Just returned from a visit to Kolkata for a friend's wedding. There were two of us, I and another friend, who reached Howrah station early in the morning, after a 34 hour train journey across five states. Whenever I step out of the grand old terminus, the sheer magnificence of the Howrah Bridge dwarfs me to immobility for an instant or two. It is almost like one is forced to pay obeisance to mankind's genius in straddling the opposite banks of the Hooghly without needing to spear the waters of the river with a single pillar. We were put up at a guest house at Camac Street. The Kalighat temple had been strongly recommended to us, so that was our first stop for the day. As soon as one nears the temple, one is accosted by all sorts of people volunteering to get you the best 'darshan' through the 'VIP' queue in exchange for a stiff sum. The hordes of them and the general atmosphere of chaos pervading the entire area was such that I decided not to go inside, while my friend, the devout worshipper, braved the 'pandas' - as the 'VIP darshan givers' are called - and went inside the temple. After parting with a hundred bucks for the 'quick darshan', he also had to deal with a pandit who performed an auspicious ritual for him and then demanded no less than 250 bucks in return, all of this unsolicited. Somehow managing to shake him off, he came outside where I was standing observing the ebb and flow of the countless devotees who thronged the temple for divine blessings. How queer it is, I thought, that this multitude of people are willing to place their destiny in the hands of a God who allows 'priveleged' access to those who are willing to pay. Maybe anything can be bought by money in these times. Disgusted at this ghastly mixture of religion and business, I was glad to get away from there.
After a trip to Vardan Market, we met another friend who was in the city for yet another wedding. We went to see the Victoria Memorial. The sheer size of the Kolkata Maidan overwhelms a Bombayite used to the cramped ways of life in the island city. I knew the Hooghly was quite close to the Memorial. I have always wanted to see the river from close quarters. A cab ride to Babu Ghat took us to the jetty where ferries take one to the opposite side, Howrah. The river, swollen with silt, is calm and soothing. The Vidyasagar Setu is on the left and the Howrah Bridge on the right. The din and bustle of the city is nowhere to be heard. The calmness of the scene permeates inside me. As ferries come and go, the conversation meanders slowly like the mighty but benevolent river in front of us. We talk about following your heart, doing things you want to do, things that make you happy. We talk about how supposedly Leftist Bengal is changing. About how India is being split up further, by the looters who double up as leaders. A friend, impressed by Rahul Gandhi's vision, has joined the Youth Congress. Talks about campaigning in the next assembly elections in Uttar Pradesh. We talk about the changes that India is going through. All agree that this is the best time to be alive in this country, with the future heavily pregnant with endless possibilities. The eternal hope of the youth. Like the eternal promise of the Hooghly. An hour and a half passes by unnoticed. It is time to go. As dusk settles over the expanse of the river, I take a last look at the distant Howrah shore, then at the two bridges cutting across the river. The cab ride back to Camac Street takes us past the Eden Gardens, that historic citadel, witness to the overflowing passions of a nation blindly in love with a game. The river already seems a distant memory as we are engulfed again by the noise of the city. But the scene will remain forever etched somewhere in my heart, three young men hopeful about the promising future of a young nation, with the Hooghly engulfing us in a shroud of serenity.
Monday, 14 December 2009
Friday, 11 December 2009
India Sri Lanka Test Series: A Review
Mahendra Singh Dhoni couldn't have asked for more. A 2-0 scoreline against a team that many felt was the best Sri Lankan team ever to come visiting on Indian soil. Two hundreds by him in contrasting circumstances, one when India was not yet out of the woods at 157-5 in Ahmedabad, and one when they needed to ensure they batted only once at the Brabourne in Mumbai. And to top it all, the No. 1 ranking for India in the ICC Test standings. A captain couldn't be happier.
However, a top ranked team should always look to iron out whatever deficiencies it perceives are remaining in the side. While it may seem like one is playing spoilsport amidst all the hype and hoopla surrounding Team India's ascent to No.1, here are a few points for the team management to ponder over.
1. The chairman of selectors has painted the town red claiming that India has the best top 7 in the world. While one would would tend to agree with him as far as 6 of the 7 are concerned, doubts still persist over Yuvraj Singh. He may have hit half centuries in 2 of the 3 innings he played in the series, however, all of his 3 dismissals were to his old nemesis, spin. While at Ahmedabad, he made the cardinal mistake of stepping out to kill the spin of Murali with BOTH bat and pad, he was tricked in the flight by Herath at Mumbai while holing out to midwicket at Kanpur off Mendis. Though he did show a marked improvement in not lunging forward to play the spinners, it cannot be said with confidence that he has it in him to face a quality spin attack on a surface affording some turn. He will be spending most of his Test career playing on such tracks on the sub continent. If he has to enjoy a long run in the Test side, he will have to spend more time facing Bhajji and Co. in the nets. Perennial reserve Subramanium Badrinath has already served a reminder to the selectors with his marathon 250 against Mumbai that lifted Tamil Nadu from 50-5 to 501.
