Adieu, gentlemen!

Like the midnight departure of a lover, the retirements of two of the greatest gentleman players in the history of a game has resulted in much soul searching and an increasing tendency to live in denial. If watching them bat was the equivalent of a long love affair, going gaga over Pujara’s century is like a one-night stand – the desperation to feel loved to hide the pain of a relationship just gone sour. For all you know, we could be wedded to the television/computer screen in the years to follow, keenly following Kohli & Pujara’s exploits, but it will miss the spark of excitement on seeing VVS walk out to bat or the assurance of going into a meeting at 11 a.m knowing that Dravid would still be around when you came out a couple of hours later.

Many of us hate to admit it, but all of us are romantics at heart. The first love is still the most special and for those growing up in the 90s, the rush to get out of school was mostly not about hoping to catch the girl from the other section walk home, but to get home to watch Kumble eek out a couple of top order wickets post a declaration set up by a Tendulkar century or a Dravid double. In the days when the cell-phone was still limited to use in big budget Hollywood action dramas, the only way to know the score was to shout to the uncle next door to the school in the hope that he would hear us and update us on the score. After a while, he would be more attuned to the timing of our recess breaks than us. The friend whose house was closest to school was the object of much envy because of the 20 extra minutes of Sachin’s glorious counter attack that he could witness. Schools would close on the first day of a test match in the city. Attendance would dip on the final day of a close test match. And when the “leave letters” would pile in the next day, the teacher would be smiling at the sudden outbreak of viral fever across the city.

Associations of cable television with the remarkable Indian growth story could wait. For us, it would be associated with the delight of watching the Ganguly masterclass at the Mecca of cricket or the glorious first century for Dravid at Jo’burg.

College of course meant more freedom. More classes were missed than landmarks in Indian cricket. While some kind soul would ensure attendance through proxy, you were left to enjoy the vicarious pleasure of watching a Ganguly cover drive. Waking up at 5 am to watch the first ball of the Boxing Day test match or staying up till 3 to watch Dravid block the last ball of the day at Jamaica was made easier by the fact there would be a few more crazy souls in the common room, drowning out the “expert” opinion on television with their own loud arguments on why Dravid is better than Tendulkar or how Kumble should go back to bowling those deadly yorkers. As college life left us behind, so did Dada and Kumble. There would be no more shirt waving on the Lords balcony nor the sight of a heavily strapped bowler bouncing into bowl on a dead track, wearing his heart on his sleeve. The only comfort was that three warriors were still left to carry on the battle.

Work meant that we would have to imagine the poise of a Tendulkar straight drive while reading the commentary on Cricinfo. Every chance was taken to sneak in to the television room on the floor. If school time meant a stretched dinner time to take in more of Dravid’s piece de resistance, office meant more tea breaks to catch glimpses of Laxman’s magical wrist work. Gradually as time wore down the defence of Dravid and the genius of Laxman, the hours at office grew longer, a co-relation which was less forced than it appears.

The internet provided solace, as we dug into the archives for more articles celebrating the achievements of a set of cricketers whose kind India would be lucky to get again, in individual doses let alone as a group. Debates on who was better would be replaced by a collective acknowledgment of each player’s greatness. The heart aching for more acts of genius is replaced by a pragmatic mind which acknowledges that even the greatest of journeys has a destination.

It is then that the lament of not being able to see them together one more time is replaced by the acknowledgment that just as these set of players were once in a generation players, we too will be a once in a generation audience – lucky enough to be witness few of the greatest moments in Indian cricketing history and some of the finest players ever to sport the India cap.

Sweet 16

On most occasions when I write, there is one word I avoid : I. I kind of tend to associate I in writing with an oversized ego & not using it also seemed to suggest a more third person, more distant perspective to the happenings on. You never let your guard down, but this once, I am letting mine down.

Observing you bat was about those little things. The sweat oozing out of your forehead as you stared down at the crease even as the bowler approached the start of his run-up. That vigorous tapping as the fast bowler was charging in. That little appreciative nod to the bowler in the rare times that he got the better of you. The wrists dropping close to your body as you swayed to avoid the bouncer and your eyes following the ball till the time you were sure that danger had passed. And yet, there were moments of unadulterated aggression as well. The top-edged six that got you to that hundred at Adelaide. The tremendous hit over mid-wicket of Allan Donald in the Standard Chartered series final.

