It’s that time of the year when time is running out on the year. So it’s time for a year end review. Especially as my Mayan and Aztec friends keep telling me that I might not get a chance next year. So I guess I will spend some time on this one.
For a year supposed to end with our final new year, there was a distinct lack of happiness this year.
What with the rich rich west out with their fiscal begging bowls in the name of financial crisis after crisis. Countries rich all through their not so long history trying to grapple with new found poverty, begging and borrowing from each other as the developing world looks on. “Hey these are the guys who stole our wealth. Now when we want it back, they have squandered it all away” cries the Asians and the Africans. After just getting comfortable with a world without too much communism, capitalism is beginning to look just as bad. So much for America leading the world. Mr Obama gets nightmares of China asking for its money back these days. Europe, with all their shows of unity and common policy, now look like small kids fighting over loose change. The Germans as usual the biggest bully.
Japan was never a happy country, things just got sadder with earthquakes, tsunamis and nuclear disasters. Well it was only a matter of time before all that technology would come back to bite them in the head. I feel for them. All those Sonys and Toyotas are of no use when disaster strikes. Luckily they had shifted all their factories to China a long time back or we might have ended up with Micromax making TVs and cars. South Korea seems to be doing pretty well. Samsung is being said in the same breath as Apple. Hyundai with Toyota. The death of that dictator in the north would have helped.
Talking of deaths, it’s been a pretty bad year for dictators and evil maniacs. Really bad men like Osama and Gaddafi killed by not really that good Western forces. Those who have suffered still suffer. But CNN and BBC tell us the world is a better place. Assange is too broke to tell us any different. Kim of Korea, for all the dastardly acts of his, lived and died at a ripe old age. So unfair it seems. A few good men died too. That good man Steve Jobs died early with a lot more ipods and pads still left in him. A terrible loss. The jury is still out on the Sai Baba, but all those free operations must count for something.
Democratic revolutions abound, powered by disgruntled young men and women, driven by social media. This was the year of the birth of leaderless revolutions, in Egypt, in Tunisia, in Libya, in Wall Street (a country of its own somewhere in the US). No longer do we need strong individuals; all we need is popular web pages. The power of the internet was there to be seen as never before. With Facebook becoming more like Twitter, Google becoming more like Facebook and every literate in the world on at least one of these sites, it seems pretty easy to grab a lot of attention with very little effort. Ask that Madrasan who got drunk.
Comparatively a good year for India. The muddle of corruption has got us an anti corruption movement that seems destined to make a difference, no matter how small. Satyagraha and non violence has not gone out of fashion yet it seems. The next Gandhi named Rahul is here, but how bad can he be. Terrorism did not get any worse than before, the Pakistanis having issues of their own. We won a world cup in the only game we care about. A billion Indians cried out in joy as one Mr Sachin Tendulkar got his hands on the cricket world cup. The media is tainted but shamelessly plods on. Summers were hotter, winters remain colder, the rains poured heavier and everything is costlier. India inc. may not be sprinting ahead but at least has not stopped moving. Other than for the king of good times, the times look pretty okay. Lots of good movies released both in Hollywood and lots of good earners in Bollywood. Every Hollywood movie had the mandatory couple of Indians. Chetan Bhagat wrote the mandatory bad book. A Tamil song became the most happening in North India. And we had our first successful flash mob. Well done that!!
Looking forward to a pretty interesting 2012……
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
MBA – work in progress
So I am finally done with one trimester of my MBA. That's one done, five more to go. And one has already taken a lot out of me.
Education is about building character. No, I didn't say that. Some wise guy did, and I can bet my last rupee, that guy didn't study in India. Our system starting from kindergarten is so designed to cram that next question into our brain, whatever character we built up is just an innocent by-product. This post is not about how worthless the system is. It's about that feeling that at last, knowingly or unknowingly, I have ended up in a course where character is built. If not built, at least polished. It's a breath of fresh air.
It might just be that be that all postgraduate courses are that way. After twenty odd years of learning by rote, there is only so much differentiation you can do by asking students to do the same thing again. The students have got older, the teachers even older, the system has at last matured. But surely the course matters. The MBA matters. And so does the institution.
Graduation was about a bunch of boys and girls coming together with uncluttered minds and undeveloped philosophies, trying to fight the system and be successful. At the same time you are developing opinions, judgements, moral codes, in short character. The idea is to build a foundation by which one can live the rest of one's life. The system is not going to help you other than give you a class to sit together in and mark sheets to compare your performance with others. You do it yourself and like it or not you come out as young men and women. And then you split.
And then a different set of young men and women come together for their post graduation and now the system all of a sudden finds an interest in your character. So now we have a group of ambitious individuals, with preformed opinions and predefined characters trying to make common cause, find common perspectives and build working professional relationships. And we are to be evaluated on it. When one's performance is linked not only by one's own abilities or effort, but by those who are around us, where groups and teams are made and broken every day to suit the occasion, evaluation is done of one's character.