2. Harbhajan Singh was the highest wicket taker for India with 13 wickets. 5 of those were tailenders and 2 were gifts from the umpires at Mumbai, Dilshan being the unlucky victim in both innings. Morever, the wickets cost him 41 runs apiece. That's way too costly for the team's senior spin bowler. Harbhajan's average has been steadily going uphill over the years and now stands at almost 31. Worryingly, his tendency to stray down the legside is becoming too frequent. Even on the 4th day at Mumbai, with India sitting pretty on a lead of more than 300, batsmen were able to work him away to square for runs. Watching from the stands, one felt the pace at which he was bowling was too fast to trouble the batsmen. Further, the lines he bowled allowed the batsmen to leave the delivery too often. Given Bhajji's pedigree, India should have finished the match on the 4th evening itself. It is a telling comment on the spinners that on a pitch offering considerable turn from Day 1 itself, 6 of the 10 wickets in the Lankan second innings fell to pace. The lack of spin bowling talent at the domestic level is alarming as well. For the land of the famed Spin Quartet of the '70s, it is shocking that apart from Bhajji, Ojha and Mishra, no other spinner seems worthy of a Test cap at present.
3. The case of Ishant Sharma gets curiouser and curiouser. The latest pace bowling sensation has been steadily going downhill this year. He has lost considerably in pace and is just not able to exert a decent amount of control on the batsmen. Too often, he has wasted the new ball, spraying it all around. And when batsmen of the calibre of Mahela Jayawardena know that all you are going to do with the new ball is just bring it in off a good length from off stump so that it ends up almost on leg stump, you are a sitting duck. The pitch at Ahmedabad was no paradise for pace, but that was not the only thing bothering Ishant. There have been rumours that erstwhile bowling coach Venkatesh Prasad confused the young man into sacrificing pace for line and length with the result that the poor boy is now somewhere in between the two. Guru Gary needs to work on the lad. Sooner the better.
4. Amit Mishra has carried the drinks far too often in the recent past. It told in his performance at Ahmedabad where he bowled atleast one 'hit me' ball per over. He earlier used to have pretty decent control over his repertoire but was all over the place at the Motera conceding a double century for his only wicket. However, this problem seems the most easily rectifiable. He needs to get more games. If he is not assured of a place in the XI, he should be released to play first class cricket. Bowling in the nets is not going to help.
While the Indian camp might not seem to be brimming over with problems, the Sri Lankans seemed like wallowing in a sea of them. Nothing went right for them in this series apart from the first session at Ahmedabad. A sampler:
1. The batting looks thin. While Paravanithana got starts, he is still new to Test cricket and needs a lot more time to develop his patience. For all his eloquence at press conferences, Kumar Sangakkara seemed to find new ways of getting out each time. Apart from the magnificent 2nd innings effort at the Brabourne, he just couldn't get going. Samaraweera's reputation of being a run machine preceded him, but he was unable to get the huge scores he normally does in Lanka. Mahela Jayawardena did little apart from his marathon 275 at Ahmedabad. He threw away both the starts he got in the 1st innings at Kanpur and Mumbai while Kumar sold him a dummy in the 2nd innings at Kanpur. If not for keeper Jayawardena's solid contributions, Lanka would have been in far greater trouble. Dilshan looked dangerous but umpiring errors cost him dearly at Mumbai.
2. A genuine all-rounder can hold his place in the side on the strength of his batting or bowling alone. While Angelo Matthews has potential, he has miles to go as a Test level batsman. His bowling seemed pedestrian on these pitches against a marauding Indian batting line-up. It was a needless show of bravado going in with one seam bowler and Matthews at Kanpur.
3. The word is out. Murali is past his best. The ageing champion, being the freak off spinner that he is, relied on his wrists to get the ball to turn even on a shirtfront. The wrists have lost their strength over the years which means those fizzing off spinners and top spinners have lost their fizz. It was sad to see him get mauled by the Indians, especially Sehwag. Its time to move on for the great man. Maybe a home series on his favourite Galle. But thats only for the sentiment value.
4. 'Mystery' cannot help you sustain an entire career in international cricket. Ajantha Mendis has been sorted out by the Indians. Period. You cannot just rely on the carrom ball, mate. The control is nowhere near what it was in that dream series in Sri Lanka when he mesmerised the Indians.
A final word on the field placings. Modern day captains are known to be defensive but having a deep point in place almost all day long takes the cake. Both captains were guilty of this modern malaise. Guys, whatever happened to good old backward point? Old Jonty must be grimacing down in South Africa. He would have preferred to go off the field.
However, a top ranked team should always look to iron out whatever deficiencies it perceives are remaining in the side. While it may seem like one is playing spoilsport amidst all the hype and hoopla surrounding Team India's ascent to No.1, here are a few points for the team management to ponder over.
