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Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Another World Exists

My name is Anil Das. I was featured in the 22nd. December '08 edition of India Today. I however am no celebrity. I am neither a prodigy, nor a uber cool member of the GenZ that is poised to lead India to her epochal heights. I am not a pacifist, and I don't understand terms as esoteric as socialism and capitalism. I am, but a twelve year old worker in a dingy little working class dhaba in Bhowanipur, South Calcutta. I work overtime, often upto 17 hours unceasingly, in a lugubrious ambience, stirring endless pots of tea for the laborers of Calcutta's U-rail project. I have never known a school from inside. Likewise for kindness, warmth and love. Ever. Sometimes, my thoughts wander over to the bucolic settlement of my village at Midnapore, wherein my mother is slowly succumbing to her battles with her ailments and my siblings are desperately fighting starvation.


I'm very happy today. I have been rewarded. The tea stall owner came and promised me that he would give me Rs. 40 instead of the Rs. 25 that I make. I am happy. My eyes are shining as I vigorously stir the tea. Maybe, some day, if I work this hard, I'll set up my own dhaba. Maybe, some day, I'll be able to feed my siblings and treat my ailing mother. Thank you God, for helping me earn more money for my family....



Another World Exists!

Thursday, November 27, 2008

A conversation

The following is an actual conversation I had with a friend following the terror attacks. It gives an insight as to just how much we lie paralyzed within our own thought process. A classic example of the malaise afflicting us (mind you, this is not pointing fingers at any one person, but an exposition of the lacunae in our thought process).
Me: you guys ok?

Friend: fine buddy, how r ur folks in Mumbai?

Me: dad is ok, mum is in A'bad.

Friend: ok nice, seriously man, this city is growing from bad to worse.

Me: yeah, I know!

Friend: shootin in broad daylight is just the beginning.

Me: it’s just not the city…

Friend: security is f@#$ed up.

Me: it’s the whole nation…

Friend: yeah u r right.

Me: no, it’s not the security, it’s us

Friend: it is the whole nation.

Me: we are messed up.

Friend: y do u say dat......

Me: tell me something, why on earth would some security agency bother, when we ourselves are going to forget about this incident (as we have forgotten all the previous ones) in the next fortnight…

Friend: what can we possibly do to change the situation (This is exactly the thought that cripples us to submission); cmmon man, the incident of the 92 blast, the riots are still fresh in my mind...

Me: well, for a change, we can voluntarily bring the city to a standstill demanding from the Govt. our right to live, yes, the scene is still fresh in our minds, but what have we done about it; have we demanded an elaborate security measure, have we bothered to join hands with each and every mumbaikar, to give thumbs down to the Govt. for their ineptitude; no, we haven't, and so, we continue to get mowed down.

Friend: for dat, we have to gather people n stand together.....which probably will never happen (and since everybody believes that same thing, it never happens)

me: exactly, that thought process has already killed us, coz we believe that it won't happen but imagine, if all of us believed that it is possible…

Friend: I know it is possible......

Me: then, the situation does a volte face…

Friend: I need support I can’t do it alone (and so we wait, each for the other's support, whereas none arrive)

Me: no, you need to give support, all of us need to give support than just sit and twiddle our thumbs and wait for support to come...

Friend: hmmmmm…

To be quite honest, it’s not the government, or the fact that we are ‘common people’ that is lowering us into a morass of helplessness. It’s just that the current scenario calls upon us to relinquish the joys of our cushy ambience and take up the responsibility of holding the government accountable (After all, who would want to take up a crusade against the machinations of the state after a ‘hard day’s work'). Each one of us will need to devise our own modus operandi of contributing to each others’ safety. It’s about questioning, and if necessary, demanding transparency in matters of security. Why can’t we know precisely the roadmap that the govt. has undertaken in order to ensure that 26th. Nov. never repeats itself? (Revenues allocated to training, surveillance equipments, resources etc. Not the details, mind you, for that would be unraveling the information to thwart those plans). Why can’t I go to a park bench and enjoy a lazy evening without being perturbed by the thought that am I sitting under a nuclear warhead? It begs scrutiny, not of the government, but our own dilapidated psyche, which would do well, by recognizing that a little love, an iota of empathy, a tiny bit of quest for accountability would save us from sharing the fate of those 150 odd unfortunates, who were consumed in an inferno of spite, terror and worse of all – neglect.

