... and apparently, the lack of it makes him suck at it. Fellows, here's the story of my life. The story of how a young little boy didn't get to be what he always wanted to be, but instead ended up being what the society wanted him to be. It's sad, so get your handkerchiefs out and move your cup or tea away from you.
As a kid, I was awesome at cricket. I played for my team back home from the age of 11. That is no mean achievement considering the fact that the next youngest chap in the team was at least 5 years elder to me. I started off fielding for my team, at what I thought was the most awkward position; exactly behind the wicketkeeper - just before the gutter. It wasn't until 3 years later that I realized it wasn't a 'real' position, per se; but hey I love my fielding.
It was one fine day, when I was 13 or something, I guess that I bowled to one of our top batsmen. The ball cut in sharply and had the batsman's stumps flying. Oh, actually the stump just limply fell down because it wasn't fixed properly - but hey, I got our top batsman out. He was 19 and I was 13; and I bowled him over. (Argh! Not like that.) This gave me a break. Like a real one. I was now officially the "practice bowler" for the team. This would ensure our "match bowler" never got tired. One season of dedicated 'nets' bowling and I found my place in the team the next year. I was elated. Oh! By the way, I still possess the pebble on the pitch that made the ball cut sharply in the first place. Anyway.
Now, there was this new problem I realized after some 6 years of playing cricket. I never got a chance to bat. I was the team's designated bowler. I knew I was a good batsman; I had joined the local cricket coaching class for a year and won the best batsman award too. I had played 47 balls, scored 27 runs and stayed not out. I scored 2 boundaries; one a fine late cut through third man and the other a fine glance to fine leg. Sublime. I was a lean guy; I scored a whole 7 runs in front of the wicket. I had the highest average in the team, and it is my honest belief that I deserved the award. So, now I was 20 and hadn't gotten a single chance to prove my batting abilities. I approached the captain, and asked him if I could open the innings. After he stopped laughing, he rose from the floor and sat on the wall he had fallen off laughing, he realized that I was not joking.
And he gave me a chance. Now, fellows, this was the first time I was opening the innings. And we were playing the team from a nearby slum. I was a bit nervous, sweaty hands and all. When I walked back after seeing my leg stump take a walk itself, my captain patted on my 20 year old shoulder and said, you should practice. My eyes gleamed. The walk back from the pitch to the pavilion, which was really a tree at the end of the ground, was long and full of thoughts about nifty come-backs to the team's sarcastic remarks that would have welcomed me. But instead, the captain showed some confidence in me. I was determined to practice.
But friends, if there is anything which is more truer than 'Practice makes a man perfect', it is 'Old habits die hard'. No one would ever bowl seriously during practice matches except me. People would try all sort of weird bowling styles and spins. I never got to bat a real bowler except during matches. And, then we moved grounds. A new construction came up in the ground we used to play and we moved to this area where we could play only on the off side. And then the next 3 years, I would bat only to play on the off side. I practiced, yeah. And I could bat like a gem on the off side. But, except for the paddle sweep - I couldn't play the on side for nuts. And this had to happen to the boy who idolized Mohd. Azharuddin.
Now, I am in California and I play cricket. I could bowl after a hiatus of 5 years with little practice. I could bat on the offside, once I get my touch. But the on side, it simply doesn't exist.
PS: Irrelevant but true. My cousin's apartment housed a girl named Kripa: she was an amazing cricketer. It was she who first prodded my to try and bat up the order (in under-arm) cricket. Any baseless confidence that was instilled in my little mind, is credited to her.
Friday, May 07, 2010
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Tough Choice
Everyone comes across phases in life where one has to make tough choice. A decision that would potentially change the way you lead your life. Decisions that would affect not just self, but others around.
I had my chance last week. I was checking into the Double Tree Hotel (Hilton Group) in Berkeley for a week's stay. It is a fantastic hotel, right by the bay with scenic look outs. Just when I was checking in, at the reception counter the sweet Philipino lady with a welcoming smile handed over my room key and asked me a question: "Breakfast or internet?"
I was baffled. I thought I didn't hear it correctly. In a parliamentary manner of asking her to repeat, I said 'What the ...??!!' To which she duly replied - one of them is complimentary. Now, this was a choice that would decide my lifestyle for the rest of the week. All week long, client meetings were lined up to start at 8 am in the morning, which meant getting up at 6. So, given that lunch would be no earlier than 12 noon - no breakfast meant 6 hours of no food. On the other hand, no internet meant no evening life.
Giving this a quick consideration, I found myself unable to take the decision. I asked her again, 'Are you serious?', to which she curtly replied "Yes".