At school, when news would reach that you and Tendulkar were at the crease, I paid more attention to what the teacher said, because I knew that I could afford to not worry about the wickets column. But in college, with the freedom of choosing which classes to attend and which ones not to, things were only going to get better. When news came in that India were to bat, the class would empty out quickly. Everyone wanted to see as much of Sehwag’s batting as possible, because we never knew how long he’d stay at the crease. And then as Sehwag got out the television room would empty out. It was not out of any disrespect to you. People knew that they could come back after their class and catch you in your full stride. But then I would stay back. Because to me, your innings was never about what you did after you got to 30; it was about what you did to get there. Not for me, the rushing in to applaud your hundred and rushing out. It was not my style, for it was not yours.

So many were the occasions when I would argue vociferously that you were a better batsman or a better match winner than Sachin Tendulkar. And now looking back, it is a bit like choosing between Agassi & Sampras or between Ronaldo & Messi. As Joker says to Batman, one completes the other and there is no other higher purpose than that. The closest parallel I can find between you and Sachin is that of a pole vault athlete and the pole. You both played the roles interchangeably. At times it was Sachin acting as the athlete who would build on your support to leap over the bar and at times it was the reverse. There were of course those occasions, when one of you starred and the other buckled, and Indian hopes crash landed. But even in those occasions, it was perhaps because you had set the bar higher. As you and Sachin, with the stellar supporting cast of Laxman, Kumble, Sehwag, Harbhajan & Ganguly routinely achieved the unthinkable we took the leap of faith with you.

And then it all came crashing down. England happened. You were the lone star, a Gulliver amongst the Lilliputs. My job would keep me away from the television sets & slowly a sense of separation began to develop. The West Indies series was a blur. Australia would give me a chance to reacquaint with your defense, I thought. Your poor form may have ensured that I missed little of your batting. What I also , most sadly, is your final walk back to pavilion at the Adelaide Oval, that very venue where you had once and for all engraved your name in that imaginary honors board; the hearts of the cricket fan world over.

Thank you for all the memories, Rahul Dravid.

7-Aum Arivu – The Seventh (Non)Sense

- The first thing that struck me while watching the movie was how Bodhi Dharman can kick Ra. One and G. One’s ass if he was alive (and kicking, of course) in 2050. While the latter two had tonnes of superhero powers heaped on them through programming and knew only how to fight and kill, Bodhi Dharman knew how to save lives as well. Besides, if you could get others to do the killing and fighting through the power of your eyes, you don’t even need to throw all those water balloons at the fire balls like Ra. One and G.One do.

- The Chinese government’s intelligence HQ conveys top secret information to an Indian scientist through Gmail. This is a political statement like none other and puts into context the biggest war of the 21st century – Google and China vs Privacy.

- Circular referencing on Wiki is perhaps the next big tool to convince the masses that the content of the film is true. By actually showing the Wiki page for Bodhi Dharman on the screen as research material for the movie, Murugadoss dares us to disprove the facts in the movie. So, next time you are shooting a historical, make sure you edit the Wiki page before the movie hits the screens, just in case.

- When Shruti Hassan talks about bringing back to life the skills of the ancestors past by activating the genetic memory, you begin to wonder if her genes suffered from selective amnesia.

- At one point in the movie, the ‘scientist’ explains how the next generation warfare will not involve physical combat at all and then in the scenes after the battle is fought between practitioners of hypnotism who battle it out just by staring at each other. Such nuanced writing has been absent from Indian cinema for a long time. Thank you Murugadoss!

- All Superheroes have blue eyes. At least both the ones releasing on Diwali this year did.

- When NR Narayana Murthy spoke about how the IITs no longer produced the same quality of engineers as it did before, everyone scoffed at him. Now Murugadoss reveals one of the systemic faults behind the situation – a cutting edge genetic engineering lab which is closed down for 18 days because it is summer vacation time. And we wonder why there are no top notch scientific thinkers in this country. Once again, thank you Murugadoss.