A Wednesday

As a kid, Project IGI-I used to be my favorite computer game that had me hooked on to it for time immemorial. There were 15 stages to be cleared, with the last stage unsurprisingly proving to be the toughest. After one more of my innumerable failed attempts, a computer literate friend of mine introduced me to the world of cheatcodes. A quick application revealed that I could not only have unlimited power but also immobilize my enemy wherein I could pick them off at will while they would remain powerless to retaliate. Years have gone by, and while I cleared the last hurdle in my then-favorite-game (as a loyalist, I never applied the cheatcodes), the scenario has eerily come back to haunt us in real life. Bombay bleeds once again as its innocents are stripped off their right to live, while they remain defenseless, immobilized by some 'cheatcodes'.

As I write this, I realize that I have lost count of the precedents to the current mayhem dancing along Bombay's alleyways. However, if anything is more scary than the near-holocaust scenario in India's economic capital, it’s the disturbing knowledge that the greatest concern that would afflict the common man's psyche tomorrow would be whether Yuvraj would make it to the national test side or whether Lindsay Lohan would emerge a shade better than Britney from her rehab (depending on loyalties). Rajdeep Sardesai put matters in perspective when he enquired about the English cricket team departing (before suffering the ignominy of a possible whitewash) in the wake of the recent attacks. My, my! Imagine our plight. The whole of India has been robbed of the chance to watch Veeru pile on the misery on a few club side English bowlers on a Saturday morning. Now, isn't that a national tragedy?

The event brought some simple questions up for glaring scrutiny in my muddled thought process. Questions like, "Who is to blame for this?" Is it the terrorists? Oh come on! We are trying to be rational over here. Those chaps would be without a job (and 72 virgins if their training tales are to be believed) if they weren't spraying the streets with bullets. Is it the Government? That's an interesting one. 24 hours after the attack, the PM issued a 'strong condemnation' statement, adding for good measures, that the attacks were an event to 'destabilize the nation'. Excuse me Mr. Prime Minister! With due respect to your unending gold laden resume (that I still respect and admire), we are no yokels to interpret the sight of a police jeep filled with 'Deccan Mujahideens' mowing down innocent civilians as an endeavor to beseech the Nobel Peace Prize. What we would like to know is exactly what have you done to institute countermeasures against such barbaric acts? Your prime opposition, after having taken his usual potshots at your party, has appealed for communal harmony (imagine, of all people, him, talking about communal harmony). As if the whole diaspora was incomplete without the communal angle. What was sickening to note was their itinerary which granted Mumbai their blessed presence on a Friday, after the current engagements with the terrorists had reached their logical conclusion. It seems that Mr. Advani was scheduled to visit the city today itself, but opted to postpone the visit at the behest of the PM’s request (that, it gave him a perfect shield to stay away from an event that could remotely be of harm to his physical being was entirely a matter of inexplicable coincidence). But, unfortunately, even they aren't the answer. They are, well, politicians and no adjective would so succinctly sum up their inadequacies as their own profession.

