shortened name reflecting his nature, CCW) of his.

to be continued....

Maiden attempt

There are times, you wish there never was..
when the cocoons in your stomach,
decide its time for freedom and fly out..
your mind has a mind of its own..
the fingers seem to find a new rythm.,
as they move about with a new found sense of (un)purpose
and legs dance to a tune that you never thought existed,
but through all this the heart keeps beating,
as though nothing else was happening
how you wish you could afford to be like that..

Shave sahi.. tension nahi..

It was a brief look at the mirror.. the fleeting glances at yourself that u so want to avoid.. those which u never wish u had to do as a 20 year old.. but u do come across situations when u have to "reflect" on urself.. this occasion, it was part of my routine before the dash to the lecture complex..


and there it was.. glaring and so obvious that u cudn miss it.. my month old beard was showin up pretty badly.. for 30 happy days I had put off the ritual of placing a razor on my cheeks and following it up with ten minutes of madness as it flew across the face at angles they never mentioned in geometry class and at speeds which will give light a complex.. the whole job had to be done quick, real quick.. the longer it drags the more painful it is..


they warn u at home... the first time u r so raring to go and take out every minuscule bit of hair u find on ur face they told u.. that all this will seem very exciting the first time but as time progresses u will grow to hate every moment of this practice.. ah.. how true were these words..


back then in ur age of innocence u never had to worry about such things.. life was so peaceful.. no worries about beards which irritated every ounce of flesh on your face.. but then there do come the times when u r very proud of it.. when u shape it ur delight.. the long side burns.. the goatee.. the french beard (though for me it was a disaster first time around and from then on its been a strict no no ) .. the best part always came a couple of days after you had wrenched out the beard.. the little sproutin called the stubble made u feel so good.. it gave you fresh hope.. that even beards can make you feel good...


but then the tragedy with beards occurs when you let them grow on you for too long.. initially u feel so good about it that the very thought of shaving makes u shudder.. and then follows a period of time when u let it grow, for u deem no harm can arise out of it.. this turns out to be the mistake.. for once u let it go past this period, it gets to ur nerves.. through the skin of ur face..

irritation sets in.. u think u r so much better off without it.. but by then it has become so much a part of you that u do not have the heart to remove it.. this is the time when the mistake magnifies into a blunder..


after all, not for nothin did our ancestors always maintain anything evil (in this case read: not good) should be weeded out.. not allowed to go past that stage.. once again pearls of wisdom ignored..


and as it happened to me today, there arises a new found vigor to shave.. to throw caution to the wind and go for the kill.. new found energy means a rush of blood in your hands.. and this translates into a rush of blood again, but only this time from a cut on the face.. a mark which no man likes to leave, for it shows complete lack of ability in what shud be deemed as each man's core competency.. most of the times the impression that the cut makes vanishes pretty quickly and this is usually followed by a big sigh of relief.. u'll be lucky if people do not notice either the cut mark or the sigh which follows a tad later..


but sometimes it leaves a scar.. each time u look at it, u repent the times when u could so easily have shaved it off but chose not to.. when the scar starts to hurt, u wish u never let the beard grow in the first place..


After today, I have 2 of those....