Maths was never easy, but was easier. Putting X and Y in their rightful places might be difficult but at least they never had any opinions of their own. They never feel bad if you misplace them somewhere. Not so with people. Motors and computers might have complex mechanics and need deft technical understanding but at least they have a reset option. Or at least a power button. You could even give them a good old kick when no-one was watching. Not so with a group of guys and girls sitting together trying to piece out a report. Ones and zeroes might have their own complicated routes through high tech nano chips. But at least they never have mood swings.
Challenging, exhilarating even, but hard work. After almost two decades of trying to follow the golden rules of "listen in class, go home and study", it's not easy when you actually have to converse in class, when study is more about what life has taught you and less about the text book provided. We are not used to being dependant on others for our advancement (copying from thy neighbour in exams doesn't count!). All of a sudden it matters how nice a person we are, how patient, how adaptable we are. Understanding is no longer about some theory some genius made years ago; it's about where and how you stand right now. And all this has never been expected of us before. With no idea how and on what standards evaluation is done to start with, it's like fishing in the dark.
But we learn a lot. Learn, not study. The beautiful thing about understanding other human beings is that you end up learning a lot about yourself. When parts of the brain that have become vestigial for so long like imagination and foresight have to be dusted and used every day, you end up developing as a person. And it was about time that all important brain chip called memory that we have tortured for so long got some rest. When your judgements are vindicated, when your fallacies are highlighted, you end up adapting. By choice or subconsciously. To compete one hour and compromise the next, and yet go back home as good friends is indeed a challenge. More so for some than for others. To be liked by all, or loved by some, to like them all, or hate a few, management is like having to skip ones way through poodles of human emotions without getting your shoes wet. Be it teachers or your peers.
But of course, just to remind us this world isn't perfect, there is a splattering of theory papers, of copy from book, paste to brain subjects so that our poor memory chip doesn't feel left behind. And examinations, in the end come down to what you have in you, nobody else matters. But on the whole it is a good feeling. A tired brain, but a satisfied one. And the system can have its share of credit.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Get a life people….
A Madrasan wrote this-
http://bit.ly/nZv0M5
Then a Delhi boy in reply wrote this -
http://bit.ly/r7fRHx
Then we have another madrasan (i think) joinin in....
http://bit.ly/r3phW4
and another delhi boy... http://bit.ly/p9Ynho
Its open letter season and I wouldn't want to be left behind...
Dear all of India, or let's say the rest of the world too (if you can point out India on a map, you are included),
The Madrasan made me laugh. There has always been something about acrid humor than attracted me. I thought it was a joke. Suitably exaggerated, suitably sarcastic, suitably insulting to not be taken seriously. It did not matter if I agreed with her or not. But a few good blogs and a million tweets and posts later, the joke seems to be lost. So I feel entitled to make an opinion and I go ahead and read it once more. And yes, it's no longer so funny. And so now when the humor has dried off by the laws of diminishing returns (bless my MBA), the post seems vile, biased, racist, insensitive and what not. But what exactly was the point here.
Now, before I put myself on the pedestal here and berate us Indians for not being able to take a joke or laugh at ourselves, I have just realized we have common cause for unity here. We Indians, be it from the north, the south, or the top of the Vindhyas, we seem to genuinely take offence at every opportunity provided. Maybe it's just part of some grand master plan by our great leaders (the dead ones) to keep our great nation united or just genetic change brought out by ages of oppression or climate change or whatever, but we really need to see the lighter side of life.
So when I now read a brilliantly written article disagreeing with every alternate sentence of a hilariously written article, I fail to see the point. Wasn't it kind of obvious that being politically correct was not exactly the intention here? Can not a few insensitive comments be taken in the right spirit and laughed at and forgotten. It seemed pretty easy to me. Does that make me any less of a patriot or a family man? Does that make me a racist too? Now why would I ask myself that question? I would just turn the page and enjoy the smile while it lasts.
So the Madrasan is in Delhi, the Delhi boy is vegetarian and the Mad Momma is cute. Other than a whole lot of humor and some excellent writing that has my poor non-journalist pen burning in jealousy, I really did not find a lot of data to base an opinion on. So would it be presumptuous to assume that these are not meant to form opinion. So before someone calls it a battle cry for all south Indians to go up in arms against their racist northern neighbors or before the north Indians decide to man their battleships expecting imminent attack, let's just take a break. Excellent pieces of writing on a trivial issue as the north-south divide (don't fool yourself, it's not even raised during elections) are only so much. Good creative writing. Everybody has their own beliefs and opinions. It's hard enough to confirm to one's own opinions while writing, leave alone everybody else.
Laugh and tweet and like and post and live, why judge?
One more Indian in cyberspace....
Monday, May 2, 2011
As Osama sleeps....
So Osama is dead. I'll miss him. More than I'll miss the Sai Baba.
After all he is the most wanted guy in the world ever, wanted by the greatest power in the world. Didn't they just run over Afghanistan for him. While he has all this time been living a luxurious life in the heart of Pakistan. Hope he had sattelite TV. Can imagine a few old men sipping their black tea and having a good laugh over the latest BBC reports. Must have been one hell of a ego trip.