So, who is to blame? I remain numb, searching in a vacuous sphere within me, until, in an impromptu seizure of horrifying clarity, the revelation hits me. It’s all of us who did not die in those blasts. It’s our collective nonchalance that wrote those cheatcodes that condemned the hundred odd (and the 500 odd before them in the last couple of months) to stay immobilized in the face of gun toting madmen. It is our refusal to share their plight that has boosted the confidence of those deranged fanatics to strike at will, knowing that we will remain spineless in the face of such dastardly provocations. They know, that tomorrow, "Mumbai will again be up on its feet (never mind that the world has been yanked off beneath those feet) and indulge in its daily routine of driving out Biharis/Assamese and all non Marathi-manoos whereas the rest of the country will laud its spirit". They know that no matter what, the common man will not rise above his rhetorical platitudes and coerce the powers-to-be to set up a dragnet that will effectively obliterate the very notion of an attack on its existence. They know that the average Indian, with all his excess of intellectual and moral refinement will once again fail to empathize with the loss of a fellow Indian who has lost a near and dear one. It’s because, the hundred odd who died in yesterday's attack (a mere blip in a city of millions) were not my husband/son/father/mother/brother/wife/daughter and so it’s ok to give lip service and get back to Ekta Kapoor's serials (or the erstwhile Splitsvilla - Ironic choice of names, isn't it?). And so they strike, merrily, almost carefree, without breaking a sweat, comforted by the knowledge of our insouciance.

It’s interesting to note that the divisive forces tearing away at the crux of our stability never seem to affect these 'loony tuned madmen'. I wonder, for a bunch of religious fanatics, how come they never seem to have problems with their faith? Or caste, creed, region? Ever heard of a terrorist being thrown out of Laskhar-E-..whatever because he was not a local from that region. How about reservations? 80% recruitment based on whether you are from a particular geography, caste or creed. Rest 20% on merit i.e. when they measure your viciousness against the U.S or its allies (sadly, India is bracketed in that category). It begs curiosity to imagine if they have a 'godmen' amongst them. No sir. No such nonsense amongst such 'backward people'. Single minded, dedicated, focused and ruthless they remain in their pursuit of 'avenging their brothers and sisters' whereas we relentlessly continue to desert ours.

A friend asked me, "But what can we do? We are after all common people". I ask, why we can’t declare in one voice, “We want our right to live restored? Why can't we force the government to establish a security force that will fight this war on terror, and make no mistake - It is a war, on equal terms. How is it that every time there is an attack, some group or the other claims responsibility (while others altruistically relinquish theirs – “hey, that wasn’t us, that was XYZ Mujahideens. We gotta get better and achieve more body counts next time in our endeavor”) but never once have any agency from our side claimed responsibility for thwarting an attempt to dismantle national peace? Yes, our beloved democracy would perhaps suffer, but isn't that an insignificant price to pay in exchange of being able to roam the streets without being paralyzed by the fear of being reduced to a severed arm and a limb and a mass of mangled flesh?

I hope, in this lifetime I get an answer, so that the question may not haunt my next generation. As I conclude, a small news trickles by - "Bollywood fears loss of revenues due to terror attack". A few million of INR less in the coffers of some poor billionaires. Sigh! Maybe Saif won't be able to take Kareena to Haiti to celebrate the New Year. So much for empathy...

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Liz

I couldn't have timed my MBA worse. Its placement weeks and exam schedule, almost conspiratorially clashed with the Indian marriage season (I have always been perplexed as to why humans, specially Indians, unlike other species seem to have a wedding season but no scheduled mating season) and I missed what was arguably the most important event for that year - Liz's marriage...

I met Liz when I was a little boy and she was a beautiful girl, albeit only a couple of months senior to me, and by that logic, little. In all these years, only the "little" part of it has changed. Liz still remains gorgeous, or at least she was when I saw her last year. Back in the little years of our lives, when our ages had just barely reached double digits (and the only concern in our lives was how to emerge a winner in a game of gully cricket), Liz was a revelation as she scurried along the alleyways of our quaint little settings with the agility of a rabbit and the grace of a gazelle. It was her smile that I still remember vividly, for she seldom needed much motivation to break into peals of laughter that would quickly invade the stiffness we guys used to possess and the whole group would subsequently indulge into a merry banter without a care in the world.

