Dear Rahul Gandhi!

Dear Rahul,

At the outset let me congratulate you on your magnificent victory in the just concluded General Elections. I am sure the victory must taste like the honey from the best beehive that the Congress Party is!  You were able to hold back stiff competition from the serious thrust of glitz and glamour that the opposition directed towards you. I mean one of your opponents was a ‘wanted-to-become-a-filmstar-but ended-up-on-Idiot-Box’ women and the other who made a living out of cracking jokes! (I am sure you will agree that the former being the Vice President of some standing in the party which is about to form the new Federal Government or the latter a member of the party which dislodged your Government of some standing in Delhi should not be allowed to derail our narrative here) Add to it the below the belt actions of the Prime Minister elect who throwing niceties, courtesies and convention to the wind campaigned against you. Against YOU! How mean and nasty that man is! And yet, and yet you scored a wonderful goal and defeated them. (I am sure you will agree with me yet again that small matters like a reduced margin etc should not dampen our spirit. I mean if Chidambaram can become Finance Minister, Home Minister, Finance Minister despite a margin of victory in double digits or some such thing, why should it bother us? But then we digress)

Third best dimple in India!

Let me confess. I like you. Not only because you possess the third best dimples going around in India at the moment, after my son and Priety Zinta in that order, but also because you are an inspiration for my generation. Here I was on the wrong side of forty with a daughter about to enter high school and worried stiff that I am already into the second innings of my life. And ‘poof’ you appear and convince me and the multitude of fellow travelers that ‘40+ is young’! I am energized, rejuvenated, full of hope and happy that I am young after all. The only regret that I share with you is that the others in our bracket and many below and above, couldn’t grasp this simple message and in their ignorance channelized the same energy and hope to run all the way to the EVM and vote for our opponents. If only you were allowed to contest all 543 seats and if only were the whole country Amethi. Sigh!

 

Almost empowered! Better luck next time Rahul!

One among many of your path breaking ideas was, you guessed it, Women empowerment. Now this is a subject very close to my heart. I am also a firm believer in this dictum that women must be empowered. And I practice it in my domestic life too! My better half (see no Wife, Mrs, Biwi, Spouse and other such derogatory words, Welcome!) is completely empowered and considers you her idol. So much so that she took it upon her to put into practice your dream of women empowerment and voted for Jayalalitha! I am sure the only regret I have is that you could have empowered a women similarly but then you are still a bachelor and I would not like to make this personal.

Let me also confess that I envy you! Here I am completely enmeshed by the mundane. Of doing a job, earning money, build a secure future, take care of my family, listen to bosses, sweat over targets, fear pink slips…………..I am sure you get the drift. And here are you! I don’t think you have had to do any job ever in your life. I mean being crowned Vice President of a party practicing Sexually Transmitted Democracy is not a JOB! Then again, Boss? What Boss? I am willing to slog all my life if I were to be given, just once, an opportunity to throw the laptop containing the presentation that the Board of Directors have slogged over right on their heads with your signature “You know what I think of this? NONSENSE!”

That Smile........PRICELESS!

And finally your absolute calm and equanimity on the face of adversity is what men should be made off. I was one among the multitude who saw you make that the post election results speech on TV. What nonchalance! Nothing fazes you while the shrill over-the-top media was calling a simple “pretty poor” a decimation, a debacle and what not! And that smile of yours as you took responsibility for that piddly pin prick called losing by a landslide…….well……………….PRICELESS!

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PS: Shall I stop honing my letter writing skills with this or shall I continue and put ink to paper and dash off one last salvo at Arvind Kejriwal? Please to tell!

Glossary :

Biwi : Wife

Dear Sri Narendra Modi!

Dear Sri Narendra Modi,

At the outset I am sure you would like to join me in congratulating the electorates of India for participating in huge numbers in the recently concluded tryst with the EVM. A record 66.38% voters exercising their franchise, the best ever in our electoral history is something to be proud of; a portion of the credit must accrue to you too. Should the exit polls hold on to their batting form, it would only be fair on my part to congratulate you on your victory and the victory of your party and front.

I recollect an interview you gave at the fag end of this long drawn out election campaign wherein you had mentioned that election rhetoric is just an activity during a competition, not to be taken too seriously once the last vote is counted. It is governance which is paramount and one needs to take every section of the society to deliver good governance. “Even a one MP party is a representative of the people who have voted for him/ her and must be listened too” were your exact words. Buoyed by these words, I venture into writing this note to you expressing some of my expectations from your government.

I am sure I speak for millions of Indians who voted for you despite not being members of the sangh parivar. People who look up to you to deliver on key areas which directly affect our lives, our aspirations, our wallets. Firstly I hope your government will focus on giving the sluggish economy a leg up. Take decisions on pending policies/legislations which will help investments, growth, jobs, reduce inflation whereby putting money in my hands. Tax me please but AFTER opening avenues for me to earn enough to secure my future and pay my taxes.

