While the Light Lasts

Now on Wordpress!

2016-08-03T23:20:00.001+05:30

Hi there!

While the Light Lasts has shifted now to Wordpress!

The Wordpress blog - www.mehtanishank.wordpress.com - is purely a poetry blog. Looking forward to see and hear from you there.

Do visit!

Ciao.

Nishank.

Remember the Titans #3: Rafael Nadal

2010-10-11T09:42:00.008+05:30

This article is a part of the Remember the Titans series. To know more about the series, go through the introductory post by clicking here.

Some people are born great. Some people have greatness thrust upon them. Some slog all their lives to be called great - more a matter of perseverance than genius. Rafael Nadal, by himself, establishes a new category - where you first flirt with greatness, then have the occasional night-stand with it, and finally, wed it and make it yours forever. Most of the legends in the world of sports wear greatness like a prized shawl; Nadal wears it like a gladiator's armor - close to his chest and visible for the whole world to gawk at. In 2010, Nadal has taken bold steps towards the altar of tennis. The very people who once doubted the completeness of his game now stand with their lips zipped and minds zapped by the prowess that the Spaniard has shown. Gone are the times when Nadal featured as a constant challenger to the throne that was Roger Federer's. Today, he proudly sits on that throne - still well within the mammoth shadow that Federer continues to cast - but constantly making efforts to grow out of it.

That Nadal was cut out for sports was apparent at a very tender age itself. He left football to concentrate on tennis and his prodigal talent began to draw eyes even while he was in his early teens. Nadal was always impatiently ambitious - continually striving to improve, his gaze ever set on the monumental target he desired to achieve. The prophets of tennis must have known that here was a champion-in-the-making, when Nadal outclassed the-then world no.1 Roger Federer in his first ever match in a series of classic clashes at the Miami Masters way back in 2004. It served as a breakthrough performance for Nadal and soon enough, the world began to talk about him, if only in whispers. In 2005, Nadal found his beloved turf - Clay. His dominance over the surface multiplied in the coming years and the way he demolished some of his opponents, including Federer, was scary - earning him the nickname 'The King of Clay'. But, true to his measure, Nadal wasn't satisfied with just lording over clay. Critics did say that his game was only cut out for clay and he would never portend as a serious contender to Federer on the faster surfaces. But then, like his appearance at that time, Nadal's game too defied the usual conventions.

Federer played tennis like an art. Nadal started playing it like a battle. His game was highly physical and with time, he also developed odd ways to hover over the psychology of his opponents. As soon as he stepped onto the court, he pumped his fists in the air, thumped his chest and broke into short, speedy runs all over the court - each of the actions showcasing his supreme confidence and physical agility. The very outlook of the man was enough to send shudders through the person who held the racquet across the court who invariably wondered whether he would survive the onslaught or just wear out to Nadal's incessant aggression. With Nadal, you had to fight for every point. Relentless, machine-like and without even a single lapse in concentration - he could go on for hours, playing with the same zeal and briskness as he played in the first ten minutes of the match. Of course, it was still Federer who bossed tennis - a legend already made and recognized in contrast to Nadal, who was still learning the finer aspects of the game. But, inexplicably Federer always seemed to succumb to Nadal even when there was quite a wide difference in the skills they possessed. They say you make and arm your own enemy. Nadal had come to possess almost everything that Federer lacked - or rather was shy of showing. A strong backhand, a fiery return, brashness, disregard for what the records hinted, absolute aggression - Federer's gentleness kept him chained at all those places where Nadal's ambition liberated him.