I was strangely attracted to Liz for it was an association devoid of the boy-meets-girl romance types. We were a witty lot, with me being additionally chivalrous in letting her get the better of some of our verbal skirmishes but for two people who shared a vast expanse of their lives with each other, we were inexplicably distant, as if restrained by some invisible constraints that never allowed us to be closer than we were. Be that as it may, Liz was special, for she formed a pivotal section of my childhood. We had shifted our residence and the only reason I'd go back to our old place would be to meet her family and those weekends would simply pass in a blur as Liz, her brother and me would tee off on a variety of topics, that ranged from the conventional gossip to career choices that none of us were clear about at those times (I have subsequently discovered very few individuals who are yet clear about their career goals, which makes the acceptance of a lack of clarity that much easier). I don't know how many guys have ever pretended to be an astrologer to hold a girl's palms, but I can guarantee that it’s pretty effective, or at least it was in my case. Sometimes, the most puerile moments of our childhood becomes the most cherished memoirs in the coming years.

The first time Liz and I went out on our own, was when she was going to tell me that she was in love. Booh Hooh? Not really. I was never in love with her, but I somehow felt that I was going to miss a friend (it’s entirely a measure of how good Liz is that till date, I have never felt that she is away) and right from the time the alliance was cemented, I drew flights of fantasy of her marriage. For some unknown reason, I always imagined Liz walking down the aisle of a magnificent church in a traditional Christian attire, and I would be her best man, never mind, till then I had never attended a wedding, much less a Christian wedding.

Nothing that I imagined came true as far as Liz is concerned. The aisle, the Church, me as the best man, never happened. In time, I realized that it was irrelevant, for all my fantasies stemmed from one single desire - to see her happy and smiling, which I know she is. There is only one last thing for me to do as far as Liz is concerned. That is to let her know that she has been one of the most special friends I've ever had and that, it would take an exceptional person to command even half the feelings that I have for her. In a way, almost cruelly, I can see the brighter side (if one can ever exist) of not making it to her marriage, for it left my imagery of Liz unaltered. In the palace of my imagination, Liz is still walking down the aisle, resplendent in a traditional attire towards her marriage, with me as her best man.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Dasvidaniya

I went to watch Dasvidaniya after some colleagues specifically warned me against viewing a film that dared to explore a subject as morbid as death. I must confess that Vinay Pathak was the sole reason for inspiring such bravado and he mercifully helped me retain the modicum of hope I continue to harbor for Bollywood (I mean, they did come out with Dostana, didn't they?)

Contrary to all the feedback I'd received prior to the film, I found it reveling in life. It was a splendid exposition of living our dreams while the clock ticks away to its inevitable showdown with the greatest leveler life has seen - death. It made me wonder, just why are people so fascinated with death for its certitude lends a certain level of mundane halo to its aura. Its life that one should explore in all its reverie of uncertainty. Its life that should pique our interests, for its in life that the "Amar Kaul in all of us thrives".
The film explores the life of Amar Kaul, a decrepit soul bludgeoned into submission by the forces that be of life. The final straw comes when "a minor stomach problem" translates into a terminal case of stomach cancer giving him only three months to live. The deadline should have been the knockout punch. Instead, it invigorates him to take on life with a zeal that knew no equal. So, Amar embarks on his ensemble of wishes (which previously comprised of repairing geysers and getting all vegetables except for turrai - whatever that means) that takes him on a foreign trip to meet his best friend, fall in love with a Russian courtesan, buy a new car (with a payback of three months EMI), take up guitar classes to play for his mum (who promptly summons a witch doctor when she learns of Amar's condition), pour a bottle of cold drink all over his boss in an act of unparalleled defiance and a few more whose beauty lay in its simplicity.

The film scores in numerous areas, notable among which are the performances from the lead and the support cast as well as a well written script but what takes the icing is the foundation of its thought process. The inherent message, that life is beautiful and we only need to stretch our thoughts beyond the humdrum of our own interpretation of 'success/fun' to realize the simple joys in watching the sun come down and feel the caress of the balmy breeze on our faces. As Amar quotes poignantly from the balcony of his flat overlooking a magnificent view " You know, I took this flat for this view thinking that every day, I will come back from office and stretch my legs while sipping on to my evening tea. In all these years never once have I been able to do so. I came to this balcony to take my towel and all I noticed were the stains therein. Now, I sit here every day and watch the fountain come up and the kids frolicking in pure bliss. Life can be very beautiful".