Every time I travel on work or otherwise, I thank the first Prime Minister from your party, Shri Atal Bihari Vajpayee for giving this country one of its best infrastructure projects, the four/six lane Golden Quadrilateral colloquially known as the “Vajpayee Highways”. I wish you would take up a similar project which will be a legacy to remember you by. You have mentioned interlinking of the rivers already. I would suggest you set up a network of world class food storage and cold chain infrastructure. You are aware that the FCI warehouses are a farce. Being in a country where Goddess Annapurna is revered, wasting food due to pathetic storage is blasphemy. Food security is a mirage if the food grains are not secure. Simultaneously if you are able to help the States expand public distribution and prevent leakages as done by your colleague in Chattisgarh Dr.Raman Singh, you would have done yeoman service to this country.

NaMoshkaar!

I know you are smart enough to have worked out by now that building temples especially at ‘that very spot’ is not the reason most voted you in. As you rightly said, ‘shauchalayas’ are more important than adding one more temple to the land of great temples. I would like to see you go one step. If a school/college is added to the proposed ‘shauchalaya’,  sone pe suhaga.

I am quite confident that the bravado and the jingoistic chest thumping on Pakistan displayed before and during the election campaign was for the benefit of a certain section of the country who are sold to Bollywoodese. I am confident you already know that some of these rather farfetched bombastic warmongering that one sees from this section of your fandom is a zilch idea. While I would leave you to run your foreign policy based on your oft repeated principle, India First, vis-à-vis any country let alone Pakistan, I would sincerely pray that you focus attention on prevention of terror attacks on this country by tightening the security apparatus which was announced with fanfare post 26/11 and is a non-starter on the ground. Needless to add I am sure you are colour blind when it comes to threats of terrorism that India faces.

I noted your views on the Muslims of this country particularly the part where you say that Muslims don’t want to be exploited by lectures on Secularism. Instead what they want is to lead their lives like normal Indians, get equal opportunities in education, jobs and a gateway to transform their lives for the better. All this without discrimination and in an atmosphere sans fear. I am sure all right thinking people will agree with you on this diagnosis. To quote one of your interviews again, you said the only holy book for governance in India is the Constitution of India. As someone who will take oath to discharge your duties in accordance with the same holy book, I am sure you and your Government will spend your energies to uphold all its tenants including Secularism. No appeasement I agree, No discrimination either, in the spirit of Yemmadhamum Sammadhamey!

We, as in all of us, religion no bar!

There is more, a lot more to do that this letter threatens to morph into a book! And frankly I am not sure sixty months are enough to do all that needs to be done. However the Janta Janardhan of this country is a very wise one. When they see good work being done, they shower their blessings again and again on the doer. On the flip side, they are also wise enough to show the door to those who they smell are not working for them. Best of men and women have fallen victim to their displeasure just as many you including have received multiple mandates from them. I am sure as a consummate politician you know them better than I do. I wish you do well enough, and for all of us, to make India Saare Jahan Se Achcha when, as you often say, she celebrates her Amrutvarsha!

Jai Hind!

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PS: Letter to Rahul Gandhi will be out next week!

Glossary :

Sangh Parivar : Hindu right wing organizations.

Shauchalaya : Toilets

Sone pe suhaga : (Simile) Icing on the cake.

Yemmadhamum Sammadhamey : (Tamil) I accept all religions.

Janta Janardhan : Equating citizen to god.

Saare Jahan Se Achcha: The best in the world.

Amrutavarsha : 75^th Anniversary.

Whistle Podu Machchi!!!!

Let me start with a few confessions. I love the IPL. And if it makes you think I am some kind of downmarket chump who actually loves let alone tolerate or hate it, so be it. Secondly, let this not be mistaken for my lack of affection for the more serious business of Cricket viz. Tests, ODIs etc. My love for IPL is more primitive, less nuanced and more fun. After all as I often say, IPL is the mother of all Govinda films, rivals the best that Bollywood can throw at you! IPL is a microcosm of India where we celebrate all our differences and yet respect that impossible to explain but easy to experience thing called the 'Idea of India'. Lemme illustrate. When was the last time you took potshots at the saand buddhis of Delhi and the aiyyo aiyyo madrasis without feeling pangs of guilt or having the law book thrown at you? At the IPL of course! Imagine a politico trying to do it and poof! would go his/her right to contest an election ever again!  When did you ever claim rights over a dude who is now more Tamizh than you and me and hoot down any Jharkhandi from Ranchi who claims to the contrary? Thala Da! Unity in diversity as they have been calling it since my school debate days. And to take it to a higher universal level, Gaylestorm is a Bangalore phenomenon, Malinga is a Mumbaikar and it is Amaar Shonar Shakib! Our forefathers had a right phrase for this too, Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam!

Thala n Chinna Thala

Saar!

On the field, my loyalties lie strictly in line with my highest sense of parochialism! As a true blue Tamizhan and part of the knowledgeable Chepauk Crowd my loyalties lie with the Chennai Super Kings. Just look at our line up! Thala, Chinna Thala, Saar, Ash 'Win'nu, The Enthusiast, Srini Mama!!! The team to beat as always! Unlike the Gayle Gangnam style which is now routine, our Bravo gigs a new step after every catch or wicket. With such a line up at our disposal, most of us CSKians spend the first half of the tournament trying to find out who meets us in the finals. Post the victory we take to the Social Media like a swarm of bees to sting the opposition to their knees. Should we lose the final, we take to the Social Media like a swarm of bees and trend  "2 IPLs, 1 CL, 4 finals, Playoff everytime! #WhistlePodu" till the next IPL. (In between every time the Indian team struggles, we console ourselves with "What a flop! It all now boils down to CSKvsAus or CSKvsEng" etc)

'WIN'nu!!!