Har Ek Bill Zaroori Hota Hai!

subah chaar baje call taxi ka bill

raat das baje dinner ka bill

mahine bar ka house rent bill

ek bill mein teen log cash claim kare

budget exceed karne keliye sign lena hai

koi Hotel Decent pe guest , koi Hilton mai rest

Par har ek bill zaroori hota hai

din bar goomne ka petrol bill

teen mahiney ka telephone bill

bus bill.. auto bill.. chai bill.. dahi bill..

cake bill.. coke bill..

bill real hota hai.. bill fake hota hai..

par har ek bill zaroori hota hai

Guys! Boss!! Boss!! Boss!!

Har bill Zaroori Hai Yaar!

Why should I care?

I am a middle class Indian. And I can’t get myself to care about Anna Hazare’s present protest. I can’t help but mock at the participants in the many marches. The over-hyped candle light vigils are yet to make their presence felt in this campaign. But I don’t think they are too far away. Does this make me an unpatriotic cynic?

Friends in the course of conversations and on social media have urged me to wear a black band, change my profile picture to that of Anna Hazare and copy paste messages to showcase my solidarity for the cause. What cause, I ask. Fighting corruption, they say. But I raise a red flag. Aren’t all the protests about the Jan Lokpal? The response though is re-assuring. It’s all one and the same, I hear. Really?

My mind goes back to an extremely well made Tamizh movie called Ramana, where the protagonist sets up an Anti-corruption force to, as the name suggests, battle corruption. The force sets about kidnapping the top few corrupt officials from various government departments & killing the most corrupt one, setting free the rest. Corruption magically reduces as fear sets in in the minds of the government officials. In a remarkable final scene, the protagonist rejects an offer of pardon, saying that if he took it, he would be going against the very principles that he’s been fighting for & that justice should be served. I wonder if Team Anna had seen this movie. If they were anyways going to jail, they might have as well attempted to maximize their impact when out in the open. Or will someone else rise to do that job. Who will play Bhagat Singh to Anna’s Gandhi?

As I sit and ponder over these many questions, I realize that my cynicism traces its origins to events which happened two years ago. November 26th is a date etched in the minds of every Indian, for all the wrong reasons. The strong public reaction was a bright point, though. Rallies were taken. Peace marches were held. News anchors scoured over every single detail. There was widespread anguish over how the government acted in the whole episode. And less than 6 months later as the country headed to its next general election the whole nation looked to Mumbai to see which way she would vote, or at least how much she would vote. The results were shocking, again not necessarily because of who was voted in, but because so few were voting. The people just did not turn up to vote. Cynicism found its abode in my mind. Did we actually expect that the voter will wake up and make his way to the polling booth? This was right in the middle of the Indian summer, as against a much more pleasant climate prevailing in late November. The comfort of the air conditioner & the luxury of an unexpected middle of the week holiday was of course way too alluring compared with the onerous task of electing the next government.

When the whole movement against corruption was kick-started, the Lokpal bill was seen as a possible solution. It was but the backdrop against which a larger fight was being launched. The cause was exemplary, and the solution, acknowledged as not being perfect, was put up for discussion to refine it. All’s well till this time. Then the government suddenly froze and the opposition parties were in a quandary whether to support a bill which they knew would come back to haunt them at some point or let go of a Anna given opportunity to get on the government’s back. Anna’s team suddenly forgot that the elimination of corruption was much more complex than a single law & instead fixated itself on the Lokpal bill. Unlike corruption, which is fed by excessive give and take, in this fight both parties refused to budge. An uneasy impasse was created, and despite the flurry of activity over the past two days, the deadlock remains firmly in place.

So, would it be fair if I ask that in this fight between bloated egos & botched up government machinery, why should I be forced to take a stake?

1992

The world over, obituaries are being written. The most common phrase in the cricketing world nowadays is 'ODIs are dead. Long live the T20s'. Sachin has proposed a master stroke (so named because it came from the master himself and for no particular affiliation to his suggestion).