I took the keys and went back to the room. Unpacked my stuff, took my laptop and walked over to the lobby for free internet and spent the night up to 2 am working in the lobby. Crazy, right? But hey, in my defense, the breakfast was by the bay and they served good hot tea. So...
Anyway, what choice would you have made: Breakfast or internet?
I had my chance last week. I was checking into the Double Tree Hotel (Hilton Group) in Berkeley for a week's stay. It is a fantastic hotel, right by the bay with scenic look outs. Just when I was checking in, at the reception counter the sweet Philipino lady with a welcoming smile handed over my room key and asked me a question: "Breakfast or internet?"
I was baffled. I thought I didn't hear it correctly. In a parliamentary manner of asking her to repeat, I said 'What the ...??!!' To which she duly replied - one of them is complimentary. Now, this was a choice that would decide my lifestyle for the rest of the week. All week long, client meetings were lined up to start at 8 am in the morning, which meant getting up at 6. So, given that lunch would be no earlier than 12 noon - no breakfast meant 6 hours of no food. On the other hand, no internet meant no evening life.
Giving this a quick consideration, I found myself unable to take the decision. I asked her again, 'Are you serious?', to which she curtly replied "Yes".
I took the keys and went back to the room. Unpacked my stuff, took my laptop and walked over to the lobby for free internet and spent the night up to 2 am working in the lobby. Crazy, right? But hey, in my defense, the breakfast was by the bay and they served good hot tea. So...
Anyway, what choice would you have made: Breakfast or internet?
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Long time; No blog
Just wanted to check this mobile blogging thingy. Quite useful for moblogs, if you are into that kinda blogging. Also, o just realised that pressing the spacebar twice in my iPhone keypad results in a period and a space.
Awesome.
Random updates: I will be moving to Chicago shortly. Hopefully. And there is a cricket match to be played this Sunday. Souls are blessed. And I hear it is going to be a T20. Given my history, it will be the longest match I play. And it isn't even ironic. Such goes life.
Coolness returns.
Awesome.
Random updates: I will be moving to Chicago shortly. Hopefully. And there is a cricket match to be played this Sunday. Souls are blessed. And I hear it is going to be a T20. Given my history, it will be the longest match I play. And it isn't even ironic. Such goes life.
Coolness returns.
Monday, December 07, 2009
MF Hussain and the Freedom of Art
I like this man. I do not know much about him. I haven’t met him. I haven’t read about him. I am not particularly an art connoisseur. I haven’t even seen his paintings, except for the odd ones that are flashed in the media. I do not know much, as I said, and hence I can’t be making blatant statements about him - good or bad.
But then I saw Meenaxi. And I formed an opinion - not the adamant kind. But yeah, I was floored to say the least. If there could be poetry without words, this movie had it. The source was MF Hussain and the medium was Santosh Sivan. The result was Meenaxi: the most poetically photographed movie I have ever seen. And, then to add beauty to it there was the art direction by Sharmishta Roy who captured the essence of just about everything so perfectly in the movie. How can I not mention the music? If ever you would want to hear music to enrich abstract thoughts and visuals, watch this movie for sheer inspiration. It is an idea bag. I am sure many of us would have wondered looking at ‘life’ paintings of a market place in a village or just a cart and some people on a street and then been amazed by the sheer detailings that goes in. And then the faded, dull earthiness that is evoked through the ironically colorful picture? Well, if you are a lover of that kind - this movie is frameful of that. It is as if MFH has painted every single frame on a canvas and then let Sharmishta and Santosh loose on the location.
So, with not a bad plot at all this movie does make for a great viewing. I found it particularly enjoyable. So, within a week of its release, when a certain sect of people raise their voice over the use of a song - the brilliantly composed, amazingly delivered and wonerfully sung - Noor Un Ala Noor (pardon my inefficient Urdu); it simply beats the purpose of living in a free country. I was all beaten down and ready to face yet another toned down, force-compromised artistic venture. But then something happened that made me stand up and tip a hat to MFH. He withdrew the movie. He lost a lot of money. The technicians employed were the best in India. Tabu was ‘hot’ in the industry. So, I can bet my words when I say he would have lost a whole lot of money in the deal. But that is what he did. He withdrew the movie from the screens. No comments. No arguments. No compromises.
The movie went international, screened in some festivals and got a few good reviews. Died a silent death, if you may. But the movie shot in 2004 - was ahead of its times. And the man who made it, seemed ahead of his society. He has now sadly moved his base to Dubai, I hear. As I said, I have not followed much of this man. But one move, one movie - made it for me.