1. The chairman of selectors has painted the town red claiming that India has the best top 7 in the world. While one would would tend to agree with him as far as 6 of the 7 are concerned, doubts still persist over Yuvraj Singh. He may have hit half centuries in 2 of the 3 innings he played in the series, however, all of his 3 dismissals were to his old nemesis, spin. While at Ahmedabad, he made the cardinal mistake of stepping out to kill the spin of Murali with BOTH bat and pad, he was tricked in the flight by Herath at Mumbai while holing out to midwicket at Kanpur off Mendis. Though he did show a marked improvement in not lunging forward to play the spinners, it cannot be said with confidence that he has it in him to face a quality spin attack on a surface affording some turn. He will be spending most of his Test career playing on such tracks on the sub continent. If he has to enjoy a long run in the Test side, he will have to spend more time facing Bhajji and Co. in the nets. Perennial reserve Subramanium Badrinath has already served a reminder to the selectors with his marathon 250 against Mumbai that lifted Tamil Nadu from 50-5 to 501.
2. Harbhajan Singh was the highest wicket taker for India with 13 wickets. 5 of those were tailenders and 2 were gifts from the umpires at Mumbai, Dilshan being the unlucky victim in both innings. Morever, the wickets cost him 41 runs apiece. That's way too costly for the team's senior spin bowler. Harbhajan's average has been steadily going uphill over the years and now stands at almost 31. Worryingly, his tendency to stray down the legside is becoming too frequent. Even on the 4th day at Mumbai, with India sitting pretty on a lead of more than 300, batsmen were able to work him away to square for runs. Watching from the stands, one felt the pace at which he was bowling was too fast to trouble the batsmen. Further, the lines he bowled allowed the batsmen to leave the delivery too often. Given Bhajji's pedigree, India should have finished the match on the 4th evening itself. It is a telling comment on the spinners that on a pitch offering considerable turn from Day 1 itself, 6 of the 10 wickets in the Lankan second innings fell to pace. The lack of spin bowling talent at the domestic level is alarming as well. For the land of the famed Spin Quartet of the '70s, it is shocking that apart from Bhajji, Ojha and Mishra, no other spinner seems worthy of a Test cap at present.
3. The case of Ishant Sharma gets curiouser and curiouser. The latest pace bowling sensation has been steadily going downhill this year. He has lost considerably in pace and is just not able to exert a decent amount of control on the batsmen. Too often, he has wasted the new ball, spraying it all around. And when batsmen of the calibre of Mahela Jayawardena know that all you are going to do with the new ball is just bring it in off a good length from off stump so that it ends up almost on leg stump, you are a sitting duck. The pitch at Ahmedabad was no paradise for pace, but that was not the only thing bothering Ishant. There have been rumours that erstwhile bowling coach Venkatesh Prasad confused the young man into sacrificing pace for line and length with the result that the poor boy is now somewhere in between the two. Guru Gary needs to work on the lad. Sooner the better.
4. Amit Mishra has carried the drinks far too often in the recent past. It told in his performance at Ahmedabad where he bowled atleast one 'hit me' ball per over. He earlier used to have pretty decent control over his repertoire but was all over the place at the Motera conceding a double century for his only wicket. However, this problem seems the most easily rectifiable. He needs to get more games. If he is not assured of a place in the XI, he should be released to play first class cricket. Bowling in the nets is not going to help.
While the Indian camp might not seem to be brimming over with problems, the Sri Lankans seemed like wallowing in a sea of them. Nothing went right for them in this series apart from the first session at Ahmedabad. A sampler:
1. The batting looks thin. While Paravanithana got starts, he is still new to Test cricket and needs a lot more time to develop his patience. For all his eloquence at press conferences, Kumar Sangakkara seemed to find new ways of getting out each time. Apart from the magnificent 2nd innings effort at the Brabourne, he just couldn't get going. Samaraweera's reputation of being a run machine preceded him, but he was unable to get the huge scores he normally does in Lanka. Mahela Jayawardena did little apart from his marathon 275 at Ahmedabad. He threw away both the starts he got in the 1st innings at Kanpur and Mumbai while Kumar sold him a dummy in the 2nd innings at Kanpur. If not for keeper Jayawardena's solid contributions, Lanka would have been in far greater trouble. Dilshan looked dangerous but umpiring errors cost him dearly at Mumbai.
2. A genuine all-rounder can hold his place in the side on the strength of his batting or bowling alone. While Angelo Matthews has potential, he has miles to go as a Test level batsman. His bowling seemed pedestrian on these pitches against a marauding Indian batting line-up. It was a needless show of bravado going in with one seam bowler and Matthews at Kanpur.
3. The word is out. Murali is past his best. The ageing champion, being the freak off spinner that he is, relied on his wrists to get the ball to turn even on a shirtfront. The wrists have lost their strength over the years which means those fizzing off spinners and top spinners have lost their fizz. It was sad to see him get mauled by the Indians, especially Sehwag. Its time to move on for the great man. Maybe a home series on his favourite Galle. But thats only for the sentiment value.
4. 'Mystery' cannot help you sustain an entire career in international cricket. Ajantha Mendis has been sorted out by the Indians. Period. You cannot just rely on the carrom ball, mate. The control is nowhere near what it was in that dream series in Sri Lanka when he mesmerised the Indians.