In the midst of all this comes a humble suggestion from a cricket fan of 20 years (my age 23, take out 3 years, the time it took for me to learn what a television is). Bring us back the 1992 world cup! Agreed, I was just out of kinter garden and possibly am expected to know nothing about the World Cup. But, a little self defense before my credibility is questioned. Once, I faked illness to sit and watch the highlights of a match I had missed.

Well, now that my credibility issue is cleared, here are the reasons why I feel so passionately about that World Cup. It was the model World cup in all the senses. It had everything.

The jerseys. Coloured clothing for the first time and that was before the days when every square centimeter on a jersey was written off to a corporate giant. The design of the shirts could not have been any simpler. And the colours, the 9 participating teams had 9 distince colours. That wasn't an age when a slightly faded Sri Lankan blue shirt could be passed off for an Indian jersey and not all teams were crazy about getting green and yellow on their jerseys. A birds eye view would have revealed which two teams were playing and not some microscopic level research of jerseys to identify the different teams as is the case now. The customary start of the tournament pic featuring all the 9 teams is possibly the best of its kind.

The pitches. Australia and New Zealand were the hosts and one may not possibly need to elaborate more on the nature of the pitches. Long before sporting pictures became a hot phrase, this tournament was actually played on those. The variety of grounds in which matches were played is mindboggling. From the insanely huge MCG, in the times when boundaries were actually the advertising boards and not a 'sponsored' rope brought in 20 yards from the boundary to the lovely looking Wellington, the viewer was transported to a different world every single day. And yes, there were no standardised pitches, Perth was fast and Adelaide was the batting beauty it still is.

The crowds. Australia is possibly the most sport oriented country in the world and boy do they love their sports. And New Zealand proved that you actually don't need a billion people to fill up your cricket stadiums. It helped that there were so many day night matches, but my guess is even if every single match was played as a pure day game, the crowds would not have diminished a single bit. They were responsible for adding even more colour to the already colourful tournament.

The format. Nine teams. Each plays the other one one time each. The top four go through to the semi-finals. Simple, straight forward and so totally fair. The best teams who consistently won over the rest were the deserving semi finalists. No two ways about it. No unnecessary additions like a super eight, which as a concept still baffles me. The length of the tournament gave enough time for teams to come back from the dumps , as Pakistan clearly demonstrated, but not so long that the teams and the audience started to think that Wrold Cups had ceased to be a once in 4 year event but a 4 year event in itself.

The innovation. Much before Sanath Jayasuriya made a mockery of Prabhakar and hit Defraitas for a six which started from the Kotla and landed at the Red fort, an individual named Mark Greatbatch showed the world what one could achieve in the first few overs of a one day match. Slam wham bang was the only game this guy knew and not one person regrets it. And spinners opening the bowling? Whoever thought of that before. Dipak Patel and his captain Martin Crowe threw on the world possibly the biggest surprise of the past 2 decades and it worked seamlessly (pun may have been intended) as well.

The memories. Jonty Rhodes running Inzamam out. Javed Miandad jumping up and down to mock at Kiran More. Aamir Sohail kneeling down on the hallowed turf of the MCG offering his thanks to the Almighty at the end of it all.

The cricket. This was perhaps the biggest positive. Be it Jadeja diving full length to dismiss Steve Waugh Allan Border or Inzamam helping the cricket ball get acquainted with every single blade of grass, and a few spectators as well, with his blinding hitting through the end stages of the tournament or Wasim Akram showing the world what the whole deal about making the ball talk was, this tournament was perhaps the most complete entertainment package as far as the game was concerned.

The underdog story or maybe should we say underdogs. New Zealand and Pakistan weren't exactly expected to set the grounds ablaze. But thats what they did, and especially in their semi-final face off. Imran Khan taking pain killer after pain killer to lead Pakistan to their biggest cricketing moment ever. And what about South Africa? Just a year on from their international reappearance after a long break, they surprised and wooed us with their sensational cricket and they would have possibly completed the mother of all comebacks if not for....

The controversy. England v South Africa,22nd March 1992. Need I say more?

And yes, again. Need I say more?