The last three years have seen Nadal metamorphosing into a legend. In 2008, when he first snatched the Wimbledon from the iron-claws of Federer and subsequently the number one ranking from him, it was clear that the uni-polar tennis world that belonged to Federer was now in disarray as Nadal too, intended to tame it. Federer however, bounced back in 2009 - and aided and abetted by Nadal's injury problems - completed his career grand slam to seize the throne of tennis - but only temporarily. This year has truly been Nadal's best till date. With three grand slams in his kitty - a bulging total of nine - and a roster of other ATP Masters titles - whose count now stands at a record eighteen - Nadal has indeed made 2010 as his year of induction into the list of all-time greats of tennis. He has now shed the boyish image of his early years and translated into an impressive brand ambassador of tennis. He is now, like Federer, loved, liked and respected by his fans as well as his critics. His passion, his dedication, his commitment and above all, his amazing attitude towards his game - all are finally, being recognized and respected by people. He is still ferocious on the court, but dignified outside it. His range of shots have raised eyebrows and even forced some to rewrite their game-books of tennis. He has mastered every surface, every condition, every opponent - a reward for being the brightest pupil of tennis that the world has ever seen. While Federer and others take on the moments of glory as they come, Nadal carefully plans and synthesizes them. The level of tennis that Federer had established meant that only a super-human could hope to achieve that - and Nadal has done just that and attempting to do even more. Obviously, we'll have to wait and see how long and how much does the momentum established by Nadal last. He is still so young - the youngest to achieve so many of the feats he has already achieved.

Like all great players, Nadal not only brings a new dimension to the game he plays, but also transcends the boundaries of sport to become a person worth emulating in real life. His name has come to mean discipline and he has shown that a focussed effort can achieve what even a gift from destiny can't. Nadal has held the bulls of fear by their horns and simply turned them around to set them upon his opponents. He is that rare example of a youth with the maturity of a veteran. So what else would it take for Nadal to conquer even bigger ground in tennis? What else would it take for Nadal to stake an even greater claim on the pedestals of tennis? What else would it take for Nadal to get a whole tennis era named after him? Hope, faith and luck - we might say. But with Nadal, this magical trio simply fails to have its fabled significance. With Nadal, the only thing that controls and decides his destiny is within him. And we wish it serves him well.

90's Child

2010-05-19T08:49:00.003+05:30

Alright. This one's not my original. It's an interesting compilation I came across on Facebook. The last decade of the last century of the last millennium was probably a wonderful time to pass your childhood in. The list reproduced below is an ode to that golden period. The points I found true about myself have been highlighted using bold-face. If you indeed are a 90's child, I am sure you will find it really interesting to go through the list...

***

You Know You Grew Up in India in the 90s When…

1) You know the words to ‘In-pin-safety-pin’ and ‘akkad-bakkad’ by heart

2) Cricket is almost a religion for you, and you idolize at least one of Rahul Dravid/Sachin Tendulkar/Saurav Ganguly

3) You have read at least some Chacha Chaudhary or Tinkle comics

4) You’ve watched Shaktimaan on TV at least once in your life. And you can immediately recognize the character when you see him.

5) You have some ‘NRI’ relatives.

6) You couldn’t wait for it to be December so you could have the Toblerone chocolates your NRI relatives brought you

7) You watched Cartoon Network, and then the late night movies on TNT that came after Cartoon Network ended.

8) You watched corny dubbed versions of Small Wonder, Silver Spoon, and I Dream of Jeanie

9) You were THRILLED when McDonald’s opened in your neighborhood (or even eight kilometers away)

10) A visit to Pizza Hut used to mean a special treat

11) You have seen Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and Hum Aapke Hain Kaun at least 5 times each

12) You still remember the theme song of Hum Paanch. (Hum Paanch, Pam Pam Pam Paanch!)

13) You have played hours upon hour of running and catching, chor-police, lagori, saankli, ‘Doctor, doctor, help us!’, ‘Lock and key’

14) Dog ‘in’ the bone was your favorite co-ed game.

15) Much of your free time in school was spent playing UNO.

16) You collected trump cards of wrestlers, cricketers, and airplanes, and did not quite understand why your younger siblings were obsessed with Pokemon and the other Japanese trends that followed.

17) Your summer vacations were often synonymous with visiting your grandparents or cousins

18) Your parents, at some point, told you ‘Dark Room’ was a bad game to play. But you still loved playing it.