I couldn't have agreed more!

Saturday, October 18, 2008

The Banquet Hall View

I once saw a Venus Fly trap. That, it’s a carnivorous plant, however fails to detract an onlooker's attention from its captivating beauty. Those violet tendrils snaking from its interiors execute a graceful arc, almost Victorian in nature, & puts to shadow its murky intent of trapping any unsuspecting insects in those cushy pods.

I was struck by the conflicting nature of the interpretation of an image and the truth that lay miscast beneath. It was the case of judging an alligator by the handbag made from it. Its apparent beauty would have never provided an inkling of the viciousness of the beast. Most of us sadly remain contended with the impression garnered from the handbag. They remain satisfied with a banquet hall view of life, one wherein comfort meets intellect and between the two fashion a world that apparently highlights the pinnacle of our progress.

Six years back, a tragedy shook the nation and six years hence, its repercussions, amongst other things, lifted that banquet view from my eyes. I would not get into the analysis of the right and wrong, the accused and the misrepresented of Godhra. We have had ample evidence of that, thanks to the likes of Tehelka and others. If there is one conclusion that can however be solidly evidenced from all reports, it is that the truth - the cold, factual, absolute truth has been banished in a dark corner shorn of any identity and recognition. Nobody would lay their hands on it in an era of Goebbelsian propaganda for each has a motive, allegedly far higher than adopting an orphan called truth.

What I however would like to highlight are two factors - namely, the media assuming the right arm of anarchy, and the state of a nation whose collective conscience could do with a much besought wake up call.

The much touted media of our nation could perhaps do well to revisit the roots in which its principles lie enshrined. The tenets of just and equitable coverage of events have been dispatched with such impunity that it makes one wonder just how sinister must the underbelly of such a system be, that could coerce an institution so mighty as the media to submission. In sync with the powers to be, they fanned the rage emanating from the smoldering ruins of an express train in 2002 by publishing graphic images and fanciful tales that could churn the knots of the stomach of even the most hardened veterans. What followed was unsurprising. 2000 Indians, mind you, not Muslims, Christians, Sikhs or Hindus, but Indians were massacred. 2000 lives were extinguished in an act of unparalleled savagery. Surely, no God would have permitted this. Surely, no conscience would have tolerated this. Then, how is it, that we, as a nation, one that is apparently recognized as a tolerant and progressive one, can live with this in our conscience?
Which brings me on to the second factor emerging from our "tolerant ambience".

I once walked on a street in Mumbai that served to be a microcosm of what Indians have become today. One side of the street sported a mansion of a hotel, resplendent as much in its splendor as in the ostentation of the guests thronging it. Across the other side lay a shack of hovels with rickety people scuttling about them and gathering fuel for their waiting chulhas. The stark antithesis of the two worlds lay in the utter lack of acknowledgement each had for the other. I suppose, while this particular case could perhaps be excused owing to the existing paradigms, what puzzles me the silence that seems to choke every sane mind in the face of events of the likes of the Godhra tragedy.

From brutal gang rapes of members of a community (Orissa) to daylight massacres of dalits (Khairganj), from inflammatory speeches that incite such blithe acts to the barbarism of its executions (everywhere) , the covers that clouded the shimmering hatred of each group (Its shameful to realize that we have degenerated into being just "groups") seems to be coming off and every ghetto is giving vent to their collective rage. We have seen all this and in what can be perhaps the most appalling transgression of justice, have chosen to remain silent about it. We chose to blind ourselves to the savagery of the state's machinations and in doing so gave the dogma "see no evil" & "hear no evil" an entirely new meaning, one, that its creator would have been profoundly ashamed of. Let no soul overlook the fact that when stripped of the layers of justification every leader, religious and/or political has applied to such dastardly acts, they remain in its basest form, remnants of the primeval human wants & needs satiated at the expense of innocence as well as, on a holistic basis, the progress of the state.

