It was the best of times....

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way”

Charles Dickens

Tale of Two Cities

Charles Dickens may be a century too old to be really relevant today but some things never change. The story of love between two cities. My story is somewhat the same, not in the violence and intrigue of the French Revolution but in the heartbreak and the joy, in the tensions and the anticipations. But the story can wait for another day. Let me just share with you one small but mesmerizing snippet.

We met in Delhi, doing our MBA together. Me, from the backwaters of Kerala; she, from the hills of Uttar Pradesh. Why and when I fell in love can barely be put in words, let me tell you all how I proposed. Here goes.

We had just arrived in Bangalore for our internships, a place where I grew up and the place I consider home base. All my good friends live there and we have been together a long time. I had been there for two days now and they were already fully briefed and very shocked that I had finally taken a girl seriously enough to put in any sort of effort. She was in Bangalore for the first time and had not yet met my friends. They were dying to meet her too.

It was Valentines Day in two days and I was worried about creating an impression. There is this amazingly beautiful hilltop called Skandagiri, a one hour ride from Bangalore and easily Bangalore’s best spot to watch the sun rise. On a beautiful day, one can see the sun rise up through the clouds forming a carpet below the hilltop. For some beautiful minutes, the clouds are no longer in the sky but form an endless ocean of white below our eye-level. We can see the sun pop out through these clouds as the sky slowly begins to light up in shades of orange and red. A sight worth the two hour trek in the dark through narrow steep paths needed to get there.

So we made a plan for my first real Valentines Day proposal. Our key USPs as we saw it was that Bangalore was a new experience for her. Also the fact that she does not recognize my friends would make the plan much easier to execute. I promised to take her to the most beautiful place in Bangalore to watch the sunrise. I told her that my friends would not be able to make it and would join us later. I did, in passing mention the 6km climb but didn’t really push the point. I did tell her to wear trekking shoes though. She never says no.

The day before was spent in shopping and putting the plan in place. All credit to my sweetheart girl friends who hand held me through the process of selecting the right weapons to take to this battle of life. Gifts and fancy items seem Greek and Latin to me.

It was a normal cold Bangalore night when I picked her up for the ride to Skandagiri. My friends had planned to leave a little after us and overtake our bike along the way. We did consider some light hearted banter when they crossed us to spice up the occasion but we decided on playing it safe unless we give the game away. It was a long cold but adrenalin filled ride in the cold, covered from head to toe in wool. Falling ill would really not do. When my friends passed us halfway through the ride without even a backward glance, I knew the plan would work.

We reached the base of the hill at around 3.30 AM and had two hours to get up the hill in time for sunrise. It is a steep and somewhat dangerous climb using flashlights but we were not the only ones there. The narrow pathways had numerous groups, gangs like my friends as well as couples like us. Almost two hours later, we were at the top, all tired and warmed up in the chilly air. Like so many others we were now waiting for sunrise with hot tea, steaming Maggi and my sometimes terrible jokes for company. She was pretty tired already. I was counting on her being tired so as not to recognize any of my friends by mistake from their photos. I felt she almost looked like a lamb going to slaughter. Not the best analogy I know.

While she was resting, I was texting and coordinating with my friends. The whole plan had to be set in motion as soon as the sun rises. It helped that we had been here numerous times and knew the place well.

Soon the sky started showing the first rays of light. It was indeed a beautiful day, one as beautiful as any I had seen. I led her to the most beautiful spot on the hill, one from where the clouds could be seen in three directions stretching out to the horizon. Rays of light were shining through from the east reflecting off the clouds in myriad shades of gold. She was already mesmerized and could not stop staring except for the odd photograph. I led her to another spot, a kind of secluded corner of the hill with just as good a view. Here there were huge concrete slabs, kept there like some modern day Stonehenge where groups could pose and click awesome pictures with the amazing sunrise as the background. In the middle was one huge flat slab, kind of like a table at the corner of the hill. I slowly led her to it, distracting her with the view and inane chit chat. On it was kept her Valentines Day presents, a small shining ring decorated with bouquets and chocolates and a small note with her name and three words on it. I had spent some real effort on the calligraphy. Taking her right next to it, I showed it to her and she was shocked. She literally started competing with the sun on who could be redder.