19) Bole mere lips, I love uncle Chips!

20) You know the song ‘Made in India’ by Alisha Chinai

21) You have seen many many many episodes of ‘Antakshari’ on Zee TV and know the only thing constant in the show is Annu Kapoor.

22) Many evenings have been spent watching little kids gyrate vulgarly on Boogie Woogie on Sony.

23) You were the coolest thing in class if you had a computer in your house while it was still the 90s.

24) You learnt LOGO and BASIC in school!

25) You couldn’t wait to start 4th standard so you could start writing with PENS instead of with pencils!

26) You often used terms and phrases like ‘two-say’, ‘same to you, back to you, with no returns’, and ‘shame shame, puppy shame, all the donkeys know your name.’

27) You most probably saw Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge at the cinema at least once. You also fantasized about singing songs in mustard fields as in the movie.

28) You have seen David Dhawan and Govinda movies and laughed at them.

29) You have said ‘haw’ or ‘yuck’ when you saw people kissing in English movies. (nowadays kids are used to it!)

30) Titanic was your FIRST favourite english movie.

31) You thought seeing English movies and speaking English made you the coolest thing ever.

32) You remember the Gujarat earthquake very clearly and could possibly tell everyone EXACTLY what you were doing when the earthquake occurred (yes, this happened in 2001, January 26, 2001, to be exact — but this group is about the things that Indian kids that GREW UP in the 90s remember and identify with).

33) Barbies for girls, and GI Joes for boys were the ultimate status symbols. You just wanted more more more and more. And how can I forget Hot Wheels, for both boys and girls?

34) You thought ‘imported’ clothes were definitely way better than ‘made in India’ clothes (never mind that a lot of clothes brought from overseas by NRI relatives were actually made in India, before ‘Made in China’ started appearing on EVERY existing thing)

35) "Jungle Jungle Baat Chali Hai Pata Chala Hai! Chaddi Pehen Ke Phool Khila Hai Phool Khila Hai!" You watched "The Jungle Book" every Sunday morning at 9.a.m" and just loved mowgli, bhalu and bagheera. A few years later, you watched Disney Hour, which had cartoons like Aladdin, Gummy Bears, Tail Spin, Uncle Scrooge!

36) At some point or other, cool was your favourite, and therefore, most overused word.

37) Captain Planet was your first introduction to environmental consciousness.

38) You have tried to convince people around you to not burst crackers on Diwali, and then gone straight back home and burst them yourself.

39) You have had endless packets of Parle Gluco G biscuits, and of Brittania Little Hearts biscuits.

40) You loved licking off the cream from the centre of Bourbon biscuits.

41) There were no Nike, Reebok, Adidas, Puma- Bata and Liberty was the way to go for your sports shoes.

42) You have probably consumed more Frooti in your lifetime than there is oil in Iraq.

43) You watched Baywatch on Star World when nobody was home even though (or because) your parents said you shouldn’t watch it.

44) You bought packets of potato chips for the specific purpose of collecting Tazos. And you had Tazos depicting everyone from Confucius to Daffy Duck to Daffy Duck dressed as Confucius.

45) For the longest time, the Maruti 800, the Premier Padmini, THE Fiat, and THE Ambassador were the only cars you saw on the road, and the Contessa was cool because it was bigger.

46) You would literally jump up in excitement if you ever chanced upon an imported car (Oh my gosh, is that really a MERCEDES?)!

47) You spent a good part of 1998 drooling over the Hyundai Santro and the Daewoo Matiz , debating which one was better.

48) You used to Fuzen gum. You also chewed Big (big) Babool and/or Boom Boom Boomer chewing gum. They were bright pink and disgusting tasting, but you loved them for the temporary tattoos.

49) Talking of temporary tattoos, you sometimes had contests with your classmates about who had more tattoos on their arm, leg, knee, hand, forehead, wherever.

50) You thought Mario and Contra were the coolest things ever invented, especially if you were a boy.