And yet, hope springs forth, alike a lonely geyser spraying atop a rocky plateau. In pockets, from outrage at the spurious claims made by the Nanavati commission, to the hundreds of unknown faces working tirelessly to apply the balm of love and care on those mutilated wounds, inflicted as much upon the psyche as on the skin, that nurse faint hopes of seeing the light of recognition or justice. We need to bolster these endeavors, for in a society that tethers on the brink of insanity, these acts of altruism are sonnets of peace that still bind the tag of civilization to our identity. And maybe, in the process, knock the banquet hall view of life off our eyes...

Gladiators

The Roman Colosseum might not be there, but those 22 yards defined a battlefield which bonded us in many a fascinating tussle over the four years of engineering. It was all adrenaline in those days, but four years hence, as I look back, those exploits on the cricket pitch spoke aplenty about the characters forged over time of these five men.

A Bhavsar - (If the Oxford weren't already in vogue, they would have had a separate name for commitment) In a team full of 'Indians' (all flair, little substance), he was the rare Kiwi, the black cap of the team. The site of Aby swooping down on the ball at long off/on (he normally was at long on) was in itself, a wonder to behold. With him, you could feel the momentum of his thrust, as if some invisible source of power had turbocharged him towards the little round object hurtling at him, though in most cases, it would be Aby jet setting at the ball. One of the safest outfielders, I don't remember him ever dropping a catch (as much as I never remember ever having taken one). One might wonder, so what! Aby is just your good cricketer. Wrong! What made Aby so special was his commitment. He wasn't a natural cricketer. With an ungainly stance and a flawed technique he probably wouldn't have lasted a minute on the pitch, but what he lacked in flair (thankfully) he more than made up with his commitment. He reminded us, especially me, of how much more we could contribute given our natural flair. He never took his outfielding for granted, always concentrating, always "on the ball". Cricket shapes characters, but here's one, who shaped cricket. With his chutzpah in absentia, Aby till date reminds me, that -"its not what you got, its what you do with what you got that matters".

H. Gadhvi ('Keeper' of our fortunes) - I never knew whether to be raging mad at him or be amazed by his attitude on field. He is the guy who, in the last over, with eight runs required for victory, would hit a six of the first ball, and then not be able to take a single for the next five deliveries (only a wide from the generous bowler earned us a draw).

Gadhu was the nerve centre of our team. As a wicketkeeper, he was the quintessential chatterbox & while he never said "well bowled" to a wide delivery (most of them came from me) unlike Wasim Bari, he kept the spirits up with his witty comments that flowed ceaselessly. I remember once having my jaws hanging down at a catch pulled off by him. It was a good length, outside off-stump delivery (probably from Turkz) which the batsman edged to first slip that was not there. All of a sudden, gravity seemed to disappear, as I saw Gadhu turn parallel to the ground and in mid air, pluck what must have been one of the best catches of that tournament. It was a good effort, but what made it extra special was that, the person who pulled off the stunner weighed at least 20 stones at that time. It didn't matter. Somehow, for these chaps, they seemed to be playing with their minds rather than their bodies, and no fetter could shackle them, when they really, badly wanted to do something. Gadhu did all this, but he did it with a smile, & a jauntily cracked joke. The 'keeper of our fortunes' has now had one catch that he would latch on to, for the rest of his life, for Mr. H. Gadhvi is now the proud father of a little cherub and that's a prize he mightily deserves.

K Mehta - (Nobody played the square cut better) - Not even Turkz came close to Gabba's (no reference to WACA) square cut. I saw him play plenty of those as I was usually at the other end, wondering how he conjured up a charm of such beauty & power. The feet would move parallel to the crease, the bat chopped down at a graceful arc and his stance, when seen sideways, was more akin to a ballet dancer than a savage stroke maker & the only sign of the ferocity of the stroke lay in the ball dashing away to the point boundary (sadly it was blocked by the stadium or else Gabba would have had far more runs to his credit).