But then I saw Meenaxi. And I formed an opinion - not the adamant kind. But yeah, I was floored to say the least. If there could be poetry without words, this movie had it. The source was MF Hussain and the medium was Santosh Sivan. The result was Meenaxi: the most poetically photographed movie I have ever seen. And, then to add beauty to it there was the art direction by Sharmishta Roy who captured the essence of just about everything so perfectly in the movie. How can I not mention the music? If ever you would want to hear music to enrich abstract thoughts and visuals, watch this movie for sheer inspiration. It is an idea bag. I am sure many of us would have wondered looking at ‘life’ paintings of a market place in a village or just a cart and some people on a street and then been amazed by the sheer detailings that goes in. And then the faded, dull earthiness that is evoked through the ironically colorful picture? Well, if you are a lover of that kind - this movie is frameful of that. It is as if MFH has painted every single frame on a canvas and then let Sharmishta and Santosh loose on the location.
So, with not a bad plot at all this movie does make for a great viewing. I found it particularly enjoyable. So, within a week of its release, when a certain sect of people raise their voice over the use of a song - the brilliantly composed, amazingly delivered and wonerfully sung - Noor Un Ala Noor (pardon my inefficient Urdu); it simply beats the purpose of living in a free country. I was all beaten down and ready to face yet another toned down, force-compromised artistic venture. But then something happened that made me stand up and tip a hat to MFH. He withdrew the movie. He lost a lot of money. The technicians employed were the best in India. Tabu was ‘hot’ in the industry. So, I can bet my words when I say he would have lost a whole lot of money in the deal. But that is what he did. He withdrew the movie from the screens. No comments. No arguments. No compromises.
The movie went international, screened in some festivals and got a few good reviews. Died a silent death, if you may. But the movie shot in 2004 - was ahead of its times. And the man who made it, seemed ahead of his society. He has now sadly moved his base to Dubai, I hear. As I said, I have not followed much of this man. But one move, one movie - made it for me.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Book | A Thousand Years of Good Prayers - 3
The more you get, the more you are left wanting. Such is her art. Such is her power. An enchantress, words her weapon.
What started off as livid descriptions of old Chinese people, is now slowly turning out to be this motley collection of people and relationships. Actually, come to think of it, it is more about people than relationships. It seems to be a concentrated effort to concentrate on people, than the relationships they share. And therein lies the beauty. The next two stories Love in the Marketplace (Story.5) and Son (Story.6) are both about a mother and her child, a girl who has lost her first love in the former and a son who is gay in the latter. In either of the stories, Yiyun spends words generously in establishing characters and people. Their thought process is exposed. Their words are told. Their persona is defined through their actions. And the mothers in their own ways, in both the stories are searching for a child lost in the body that shares space with them. Yiyun's central characters are prominent, either by their strength or weakness, dominance or vulnerability. But every character changes. It is either an incident, or an action by another person. But they change, leaving us wondering about the strength and self-belief portrayed till that point.
In Love in a Marketplace, the protag, Sansan, has lost her love, and it is her own doing. She is unapologetic about it. Doesn't regret it. She has accepted it and now, her mother wants her to reverse her emotions. Ma asks Sansan to go back to Tu (her lost love who married her best friend, Min, on her insistence) because she has waited for her. Ma assumes Sansan has waited for Tu, because in the 10 years since Tu and Min went to America, she hasn't married or met another man. Tu has 'had her' and Sansan would marry only him, Ma assumes. Sansan insists on her 'cleanliness' and has promised herself never to go back to Tu.
A promise is a promise, a vow remains a vow she reminisces capturing the essence of the movie Casablanca - which has defined life for her. And then, in a moment of insanity she meets her match, right there at the marketplace. She meets a person who keeps his promise, and she gives him a cut from shoulder to elbow - just as he promised.
The next story 'Son' on the other hand, is about a son who is gay and works in America. He comes, only to spend some time with his mother and they disagree right from the time they leave the airport. Yiyun deviates from her usual style. All character description is done through dialogues. In her earlier stories, her characters reveal themselves in their thoughts and dreams. Not in dialogue. So, here the narration transforms to a movie. We hear constant discussions, arguments and the son talks in punch lines.
He says, pointing out to Ma's converted faith from communism to church. Talking about either at the time of the other was blasphemous. Ma is hurt - but as soon as they reach home she forgives. No, forgets. Ma has to accept her son for what he is. The son is living an underground life. A life of anonymous identities on the internet. And then she takes him to the church. An incident involving two young beggars changes the son's outlook. He shares his little secret with his Ma. She accepts him for what he is and assures that
He wants to make a joke on her god, but his eyes meet her eyes that are so loving and hopeful. He turns his eyes away.