A final word on the field placings. Modern day captains are known to be defensive but having a deep point in place almost all day long takes the cake. Both captains were guilty of this modern malaise. Guys, whatever happened to good old backward point? Old Jonty must be grimacing down in South Africa. He would have preferred to go off the field.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Virender Sehwag: Beyond Mere Numbers
A friend who works at an MNC bank mustered enough courage to tell his boss today that post lunch, he was going to watch the Test at the Brabourne Stadium. He went back to office after the match only to see the crestfallen faces of colleagues who couldn't quite muster his kind of courage. "We were fools to miss the match", they lamented. Maybe it was fitting that those who couldn't risk antagonising their bosses missed out on seeing the biggest risk taker cricket has ever seen.
The most correct and orthodox Test cricketer of our generation was batting at the other end. He might as well have been batting in another era. When Viru is in full flow, the time tested adages of Test cricket seem like inane non-essential throwbacks to an era that is under danger of becoming irrelevant. The significance of Virender Sehwag can never be understood through mere numbers, though they in themselves are quite astonishing. Most double hundreds by an Indian. The three highest Test scores by an Indian are all from his blade. He has a chance to become the only man to score 3 Test triple centuries. He has a chance to overtake Brian Lara's 400. And all this by a man whom purists had said wouldn't be able to survive in Test cricket. But he has a far far bigger impact on the game that goes beyond even impressive statistics. Under normal circumstances, a score of 393 would seem imposing, on a track affording some turn. But when that score is overhauled at a run rate of almost 6 an over with only 1 wicket down, the word 'opposition' seems too respectful for the bowling side, 'cannon fodder' is more like it. In the first 150 runs of the partnership between Sehwag and Dravid, Dravid had contributed 45. Not bad you might say, considering Rahul's job was more to give Sehwag the strike. In the next 50 of the partnership, Dravid 'contributed' 6 runs. Make no mistake. I am not trying to belittle the Master. In fact, I got goose bumps when he came out to bat. My risk taking banker friend said it was a 'hair raising experience'. However, it only goes to say that the non-striker is also almost a non-entity when Viru is on strike. A run rate of 4 per over - which is considered pretty good in Tests even by today's T20 influenced standards - seems pedestrian, because the man never lets it fall below 5. The maddening effect he has on the crowd need not be mentioned. Suffice it to say that the North Stand at the Brabourne ran out of adjectives and started shouting 'paisa vasool' towards the end of the day. The more knowledgeable among the crowd kept exchanging incredulous "The man is crazy" looks throughout the day. The range and sheer audaciousness of his strokes needs no mention. Two shots stand out in memory for their ingenuity that reminded the bowler of the hopelessness of his calling. Bowling over the wicket in the rough outside leg stump to a packed leg side field, Rangana Herath must have pinched himself to be convinced that the first ball after tea that was nonchalantly caressed inside out through extra cover for a boundary, was actually going in that direction. Mutthiah Muralitharan must have wished he would have retired before Sehwag essayed the reverse paddle sweep to again beat the packed leg side field. These were not slogs or swipes, but products of a sharp cricketing brain that has as much mental strength as it has daredevilry. Let us once and for all stop admonishing the man's manner of playing and acknowledge that there has never been someone like him before nor will there ever be. Virender Sehwag, you are in a class of your own. I will be there at the Brabourne tomorrow to witness history being created by you.
The most correct and orthodox Test cricketer of our generation was batting at the other end. He might as well have been batting in another era. When Viru is in full flow, the time tested adages of Test cricket seem like inane non-essential throwbacks to an era that is under danger of becoming irrelevant. The significance of Virender Sehwag can never be understood through mere numbers, though they in themselves are quite astonishing. Most double hundreds by an Indian. The three highest Test scores by an Indian are all from his blade. He has a chance to become the only man to score 3 Test triple centuries. He has a chance to overtake Brian Lara's 400. And all this by a man whom purists had said wouldn't be able to survive in Test cricket. But he has a far far bigger impact on the game that goes beyond even impressive statistics. Under normal circumstances, a score of 393 would seem imposing, on a track affording some turn. But when that score is overhauled at a run rate of almost 6 an over with only 1 wicket down, the word 'opposition' seems too respectful for the bowling side, 'cannon fodder' is more like it. In the first 150 runs of the partnership between Sehwag and Dravid, Dravid had contributed 45. Not bad you might say, considering Rahul's job was more to give Sehwag the strike. In the next 50 of the partnership, Dravid 'contributed' 6 runs. Make no mistake. I am not trying to belittle the Master. In fact, I got goose bumps when he came out to bat. My risk taking banker friend said it was a 'hair raising experience'. However, it only goes to say that the non-striker is also almost a non-entity when Viru is on strike. A run rate of 4 per over - which is considered pretty good in Tests even by today's T20 influenced standards - seems pedestrian, because the man never lets it fall below 5. The maddening effect he has on the crowd need not be mentioned. Suffice it to say that the North Stand at the Brabourne ran out of adjectives and started shouting 'paisa vasool' towards the end of the day. The more knowledgeable among the crowd kept exchanging incredulous "The man is crazy" looks throughout the day. The range and sheer audaciousness of his strokes needs no mention. Two shots stand out in memory for their ingenuity that reminded the bowler of the hopelessness of his calling. Bowling over the wicket in the rough outside leg stump to a packed leg side field, Rangana Herath must have pinched himself to be convinced that the first ball after tea that was nonchalantly caressed inside out through extra cover for a boundary, was actually going in that direction. Mutthiah Muralitharan must have wished he would have retired before Sehwag essayed the reverse paddle sweep to again beat the packed leg side field. These were not slogs or swipes, but products of a sharp cricketing brain that has as much mental strength as it has daredevilry. Let us once and for all stop admonishing the man's manner of playing and acknowledge that there has never been someone like him before nor will there ever be. Virender Sehwag, you are in a class of your own. I will be there at the Brabourne tomorrow to witness history being created by you.