One departure from the above routine perfected over the last million years at CSK is the absence of some of the usual suspects in its lineup this season. No longer can I tweet "Murali Vijay out for a 0. Auspicious beginning for CSK!". No longer can I post "Why fear when Badri is here!" after the fall of two quick wickets. I will also miss the presence of our Enthusiast No 1 at the dugout and I suspect Sakshi Bhabhi at the stands. And to confess I am not liking it one bit....................

:((((((

Put Whistle Ma!

Whatever said and done, Chalo Bulava aaya hai! Whistle Podu Machchi!!!!

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PS: Never write a book again Mr.Cricket!!!

Glossary:

Saand Buddhi : Bull headed.

Vasudaiva Kutumbakam : World is a family

Bouquets, Brickbats & World Cups!

I would have ideally loved to have written this happily from the winner’s corner rather than with a team which after threatening to kayo all opposition finished with the silver medal in the just concluded World T20 in Bangladesh. While admitting to not being too sold on the shortest version of International Cricket, I do follow it like any other fan especially if it is a Nation vs Nation tournament. And hence a sense of disappointment aired in the opening lines of this note.

Looking back there were quite a few positives to come out of the tournament. Firstly India reinforced that they are a powerhouse in the subcontinent and the only competition to this team is possibly and equally endowed team from the subcontinent, Sri Lanka in this case. What happens when this team travels to England and in longer formats is a debate which I postpone to a later date. Secondly, and this is not restricted by any geography, is the reconfirmation of the fact that the next batting superstar from India is well and truly underway to dominate all bowling in the years to come. No points for guessing that I refer to Virat Kohli who is likely to become the ‘prized wicket’ in the decades to follow.

'Prized Wicket' in the decades to come

Thirdly, whether it was the pitches or the confidence shown in him or simply the belting he received at the hands of M S Dhoni during practice or a combination of all these, Amit Mishra yet again staked his claim to be the best leggie in India at the moment and by a mile. A large heart comes as an asset if you have to do what Mishi did in the tourney, attack and look for wickets and not be overtly bothered by an odd boundary or two. Finally, the reincarnation of Ravichandran Ashwin as a wicket taking weapon. I am not given to going overboard but that Hashim Amla ball was indeed magic. That his wicket taking led to drop in economy rate was but an expected collateral benefit. Despite the loss in the final the team looks fairly balanced to win in the subcontinent and compete well abroad.

2007 seems eons ago!

The reaction post the defeat in the finals was unexpected to say the least. That people should resort to pelting stones at Yuvraj Singh’s house shows that juvenility is still very much in vogue in the country. Yuvraj Singh is easy target, an identifiable scapegoat. Objectively speaking even his diehard fans would readily admit that he has been off colour for some time now and should have ideally been dropped after the first or second league game. That he was played in every game including the finals speaks volumes of the misplaced confidence the team management reposed on him.

The most disturbing feature for me throughout the tournament though was the Captain. It was visible to the whole world except M S D that Yuvraj was struggling and like hell. Admittedly reposing faith on a struggling player is part of his role, winning for the team is his primary one and MSD was found wanting on this count by backing past performance than present form. Not dropping Yuvi, not changing the batting order to give an inform Suresh Raina a larger opportunity or promoting himself in the final ahead of Suresh Raina who has been at his fluent best in the tourney, preferring Mohit Sharma over Mohammad Shami………..many of these moves belies logic. While one may point out to similar cases in the past, Ishant and CT13 comes to mind, one feels it is time to remind the Captain that he is playing Cricket and not poker.

 

Time for a 'DRS' on his Captaincy?

If the above lines give you the impression that I am nitpicking, let me assure you I am not. For it was evident to all of us, Sri Lanka bowled possibly the best death overs seen in a long long time. Don’t forget they reduced Dhoni to a strokeless wonder and denied Virat Kohli the strike. They looked hungrier too given the additional incentive of “This time for Sangakkara and Jayawardene”. Reminds us Indians so much about a similar evening at Wankhede on 2^nd April 2011!

Family Inc!

Recently I happened to attend a conference where one of the topics debated was “The role of professionals in family run business”. The speakers included select business leaders of ‘Family run’ companies. As expected most of them were first generation businessmen who through hard work and industry had set up and grown their companies to their present position, each one a fairly well established set up in my city. While they made a strong case study of how to start and build a business, it was while explaining the topic and how they saw the role of “Professionals” in their organization that most stumbled. Random high sounding jargons like “marry traditional values to modern trade practices”, “making the Professional a part of the family”, “inculcate a sense of belonging to the professional” etc were spouted. On prodding what these actually meant and how one or they did all the above drew further incoherent bilge. As an ‘expert’ on the subject, I take it upon me to elucidate on this, a subject which will fill a fairly large portion of my autobiography as and when it is written.

What I could make out of the industry leaders in the conference was most that of them thought ‘Professional’ means a suited-booted, laptop lugging, English Medium Type who swore by XL spread sheets and power point presentations! Knowing that I have been blessed with readers who are much more well versed with the term, I refrain from giving my ‘dose’ of gyaan on the same. (Should you still feel lost; a cursory glance into Oxford Dictionary should suffice. Welcome!) If the speakers were confused on the definition of professionals, the audience a few exceptions apart (Ahem! Ahem!!) were confused on what is ‘Family run business’. This needs an explanation as I don’t think Oxford or any other dictionary is capable of getting to the soul of this definition.