PS: More on A Thousand Years of Good Prayers here: Part 1, Part 2
What started off as livid descriptions of old Chinese people, is now slowly turning out to be this motley collection of people and relationships. Actually, come to think of it, it is more about people than relationships. It seems to be a concentrated effort to concentrate on people, than the relationships they share. And therein lies the beauty. The next two stories Love in the Marketplace (Story.5) and Son (Story.6) are both about a mother and her child, a girl who has lost her first love in the former and a son who is gay in the latter. In either of the stories, Yiyun spends words generously in establishing characters and people. Their thought process is exposed. Their words are told. Their persona is defined through their actions. And the mothers in their own ways, in both the stories are searching for a child lost in the body that shares space with them. Yiyun's central characters are prominent, either by their strength or weakness, dominance or vulnerability. But every character changes. It is either an incident, or an action by another person. But they change, leaving us wondering about the strength and self-belief portrayed till that point.
In Love in a Marketplace, the protag, Sansan, has lost her love, and it is her own doing. She is unapologetic about it. Doesn't regret it. She has accepted it and now, her mother wants her to reverse her emotions. Ma asks Sansan to go back to Tu (her lost love who married her best friend, Min, on her insistence) because she has waited for her. Ma assumes Sansan has waited for Tu, because in the 10 years since Tu and Min went to America, she hasn't married or met another man. Tu has 'had her' and Sansan would marry only him, Ma assumes. Sansan insists on her 'cleanliness' and has promised herself never to go back to Tu.
"Why do you want to be the best egg seller in the world, ma?"
"I tell the people I sell the best eggs, I have to keep my promise."
"Nobody cares ma, you are keeping a promise that only matters to you. I have my promise to keep", she asserts again.
A promise is a promise, a vow remains a vow she reminisces capturing the essence of the movie Casablanca - which has defined life for her. And then, in a moment of insanity she meets her match, right there at the marketplace. She meets a person who keeps his promise, and she gives him a cut from shoulder to elbow - just as he promised.
The next story 'Son' on the other hand, is about a son who is gay and works in America. He comes, only to spend some time with his mother and they disagree right from the time they leave the airport. Yiyun deviates from her usual style. All character description is done through dialogues. In her earlier stories, her characters reveal themselves in their thoughts and dreams. Not in dialogue. So, here the narration transforms to a movie. We hear constant discussions, arguments and the son talks in punch lines.
"... What I am saying is many things are circulated and recycled. Language is one of them. Faith is another. They are like bills in our wallet. You can buy things with them, but they themselves hold no meaning"
He says, pointing out to Ma's converted faith from communism to church. Talking about either at the time of the other was blasphemous. Ma is hurt - but as soon as they reach home she forgives. No, forgets. Ma has to accept her son for what he is. The son is living an underground life. A life of anonymous identities on the internet. And then she takes him to the church. An incident involving two young beggars changes the son's outlook. He shares his little secret with his Ma. She accepts him for what he is and assures that
'God loves you for what you are, not for what others expect you to be'
He wants to make a joke on her god, but his eyes meet her eyes that are so loving and hopeful. He turns his eyes away.
PS: More on A Thousand Years of Good Prayers here: Part 1, Part 2
Instant?
I am back in Hyderabad. I have mixed emotions about this place. But this post ain’t about that. There was some problem with my desk phone, and hence my network as the two are connected. So, I called for help to the local network support team at 9:40 am and finally got a response at 11:10. But this post ain’t about that neither. This help was in the form of a newly joined feller who came to me with a Vendor tag. I asked him why he isn’t wearing a temporary ID card, to which he replied he would be getting one today; his 7th day in the organization. And as you guessed, this post ain’t about this incident either. So, I went with the network support guy and was waiting outside the network support room in for about 15 minutes where he was animatedly discussing something with an adapter in his hand.
And I was just outside the room, staring at a poster from a Technology group which I did not know existed in my organization ...
It was an advertisement of MS Office Communicator 2007 (and this is 2009!). In huge letters, the poster read Instant! That caught my attention in an instant alright. So, close your eyes and what comes to mind with the word instant?
Noodles? Coffee?
Ok. Good. Same here. So, they have these photos of instant noodles and a dip-tea (subs. to coffee). And the caption below says something to the effect of ‘Faster than you can make tea or noodles. Redefining Instant.’ It sort of tickled me. I mean, I understand that designing a poster for advertisement is painful. And also that most bad ads are a result of stringent deadlines, and not bad designers as is popularly believed. But, I deviate.