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Happily Misfit
Ours is the generation of the go-getters, the trendsetters, people who aspire, people who love to climb the ladder at breakneck speed, people who never 'look back' in life, and so on. We are the driving force of the world, it seems. There might be no doubting that. One such 'trendsetter' happens to be a good acquaintance. She has all the attributes of a 'go-getter'. At the top of the corporate ladder at age 37. Nowhere left to climb further. Slogged at work almost till the day she was about to deliver her first child. Going by the standards of our times, I would suppose she would be the one of the happiest people alive. After all, what more could one want from life? I asked her a simple question on getting to know that she had made it to the topmost rung of the ladder. "You're happy, aren't you?" The answer,"I'll ask you the same question when you are 37. At my age, you do not do things that make you happy. Rather, you find happiness in whatever it is that you happen to be doing." I was momentarily at a loss for words. I hadn't expected this answer. No ways. But then, maybe 'achievers' are not supposed to feel happy about themselves in our times.
A soon-to-be married friend's house. The topic of discussion meandered towards the purpose of one's life. We had been talking about how today, young parents want the best (read most expensive) education for their children. And even when they could ill-afford to do so. Then the question arose, what is the purpose of the current generation? Only to bring up the future generation in as expensive a manner as it can, believing it to be the best way of upbringing children? No, everyone felt. Ideally not. There had to be more to life that this. Not that everybody wanted to do so. But then, the favourite whipping boy, 'peer pressure', was blamed. 'Karna padta hai'. Is one happy doing so? Certainly not. Does one feel like doing something to remedy the situation? No. I am amazed. Most of us are not really happy with the lives we are leading in the first place. On top of that, young couples are burdened with the societal pressures of bringing up children in the best (read most expensive) manner possible. Is this the life that we are supposed to be living? What happened to the investment banker who used to love writing poetry? Hasn't put pen to paper for the last 4 years, I am told. What about the chartered accountant who used to love painting? Has almost forgotten how it feels to hold a paintbrush in his hands.
The big new car? We have it. A house at Malabar Hill? Slogging day and night towards it, many will make it there. The vacation to Egypt? Been there last month itself. Satisfaction in life? You gotta be kidding. Satisfaction at work? Don't even talk about it. Thats a paradox, isn't it? Satisfaction? Work? If its work, its got to be tedious, boring, a daily struggle, a necessary evil so that I can have the next big car before my colleague buys it, so that I can buy an even bigger house, so that I can go back to Egypt again to temporarily escape the dull drab drudgery thats my work.
I start thinking about myself. I desire something too. No, its not that big new car. No, its not a house at Malabar Hill. Its not that overseas vacation either. I desire something more basic. I desire to do work. Good work. Work that creates. Work that is fulfilling. Work that leaves an imprint. I want to be remembered by the work that I have done, not by how much of a fortune I leave behind. Above all, I want to feel happy and satisfied after a good day's work. If I can do that, then everything else is a by-product of that feeling. I am a misfit, it seems. Maybe I am. But I am happy. Happy to be a misfit.
A soon-to-be married friend's house. The topic of discussion meandered towards the purpose of one's life. We had been talking about how today, young parents want the best (read most expensive) education for their children. And even when they could ill-afford to do so. Then the question arose, what is the purpose of the current generation? Only to bring up the future generation in as expensive a manner as it can, believing it to be the best way of upbringing children? No, everyone felt. Ideally not. There had to be more to life that this. Not that everybody wanted to do so. But then, the favourite whipping boy, 'peer pressure', was blamed. 'Karna padta hai'. Is one happy doing so? Certainly not. Does one feel like doing something to remedy the situation? No. I am amazed. Most of us are not really happy with the lives we are leading in the first place. On top of that, young couples are burdened with the societal pressures of bringing up children in the best (read most expensive) manner possible. Is this the life that we are supposed to be living? What happened to the investment banker who used to love writing poetry? Hasn't put pen to paper for the last 4 years, I am told. What about the chartered accountant who used to love painting? Has almost forgotten how it feels to hold a paintbrush in his hands.