In the last final that we ever played in college, I remember Gabba getting both his feet in air & viciously cutting the deliveries outside off to the point boundary (this was played on a different ground & it did have a point boundary). He was a stylist, and there was a certain amount of grace in the way he knelt into each stroke which both endeared him to me as well as made him an object of envy. The other factor that made him indispensable was that along with Aby, he cordoned off the long off region with impeccable outfielding. With these two around, you could safely bowl half volleys for most of them would end up in either of these bloke's hands. Tall, handsome & style personified, I only hope Gabba knows how good he is, for that would bolster his 'score' even further.

T Chauhan (the best, by a long distance) - I got Turkz only once in a match (internal)& that remains my most cherished memory on the pitch, one that even eclipsed an innings where I somehow managed to carry my bat through. He was an assembly of some ordinary parts that summed up to something extraordinary. Turkz always gave me a hint of vulnerability, an impression that he could be prized out, but after four long years (& even after that) he remained one of the most difficult batsmen to dislodge. I loved his technique, especially as a he defended. Everything seemed copybook. Front foot to the line of the ball, head knelt in the direction the ball was meant to go and no daylight between bat and pad. Ah, I still savour the memory. Turkz's cricketing exploits are well chronicled in the sheafs of our memory but recounting them would be pouring old wine in a new bottle. He engineered, what was probably the best run-chase in the college at that time, a feat I don't remember having been equaled. With half the team gone & over eighty runs to get in a little over 8 overs, Turkz played a blinder. We got home with a delivery to spare and the hero of the moment came back unfazed for it was business as usual. Turkz was probably a bit of a British on the pitch - 'never too elated in victory or despondent in adversity'. I never saw him gloat over his achievements. He probably dosen't even remember half of them (frankly, it would require some effort, coz he had so many of them). From plucking one handed stunners on the boundary field to bamboozling batsman with one that 'moved away', Turkz did it all, and he did it quietly, unobtrusively. He was a gentleman, prizing out batsman almost apologetically, as in batting he seemed to coax and cajole the ball to where he wanted them to go. I sometimes wondered what made him so good. While I don't have a concrete answer (genius can never be explained in mere words), I would surmise that his strength lay in his mental sturdiness. Like Aby, his application and dedication to his craft orchestrated a master at work, an impregnable defence and a champion performer. Turkz taught me more about 'playing the game' than anybody else did & I still learn from him. Mate, didn't we once say that "life's like cricket" & if that be so, I'd like to see one more innings like the one you played against FAU, just for old time's sake!

A Acharya - (Iceman) - The sobriquet was famously gifted to Steve Waugh for his ability to absorb the pressure and nobody would dispute giving 'the Captain' (of our team) a similar brand. He was the leader and in all these years, there never has been a better captain witnessed by me. He, alongwith Turkz, outthought, outmaneuvered, outlasted, outfought every opponent who came their way. Sample this:


With three odd runs in the last over to defend, Captain comes on to bowl...and pins the batsman in the other end. The shocked faces of our opponents reflected the magnitude of his achievement.

In a match, when Turkz was down with injury, Captain stood firm against all attack and ultimately finished the match with a single over mid off. The rest of the team had collapsed around him as he hurtled towards an inexorable victory.

Ten required off the last over with the no. ten batsman at the other end - a late cut followed by a pull, a tap for two towards point and match is over - another miracle fashioned by the Captain.

The Captain reeled off one champion performance after another and yet, his steely resolve to give each match his everything never wavered. He was respected as the first among equals and till date, his exploits on the pitch remain one of the most talked about subjects in our get together. More importantly, in a team of mavericks, he earned the unquestionable loyalty from each of its members and only those, who were a part of that team can gauge the extent of this achievement. I could only dream to perform like him, but it was more akin to a 'Midsummer's Night's Dream". He lives his life, the way he played cricket - uncomplicated, tough, fair and always to win, and that is what endears the Captain to all of us. There could have never been a better leader of those blokes than you Captain. Keep it up and keep it going!!