First the postmortem. I wonder what actually happened. Was the American intelligence actually good enough to capture him from under Pakistani noses. Or maybe the Pakistanis in the end ratted him out for a few extra billions to use against India. Or maybe he just got old and bored and decieded to go out with a bang before the Gaddafis took his throne. We will never know. Or maybe we will. With wikileaks we never know.
For me, it was completely unexpected. Had seen more chances of his beard catching fire than the Americans getting to him. But there is a sense of relief. A hope that the Americans having burnt the house to catch the rat will now stop messing up our neighbourhood. But is it really over. I doubt it.
In whose name will stories be told, posters printed or comments posted? In the name of the victor or the old man shot dead. When two bad guys fight each other, human nature will support the weaker, wont we? Will Osama end up a symbol of all the hatred the Americans have painstakingly collected over the years. Fertile breeding grounds for terrorists have been sown by the Americans themselves. Will a dead Osama be just the fertilizer they need to grow.
He was a terrorist, an evil person. But being so evil, he has brought out the evil in the rest of the world. When in todays world, humanity and freedom and the common man is ranked way below national security and strategic depth or even ideology, it's tempting to find him no worse than many others. It's a dangerous feeling, one that breeds violence.
Its difficult to believe that bullet in his head has just made the world a better place. Damage he has done is too permanent for that. Too much innocent blood has been shed, both by him and by those fighting him already. All I can think of is hope.
Some bad people just don't go to hell, they make wherever they go a hell.
Posted from WordPress for Android
After all he is the most wanted guy in the world ever, wanted by the greatest power in the world. Didn't they just run over Afghanistan for him. While he has all this time been living a luxurious life in the heart of Pakistan. Hope he had sattelite TV. Can imagine a few old men sipping their black tea and having a good laugh over the latest BBC reports. Must have been one hell of a ego trip.
First the postmortem. I wonder what actually happened. Was the American intelligence actually good enough to capture him from under Pakistani noses. Or maybe the Pakistanis in the end ratted him out for a few extra billions to use against India. Or maybe he just got old and bored and decieded to go out with a bang before the Gaddafis took his throne. We will never know. Or maybe we will. With wikileaks we never know.
For me, it was completely unexpected. Had seen more chances of his beard catching fire than the Americans getting to him. But there is a sense of relief. A hope that the Americans having burnt the house to catch the rat will now stop messing up our neighbourhood. But is it really over. I doubt it.
In whose name will stories be told, posters printed or comments posted? In the name of the victor or the old man shot dead. When two bad guys fight each other, human nature will support the weaker, wont we? Will Osama end up a symbol of all the hatred the Americans have painstakingly collected over the years. Fertile breeding grounds for terrorists have been sown by the Americans themselves. Will a dead Osama be just the fertilizer they need to grow.
He was a terrorist, an evil person. But being so evil, he has brought out the evil in the rest of the world. When in todays world, humanity and freedom and the common man is ranked way below national security and strategic depth or even ideology, it's tempting to find him no worse than many others. It's a dangerous feeling, one that breeds violence.
Its difficult to believe that bullet in his head has just made the world a better place. Damage he has done is too permanent for that. Too much innocent blood has been shed, both by him and by those fighting him already. All I can think of is hope.
Some bad people just don't go to hell, they make wherever they go a hell.
Posted from WordPress for Android
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Ten important lessons for wannabe commentators in IPL.
Ten important lessons for wannabe commentators in IPL.
1. Any batsman who comes out to bat has excellent potential when he comes out to bat and is in form when he hits his first boundary.
2. If you were born in Australia you can hit the ball a long way, unless your name is Doug Bollinger.
3. If you dive and half stop the ball, it's bad fielding. If you let it go, it's a good shot.
4. If you can run two, you are quick between the wickets, even if you are VVS Laxman.
5. Ultra Slowmotion Cameras are the greatest invention in cricket after round balls.
6. If the batsman misses the ball its either a slower ball or a quicker delivery depending on where the keeper gathers it.
7. There are always big hitters to come in the pavilion.
8. Any new player coming into the team lends balance to the side, evening if he is only there because someone else has the loosies.
9. The same ball used in 50 over cricket ages faster and becomes an old ball in ten overs.
10. During a rain delay, it's a wonderful surprise than the crowd waits patiently after paying all that money to be there.
These basic laws and the ability to read the numbers at the bottom of the screen are about all you need to be a successful IPL commentator. The ability to keep a straight face to Sidhu's jokes is an added bonus.
So go on. There is a rich and successful career waiting for you.
Posted from WordPress for Android
1. Any batsman who comes out to bat has excellent potential when he comes out to bat and is in form when he hits his first boundary.
2. If you were born in Australia you can hit the ball a long way, unless your name is Doug Bollinger.
3. If you dive and half stop the ball, it's bad fielding. If you let it go, it's a good shot.
4. If you can run two, you are quick between the wickets, even if you are VVS Laxman.
5. Ultra Slowmotion Cameras are the greatest invention in cricket after round balls.
6. If the batsman misses the ball its either a slower ball or a quicker delivery depending on where the keeper gathers it.
7. There are always big hitters to come in the pavilion.
8. Any new player coming into the team lends balance to the side, evening if he is only there because someone else has the loosies.