And the timing was perfect. The day had begun to shine bright as she checked out her surprise smiling and blushing like a kid. I was waiting for her to finish thinking “Damn, I love her” and “Wow, I actually managed to get this done”. As she came back to me giving me a long hug, with a huge grin and moist eyes, I knew it had all worked out.

But I was not done yet. I asked her to come with me and check out the place further. On every pole was painted a heart with her name in it and a rose stuck on it. I had some good artists among my friends. She once again was really impressed but this time she asked the right question.

“Who did all this?”

That was my cue to shout “Guys!!” and all my friends who were roaming about pretending to be nobody came bounding in. They were just as pleased as I was with the success of the whole plan. She really was floored and could barely utter a word when all my friends started congratulating and pestering her. She did manage to say “No more surprises please”.

It was an unforgettable day. She will vouch for it. Long lens cameras had ensured that every moment was captured for the future. We spent the rest of the day clicking photos and roaming around as she came to know my friends.

We did not speak much that day, but then we had decided we have our whole lives in front of us to do that.

And we knew that life would be so much less fun without some real good friends in it.


Written for Close-Up Cupid Games 2015
http://cupidgames.closeup.in/.

Life is a dump!

Waking up in the morning today, I was royally pissed off. I landed my feet directly on yesterday’s leftover pizza. Well not the pizza exactly, that was well digested by then, but the half empty ketchup sachets and plastic wraps. Irritated, I pick them up and throw them out of the back window cursing myself for not doing so last night when the neighbors were sleeping. But that’s okay. They had given up on me long ago.

In fact the dump behind my house is a mystery in itself. Other than the belief that gravity will bring down anything I throw it that general direction, I have no clue what or who is across the wall. But no more about the dump. The pizza has made me hungry. Breakfast involves shifting through a forest of empty, semi empty and non empty packets or cups of food and drinks. The oldest at the back (some have started decomposing and becoming a part of the fridge like those dead sailors in Pirates of the Caribbean) and the latest in the front. In my fridge it does not matter if the cup is half empty or half full, it only matters if it’s drinkable or not.

So I find some bread, cheese and some soft drinks that have become too soft with age and I am ready to get ready for office. As I have time, I thought I’ll clear the fridge a little. Looks pretty challenging. But I get it done and now I have my kitchen floor looking like a veritable dump. I am pretty sure the dump I was talking about would not be much different. Okay so I have to clear this now. I shove everything into some huge polythene covers and wonder where to put them. They are a little too big to throw out of the window. And I am absolutely positive I will not be carrying them anywhere near the designated garbage bins in our area. In fact I don’t believe anybody but cows and dogs use them anyway.

So I thought, let me just go down around and behind my flat and throw it over the wall from there. All that hard work and I've decided to anyway take a peep over the wall. How bad can it be? So I throw the bags over the wall and climb on a railing to take a peek.

And what do I see. There is an small colony of people living (living is really not the right word) in a narrow channel between two apartments. The walls hide them from whoever might evacuate them and they have built themselves small tents between mounds of garbage thrown from the apartments. No I was not the only one, it was a dump for half the people staying there. These people had to suffer litter thrown at them all times of day, their kids running around and playing in stuff animals would barely suffer.

And almost all the refuse there is plastic. They cannot even discreetly burn away the garbage without the apartments coming to know about it.

Do they have any choice? If they are noticed, they will be blamed for their lack of hygiene, as a health hazard to the rich and pampered throwers of waste over walls and will have nowhere to live. Those who have made the place dirty will never be held responsible, it will be those who try to string a miserable life together in the dump that shall be punished.

So much for the peep. While one part of me is relieved to be among the rich and pampered throwers of waste over walls, another part has just got a rude awakening. The dump had from being an unknown drop point for all the crap I generate had just turned up as a symbol for all the trials and travesties of human life.

I refuse to preach before I practice. I need a new place to dump my waste. 