Firstly, family run businesses are not necessarily a small mom-n-pop businesses as the word may fool you into believing. Scale is immaterial when it comes to family run businesses. Secondly, most businesses world over are family run businesses. You find my statements incredible? Here you go……Who do you think has succeeded Rupert Murdoch’s Media empire? James Murdoch! Closer home after Ratan Tata who?  Cyrus Pallonji Mistry. Mistry is no Tata you say? Well Mistry is family, extended one through marriage! (Noel Tata lurks in the background) Birlaji’s successors are who else but Birlajis. Then there is one of the oldest family run enterprises in the country which goes by the name of the Indian National Congress!

Tataji & Birlaji

As someone who has worked all his life in family run companies the above mentioned conference was of zilch value to me as it gave me no clue on what the ‘family’ expects from a ‘professional’ that I didn’t know already. I venture into sharing some guru-mantra instead on what ‘professionals’ should expect in a ‘family run business’, a sort of a quickie, self-help ideas to bear in mind while on work.

Please expect and be prepared for a sugar coated variant of feudalism if you want to succeed in such organizations. A little bit of tact and some amount of apple-polishing should be ideal recipe for success. If you agree with “Boss is right” then you should not have any problem with “Lalaji is right” either!

Whatever your qualification or your experience in the business of your organization, please remember you can only make suggestions and not give decisions. That is the exclusive preserve of the ‘Sethji’. The more your suggestions are accepted and you get a go ahead for implementation the better is the likelihood of your Diwali ‘packet’ becoming fatter!

Murdochji

Grow a thick hide! Remember to address the gen-next as ‘Sir’ or ‘Madam’ however dumb, dumber or dumbest they may be. Or even if they are old enough to just about be dating you son or grandson.

Tone down your ambitions. Remember it is always the Yuvraj who succeeds the Maharaj and never the Mantri. And there is no guarantee of Mantri’s progeny succeeding the Mantri either!

Never swallow the bluff of your fancy sounding designation like Business Head or CEO on the business card. You will always be way below in the hierarchy. You will most definitely follow the Lalaji, Lalaji Junior, the family Munshiji and the Lalaji’s driver in the ladder.

Lalaji

If all this sounds scary, relax! Be pragmatic. If there is no parambarai sotthu or zamindari to fall back upon, just follow the herd. After all money in the bank has never hurt anyone that I know of! Remember there is always a lottery waiting to fall into your lap should the Lalaji’s daughter fall for you!

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P.S.: I once worked for a Lalaji whose definition of ‘Vision’ was eye sight! I am sure you are better off!

Glossary:

Gyaan: Knowledge

Guru-Mantra: Tips

 Lalaji/Sethji : Owner of the business

Yuvraj: Prince

Maharaj: King

Munshiji: Family accountant.

Parambarai Sotthu: Ancestral property

Zamindari : Fiefdom.

Gym! Boom!! Baah!!!

Let us start with busting a few myths. Firstly, being lean and lanky is not equivalent to being fit. You don’t believe me? Try sprinting approximately 32 meters to board the last fast local to Virar or a similar distance to jump onto the footboard of that Gandhipuram-Singanallur town bus. You made it? Good! Now do you feel you are about to collapse of a heart attack? Great, first myth busted. Secondly,dear roly-poly, rotund, gol-matol, couch potatoes, “ I go for a walk everyday and eat only two chappaties” is neither an adequate exercise nor appropriate weight reduction formula. Thirdly, when you gen-nexters look up from your laptop, mobile, television screens and gaze into the crystal ball and you do not see yourself in either of the above described scenario you think? BUSTED!

Here is some sane and free advice. Take the plunge now by choice or be condemned to being forced to later by a prescription and a medical bill running into……………..!Or you can also wait for the day when you see your toes only on a mirror because that ombodhu masam blocks your view! Once I munched through all the above, I decided to dive headlong into it. The added incentive was to prove the myth “Life starts at forty” right!

The preliminary to joining the gym was right up my alley.  Shopping for the right shoes, track pants, tees, sipper, gym bag etc was a breeze. The presence of an up market gym in the locality was a help too. Out came the credit card and the gym fees for the next two years paid in a jiffy, in advance. The night before, all the paraphernalia was neatly laid out on the sofa ( being a considerate type, I didn’t want to wake up the entire household that early in the morning), alarm was set to discreet mode on the mobile which in turn was placed strategically below the pillow (Please re-read the sentence written within the brackets above, welcome!) And self was before the instructor before either the locality dogs or the nearest TASMAC outlet had woken up.

Adrenalin runs high when intention meets enthusiasm. Every instruction of the instructor was followed like an eager beaver; every exercise was indulged in, a few rounds more than what the instructor wanted you to. A wry smile, a sly giggle was directed at ‘uncles’ in the adjacent treadmill or dumbles rack as they huffed and puffed. Every sinew of the body was thoroughly rinsed before I said bye to the instructor. The rest of the day at work and otherwise was spent in trying to somehow build in words like exercise, fitness, health consciousness, gymnasium into every conversation and hopefully get an opportunity to spout gyaan on the same. The preliminary preparation for day two followed the same as day one and hence I decide not to repeat the same.