51) You knew that having the latest Hero or Atlas bicycle would make you the coolest kid on the block.

52) You can imitate Sushmita Sen’s winning gasp to perfection.

53) You have, at some point of time, worn GAP clothes (real or fake) like SRK in KKHH.

54) Seemingly senseless acronyms like SRK, DDLJ, DTPH, KKHH actually make sense to you..

55) You have at some point debated who was more beautiful- Aishwarya or Sushmita.

56) Baskin Robbins ice-cream was THE thing to have!

57) You know what Campa Cola is. And you also knew that Coca Cola was THE drink.

58) You would watch WWF keenly every evening/afternoon and loved Bret Hart "Hitman"! really thought Undertaker had seven lives and he made an “actual” appearance in the Akshay Kumar- starrer Khiladiyon ka Khiladi.

59) When all backpacks (or ’schoolbags’) and water bottles and tiffin boxes had strange cartoon characters that were hybrid versions of seven or eight different characters, and you still bought them, because a green man wih a water pistol, boots, a jet-pack, Johnny bravo hair, a rajasthani mustache, gloves, and underwear (long johns) over his pants, called ‘Mr. X’ was OBVIOUSLY a status symbol.

60) You remember the Nirma tikia jingle.

61) You remember the Nirma girl.

62) You remember the ‘doodh doodh piyo glass full doodh’ ad and also the ‘laal kaala peela, gulabi hara neela classic hai badia bristles wala’ and 'roz khao ande' ads.

63) You grew up reading, if you read at all, some or all of Nancy Drews, Enid Blyton books, Hardy Boys, Babysitters Club, Animorphs, Goosebumps, Sweet Valley series, Judy Blumes, and Tintin, or Archie comics. Because naturally, reading foreign authors made you much cooler than reading Tinkle.

64) Towards the late 90s (1998-99) at least some of us started our Harry Potter obsessions!

65) You absolutely HAD to go to Essel World if you were with cousins! “Essel World mein rahoonga main, ghar nahin nahin jaaonga main!” (I never went but always dreamed of going there!)

66) You watched the Bournvita Quiz contest on TV pretty religiously. The smarter ones amongst you actually took part in it and had your entire school and your entire extended families watch you on it!

67) Maggi 2 Minute Noodles = ultimate snack (and tiffin, lunch, dinner)!

68) If you grew up in the early 90s, you recall the nation’s obsession with Mahabharata on TV

69) In the later 90s, you religiously followed Hip Hip Hooray on Zee. Maybe Just Mohabbat on Sony too

70) You remember parzan dastur sayin "JALEBI!!!!" in the Dhara Ad

71) You eagerly awaited Friendship Day, so you could give friendship bands to all your friends, and get bands from them in return. Then, of course, those with the most bands loved to show them off.

72) Backstreet Boys' "Quit Playing Games" was one of the first english songs that you LOVED!

73) Andaz Apna Apna is and most probably will always be your favourite comedy flick!! "Aila Jhakaas!!!"

74) Cordless phones were uber-cool.

75) You know what Name, Place, Animal, Thing is!

76) This list made you smile.

***

My score : 65! [Naturally, a few variations of whatever's written above are permitted]

Hail, the 90's Child!

A License to Kill

2010-04-25T08:56:00.007+05:30

Can any reason ever justify an intentional breach of the sanctity of life? Can a person who has taken the Hippocratic Oath accede to be an agent of Death? Can anything be worse than watching your dear ones laid bare on the anvil of pain even as you find your hands locked with helplessness? Can any amount of remorse cloud the knowledge that you have left a fellow being in the most abyssmal variation of life that the world has to offer? If you find yourself incapable of answering either of these questions conclusively with a 'Yes' or 'No', don't feel embarrassed. For strangely, there are no 'correct' answers to such questions. The matter of 'mercy-killing' or in technical terms - 'Euthanasia' is still suspended in a perpetual oscillatory motion held by uncompromising forces powered collectively by science and ethics. The idea of euthanasia is not new - the concept of aiding a long suffering individual, with no real chances of survival to die in a painless manner has been suggested decades ago. Ever since, the matter has been shrouded by the veils of multiple legislations and drapes sewn from the yarns of medical philosophy. The stakes are so high that it would be futile to even attempt to clinch the argument in a short piece of text. The best we can do would therefore be to just examine and assess - at times, objectively and at times, passionately - this monumental question-mark that hovers over the medical fraternity.