Written for "The Great Indian Litterbug"
by Times Of India - http://greatindian.timesofindia.com/

Bring Back the Touch

Men have never understood women. Women have never doubted their understanding of men. A relationship more often than not feels like a luxury wagon, all bells and whistles, comfort and style, but driven by one horse and one ox. There never seems to be a common direction, a common speed or sometimes even a common purpose.

But within the confines of that wagon is a beautiful cocoon of love, one that may not have direction but has a common destination.  Love might make the world a more beautiful place, but within the confines of that wagon, it helps to paper over the little cracks, smother the rough edges and ensure that the journey continues.

When Mini came back from the US after two years, she was a worried woman. After three years of a whirlwind passionate romance and a year of the great Indian marriage party, the two years of a long distance romance had been difficult. Love was not supposed to be shackled by petty but very real differences of time zones and work timings and alcohol levels. She could not be sure that the beauty that love had held in her memories is still there or if she is coming home to a new reality of day to day life. Her life with Dhruv painted till date with an artist’s brush might now be redecorated by a wall-painter’s airbrush.

At the airport, the two of them had nothing to say, no rushing into the arms, no tears of joy, just a static of unsaid questions punctuated by formal salutations and baggage instructions. It was only when they reached the cab, sitting next to each other, swaying together with every turn that the old familiarity began to return. Sitting touching each other, the days and nights spent together as one, drowned in their own world of love came back in a flood of love. With her head on Dhruv’s shoulder, with his hand around her shoulders, y the time they reached home, they had never been apart. There was no yesterday for their love again, only a today and an endless tomorrow.

If an image is worth a thousand words, a touch is worth a thousand images. A hug is worth ten hours on Youtube. When love in a relationship is found in the words that remain unsaid, the images that remain stored in the mind and the touch that reaches deep into the heart, the relationship reaches a stage of purity, of an elegance that can transcend the ravages of time and habit.

#Bringbackthetouch written for http://www.pblskin.com/

Year End Review - 2013

As 2013 is finally over, it is time to review the best movies released this past year. As usual Politics and Sports dominated again. This year movies for the international audience were a bare minimum as the Indian audience concentrated on the domestic market.

Here is the list of the major blockbusters of 2013

The rise of the BJP

Starring: Narendra Modi, Rahul Gandhi, Manmohan Singh

The most talked about and watched movie of 2013 was about the rise of one man as the best PM candidate for India. A power-packed performance by Modi and a lack of performance from veteran actor MMS were the most talked about features. An excellent comedy performance by Digvijay Singh also had the audience in raptures.

Overall: 4/5

The Legend

Starring: Sachin Tendulkar

A tremendous performance by the evergreen superstar made this movie bring tears into the eyes of every Indian. Easily one of the classics for an entire generation, 2013 will be remembered for this movie. Even other stalwarts like Gavaskar and Dravid went unnoticed by the performance of India’s greatest entertainer. 

Overall:  5/5

AAP Jaisa Koi

Starring: Arvind Kejrival, Sheila Dikshit,

This low budget multiplex movie was the revelation of the year. The young audience entirely lapped up this new generation cinema. This David vs. Goliath movie had a simple story but surprised the audience with its excellent technical skills and innovative marketing. A special mention to Arnab Goswamy for a special comedy narrative that was the backbone of the movie.

Overall: 3.5/5

Mission Mars

Starring:

This mega budget Sci-Fi movie was at last released in 2013 after lots of delays and cost overruns. Shot in a grand scale, the technological brilliance of the movie ensured its success without any major star cast to speak about. Although it might not be able to recover its huge budget, it is worthy of a mention here.

Overall: 3.5/5

Candy Crush Saga

Starring:

This animation movie was a hit with both kids and adults alike. With simple but colorful graphics and an excellent soundtrack, it had people glued to the screen. This movie like most good animation movies will continue to be liked until the next good movie comes up.

Overall: 4/5

Young Guns Blazing

Starring: Virat Kohli, Rohit Sharma, MS Dhoni

This young and peppy sports film was an instant hit with the Indian masses. As upcoming actors took the stage, this entertainer won the hearts of many with its racy scenes and heart stopping action. Though definitely not a classic, it was an excellent one time watch. This movie also saw the end of veteran actors like Gambhir and Sehwag.