9. The same ball used in 50 over cricket ages faster and becomes an old ball in ten overs.
10. During a rain delay, it's a wonderful surprise than the crowd waits patiently after paying all that money to be there.
These basic laws and the ability to read the numbers at the bottom of the screen are about all you need to be a successful IPL commentator. The ability to keep a straight face to Sidhu's jokes is an added bonus.
So go on. There is a rich and successful career waiting for you.
Posted from WordPress for Android
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
An emotional Indian....
This IPL. is breaking my heart. Entertaining it might be but it just doesn't seem right.
How happy we were ten days back. On top of the world. India seemed one big family. Everyone was rejoicing together, crying in joy together, worshipping the team together. So touching it was to see Yuvraj crying in Kohli's arms, Harbhajan weeping in joy, Pathan carrying Sachin on his shoulders. The whole team was one, and we were one with them. We could feel the unity, the love and respect they had for each other, it went straight to our heart. A blessed moment.
And now, ten days later, its nowhere to be seen.
Sachin takes on Sehwag, Dhoni takes on Gambhir, three days after we became one, we have been divided by ten. Dhoni and Gambhir, they had spent an hour or more scripting a historical partnership, without one there was no other that day. They barely seemed to recognize each other three days later. Sachin and Sehwag didn't come out for the toss like two who had together done so much for so long,. Sachin was your idol wasn't he, Sehwag? Has a new team and a few crores changed that? Maybe not but it did not show.
Yes they are professionals. The game has to be played with hundred percent commitment, be it a club game. But the World Cup was not just a game was it? If it was, then why were you all in tears, why were we all in tears? What changed in three days?
Maybe the cameras never caught it. Maybe Zaheer did stop for a second and bow to the great man while running up to bowl to him, maybe Dhoni and Gambhir did for a second look at each other and their eyes must have welled up again. When Kohli hit a four, Bhajji must have had that smile of a proud elder brother. Behind the glitz and the glamour, how could they not remember. That they were a family, they were part of half a billion families all over India. It must all be the fault of those money chasing CEOs.
But why make us see you like this? Why let this 20-20 dogfight take away our moments of glory? Why couldn't we just savour it till we can savour it no more? I am an emotional Indian. I don't like this IPL circus.
How happy we were ten days back. On top of the world. India seemed one big family. Everyone was rejoicing together, crying in joy together, worshipping the team together. So touching it was to see Yuvraj crying in Kohli's arms, Harbhajan weeping in joy, Pathan carrying Sachin on his shoulders. The whole team was one, and we were one with them. We could feel the unity, the love and respect they had for each other, it went straight to our heart. A blessed moment.
And now, ten days later, its nowhere to be seen.
Sachin takes on Sehwag, Dhoni takes on Gambhir, three days after we became one, we have been divided by ten. Dhoni and Gambhir, they had spent an hour or more scripting a historical partnership, without one there was no other that day. They barely seemed to recognize each other three days later. Sachin and Sehwag didn't come out for the toss like two who had together done so much for so long,. Sachin was your idol wasn't he, Sehwag? Has a new team and a few crores changed that? Maybe not but it did not show.
Yes they are professionals. The game has to be played with hundred percent commitment, be it a club game. But the World Cup was not just a game was it? If it was, then why were you all in tears, why were we all in tears? What changed in three days?
Maybe the cameras never caught it. Maybe Zaheer did stop for a second and bow to the great man while running up to bowl to him, maybe Dhoni and Gambhir did for a second look at each other and their eyes must have welled up again. When Kohli hit a four, Bhajji must have had that smile of a proud elder brother. Behind the glitz and the glamour, how could they not remember. That they were a family, they were part of half a billion families all over India. It must all be the fault of those money chasing CEOs.
But why make us see you like this? Why let this 20-20 dogfight take away our moments of glory? Why couldn't we just savour it till we can savour it no more? I am an emotional Indian. I don't like this IPL circus.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
What are we?
It is a funny India these days. An old-fashioned old man fighting against corruption is the most happening person in cyberspace. Some foreign author has suggested that the father of our nation is gay and he might still have a wonderful Bharat darshan if he choses to come over. One day we celebrate our national team winning the world cup and the next day we cheer them fighting each other in the Ipl. Every politician seems corrupt but we really don't care.
Everyday seems to bring a new story. In a different sphere everyday we seem to be either making a fool of ourselves or gathering the praise of the entire world. Well, when more than 60% of 1.2million is below thirty, we shouldn't be expecting too much maturity should we. And when every single move you make can be retweeted by thousands and shared by hundreds, our mistakes rarely remain hidden.
We are a confused lot. We have understood that the western way is not as perfect as it seems, that our age old culture has complexes and narrow minded traditions we have to break free from, but we haven't found that middle path yet. We are just learning from trial and error. We are the generation in transition.
Will we be able to solve all those contradictions? We dream of our ideal partner as a traditional innocent girl and at the same time make Poonam Pandey the most searched name on the net. We have no hesitation paying the cop a few rupees to get home early but will stay awake all night in an anti corruption rally. Does freedom of expression override respect for elders? So many such questions. Who will answer them?