On day two  the alarm rang, snooze button pressed, repeat, repeat, repeat………..as the body refused simple commands like opening the eyes or getting up from the bed. By now the discrete alarm had woken up the entire household. Amidst the commotion as the eyes finally opened and the torso moved northwards, the legs decided to go on a flash strike. Further pushing, pulling, jostling later (ably supported by the uproarious laughter of the Mrs and appan suppan kind of comments from the kiddos) I managed to reach the gym. There is a premium that I pay for sound education, a respect that is reserved for none or nothing else. The Class III lesson “Perseverance Pays” flashed on my mind as I gingerly mounted the ‘air-walk’. To cut the story short, the Class III lesson won the day and the next and the next…………..

As the days went on, I worked out a formula which helped me to grow beyond the Class III lesson as the only source of motivation. Creaking bones and aching muscles need much more than just the above dictum. The first was to find ‘partners’ with whom you work out. While this may sound rather innocuous, it actually calls for much more thought. I selected a slightly middle aged ‘uncle’ who had been pumping iron for a few months now and a fifteen year old bubbloo who seemed to be a waking-walking advertisement for potato chips. The uncle gave me the enthusiasm to compete with him and the bubbloo gave me the laughs. Secondly I selected a time-band when there were no members of the fairer sex around.  The Gym history is littered with innumerable cases of wannabe Casanovas who pulled iron only to pull out once the neighbourhood nymph broke out into peals of laughter.  Among the other strategies employed was to sing praises of the instructor to other mates in the gym, especially when he was in the hearing zone. Recommending the ‘great’ gym to fellow workers and dragging them to the place irrespective of the fact they joined it or not also made him ‘go slow’ on you.  The clincher was getting the instructor to play a list of your favourite songs during the work out starting with “Gymmy, gymmy, gymmy! Aaaja aaja aaja’!

 It has been a month or so since I have graduated from “aah, the pain” to the “aaha the pain”!

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PS: Always inform the instructor your reason for joining the work out lest you might end up losing weight when your wish was just the opposite or end up looking like the last thing you wanted, an over grown bollywood like orangutan! 

Glossary:

Gol-Matol : Roly poly

Chappati :  Indian Bread

Ombodhu Masam : Literal - Nine Months, Simile - Tummy like that of a pregnant women.

Gyaan - Knowledge, lecture.

Babbloo : Roly poly kid.

Appan Suppan : Daddy is a weakling! 

Stories from Eden Gardens !

As the relic of the Raj days, the good old Ambassador ‘kaala-pila’ taxi huffed and puffed its way on the Red Road enroute to Howrah Station, the silhouette of the iconic Eden Gardens was just about visible. As the rickety beast took a left turn from Nejati’s statue and was about to cross the Akashwani Bhawan , nostalgia stuck. The Temple, the end of the rainbow for the cricket crazed populace of Calcutta, the revered piece of concrete and turf among the Cricketing luminaries, the Garden of Eden was just a arms length away. “Darao! Ban dike jao!” I blurted. The tyres screeched as the driver responding to my cries desperately turned left and halted in a jolt. I looked at him sheepishly and apologetically requested him to take a ride around the stadium. The prospects of a hefty tip apart I could see no reason for the cabbie to accept my request.

My 'Mecca' in Calcutta

As the cabbie did a round and more of the veritable adda of my youth, memories gushed in torrents. Eden Gardens had witnessed epic battles on and off the pitch is well known and even better written about. Surprisingly none of the more famous (notorious?) incidents sprang to my mind. What came to mind first was the day two of the test match between a hurt and hungry for revenge West Indies and ‘World Champion’ India on 11^th Dec, 1983. Day one was off on a sensational note with Malcolm Marshall knocking out Sunil Gavaskar of the first ball of the test and a late fight back by Kapil Dev which saw India bowled out for a modest 241. Day two started on a better note. A friend’s father gave away his tickets for the pavilion stand as he wanted to see only India’s Batting. Yes such people existed back then too, even in Calcutta! Perched upon one the best seats in the house, I was to witness what I rate was the best spell bowled by an India fast bowler ever. The three overs that Kapil Dev bowled , that reduced the best batsman of his era, Sir Vivian Richards to a novice. A series of magic outswingers interspersed with the one coming in, the searing bouncer, slower one and that surprise toe crushing Yorker. Eighteen balls laced with venom and a threat of bodily harm, crafty and canny which made a strokeless wonder out of a master blaster finally ending in the eventual dismissal.

Whether it was by design or by fate one doesn’t know but Dennis Lillee never played Test Cricket in India.  And the only time he came to India to play cricket was in an innocuous exhibition tourney called the Double Wicket Tournament at, you guessed it, the Eden Gardens.  It was such a sham tournament that we saw Garner bowling to a long retired Sir Garfield Sobers and a rotund Wesley Hall huffing and puffing to complete his run up. The highlight of course was the ‘clash’ between Dennis Lillee and Javed Miandad, their first on Indian soil and their last ever on a cricket pitch. Adrenalin runs high when the irresistible force meets immovable objects. Sparks flew as Miandad cut, pulled, drove Lillee for successive fours. The next from the cunning Aussie was a well directed bouncer. Miandad, playing sans helmet did what most sentimental people of the sub continent do, prefer bravado to discretion. As he shaped to hook, the ball took Miandad right on his head. Miandad took no further part in the tournament or in any other cricket tournament for the next few months. And when he came back, he came suitably dressed for the occasion, sporting a helmet!