The first thing to understand, if ever you are to believe in euthanasia, is that Death is not to be feared. The reason we fear death is the same reason that we fear darkness - we don't quite know what lies beyond it. Yes, if it comes unexpectedly, death indeed is the pinnacle of all tragedies. But, in a debate of mercy-killing, death needs to be seen in a completely different light. And because, they are both the two sides of the same coin, any attempt to unravel the intricacies of death must also circumscribe the realm of life. Agreed - life is pious and as mere creations of the Almighty, we have little right to meddle with it. But, once the long path of life has been traversed, isn't death the ultimate transition to something even more meaningful? And if that transition can be made more smooth and less tortuous, wouldn't it make sense to actually do it?Death has never been the greatest loss of life - the greatest loss has been what dies inside us even while we live. And if that loss answers to the claim of being that of the purpose or the desire to live - it would be a tragedy to live with such a loss. Wanting to die and still not being able to do so is far worse than death. Euthanasia is controversial since it pits the plight and suffering of an individual hung in a pathetic imitation of life and willing to embrace death against the legal, medical and social implications of having the right to end such a life. Euthanasia has been erroneously perceived as a stand-off between science and humanity when in reality, it simply endeavours to take the form of a handshake between science and humanity. Just picture some candidates of euthanasia and you will find your heart bleeding tears. A listless human body - in an irreversible coma - lungs run by a respirator and the cells fuelled by an array of feeding tubes and bottles and the heart and the brain being continuously mapped on gigantic screens. An old man - the pride of his life being rotted by the incurable psychological disease grasping him - rendering him a caricature of his age. A impoverished pheasant - in the terminal stages of a deadly cancer - a veritable human hourglass. What science can be dispassionate enough to turn a blind eye to this suffering? A suffering that tortures not only the patient but also those close to him for having to see him in such a state and yet not having the power to interrupt it. If death can curtail all this suffering, why with-hold it? The secret of a successful life has always been how to die - the time, the place, the manner. Euthanasia is for those unfortunate people who have not the fortune of choosing their death over life - even when it is the better of the two options. The controversy is of course whether the medical personnel, responsible for safeguarding life - can actually include its 'antidote' - Death - in their domain. The other arguments in favour of euthanasia are founded more on logic than on compassion. Patients, who have reached a point of no-return, are naturally an economic burden for their families and the society. Rarity is always high-priced. As death draws near and the last dregs of life are all that are left to be drunk, medical care becomes exorbitantly expensive. The intensive care units, the million-dollar life-support equipments, the team of specialized over-seers and the requisite high standards of medical care - its a suction pump that is capable of exhausting the entire pool of family resources and throwing them into the vicious cycle of debts. And in countries like India, where the health care system is already stressed out and working over-time, it seems only reasonable to permit those beyond all chances of survival to make room for those who can still survive by a healing touch. Euthanasia, therefore - though a radical concept - can not be out-rightly discounted.