The big new car? We have it. A house at Malabar Hill? Slogging day and night towards it, many will make it there. The vacation to Egypt? Been there last month itself. Satisfaction in life? You gotta be kidding. Satisfaction at work? Don't even talk about it. Thats a paradox, isn't it? Satisfaction? Work? If its work, its got to be tedious, boring, a daily struggle, a necessary evil so that I can have the next big car before my colleague buys it, so that I can buy an even bigger house, so that I can go back to Egypt again to temporarily escape the dull drab drudgery thats my work.
I start thinking about myself. I desire something too. No, its not that big new car. No, its not a house at Malabar Hill. Its not that overseas vacation either. I desire something more basic. I desire to do work. Good work. Work that creates. Work that is fulfilling. Work that leaves an imprint. I want to be remembered by the work that I have done, not by how much of a fortune I leave behind. Above all, I want to feel happy and satisfied after a good day's work. If I can do that, then everything else is a by-product of that feeling. I am a misfit, it seems. Maybe I am. But I am happy. Happy to be a misfit.
Friday, 27 November 2009
Sreesanth . . . Back with a bang!
Its so heartwarming to see a bowler, a fast bowler at that, get the Man of the Match award in a Test match in India. That too, after the run feast that ensued at Ahmedabad which must have left a bad taste in the mouth for the bowlers.
At the outset, credit must go to the team management for having the guts to play Sreesanth in what was his first Test in over one and a half years. Yes, it could have backfired, Sreesanth could have been only so much hot air as usual, he had been given a 'final' warning by the BCCI recently, but kudos to Dhoni and co. for giving the man a chance. He wasn't a natural selection anyways. Admitted that Ishant Sharma has been steadily going downhill this year. He has lost considerably in pace and is just not able to exert a decent amount of control on the batsmen. Too often, he has wasted the new ball, spraying it all around. And when batsmen of the calibre of Mahela Jayawardena know that all you are going to do with the new ball is just bring it in off a good length from off stump so that it ends up almost on leg stump, you are a sitting duck. However, in Sreesanth, the replacement for Ishant, Dhoni had an altogether different dimension to handle - its no secret that the guy is not popular in the Indian dressing room - and the last thing you want before a Test match is going in with a new ball bowler whom the fielders will love not to support. Its an extreme thought but more diabolical things have happened in Indian cricket. Given this, Sreesanth and Bhajji seemed to make all the brotherly noises when celebrating the downfall of the Lankan wickets. Here's hoping it wasn't just for the cameras.
Coming back to Sreesanth the bowler. Way too often has Sreesanth the maverick ridden roughshod over the Sreesanth the bowler. Dhoni called him one of the best reverse swing bowlers in India today. With Sreesanth, when he's in rhythm, he's almost the bowling equivalent of Virender Sehwag. He'll continue to work the magic so long as he desires. The surroundings just stop to matter. Delivery after delivery, he was right on target, making the ball talk as if he was bowling in English conditions. Purists have always drooled over his perfect seam position. That and more was on display at Kanpur. What was interesting was his deliberate attempt not to overcelebrate a wicket. In fact, I believe he carried it too far but then when you have received a 'final' warning from your employers, I guess you are bound to be a bit overrcautious. Not all comebacks are fairytale ones. But if Sree can continue to exhibit even a fraction of the control that he commands over the ball, over himself , this might well be the dawn of a new Sreesanth, one that prefers the 'seam position' to 'screaming at the opposition'
At the outset, credit must go to the team management for having the guts to play Sreesanth in what was his first Test in over one and a half years. Yes, it could have backfired, Sreesanth could have been only so much hot air as usual, he had been given a 'final' warning by the BCCI recently, but kudos to Dhoni and co. for giving the man a chance. He wasn't a natural selection anyways. Admitted that Ishant Sharma has been steadily going downhill this year. He has lost considerably in pace and is just not able to exert a decent amount of control on the batsmen. Too often, he has wasted the new ball, spraying it all around. And when batsmen of the calibre of Mahela Jayawardena know that all you are going to do with the new ball is just bring it in off a good length from off stump so that it ends up almost on leg stump, you are a sitting duck. However, in Sreesanth, the replacement for Ishant, Dhoni had an altogether different dimension to handle - its no secret that the guy is not popular in the Indian dressing room - and the last thing you want before a Test match is going in with a new ball bowler whom the fielders will love not to support. Its an extreme thought but more diabolical things have happened in Indian cricket. Given this, Sreesanth and Bhajji seemed to make all the brotherly noises when celebrating the downfall of the Lankan wickets. Here's hoping it wasn't just for the cameras.