The best I have watched

The other day, ( I seem to notice that is how a lot of my posts begin and therefore the unwillingness to change it) on my way to a cricket match (which shall feature later) I was narrating to the fellow travelers incidents from various matches that I have witnessed from a seat in the cricket stadium. It is then that I realized that if I made the list of the top moments that I have watched it would pretty much be a compilation of the top cricketing moments of the past decade from an Indian perspective. Here goes the list, not in any particular order.


India vs Pakistan, Chennai, 1999

This is one match no one on either side of the subcontinent's Line of Control would forget for the rest of their lives. For the 40000 odd who were present on that fateful final day, this was one of those matches which came closest to satiating all the human sensory needs. The final day began with India looking set to push on to an emotional victory with two of their best batsmen in at the start of the day. One of them would last not too long and the other would not last long enough. One got out to a peach of a delivery and the other would deliver possibly the greatest innings in a losing cause. And in the midst of all this to add to the drama was what in gully cricket terminology was a 'one pitch' catch to dismiss Saurav Ganguly. As India lost their top order barring Sachin within 100 runs, it seemed like it would be a much shorter stay at the stadium than most of us had anticipated. This was until Mongia showed exceptional grit and in his company Sachin began to blossom. This was not so much an innings of booming cover drives and sweeps over midwicket for six, but instead it was a lesson in geometry. So well did Sachin work the angles that it seemed like no field set up could contain him. He repeatedly swept Saqlain, then the biggest threat in a super star studded Pakistani bowling lineup, fine to collect two runs. As the match seemed to drift away from Pakistan, the crowd started to get into the act. As Salim Malik walked back to his position at deep midwicket, the loud cheers from the crowd got his attention and in his typical nonchalant style he conveyed back to the crowd that it would only be a matter of time before Pakistan would regain control. And surely enough within the next 20 minutes, Mongia took the ugliest swipe possible to hole out to Waqar off Wasim's bowling. If ever there was a cricketing definition of kamikaze, this was it, except of course the fact that this was an act of stupidity and not bravery. Sunil Joshi was the next man in and his straight six into the sightscreen produced a thumping noise which reverberated around the ground. This joy was however to be short lived and in its place descended a pall of gloom. Sachin got out holing out to Akram at deep cover attempting a swipe over midwicket off a Saqlain doosra. What followed after that was a procession by the Indian batsmen, from the pavilion onto the pitch and back. India would go on to lose by 12 runs and this defeat would forever rankle Sachin and the rest of the Indian public forever. What followed that though was unprecedented. As Wasim Akram and his men somehow got a brain wave to take a victory lap, what must have been apprehension about the reception they'll get turned into astonishment. As the Pakistanis made their way around the ground, the spectators stood up to give them a standing ovation, in a gesture which would go on to heal the wounds of the past in a manner which could seldom be achieved through diplomatic measures. The power of cricket and sport in general to act as a healer was made evident that day.

India vs Australia, 3rd Test, Chennai, 2001, 5th day

India had completed one of the greatest test victories just a few days back and here in Chennai they were on the verge of completing perhaps the greatest come from behind series victories. India began the day needing to skittle out the Aussies quickly and Steve Waugh was the one man who was capable of tying up the loose ends for Australia and India needed to get him out early. And they did and quickly Harbhajan wrapped the innings up and picked up 8 wickets in the innings. The atmosphere was terrific as the target was not that big a challenge and India had plenty of overs to achieve the same. Each one sitting in the stands knew they were going to witness something special. And special it was. After SS Das had got out early, local boy Ramesh and by now Indian super hero VVS Laxman set the stadium alight with some breathtaking strokes until a terrible mix up did Ramesh in. After a flurry of boundaries Sachin would also return to the pavilion and the usual death like silence ensued. As more wickets began to tumble the hearts began to flutter. Chennai 99 was back to haunt the crowd. But at the other end it seemed like Laxman could no wrong and while he was there a sense of calmness prevailed until Mark Waugh decided to take matters into his own hands. Literally. Laxman pulled an absolute half tracker from Miller with a power he was unknown for. If I had been a little older my eyes wouldn't have moved fast enough to catch what has been the best catch I have ever witnessed in a cricket stadium. The ball had well passed Mark Waugh when with a full stretch dive Waugh caught the ball. All with his usual grace well intact. All hope suddenly seemed lost. India had done it again. After snatching victory from the Aussies in the previous match, they now seemed determined to return the favor. A couple more wickets fell. Surely, it was going to be one of those romantic stories with a tragic end. Harbhajan Singh strode out to bat and one sensed the script writer had it written to perfection. With Dighe digging in, India crawled to very near the finish post. A Dighe drive through the slips had Warne running after the ball at a speed not seen from him since he was a teenager. Harbhajan drove McGrath powerfully and just as the crowd thought it was all over, the ball would go straight into the hands of the cover fielder. Again, a powerful drive. Again straight to the fielder. And then it happened. For a second or two my mind went blank. I could see nothing, feel nothing. It was the same for the more than 40000 who had assembled that day. And then the stadium erupted. India had WON! They had beaten the world champions. And this day was etched in my memories forever.

