when mortals become gods

New Delhi, 02 April, 2011
some time before 12 in the night


Mortals have become Gods
We've won the Cricket World Cup 2011


i was down at the temple corner. they had put up a giant screen with a live DJ and hundreds of men, women, boys and girls gathered there, cheering each and every run team India made. it was electric. each shot, each run, each break celebrated with bhangra and madness. and we won, we won, we won!

the image of Sachin rushing on to the ground (later i read that he had not watched the winning runs as he was praying inside the dressing room!), his time-stopping hug of Yuvi, the victory lap with youngsters carrying him on their shoulders, Dhoni - the humble leader making the back of the procession, these images will stay with me forever. the brightest moments of my cricket viewing career ;)


but i also felt very lonely. there i was, surrounded by hundreds of strangers, desperately needing someone to hug, someone to share my tears of joy with. missed her so much that i can't even explain. joys or sorrows are worthwhile only when shared with someone you love.


later we did get to talk, and we couldn't. it was overwhelming. i must have went on and on about what this cup meant for India, for the team, for Sachin... but she had already converted over to the cult of the 'God!'


and for me, it was an affirmation, my belief in destiny doubled; that yes, there is somebody up there who writes such scripts, that yes, there is redemption, that patience pays, that i should never-ever lose faith, because hard work and sheer dedication always pays, that the universe is with Sachin and me and with all those who believe...

...it is only belief that converts mere mortals into all conquering Gods

this is a video of the last few runs of the match, each ball cheered, music and dance at every step, it was sheer madness to be a part of this crowd on the streets of New Delhi.

news flash: my first published article

"As a part of my New Year resolutions, I decided I’ll start writing a diary about my favorite sport - cricket. You see, while growing up I was dubbed the ‘Rahul Dravid’ of my mohalla cricket team. Though my playing career didn’t go any further, I feel am as much a student of the game as the esteemed Mr. Dravid. And now that life has brought me into a position where my main job is daydreaming and writing advertisements that not many like to read, I can devote ample time to writing about my passion that cricket is."

So here it is, my first cricket related article in a mainstream website.

Childhood Memories

Do click on the title and leave a comment or two at the page. I'll be really glad if you share it with your friends as well :) Hope you'll like it enough!

on Sachin's 38th Birthday

we all sing paeans for Sachin, put Him on the pedestal of a living God, but then what do we learn from Him? do we inculcate His humility, His commitment to work, His love and pride for the country...believe me, if we did any one of these things, we would be closer to the God He is then only remaining his fans for life. On His birthday today, i promise to myself (and to nobody else) that i'll try n inculcate these and many more learning from the only individual i've 'idolized' in my life.

thank God that i've Sachin to look up to. i wish Him all the best in everything He does.

India Passion League

For two months now, the biggest film industry in the world will not release any big-budget movie, the biggest soap-operas followed religiously in millions of middle-class households will run only re-runs during the prime time, productivity in offices, grades in schools and friction between government and opposition will reduce drastically; for two months now, nobody will count the number of tigers left in the wild, the number of fake godmen arrested in sex rackets, the number of jawans killed on the border; for two months now, this biggest democracy, number 134 on the UNDP Human Development Index and second most populous country on planet earth will live eat talk walk a sport that generates a collective euphoric amnesia like no other sport has ever done in the history of sport.

The IPL has just begun.

uncricket writing

have just discovered her. and am hooked. yeah baby, for sure. if you are cricket reader, yes, a fan who loves reading about cricket, you must must read her articles. the problem is, not many appreciate the fine art of cricket writing these days. i too cannot claim to be a connoisseur, but Siddharth Vaidyanathan, Sambit Bal, Peter Roubuck, Sir Geoffrey Boycott, Harsha Bhogle and Tony Greig have been my favourites. these are all sensible, clear-headed individuals who write about cricket with a touch of humane inevitability. but then, there arrives this lady and as i said, am hooked for all my worth ;) have a look at some bits of her writing, and then i'll give you the link to her work!

"I for one am glad that cricket has been democratised. Playing a sport isn't about which level of society you're from or how well you can handle the adulation. It's about talent and determination and a little bit of luck. And if a billion fools are entertained by it, then so be it. And as long as there are still batsmen who are willing to walk before they're given out, and fielders who only appeal for genuine wickets, I'm not going to worry about all those lost gentlemen."