And now, we join the team of dissenters. The fundamental premise that works against euthanasia is that man is still not so intellectually advanced as to take the matters of life and death into his own hands. Its only when he achieves a universal consciousness - a state beyond worldly gains and petty motives - that he can decide what is right for him and what is right for other men. Euthanasia has two giant rivals - Law and Medicine. Both of them, being the age-old guardians of the sanctity of human life. The very legal and social norms that prohibit intentional killing - may it be as per the victim's will or against it - are the cornerstones of our existence - ideals that guarantee that life will always be valued and everybody will be protected impartially. Life within us, however low it flickers, is still a divine flame and it would be nothing less that the worst of sins to attempt to extinguish it. Either you consider life to be sacred or you consider it to be of no account. There can be no middle path - the one which euthanasia advocates - calling life sacred in some cases and a torment in others. At whatever age and in whatever stage, life should always be treated with dignity. If life becomes unbearable, instead of shaking hands with death, consorted medical efforts should go in making that life less miserable and helping the patients and those who hold him dear in coping with the pain such a life delivers. Euthanasia is not wrong - but it is extremely dangerous. No amount of regulations and no amount of precautions can prevent it from being used to bring about death even where it's not wanted. Laws can always be circumvented and morals can always be abused. The human race is still not ready to use euthanasia the way it is meant to be used. Whereas euthanasia being a grave violation of the laws of God is certainly the chief argument against it, there are some arguments which can be supported on a scientific column. Medicine is not yet a complete science. And since, it deals with something as complicated as the human body, it is never ever likely to be so. And where science can not give assurances, one can never reject the possibility of miracles. There have been so many recorded cases of patients coming out of comas after a dozen years of vegetative existence. There have been people reduced to mere masses of nerves and vessels, recuperating and leading an abject, but a sufficiently promising life. Even if life persists as the thinnest of flames, hope would always be ready to fan it into a fierce fire. As men and as medical professionals, we have no right to rob people of hope. We have no right to deny miracles. We have no right to take back from people what God has given them. Mercy killing, though justifiable in a lenient world, is never going to be practiceable.

After reading all this - you might ask - 'What was your point?'. Darned good question. And as in the matter of euthanasia, I have no real answers here too. I still don't know which way I am inclined to think. Ultimately it will depend on which of the human emotions you value more - pity or hope. Ultimately it will depend on which of the two you would respect more - the sacred stature of human life or the horrid suffering that can make a mincemeat of that stature. Ultimately it will depend on whether you can read the patient's expressionless face - the wail that announces his suffering, the sardonic smile that marks his realisation of how little life now means to him, the aghast look as he understands how close he is to death, the hope that he still harbours wishing that God gives him one final chance to redeem himself. Euthanasia is a matter of life and death. Is it justified? Should it be legalized? Would it be executed in true spirit? With the stakes so high, I am afraid to answer. With the stakes so high, it is perhaps best not to answer...

PS: The existing legal and medical implications and definitions are conspicuously missing from this write-up simply because, I wanted to avoid the flow of thoughts getting hindered. However, a list of sites from where the reader can actually understand what euthanasia means, how it is to be practised, and what several countries and their constitutions have to say about it will be put up here shortly.

Remember the Titans #2 : Roger Federer

2010-03-11T09:45:00.005+05:30

This article is a part of the Remember the Titans series. To know more about the series, go through the introductory post by clicking here.

Sports can be wild. And sports can be beautiful too. They rarely come together but when they do, it conjures - well, there's no other word for it - magic. Given the status of cricket in India, I wouldn't dare to challenge the popularity of the game but I still believe that as a sport to watch, there can be no better choice than tennis. Apart from the gargantuan amount of physical endurance and agility it requires, tennis is also about being sublime and tactful - at times, players take on gladiatorial avatars, battling it out with such intensity that it defies human limits. And if tennis is to be talked and written about, who's better to illustrate the cover page then tennis' equivalent to Sachin Tendulkar - only more gifted, complete and iconic - Roger Federer. This article will go in rewind - the period now to the period then. For the biggest assertions need to be got out of the way lest they weigh heavily on my writing later. I will find detractors, but not many, if I say that as of today, Roger Federer is on the road to becoming the most dominant professional athlete EVER - in any sport, in any discipline. I can hear the voices of dissent and cries of other names - Muhammad Ali, Pele, the redoubtable Tiger Woods and even tennis' own Rod Laver and Pete Sampras. But understand this - the dominance I talk about is not just about being the best and the greatest in the sport you play - its about influencing the game and influencing all who play and watch it, its about taking the game and taking professionalism to new levels, its about making victories look easy and defeats look graceful, its about the awe other players see you with and the cheers you draw from the crowd in any place you play. That's dominance - when the sport itself seems to revolve around you. Federer has achieved all of that, and more.