The best square cut ever!

Lucky are those who have been blessed enough to witness what I am told is the best square cut ever. And the same I am repeatedly assured belonged to a certain Gundappa Vishwanath. For someone like me who never had the opportunity to watch and test the veracity of the above statement, fate offered a chance in what was G R Vishwanath’s last competitive game, the finals of the now defunct Wills Trophy between Karnataka and Board President’s XI in 1988. The prospects of acquiring bragging rights over having seen the great GRV in action in flesh and blood and in the hope to see that wondrous square cut was enough to lure me to the Eden Gardens. On reaching the ground I was to note that the same prospect had driven fifty thousand fellow Calcuttans to the Eden too! With the BPXI batting first, we endured guys like W V Raman, Riaz Poonawala, Ajay Sharma, Sanjeev Sharma, Robin Singh, good blokes otherwise but on that day they resembled the ‘sorry for the interruption’ notice on Doordarshan. Much worse were the two Karnataka dudes who opened their inning. Prayer for two wickets to fall so that God can bat is soooo passé now a days, seeds of which were sown then! The poor blokes soon enough obliged. Fifty thousand pairs of legs rose in unison, fifty thousand pairs of hands clapped rhythmically in unison, fifty thousand throats roared a war cry in unison too. What you God worshippers saw was the subsequent version of this original. GRV took guard, GRV twirled his bat, GRV took stance. A journeyman called Rashid patel was bowling his dollops. The ball pitched just outside the off stump and moved further away. GRV went back and across, the horizontal blade coming down in an angle, the classic square cut executed, fifty thousand pairs of eyes turned to the boundary for a square cut that never happened, the outside edge taken behind the stumps. Eden Gardens that day set yet another example for the Indian crowds to emulate once a certain No.4 got out, we walked out!

Dhanyavadagalu Annavure!    

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PS: Since that day, most of Sachin’s career has been to me nothing more than a ‘déjà vu’!

Glossary:

Kaala-Pila : Black & yellow Taxis seen in Calcutta.

Darao! Ban Dike Jao: Stop! Turn left!

Adda : Den

The Blood Sucker!

There is an energy in the youth which is very difficult to match in the atmosphere of cynicism once we grow up. The mindset is one of “Do it!” rather than “Not done!”  I go back to the ‘90s when a group of us friends decided to do what was then we thought a gargantuan task for us; organize a blood donation camp. We started off on a breeze given the fact that we had a readymade location available with us in our club auditorium, the club managing committee deciding to encourage us and the help rendered by the Secretary of Indian Red Cross Society, one Mr.Roy Choudhury who took care of the ‘back end’, the entire collection process right from arranging blood bank to collect, doctors, equipment etc.  Our responsibility was confined to the ‘front end’ of the business, arranging the donors. For a bunch that lived in a fairly well connected para, thanks to our club and its close knit members this was like taking candy from a child. The knowledge that there lay a salesman buried inside me was visible for the first time then! A cursory look at the club membership list later, we decided that the we would require more than one blood bank to collect all the units that we would be able to generate! I still practice this  ‘art’ though I call it ‘Sales projection' now, the membership lists being replaced by market research papers and Thomson’s Index. But then I digress!

Armed with the gyaan given by the good people at Red Cross on eligibility of a donor etc we started canvassing for; nay enlisting donors. We covered all the ‘routes’ within three days and reached our ‘Boss’ at The Red Cross office for reporting. Mr.Roy Choudhury was deluged by our ‘requirements’ post sharing the numbers of donors who had ‘committed’. We were then advised to cover the same ‘routes’ for a reminder call to the donors informing them about the dates, timing etc which had been freezed. Our only concern as we left the meeting was that the blood bank should bring sufficient collection units lest we have a ‘stock out’!

For the next few days like committed sales team, we spewed blood whenever we opened out mouth, whoever we met! To the extent we friends were bestowed nomenclatures like ‘The Blood Suckers’, ‘The Blood Thirsty Bandits’ and the lyrical ‘Ratha Kaatteri’ by the locality! The last minute review of the ‘committed’ list revealed that there were a few drop outs due to sudden illnesses, ‘out of station’ etc but still we seemed well on course to a triple century on debut.

On the D day everything worked with clockwork precision. The auditorium was festooned with banners and promo material. The Red Cross officials, the Doctors, the paramedics, the equipment all ready to receive the donors. The day started slowly like a good test match inning, gradually moved to very slow and finally ended in a stand still. The final score read something like this: Total Walkins – 140, productive customers – 23, Window Shoppers – 117. A fiasco if there was one! And it left us firstly very angry, then disappointed, finally disillusioned. Never again would we indulge in such a venture on the back of such ‘customers’ we thought. A debate ensued as to who among us will take the lead to apologise to Mr.Roy Choudhury , the ‘Boss’! As we were busy discussing it, Mr.RC made it easy by addressing us instead. “Excellent day! 23 first time donors are more than what we get in a ‘club organized ‘camp. Mark the date and organize it again next year. And yes! We will come back next year too!” He said.  This was our first experience of “Boss is out, Mentor is in” moment!