"Critics called Chekhov's endings "zero" endings, because a lot of the time they were blurry and imprecise. He favoured the anti-climax over the climax, because in his view life wasn't about meaningful revelations; it was about realising that this is just how things are. KKR's future isn't blurry at all. Everyone knows where they're heading, but for the sake of McCullum and the rest of his team, and in deference to the spirit of Chekhov (coughing his lungs out quietly somewhere in the ether-world) I hope that tide changes."

"The IPL, which could have been a great platform for modern India to assert herself in an utterly unique way, has already chosen to take the path of commercial success over aesthetic glory. Fine. I understand that advertisers pay the bills. I'm willing to oversee those garish uniforms. I can tolerate any number of DLF maximums and Citi moments of success. But would it really have hurt anyone if, at the end of it all, there was a trophy worth its weight in gold to lift? To silence everyone just for a moment in a way that only something truly beautiful can?"

more of her writing (i think each one put up till now) can be found here. as you read on, you'll find many more observations like these, which make you stop and think, not only about cricket, but about life, lietrature, India as well. and i'm yet to read all of them.

her writing is about cricket, but then about so much more, that it's almost uncricket! why shouldn't i be addicted to a writer like that...

cric tales

anyways, the TV comes to life. hmmm. the Indian team is batting. something inside curses him for wasting golden hours every holiday morning. "there is so much to do on a morning like this, when you don't have to go to the office, go for a walk, exercise, read poetry, check the neighborhood, watch cricket matches," scolds that something inside. more hmmm. "but why is there no picture on the screen?" and Sachin is playing. hmmm, with a tinge of rapidly swelling joy. Sachin is not out, still playing and has already made a century. joy goes for a dive, and panic sets in. "why o why this damn TV is not showing any picture?"

somewhere inside the house the tea is still on boil.

things get desperate by now. "the stomach is troubling, the tea is on boil, Sachin is scoring boundaries after boundaries and this god forsaken TV set... no no, this sweet little TV of mine is not showing any picture. where is the vision in television?" for the next few minutes, the TV is treated like a proper human being. gets spanked on various sides with varied degrees of force, coerced into good behavior like a turbulent toddler, worshipped like an angry god who has taken avatar just to be appeased by mortals, talked to in endearing terms like a childhood buddy... even emotions reserved only for the to-be better half are brought into force... but to no use. almost teary-eyed, the guy goes to the kitchen and fetches his morning chai.

by now it is about half the quantity is should have been.

another, shorter round of treating TV like a toddler, friend, deity, lover, follows. no use. by this time, one flat mate, bleary eyed, staggered walk, comes across to greet him a very good morning. "what good morning yaar, sachin is playing and this TV is not working. a radio would have been better than this." a quick shift of the eyes and a short mood assessment later, the room mate explains to the guy that the TV has been like this for quite some time now. "its picture tube is damaged. by the way, if you hit it hard on the sides simultaneously, it comes to life. we make it work like that only."

fighting his hurricane like anger creating a low pressure area in and around his mind, the guy asks his room mate, "what?"

"yeah", the room mate replies. next, he tries his hand at spanking the wretched thing but finding no breakthrough, he asks for a matchstick. our guy's eyes light up. "maybe, he knows a trick or two. after all, it is they who have used this TV more then me. maybe, i'll be able to watch some part of Sachin's innings finally." the guy runs inside an grabs a matchstick from the kitchen. clinging on to that thin, wooden black-headed splinter of a fire lighting equipment, he hands over his life (well, almost) to the room mate.

"thanks."

the room mate lights his cigarrete from the empty matchbox in his hand. "what was that for?", the guy asks. " thought you were going to do something to the TV!" bleary eyed, staggered walk, the room mate cautiously walks away, "i was up whole night, you know. i heard you and thought you would sure have a matchstick. needed to light up this cigarrete. have to go to the loo. what's the score, once again?"

...

dejected, depressed, de-illuminated, the guy sits down near the now audio-TV. Sachin is still playing, and till the time he's on the crease, the rumbling stomach, the cold getting colder tea, the desire to get back at the room mates... the whole world can wait.

it was a nice, cricket-filled Sunday morning when Sachin scored his 43rd one-day century.

Outbatted, outbowled, outmatched

The times, they certainly are a changin'.

and changing for good

:)

Australia being beaten at their own game

Congrats Sachin!

Congratulations!
My dearest Master Blaster on reaching a record 35th Test Century