We seems to be in leaderless times. Entire revolutions seem to be taking place without any leadership of note. Maybe that's why everyone is running to social networking sites for opinions, for inspiration. And we seem to be doing pretty well other than a few incidents where we get collectively carried away. A little more maturity and we will be fine.
Everyday seems to bring a new story. In a different sphere everyday we seem to be either making a fool of ourselves or gathering the praise of the entire world. Well, when more than 60% of 1.2million is below thirty, we shouldn't be expecting too much maturity should we. And when every single move you make can be retweeted by thousands and shared by hundreds, our mistakes rarely remain hidden.
We are a confused lot. We have understood that the western way is not as perfect as it seems, that our age old culture has complexes and narrow minded traditions we have to break free from, but we haven't found that middle path yet. We are just learning from trial and error. We are the generation in transition.
Will we be able to solve all those contradictions? We dream of our ideal partner as a traditional innocent girl and at the same time make Poonam Pandey the most searched name on the net. We have no hesitation paying the cop a few rupees to get home early but will stay awake all night in an anti corruption rally. Does freedom of expression override respect for elders? So many such questions. Who will answer them?
We seems to be in leaderless times. Entire revolutions seem to be taking place without any leadership of note. Maybe that's why everyone is running to social networking sites for opinions, for inspiration. And we seem to be doing pretty well other than a few incidents where we get collectively carried away. A little more maturity and we will be fine.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Not saying anything new... but saying it none-the-less....
I don't remember how I started watching cricket. I do remember that I didn't start watching it because I was Indian, I became an Indian watching cricket. Before GDP or LOC made sense, cricket was where a national identity was formed. India used to be that team in blue, fighting other countries with bat and ball. And an Indian was Sachin Tendulkar. Twenty something years later, still is.
The rest of the team reminded us of what the history of our country taught us, of great abilities and heroic deeds, but never consistent enough, never great enough to be held in awe by the rest of the world. Easily trodden upon by those stronger, those better than us. Good enough to win the occasional battle but never enough to win the war. A team much lesser than the sum of its parts. but Sachin was different. Sachin was the one dominating all those trying to bring him down, blessed with immense ability, giving his everything to the cause. And he was successful, rich, respected and aroused passions like no-one else could. He epitomized what every little man wanted to grow up and become. The ideal Indian. He was someone the whole world feared. Even his enemies respected him and made way for him.
For a whole decade growing up, the cricket team consisted of one man trying to outperform himself to compensate for the inabilities of his team-mates. While India was getting to grips with competition in all fields of life, Sachin reminded us of the possibilities within us. While the team's failures, even with Sachin performing or whenever he fails reminding us that we still have a long way to go as a unit on the field, as a country as a whole. Sachin represented what we can achieve. he also reminded us of how less we had achieved. His dedication, his willingness to toil hard for that little bit extra showing up the rest of us. India lost more than it won, as it has done all throughout history. but Sachin gave us hope. Those brilliant innings at Sharjah, where he single-handedly walloped the Australians, gave us our first glimpses of the power of the Indian. Our first example that we could also be the best in the world. If he could, so could others out of a billion.
I had reached my teens. and so had millions of other Indians. The confidence that Sachin gave the nation began to rub on to others. The team started getting better. Confident, strong individuals with talent began to play alongside him. the Gangulys and the Dravids came and began showing the world that others could also do what the great man can, even though not as good as him. We gave as good as we got. The world had begun to take note of our nation both on the cricket pitch and outside. India as a nation was making its voice heard in all spheres of life. Hope was starting to give way to confidence. While the great man just kept on performing. Getting better and better with every challenge faced. unruffled by the God like adulation he receives, teaching us lesson after lesson of greatness.
Lessons that millions of young men and women were learning and practicing in various spheres of life. India had grown into a strong wiled adult that could stand shoulder to shoulder with the world. Soon the team began filling up of young men who had revered Sachin as kids. Indians who believed that anything was possible and had the confidence to go out and fight for what they believed in. Confidence in which Sachin played no small part. Cocky aggressive young men with loads of talent like Zaheer and Yuvraj had arrived while the Dravids and Gangulys had matured. We could now be called world beaters, though greatness was still reserved for one man. By now sachin had made almost every individual record his own, and individually had nothing left to prove. But the lack of team glory was glaring in its absense, He was reaching the end of his glorious reign, and for a man who had always given his all for the team, it almost seemed to suffocate him.
Finally the tide has turned. More brilliant young cricketers have come in replacing the old. Only Sachin remains from the generation past. Some were not even born when sachin started playing. But the will of the man to persevere has reaped its just rewards. Sachin has been playing for the team for twenty two years. Now the team plays for Sachin. And they have given him the greatest gift the man has ever wanted, the greatest gift that an entire nation has prayed for Sachin to get. the World Cup, the pinnacle of cricketing glory is now Sachin's. It seems we, as a nation, has at last shredded away the chains of a docile past and are racing into a dominating future.
Tomorrow when India emerges victorious in battles other than cricket, as is our wont these days, let us not forget the contribution of Sachin Tendulkar. Let us not just see him as a cricketing icon, but the man who shaped an entire generation. And all that by hitting a leather ball with a wooden bat. Respect.