Its been four years, since I passed out from Engineering and yet every little incident on those 22 yards is as fresh in my mind as if it were yesterday. In times to come, I hope to teach my kid about this great game, but he would be lucky to have such wonderful comrades like these five men, five gladiators, who taught me more about the game and life than anybody ever did.

Nobody Gets the Girls

My first post ironically has very little reference to the fairer sex and by that logic its title could well be pronounced as a misnomer. However, for all you Russell Crowe fans, allow me to transport you to his movingly delightful portrayal of John Nash in the film 'A Beautiful Mind'. Like Archimedes, who gained enlightenment in a bath tub, bless him, the relatively contemporary Nash was illuminated in a bar with his friends vying for the attention of some fairly attractive 'long legged things', with each one figuring out the best route to outdo the other. That's where the first draft of "Game theory" emerged (at least as per the film) as Nash carefully outlined the consequences of a combative approach, explaining to his less imaginative comrades that for their own sake, if they co-operate, they were most likely to end up with a partner each in their arms, albeit for the evening or else nobody would get the girls.


Nash revolutionized a whole generation and his theories found its applications not only along the entire yen of science but also in our daily lives. V. Raghunathan, in his book "Games Indians Play : Why we are the way we are" has outlined the curious psyche of the Indians with Nash's Game theory framework. It was an interesting read, more so, as I saw it unfold before my eyes one fine day in Bangalore. The essential premise of the book states that we might as well co-operate with the people around us, not for some greater good, or moral righteousness, but simply to ensure that we are benefited to the maximum. The book draws our attention to a rather amusing fallibility of Indians of falling prey to the lure of a short term gain and ultimately losing out in the overall diaspora. The traffic in Bangalore epitomizes this in probably as brazen a fashion as can be imagined.


It would take an individual of exceptional calibre to overlook the malaise afflicting Bangalore's physical infrastructure and unsurprisingly, we seem to be having just those geniuses planning the city's roadways. The influx of private vehicles into the heart of Bangalore's roads implores the town planners to broaden the roads or introduce flyovers, both of which are conspicuous by their absence. But what is a bit ludicrous to observe is that people themselves contribute generously to their potpourri of misery. At a circle where we were held up, the width of the road didn't allow any room for outmaneuvering anybody. The quickest way out was to ensure that we all fell in a single file and waited for our turn, but lo, no sooner that the signal turned green that all hell broke loose with vehicles exhibiting the Bangalore Drift (sadly, it was neither fast nor furious) and turning their machines at impossible angles, they ensured that in a few seconds the road displayed the worst of the traffic jams. I sat there amazed, for I knew that this wasn't a case of bad traffic sense. It was simply the urge of "overtaking the next guy" and forgetting that in the process not only would they block their own exit but that of the hundred vehicles behind them.


We are so busy "overtaking the next guy" that we completely forget that he/she would also be thinking about the same thing and in the process, nobody wins (in Game theory terms, the payoff matrix has lose/lose for both individuals and extrapolated it applies for all the people in the ecosystem). Are we that insecure to see someone "go ahead of us" (even in a traffic), or are we that fiercely competitive that we feel let down if someone else even remotely comes close to being benefited? I do not have an answer, for, by experience, I know that we are an intelligent race, but perhaps we tend to put on our "horse's blinkers" a little too soon and that shrouds the overall gains in an impenetrable veil. I suppose, that is why there is such a lot of emphasis on "team spirit" for we unsurprisingly parade our individual brilliance in a group effort, notwithstanding that brilliance posing as a hindrance to the overall progress of the team. In fact, at times, I feel we are a little too brilliant for our own good. Maybe, a fallibility in our skills and talents would have made us hostages of our peer's support and maybe, we would have then been a cohesive unit, albeit not a flamboyant one.


You were right Dr. Nash. In India, Nobody gets the girls!!