Saeed Anwar, 194, India vs Pakistan, Chennai 1997

This was my first match in a cricket stadium and what an initiation it would prove to be. A contest with lesser happenings might have possibly meant I would never return to the stadium. This was a battle. Nothing less. India and Pakistan facing each other on the 50th year of independence for both the nations in an tournament aptly named the Independence Cup. It also meant it was 50 years since some of the bloodiest scenes witnessed in the Indian subcontinent. India had won the war at the World Cup the previous year and this was their chance for revenge. And for some reason Saeed Anwar seemed to have taken it upon himself to exact that revenge. I think I may be pardoned if I say I don't remember much else about the match apart from his innings. Shahid Afridi was supposed to be the danger man. The man most likely to cause utter destruction. So when he was sent back early, India would have safely assumed that they were not going to face a huge target. Anwar, though, had other ideas. Though his entire innings was brutal in its impact and beautiful in its execution, one particular aspect stood out. Anwar's savage attack on India's best bowler. In a span of half a dozen deliveries, Anwar had lofted Anil Kumble to three sixes in the long on and midwicket region. As Anwar got closer and closer to the world record, the buzz in the crowd grew louder. And as he passed the world record, I am sure for some time he would have thought he was playing in Lahore or Karachi for such was the ovation he got. To be honest, it would not be an exaggeration to state that every single spectator felt a tinge of sadness when Ganguly took a stumbling catch at short square leg to dismiss Anwar, six short of the first ever ODI double century, a feat no one came close to beating till February 24th 2010. More importantly, that day, I learned how important it is to appreciate good cricket and a great innings.


Sehwag 81 off 68 balls, India v England , Chennai, 2008

Seldom does an innings lasting 68 balls so dramatically change the course of a test match. And to think that the change of course took only half the 68 deliveries in the real sense is what is even more fascinating. India had toiled long and hard in the field that day. Dismissing England was proving to be much more difficult than had been imagined. Strauss especially was playing out of his skin and his century in both the innings looked like pretty much sealing the match for England. Through a combination of some reverse swing and inspired bowling, India managed to skittle out the lower order and a declaration by Strauss left India with seemingly a little too much to do. Through a couple of days in the match I had the opportunity to sit with the Barmy Army and it was an experience by itself. To see such a bunch of dedicated cricket fans and to witness their singing and cheering for their cricketers was a reassuring sight for a cricket addict like me. Through most of the fourth day, the folks in the Barmy Army had been singing and dancing and throwing taunts at the Indian fans. Until Sehwag started his blitzkrieg. The home crowd found its voice and the Barmy Army lost theirs. Brutal cuts, upper cuts and a lot more never seen before , never after seen shots were unleashed by the man. It seemed only a matter of time before he got to his century. But alas, he fell victim to Swann late in the day. As he trudged off the pitch, one felt that while he had every right to be disappointed, we the crowd had nothing to complain about. Tendulkar and Yuvraj would lead India to a famous victory the next day, but for once even the commentators and the match referee got it spot on in handing the man of the match award to Sehwag.


More to follow in Part 2!