The rest of the team reminded us of what the history of our country taught us, of great abilities and heroic deeds, but never consistent enough, never great enough to be held in awe by the rest of the world. Easily trodden upon by those stronger, those better than us. Good enough to win the occasional battle but never enough to win the war. A team much lesser than the sum of its parts. but Sachin was different. Sachin was the one dominating all those trying to bring him down, blessed with immense ability, giving his everything to the cause. And he was successful, rich, respected and aroused passions like no-one else could. He epitomized what every little man wanted to grow up and become. The ideal Indian. He was someone the whole world feared. Even his enemies respected him and made way for him.
For a whole decade growing up, the cricket team consisted of one man trying to outperform himself to compensate for the inabilities of his team-mates. While India was getting to grips with competition in all fields of life, Sachin reminded us of the possibilities within us. While the team's failures, even with Sachin performing or whenever he fails reminding us that we still have a long way to go as a unit on the field, as a country as a whole. Sachin represented what we can achieve. he also reminded us of how less we had achieved. His dedication, his willingness to toil hard for that little bit extra showing up the rest of us. India lost more than it won, as it has done all throughout history. but Sachin gave us hope. Those brilliant innings at Sharjah, where he single-handedly walloped the Australians, gave us our first glimpses of the power of the Indian. Our first example that we could also be the best in the world. If he could, so could others out of a billion.
I had reached my teens. and so had millions of other Indians. The confidence that Sachin gave the nation began to rub on to others. The team started getting better. Confident, strong individuals with talent began to play alongside him. the Gangulys and the Dravids came and began showing the world that others could also do what the great man can, even though not as good as him. We gave as good as we got. The world had begun to take note of our nation both on the cricket pitch and outside. India as a nation was making its voice heard in all spheres of life. Hope was starting to give way to confidence. While the great man just kept on performing. Getting better and better with every challenge faced. unruffled by the God like adulation he receives, teaching us lesson after lesson of greatness.
Lessons that millions of young men and women were learning and practicing in various spheres of life. India had grown into a strong wiled adult that could stand shoulder to shoulder with the world. Soon the team began filling up of young men who had revered Sachin as kids. Indians who believed that anything was possible and had the confidence to go out and fight for what they believed in. Confidence in which Sachin played no small part. Cocky aggressive young men with loads of talent like Zaheer and Yuvraj had arrived while the Dravids and Gangulys had matured. We could now be called world beaters, though greatness was still reserved for one man. By now sachin had made almost every individual record his own, and individually had nothing left to prove. But the lack of team glory was glaring in its absense, He was reaching the end of his glorious reign, and for a man who had always given his all for the team, it almost seemed to suffocate him.
Finally the tide has turned. More brilliant young cricketers have come in replacing the old. Only Sachin remains from the generation past. Some were not even born when sachin started playing. But the will of the man to persevere has reaped its just rewards. Sachin has been playing for the team for twenty two years. Now the team plays for Sachin. And they have given him the greatest gift the man has ever wanted, the greatest gift that an entire nation has prayed for Sachin to get. the World Cup, the pinnacle of cricketing glory is now Sachin's. It seems we, as a nation, has at last shredded away the chains of a docile past and are racing into a dominating future.
Tomorrow when India emerges victorious in battles other than cricket, as is our wont these days, let us not forget the contribution of Sachin Tendulkar. Let us not just see him as a cricketing icon, but the man who shaped an entire generation. And all that by hitting a leather ball with a wooden bat. Respect.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Let Cricket be Cricket....
Why did our honorable ( a little dishonored these days) prime-minister have to invite his Pakistani counterpart over for the semi-final? Why couldn't he, like the rest of our country forget work, forget everything else and just watch the match? Why dilute what is easily the most significant sporting feat in the subcontinent ever with another round of diplomatic pyrotechnics?
Lets face it. Pakistan is the enemy and has always been. Its nice to say that we want Pakistan to grow into a successful, friendly nation but what we would all rather have is them dissapearing off the face of the earth. Born and brought up hearing about how our neighbour is plotting our destruction, its only fair we would love to beat the hell out of them, albeit non-violently, on the cricket pitch. It is war tomorrow, a passionate, all or nothing war at Mohali and we do not need sermons on peace and brotherhood to dilute our spirits. Diplomacy can wait for another day. Not that it has been too successful anyway.
What exactly will the bosses of the two nations achieve by watching Akthar racing in to bowl at Sachin? Will the sportsmanship shown on the pitch transfer itself to foriegn policy? Will the pakistanis suddenly find that their policy of war by a thousand cuts is not working anymore? By trying to shift the limelight from the batsmen and the bowlers to foreign affairs and regional peace, what exactly do our policy makers intend to achieve?
Open questions to an opaque government.
Many will argue that there are more pressing matters than cricket in the world. But when its peaceful gladiators representing billions on each side fighting it out for the greatest prize in the game, a game followed with religious fervor in both countries, nothing can be more important than a victory. A loss is not acceptable, unimaginable to some, revolting to others. The sheer ecstasy, as an Indian of watching Sehwag whacking Gul over his head, of Sachin getting that hundredth hundred, of Yuvraj hitting those sixes is going to lift an entire nation for years to come. Failure could have us drooping our shoulders for just as long.