So, how much time do you take to make instant noodles. Maggi claims 2 mins - but every time I have tried I have spent a least of 5 minutes. The cup noodles, whose picture was displayed on the poster, also takes about 2 mins and 40 secs, if you are not too mindful of having it in a saucy condition. So, does the poster claim that if I use MS Office Communicator 2007 (in 2009) I can ping a person sitting across the room in less than 2 mins and 40 secs? Is that what Instant supposed to mean? Redefined and all that? No, I mean. We are talking electrons here and all those electronic signals that travel at crazy, zany speeds nearing the velocity of light. I could mail a person half way across this globe and get an out of office in less than 15 seconds (depending on the auto-send receive settings, of course). I mean, c’mon yaar.
Coming to the dip tea (not Dipti), the fastest I have seen a chai-wallah make dip tea is about 35 seconds. And the tea doesn’t taste good, if you know what I mean.
I mean, what is the poster trying to advertise - that I can ping a person and before he receives it, rush to the vending machine and get myself a cup of tea? Or cup noodles on a really bad day? If Microsoft were to see the ad and interpret as crazily as I have, they would be boiling. Boiling enough to make that cup noodle ready withing a second. And then all would make sense.
Anyway. No offense, of course. This is what happens if we have such posters in an IT company, especially when there are troubled souls standing outside network support rooms.
And I was just outside the room, staring at a poster from a Technology group which I did not know existed in my organization ...
It was an advertisement of MS Office Communicator 2007 (and this is 2009!). In huge letters, the poster read Instant! That caught my attention in an instant alright. So, close your eyes and what comes to mind with the word instant?
Noodles? Coffee?
Ok. Good. Same here. So, they have these photos of instant noodles and a dip-tea (subs. to coffee). And the caption below says something to the effect of ‘Faster than you can make tea or noodles. Redefining Instant.’ It sort of tickled me. I mean, I understand that designing a poster for advertisement is painful. And also that most bad ads are a result of stringent deadlines, and not bad designers as is popularly believed. But, I deviate.
So, how much time do you take to make instant noodles. Maggi claims 2 mins - but every time I have tried I have spent a least of 5 minutes. The cup noodles, whose picture was displayed on the poster, also takes about 2 mins and 40 secs, if you are not too mindful of having it in a saucy condition. So, does the poster claim that if I use MS Office Communicator 2007 (in 2009) I can ping a person sitting across the room in less than 2 mins and 40 secs? Is that what Instant supposed to mean? Redefined and all that? No, I mean. We are talking electrons here and all those electronic signals that travel at crazy, zany speeds nearing the velocity of light. I could mail a person half way across this globe and get an out of office in less than 15 seconds (depending on the auto-send receive settings, of course). I mean, c’mon yaar.
Coming to the dip tea (not Dipti), the fastest I have seen a chai-wallah make dip tea is about 35 seconds. And the tea doesn’t taste good, if you know what I mean.
I mean, what is the poster trying to advertise - that I can ping a person and before he receives it, rush to the vending machine and get myself a cup of tea? Or cup noodles on a really bad day? If Microsoft were to see the ad and interpret as crazily as I have, they would be boiling. Boiling enough to make that cup noodle ready withing a second. And then all would make sense.
Anyway. No offense, of course. This is what happens if we have such posters in an IT company, especially when there are troubled souls standing outside network support rooms.
It wasn't me...
… seems to be world’s favorite game. Not literally, but in spirit everyone’s pointing to everyone else but themselves.
First Arundhati says that the War against the Maoist is a corporate doing, then Indian intel says that LTTE is supporting Maoists and then some guy in Pakistan says India is funding Talibs in Pakistan.
And it’s everywhere, even when Thane’s bridge was to be fixed people were sending each other letters (not even e-mails). At least 2 lives could have been saved. But such is life. And death.
No, I mean what’s going on? Why this blame game? Sometimes I just feel like the whole of mankind needs a restart. You know the good ol’ Ctrl+Alt+Del. I knew Microsoft had the solution to every problem in the world. They are the panacea, not Google. Or Apple.
Hail Windows.
Ok. Whatever.
First Arundhati says that the War against the Maoist is a corporate doing, then Indian intel says that LTTE is supporting Maoists and then some guy in Pakistan says India is funding Talibs in Pakistan.
And it’s everywhere, even when Thane’s bridge was to be fixed people were sending each other letters (not even e-mails). At least 2 lives could have been saved. But such is life. And death.
No, I mean what’s going on? Why this blame game? Sometimes I just feel like the whole of mankind needs a restart. You know the good ol’ Ctrl+Alt+Del
Hail Windows.
Ok. Whatever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)