Overall 3/5

Chess Masters

Starring: Magnus Carlsen, Vishwanathan Anand

This slow paced movie made for a niche intellectual audience managed to get new viewers because of its thriller like suspense and commanding performances. Though the ending was not as most people expected, this movie proved that audiences still appreciate such performances.

Overall: 3.5/5

Digital Democracy...

Everyone says greatness can come from anywhere. But I am sure nobody imagined it coming from a cubicle in an IT company surrounded by 800 other such cubicles. That is my story of greatness, of almost greatness.

Everyone likes to dream. Not many like to work for it. So I hit upon the perfect plan, big dream with small work required.

I intended to join politics. The dream ended at Prime Minister but the plan ended at becoming an MLA. The strategy was simple, do what I am best at – fooling around with my laptop and my phone. All knowledge was on Google, time and a fast internet connection was given by my company (they even pay me for it).

First the research. I searched for the youngest and most metropolitan constituency in Bangalore. Found it. A random search on Google got me enough phone numbers to start off.

Then the content. Copy paste from a few election manifestos and from a few political bloggers and I am a visionary, the next big hope of India. Open Photoshop and I look like the next Rahul Gandhi. Soon I had a blog with my vision, my passion and my reaction waiting for a bit of interaction.

It was time for execution. No door to door campaigning for me. A nice peppy message on We-Chat announcing me as the next big thing with the right amount of smileys and a link to my blog and my campaign in underway. Somebody always forwards everything!

To be great, you can’t just rest after the start. Staring at the blog-counter on your blog cannot be counted as work. One has to persevere. So I put it on Facebook, on Twitter, on LinkedIn and even on Orkut. Why take a risk!

I might have lost my zeal had it not been for the comments and re-tweets I got. Most of them thought I was being funny or stupid but hey, nobody said I was being corrupt or dishonest. I was on the right track.  I followed up my initial post with a renewed appeal. To forward, mention or re-tweet my message to everyone who lives in my constituency. And people were responding. Well, my offer of 24/7 supply of Candy Crush lives might have helped a bit. But it is good marketing. Soon I had a group of people from my constituency genuinely interested in me. I think I got my first vote.

I read a few blogs on digital marketing and a few more on politics and I knew exactly what my constituents needed. They wanted engagement, a full time connect with their representative. Who better than me to give it. Me who feels naked if my mobile or tablet is not at my side.  So I started researching again, scanning Google for any issues in my constituency, trolling twitter for any topic my voters might have a connection with. From a Dominoes outlet which does not deliver on time to a monkey that steals fruits from little girls, I now knew all the problems. So I kept on posting them and messaging them, offering solutions. The solutions were ready made. When I have the whole world at my fingertips, there are not many problems whose solutions cannot be found. As more people became engaged, more and more joined in.

Now initiative can take you so far. The rest of it comes from investment. Now that I felt I had a realistic model, I began investing. And the opportunities for someone with a credit card (borrowed) on the web are limitless. I began promoting my posts on FB, mobile ads in Google, geo-fencing SMS’s and the whole gamut. I even began paying for my own PR. I was getting famous enough. People were discussing me and promoting me. I got myself a hashtag on Twitter, I had my own videos posted on YouTube, my presentations on SlideShare, began posting relevant images, a few search keywords on Google would even pull up my name.

But was all this enough?  Will people vote for me or was I just an entertainment package? I had to provide more value somehow. I came up with the idea of a mobile application just for the constituency. Where everyone can register, send their complaints, however small, upload images, and keep track of all money spent from public funds.

That worked. Everyone was impressed. My followership was growing. I was getting volunteers to spread my message. The local news and print media picked it up. Elections were round the corner and my name was being bandied around. And I had not yet left my desk in office. A few posters with my name started coming up. My blog was my election office, my FB page was my stage and my We-Chat was my mike. Without moving from my seat I was an integral part of the democratic process.

Some dreams can come true. Some couch potatoes can move towards greatness. Like me.

The year that was..... before it goes away....

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……

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.

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....

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.