The players go out there with the pride, the passion, the hopes of a nation on their shoulders. Nobody needs the politics, the politicians to mar this battle. Let the war be fought on the cricket field tomorrow. Let it be won or lost by the eleven on the field.
Lets face it. Pakistan is the enemy and has always been. Its nice to say that we want Pakistan to grow into a successful, friendly nation but what we would all rather have is them dissapearing off the face of the earth. Born and brought up hearing about how our neighbour is plotting our destruction, its only fair we would love to beat the hell out of them, albeit non-violently, on the cricket pitch. It is war tomorrow, a passionate, all or nothing war at Mohali and we do not need sermons on peace and brotherhood to dilute our spirits. Diplomacy can wait for another day. Not that it has been too successful anyway.
What exactly will the bosses of the two nations achieve by watching Akthar racing in to bowl at Sachin? Will the sportsmanship shown on the pitch transfer itself to foriegn policy? Will the pakistanis suddenly find that their policy of war by a thousand cuts is not working anymore? By trying to shift the limelight from the batsmen and the bowlers to foreign affairs and regional peace, what exactly do our policy makers intend to achieve?
Open questions to an opaque government.
Many will argue that there are more pressing matters than cricket in the world. But when its peaceful gladiators representing billions on each side fighting it out for the greatest prize in the game, a game followed with religious fervor in both countries, nothing can be more important than a victory. A loss is not acceptable, unimaginable to some, revolting to others. The sheer ecstasy, as an Indian of watching Sehwag whacking Gul over his head, of Sachin getting that hundredth hundred, of Yuvraj hitting those sixes is going to lift an entire nation for years to come. Failure could have us drooping our shoulders for just as long.
The players go out there with the pride, the passion, the hopes of a nation on their shoulders. Nobody needs the politics, the politicians to mar this battle. Let the war be fought on the cricket field tomorrow. Let it be won or lost by the eleven on the field.
Monday, March 14, 2011
when thirty-five thousand became one....
Everyone keeps asking 'why go to the stadium to watch a game when you can see it comfortably on the couch at home?' I found my answer when i went for the India vs. Ireland game at the Chinnaswami stadium in Bangalore.
.
we go to the stadium not to watch the game but to live the game.
The anticipation builds up days before and reaches a crescendo on the day. Wake up in the morning and nothing else seems to matter. We get our jerseys ready, our faces painted, chart paper in hand for that inspiring banner, all ready for a day of screaming, shouting and all round merrymaking..
We reach the stadium with three hours still to go for the game. Thousands of impatient spectators throng about in and around the stadium in bright colors with even brighter flags and scarves, waiting for the game to begin. That's when we got our first experience of the purely Indian phenomenon of being camera crazy. Normal people, the kind who would normally be self conscious of even sneezing in public lose all their inhibitions and are all of a sudden in a mad race to outdo each other in their antics as soon as a TV camera faces them. We were no different and when a news channel came around to interview us, we were on top of the world. It was an entertainment program for fans and boy! did we give them some entertainment. After ten minutes of shouting and dancing and singing and all around tomfoolery for the camera, we could barely believe it ourselves that we were capable of such mayhem. Such is the magnetic effect of coming on TV.
Once in the stadium, the magnificence of the ground is breathtaking. No high definition viewing on the costliest of television screens can do justice to the magic of watching the game from the stadium as it happens. The electric atmosphere, the lush green outfield, the blaring music, the static energy of anticipation that the stadium is full of can never be converted to electrical signals and reproduced at home. And the game had not yet begun.
When the Indian team came out onto the field for warming up, the reverence, the adulation that we Indians have for our cricketers was in full sight. But the greatest ovation was of course reserved for the little master as the whole stadium erupted as one when Sachin came on to the field. Its an unbelievable feeling, a humbling experience to see tens and thousands alongside you, people from all walks of life become one and scream out their adulation for the great man. That day, we had no enemies, no problems, no career, no girlfriends, only a God like reverence for the man we had grown up idolizing.
Soon Dhoni won the toss and chose to field first, disappointing everyone in the stadium hoping to see the great man lead our much vaulted batting lineup. But all that was put aside as again thirty-five thousand proud Indians stood up and sang our national anthem. The patriotism, the simple joy of being Indian that welled up inside me cannot be put into words. I call upon all those detractors who have been writing off our great nation to stand in the middle of that ground and listen as we show what it means to be Indian, as we let the world know how proud we are of our identity. Listen, as thirty-five thousand tell you the power of a billion.
As the game started and the Indians came on to field, the masses had settled. Every wicket was cheered, every near miss conjured up a sigh and Sachin just had to move an inch for the stadium to erupt. To have thousands of people, all happy at the same time, sad at the same time, each one putting in their emotion to make the stadium one huge melting pot of fervor. Sociologists have theorized that after a certain critical mass is achieved, a group of people show the character of a single individual. Especially when the whole congregation is together for the same cause, supporting the same team. That day the Chinnaswami was like one huge beast.