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We went on to conduct the camp for a few more years till the rat race consumed us. The number of donors steadily grew to hit about 150+ over the years. Most of them went on to become regular blood donors in life. A register mentioning details of the donors was maintained in the club for ‘emergencies’ and on one occasion fourteen of us donated blood to a friend’s sister undergoing an operation. She needless to add is now completely healthy, happily married and a mother of two angels. Other clubs in the adjoining paras were inspired by our efforts to conduct similar camps and many of them still continue organizing them.

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For those who came in late:

If you are 18-60 years, 45 kgs or more, have not suffered from illness like malaria, typhoid, other transmissible disease and certified medically fit by the doctor can donate blood.

You cannot donate blood if you have suffered from cold/fever less than a week ago, consumed antibiotics, had a major surgery within the last six months, vaccination less than 24 hours ago, have a history of cardiac problems, hypertension, epilepsy, diabetes, cancer, liver and kidney malfunction or HIV+.

Against an annual requirement of 85 lakh units of blood barely 52 lakh units are collected through voluntary donations in India. Some are collected through family members. And the rest are left helpless and often to die because you could but didn’t donate the life giving liquid! 

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PS: Done with reading this? Good! So which blood bank are you off to now? 

Glossary:

Para: Locality

Gyaan: Information/Knowledge

Ratha Kaatteri : Blood Sucker.

The Lightning Kid!

The game is supposed to have originated in India 1500 years ago around the 6^th century. It was called Chaturangam , Sanskrit for  four organs. In military terminology it meant the four divisions of an army i.e., Horses, Camels, Elephants and the Humans. It subsequently spread to Persia where it was called Shatrez or Shatranj as the Hindi belt in India calls it and Chess as it is known around the modern world. Once the Muslim empire took to the game, it spread to Europe in tandem with the spread of the Empire. If all this gives you an impression that I am some sort of an expert in this game, let me bust the myth. A cursory Google search will tell you this and much more. Precisely what I did before I started writing this note. Suffices to say I am a complete greenhorn as far as this game is concerned.

Chess made a dramatic entry into my life when Viswanathan Anand became India’s youngest National Champion at the age of 12 or some such ridiculous number. While glancing through the newspaper announcing the occasion my old man looked at me with utter contempt and said that a kid of my age or thereabouts was already a National Champion and here I was, a virtual wastrel or words to that effect. (The typical Tam Bram parents when they look beyond an Engineer or a ‘medical’ as a career option for their children look at ‘intelligent’ sports like chess, Cricket or Football being rather pagan. But then I digress) Stung by the dressing down from the Pater, I jumped headlong into mastering chess. To cut the story short I managed a whole of ninety minutes before rightly concluding that Chess was not for me. Being a hyperactive and restless brat, I could not even visualize a life spent sitting quietly on one seat and pouring over a board of 64 squares till eternity. Gosh Maan! This was almost like studying! If I could do this for Chess then I might as well spend it better by employing the time over my lessons. (My teachers in school always washed their hand off me by giving me the mandatory 40 marks and promoting me to the next standard. 40 marks out of what you ask? Out of pity! But then I digress again)

As I grew up in a country which was then the perennial underachiever of the world, sports gave me one outlet where I could possibly bask in the reflected glory of ‘national pride’. I followed all the games, a Vijay Amritraj and a Ramesh Krishnan here, a Prakash Padukone or a P T Usha there. Post India’s triumph in the ’83 World cup I too along with the rest of India became a single sport fan. For the rest of the disciplines I was part of the multitude whose only contribution to Indian sport was “For a country of 80 crore people, shameful that we can’t win even one medal at the Olympics!” kind of helpless lamentation. It was in such a scenario that chess made a dramatic re-entry into my life. Rather Viswanathan Anand did!

 

Once a Champion, always a champion

Multiple things made me take notice of Viswanathan Anand. First among them was a sense of bitchiness hoping he wouldn’t do too well thereby giving my old man an excuse to renew his favourite hobby of giving me the ‘dose’. As Anand started moving up the Chess ladder, India’s youngest International Master here, first Indian to win the World Junior title there and the resultant India’s first Grand Master, admiration cloaked with a sense of helplessness took over. “How can this guy attain so much, so fast? Bloody Lightning Kid!” As victories over Karpovs and Kasparovs and Kamskys and Kramniks started coming along regularly I became a convert. Parochialism deep in slumber within me woke up. This man was after all ‘our man,a fellow ‘madrasi!’ IPL came much later or I would have ‘Whistlepodu’ for the original Chennai Super King! As I sang hosannahs about Sachin and ilk most of the time, one part of my mind surreptitiously kept track of what this wizard was upto. And finally when the pre ordained World Title came once, twice, five times, ‘Vishy’ Anand for me graduated from being the ‘Magician of Madras’ to become India’s best sportsman ever. I still can’t understand one single technique of this highly nuanced sport, the e4s and c5s, the Sicilian Defence, the Queen's Gambit   but the sheer weight of Anand’s five World Crowns in a highly competitive and truly global sport forced me to acknowledge that no sportsman has served this country more than this now portly, bespectacled professor look alike who took his first step towards greatness by beating his mother fair and square on the board. Humongousness personified.