Coming back to Sreesanth the bowler. Way too often has Sreesanth the maverick ridden roughshod over the Sreesanth the bowler. Dhoni called him one of the best reverse swing bowlers in India today. With Sreesanth, when he's in rhythm, he's almost the bowling equivalent of Virender Sehwag. He'll continue to work the magic so long as he desires. The surroundings just stop to matter. Delivery after delivery, he was right on target, making the ball talk as if he was bowling in English conditions. Purists have always drooled over his perfect seam position. That and more was on display at Kanpur. What was interesting was his deliberate attempt not to overcelebrate a wicket. In fact, I believe he carried it too far but then when you have received a 'final' warning from your employers, I guess you are bound to be a bit overrcautious. Not all comebacks are fairytale ones. But if Sree can continue to exhibit even a fraction of the control that he commands over the ball, over himself , this might well be the dawn of a new Sreesanth, one that prefers the 'seam position' to 'screaming at the opposition'
Monday, 9 November 2009
20 years and countless heartbreaks - 'Sach' is life
I've watched the India Australia match at Hyderabad and been priveleged enough to have witnessed one of the best limited overs innings of all time. As a viewer and a fan, I have got more than my share of entertainment. Yes, it hurts that yet again, a certain Sachin Tendulkar took India so close in a monumental chase, and then they somehow contrived to crumble in a heap at the doorstep of victory. I've shed my share of tears afer hearing Tendulkar's post match comments, will fret about what could have been and then go to sleep. Tomorrow will be another day for me, as it will be for millions of other fans.
For a moment, I try to imagine what the man himself must be feeling right now. Never have I seen him so gutted after losing a match. Can any of us imagine what a battered 36 year old veteran must be going through after spending almost 7 hours in the middle, scoring more than half the runs his side has, almost winning the match singlehandedly, only to find the door to victory shut rudely in his face because a few of his mates couldn't get a foot in the door he had kept prised open till then? When was the last time the difference between the top score and the next best score was 116 runs? To think that the valiance of the man came unstuck because someone didn't dive in when threatened by a run-out. Has a lack of basics ever hurt more? Why he, out of 1.25 billion people? Why only he, O Almighty, to shoulder the burden of others' incompetence? Wasn't Pakistan 1999 in Chennai enough? Weren't a countless other heartbreaks enough? Pray, aren't 20 years enough? How many more letdowns can he suffer? As usual, some will say that he did not finish the job he had set out to do. Which job? That of making up for others' folly? India had no right to be in the position they were in, but for Sachin. It wasn't India against Australia actually. It was Sachin Tendulkar against Australia. Like it was in the Sharjah desert more than a decade back. Some things never change.
P.S.: And Mr. Punter, you could have been more appreciative of the man at the post match presentation than "He plaaayed brilliantly". He deserved much more from the man who is attempting to chase his records. I stick my neck out and say that you could have never played an innings of such magnificence, never ever while chasing 350 under lights. Remember Nagpur barely a week ago? No, your innings batting first in the 2003 World Cup final pales in comparison.
P.S.: And Mr. Punter, you could have been more appreciative of the man at the post match presentation than "He plaaayed brilliantly". He deserved much more from the man who is attempting to chase his records. I stick my neck out and say that you could have never played an innings of such magnificence, never ever while chasing 350 under lights. Remember Nagpur barely a week ago? No, your innings batting first in the 2003 World Cup final pales in comparison.
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Mom and Tennis . . . and Federer
I owe Roger Federer a lot. It was about four years ago in 2005 when I was watching the French Open, I guess, when something unexpected happened. My mother, your typical stoic Indian housewife, started watching the game. I told her about how this guy named Federer was already on his way to greatness, and also about this teenaged Spanish fellow named Rafael Nadal who kept running and retrieving all that his rivals threw at him. Before I knew, my mother got hooked onto the diet of tennis and of course, Federer.
For all her life, my mother has never had any aim except to see to it that her two children, me and my sister, are well looked after. She’s had no desires of her own, except to see our desires getting fulfilled. Now, she had one. And that was to see this mild-mannered Swiss win, match after match, tournament after tournament. She’d never had any hero in her life to look upto, now she had one. Soon, she started to love the game of tennis because of him.
Her domestic chore schedule started being dictated by Grand Slam draws. Most of her tasks are completed before Federer descends on to Centre Court. After that, till the match lasts, it’s a roller coaster ride of emotions. Each hold of serve is greeted with a sigh of relief, each break of serve silently cheered with a look of ‘finally, you managed to do it’. The nowadays vulnerable backhand is admonished while his seemingly dwindling capacity to crank up the aces regularly is fretted about constantly.
When I’m at office, I am assured of regular score updates, a bit too regular if Federer is playing that day. She knows her tennis history basics well. Rod Laver’s or Bjorn Borg’s presence on the court doesn’t go unnoticed. Nadal is viewed with revulsion and scorn, although with a grudging respect and admiration for his never-say-die approach. (This year at Wimbledon, she’s realized that for all his beauty and grace, its not Federer but Nadal who brings verve and vitality to a tournament). Players that Roger loves to whip are her favourites, Andy Roddick, Nikolay Davydenko, Lleyton Hewitt, James Blake. Murray and Djokovic are the arrogant upstarts who dare to - and occasionally do - upset her favourite’s applecart.