Nothing illustrates this better than the Mexican wave. When people rise up in perfect unison, each co-ordinated only by the one next to him, it is an awesome sight to behold. But for every successful wave there are two or three failed attempts. Just as people show collective bliss or collective disappointment, they show collective ego too. Some waves die off as people refuse to give others the satisfaction of starting it. Such actions are never forgotten and favors are returned as groups of strangers bond together to spar like schoolchildren.
India had put in a decent performance on the field and it was time for Sehwag and Sachin to shine. Sachin’s every move was cheered, even singles looked majestic but the famous Indian batting lineup failed to rise to the expectations of the cricket crazy spectator. By the time Sachin got out to a deafening silence, we were all emotionally drained. Sporadic bursts of shouting from those with exuberance remaining and periodic Mexican waves kept us going until Pathan came in for one last burst of energy to wrap up the match.
The match was over. The day had ended and indelible memories had been formed. It was that day that I truly grasped the meaning of a sporting spectacle. The emotional ride that comes with it. The highs and lows of competitive sport is never complete without the fervor of the fans, of millions united as one to cheer their team on. Of frenzied adulation and somber depression.
For me it will always be the day I saw thirty-five thousand become one.
.
we go to the stadium not to watch the game but to live the game.
The anticipation builds up days before and reaches a crescendo on the day. Wake up in the morning and nothing else seems to matter. We get our jerseys ready, our faces painted, chart paper in hand for that inspiring banner, all ready for a day of screaming, shouting and all round merrymaking..
We reach the stadium with three hours still to go for the game. Thousands of impatient spectators throng about in and around the stadium in bright colors with even brighter flags and scarves, waiting for the game to begin. That's when we got our first experience of the purely Indian phenomenon of being camera crazy. Normal people, the kind who would normally be self conscious of even sneezing in public lose all their inhibitions and are all of a sudden in a mad race to outdo each other in their antics as soon as a TV camera faces them. We were no different and when a news channel came around to interview us, we were on top of the world. It was an entertainment program for fans and boy! did we give them some entertainment. After ten minutes of shouting and dancing and singing and all around tomfoolery for the camera, we could barely believe it ourselves that we were capable of such mayhem. Such is the magnetic effect of coming on TV.
Once in the stadium, the magnificence of the ground is breathtaking. No high definition viewing on the costliest of television screens can do justice to the magic of watching the game from the stadium as it happens. The electric atmosphere, the lush green outfield, the blaring music, the static energy of anticipation that the stadium is full of can never be converted to electrical signals and reproduced at home. And the game had not yet begun.
When the Indian team came out onto the field for warming up, the reverence, the adulation that we Indians have for our cricketers was in full sight. But the greatest ovation was of course reserved for the little master as the whole stadium erupted as one when Sachin came on to the field. Its an unbelievable feeling, a humbling experience to see tens and thousands alongside you, people from all walks of life become one and scream out their adulation for the great man. That day, we had no enemies, no problems, no career, no girlfriends, only a God like reverence for the man we had grown up idolizing.
Soon Dhoni won the toss and chose to field first, disappointing everyone in the stadium hoping to see the great man lead our much vaulted batting lineup. But all that was put aside as again thirty-five thousand proud Indians stood up and sang our national anthem. The patriotism, the simple joy of being Indian that welled up inside me cannot be put into words. I call upon all those detractors who have been writing off our great nation to stand in the middle of that ground and listen as we show what it means to be Indian, as we let the world know how proud we are of our identity. Listen, as thirty-five thousand tell you the power of a billion.
As the game started and the Indians came on to field, the masses had settled. Every wicket was cheered, every near miss conjured up a sigh and Sachin just had to move an inch for the stadium to erupt. To have thousands of people, all happy at the same time, sad at the same time, each one putting in their emotion to make the stadium one huge melting pot of fervor. Sociologists have theorized that after a certain critical mass is achieved, a group of people show the character of a single individual. Especially when the whole congregation is together for the same cause, supporting the same team. That day the Chinnaswami was like one huge beast.
Nothing illustrates this better than the Mexican wave. When people rise up in perfect unison, each co-ordinated only by the one next to him, it is an awesome sight to behold. But for every successful wave there are two or three failed attempts. Just as people show collective bliss or collective disappointment, they show collective ego too. Some waves die off as people refuse to give others the satisfaction of starting it. Such actions are never forgotten and favors are returned as groups of strangers bond together to spar like schoolchildren.
India had put in a decent performance on the field and it was time for Sehwag and Sachin to shine. Sachin’s every move was cheered, even singles looked majestic but the famous Indian batting lineup failed to rise to the expectations of the cricket crazy spectator. By the time Sachin got out to a deafening silence, we were all emotionally drained. Sporadic bursts of shouting from those with exuberance remaining and periodic Mexican waves kept us going until Pathan came in for one last burst of energy to wrap up the match.
The match was over. The day had ended and indelible memories had been formed. It was that day that I truly grasped the meaning of a sporting spectacle. The emotional ride that comes with it. The highs and lows of competitive sport is never complete without the fervor of the fans, of millions united as one to cheer their team on. Of frenzied adulation and somber depression.
For me it will always be the day I saw thirty-five thousand become one.
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