For those of you like me who are raised on an overdose of Cricket and who find it difficult to agree with the above lines, let me just say this. Roll your tongue like you are licking the softest chocolate ever made, salivate and slowly say “Five time World Champion, FIVE TIME WORLD CHAMPION!” I rest my case. The runner up medal at the just concluded World Title round notwithstanding, Anand has done more than enough to be a Legend of the game and I dare say The Legend of Indian sports.  By a quirk of fate he is not the first sportsman recipient of India’s highest civilian honour the Bharat Ratna, circumstances colluding in such a way for Sachin Tendulkar to be bestowed with that record, richly deserved if I may add but I hope the country honours Viswanathan Anand with the same, sooner rather than later. Not doing so would be a travesty of Himalayan proportions.

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PS: Apart from his skills in Chess, one more reason for the Father to have a grouse with me was……………you guessed it right! The name!  

It is in my blood!

Calcutta, 16^th August, 1980: Eden Gardens was jam packed. One felt that the greedy organizers had as usual let in more people than the capacity of the stadium. The atmosphere was electric, the tension palpable. And why not? After all it was a grudge match between sworn rivals. Their last meeting between the two had resulted in a virtual fisticuff on the field. As tempers rose along with the tempo of the game, the dreaded moment arrived! As the match referee flashed a few cards of multiple hues, all hell broke loose in the stands. Till then the exclusive preserve of the English fans, Football hooliganism made its presence felt in an Indian stadium. Once the mayhem ended the score was match abandoned, 16 dead, countless injured.  A few days later the marquee clubs, Mohun Bagan and East Bengal were suspended from the game.

Bridgetown, Barbados, 1962:  During the Indian cricket tour to the West Indies, Nari Contractor the Indian Captain was at the crease. Bowling thunderbolts at him was the fiery West Indian fast bowler Charlie Griffith. This as you would have rightly guessed was the pre-helmet days. As the contest increased in its keenness, yet another blinder from Griffith found its mark, right on the batsman’s head. Nari Contractor collapsed on the pitch in a pool of blood. The game was stopped and Contractor was rushed to the hospital fighting for his life. So severe was the injury and so critical was contractor that a surgeon had to be flown in from US for an emergency operation. Nari contractor survived but never played test Cricket again.

Two different stories, two different countries, two different sports, two different set of people; two different tragedies resulted in one similar but wonderful result. Mythologies suggest that from destruction geminates new life. How true!  Every year on 16^th August since that tragic day at Eden Gardens, Indian Football Association (WB) has been inviting fans to pay homage to the lives lost by organizing a voluntary blood donation camp. Dubbed the ‘Football Lovers Day’, thousands have been donating blood on this day in the camp generally organized at the sprawling Netaji Indoor Stadium.

Sir Frank Worrell

Nari Contractor’s surgery was about to be underway when the hitch was noticed. The surgery needed a lot of blood. It was then that Sir Frank Worrell, one among the famous ‘3Ws’, the holy trinity of the pantheon of West Indian batsmanship collected the players from both the teams and donated blood to save Contractor’s life. Since 1981, the Cricket Association of Bengal has been calling its faithful to the hallowed Eden Gardens to celebrate Sir Frank Worrell’s Day by organizing a voluntary blood donation camp.  Thousands turn up to mark the occasion which is also CAB’s Foundation Day and carry back a small band-aid patch on their hands and a certificate signed by a Cricketing Legend in lieu of a bottle of their blood. The goose bumps moment was when Nari Contractor was himself one of the donors during the inaugural edition of the Sir Frank Worrell’s Day blood donation camp!

 

Nari Contractor donating blood

Sports are such an integral part of our lives. I don’t think we live even one day without our daily dose of an update about our favourite game or sportsperson. In a land where sportsmen are elevated to rival Gods it is but natural that we share such passion for our stars. Our association with our star does not end with just what he/she does on the field. We expect our stars to be a paragon of virtue off the field too. And once they hang in their boots, we expect them to give back to the game what it gave to them. There are numerous instances of players post their retirement setting up academies, conduct coaching classes and some have joined the administration of the sport they were earlier part of as a player. Where all this eventually takes me to is this: While the sportsmen are doing their two bits for us, what is it that we fans are doing? Beyond filling up the stadiums or being a couch potato I mean!

During my years in Calcutta, I unfailingly marked my attendance at these two venues which had seen many a sporting clash. And every year I proudly came back with the band-aid patch on my hand and with a feeling that my life was not a wasted effort after all. The two days are even today marked on my schedule though it has been years since I left Calcutta. A reminder set on my ‘to-do-list’, alarm set on my phone. Irrespective of where I am and what I am doing, I make it a point twice a year, on the said dates to walk into the nearest blood bank to renew my association with the band-aid patch. At the cost to sounding pompous, I have been doing it ever since the age of eighteen when one becomes medically eligible to donate 250CC of the life giving liquid. There have been other occasions, some emergencies too but these two are days when I connect directly with that sphere of human activity which has given me so much joy, Sports! This is my tribute to the game that I love, homage to the stars who have shed their sweat, tears and blood for my team on the pitch, my payback as a fan.

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PS: Do you know the most common reason quoted for not donating blood? A survey says it is the fear of the pain caused by the prick of a needle! What is your excuse?