After he lost the Wimbledon 2008 final to Nadal, the atmosphere at home for the next few days was funereal. I cried with relief after he came back from the dead to take the tie to a fifth set, but I knew Nadal deserved to win that day. But mom couldn’t reconcile to the fact that Federer had lost. “It was Wimbledon, wasn’t it? Not the stupid red clay which these Spaniards anyways love. How dare he!” she said of Nadal.
When he lost the 2009 Australian Open to Nadal, he was hardly able to speak, and then someone from the crowd shouted, “We love you, Federer”. The dam broke, and the Master wept like a kid. And she wept along with him, feeling the disappointment of her champion, his tacit acceptance of Nadal’s superiority that day.
Later, she was over the moon when Federer finally won the French Open this year.
What does she see in this man, she, this non-matriculate, village-bred, middle-aged Indian woman? Tennis is not supposed to be for her, is it? It’s supposed to be an elitist sport. I believe it’s the wizard-like artistry in Federer that enchants her, though she might not be able to describe it in as many words. The guy has a way of endearing himself to anyone, even a commoner. He is supremely controlled yet amenable to the occasional display of emotion, invincible on his day yet vulnerable in a delicate manner, all deft touches and then some brutal hits, almost immortal yet almost the guy-next-door.
For me, in an abstract manner, he is the closest I have seen to Howard Roark from Ayn Rand’s ‘The Fountainhead’. He is as man ‘should be’, existing for the sake of his work, his art, his game. The court is his canvas, the racquet his brush, all the tennis records his to paint. He exists for no other reason, and one can’t imagine otherwise. The fluidity of his movements, the beauty of his shot-making, his grace in occasional defeat, and his humility in victory all point to the greatness of what man can achieve.
You’re special for my mother and millions of other fans across the world. Thank you, Roger.
For all her life, my mother has never had any aim except to see to it that her two children, me and my sister, are well looked after. She’s had no desires of her own, except to see our desires getting fulfilled. Now, she had one. And that was to see this mild-mannered Swiss win, match after match, tournament after tournament. She’d never had any hero in her life to look upto, now she had one. Soon, she started to love the game of tennis because of him.
Her domestic chore schedule started being dictated by Grand Slam draws. Most of her tasks are completed before Federer descends on to Centre Court. After that, till the match lasts, it’s a roller coaster ride of emotions. Each hold of serve is greeted with a sigh of relief, each break of serve silently cheered with a look of ‘finally, you managed to do it’. The nowadays vulnerable backhand is admonished while his seemingly dwindling capacity to crank up the aces regularly is fretted about constantly.
When I’m at office, I am assured of regular score updates, a bit too regular if Federer is playing that day. She knows her tennis history basics well. Rod Laver’s or Bjorn Borg’s presence on the court doesn’t go unnoticed. Nadal is viewed with revulsion and scorn, although with a grudging respect and admiration for his never-say-die approach. (This year at Wimbledon, she’s realized that for all his beauty and grace, its not Federer but Nadal who brings verve and vitality to a tournament). Players that Roger loves to whip are her favourites, Andy Roddick, Nikolay Davydenko, Lleyton Hewitt, James Blake. Murray and Djokovic are the arrogant upstarts who dare to - and occasionally do - upset her favourite’s applecart.
After he lost the Wimbledon 2008 final to Nadal, the atmosphere at home for the next few days was funereal. I cried with relief after he came back from the dead to take the tie to a fifth set, but I knew Nadal deserved to win that day. But mom couldn’t reconcile to the fact that Federer had lost. “It was Wimbledon, wasn’t it? Not the stupid red clay which these Spaniards anyways love. How dare he!” she said of Nadal.
When he lost the 2009 Australian Open to Nadal, he was hardly able to speak, and then someone from the crowd shouted, “We love you, Federer”. The dam broke, and the Master wept like a kid. And she wept along with him, feeling the disappointment of her champion, his tacit acceptance of Nadal’s superiority that day.
Later, she was over the moon when Federer finally won the French Open this year.
What does she see in this man, she, this non-matriculate, village-bred, middle-aged Indian woman? Tennis is not supposed to be for her, is it? It’s supposed to be an elitist sport. I believe it’s the wizard-like artistry in Federer that enchants her, though she might not be able to describe it in as many words. The guy has a way of endearing himself to anyone, even a commoner. He is supremely controlled yet amenable to the occasional display of emotion, invincible on his day yet vulnerable in a delicate manner, all deft touches and then some brutal hits, almost immortal yet almost the guy-next-door.
For me, in an abstract manner, he is the closest I have seen to Howard Roark from Ayn Rand’s ‘The Fountainhead’. He is as man ‘should be’, existing for the sake of his work, his art, his game. The court is his canvas, the racquet his brush, all the tennis records his to paint. He exists for no other reason, and one can’t imagine otherwise. The fluidity of his movements, the beauty of his shot-making, his grace in occasional defeat, and his humility in victory all point to the greatness of what man can achieve.
You’re special for my mother and millions of other fans across the world. Thank you, Roger.
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