With sixteen grand slams and eyes set on a lot many more, Federer is unparalleled as far as numbers go in tennis. He will soon go past Sampras in the count of number of weeks at the top. He already has a benumbing number of consecutive finals and semi-finals - 18 of the last 19 finals and each one of the last 23 semi-finals. He is at a stage when it might be a good idea to put his name in the list of synonyms for the word 'champion' in the thesaurus. Federer's game is like a poetry - balanced, beautiful and appearing to mean something much more than what we actually see. It is in many aspects, absolutely flawless. For years after the era of Sampras and Agassi was past, Federer was left all alone, sans any real rivals. All eras are earmarked by great rivalries - something for which tennis is very widely known - Bjorg-McEnroe, Connors-Llendl, Sampras-Agassi - but there seemed to be no one willing and competent enough to engage into the same with Federer. After years, he finally has a pack of some challengers and some pretenders - Murray, Nadal, Djokovic, Del Potro and a few others are all fine players and on their day, have dismantled the champion a few times. Of course the huge stature of Federer still looms large over the tennis circuit but its becoming increasingly difficult to really predict who's going to win tournaments - especially non-Slam ones. Nevertheless, the saga of Federer still continues and he still has to waltz further with history and keep dates with destiny. And we will be more than glad to watch it with starry eyes.

The first time I heard of Federer's name was when he defeated Pete Sampras - the player I revered then - in his own backyard, the Wimbledon, in the fourth round. Television screens all over the world began flashing his pictures - the young, handsome Swiss with those queer banded hair. Not many realized it was a significant moment in tennis history. It was a young gun snatching the flag of tennis supremacy from an old warhorse. A champion was humbled, and another had broken out of the cocoon. In the brief period that lapsed between Sampras leaving the scene of tennis and Federer stamping his authority all over it, three players emerged in a race for the numero uno spot. You can't blame them for not knowing that their happiness would be short-lived and soon they will outclassed by someone very, very special. Hewitt, Safin and Roddick - each coming from a land which had traditionally dominated tennis - would soon be overwhelmed by a man coming from Switzerland - a place marked in the smallest font on tennis maps. And ever since he has arrived, there's been no hurdle, no hiccup, no looking back for Roger Federer. A decade past, he is still tennis' most potent force. Irresistible and invincible.

Federer has improved with each passing year. He began pocketing slams and within no time at all, people were already talking about Sampras and his most sacred record. Tennis rarely sees complete players and it had been quite a few years since there had been one before Federer came. Sampras had a typical American game - a strong serve and an incredible volley. Agassi was acclaimed for his baseline play and rocket return of serve. Some like Goran Ivanisevic could fire aces at will. Federer, unlike these players was a player who was developed not vertically at one point of the tennis skill spectrum but horizontally across its entirety. He used the entire court, the entire baseline and the entire range of shots - he sliced, he punched, he lobbed, he served with panache and hit amazing winners with ease. Like Sampras, he always seemed to do just enough to outdo his opponent. Wimbledon and US Open were his for five successive years. The Australian Open crown was snatched in 2005 by a rejuvenated Marat Safin but Federer retrieved it in 2006. It was only triumph at Roland Garros that eluded him. However, unlike Sampras, who was always vulnerable on clay and lost very frequently to lesser known players in early rounds, Federer's performed extraordinarily even on clay. It was only his misfortune that by the time he had begun his race for Grand Slams, another player had anchored himself firmly on the throne of Roland Garros. Clay has always been quite different from other surfaces - the game slows down, and different skills are sought for mastering it. The kingdom of clay had appeared to shun Federer and elect its own king - Rafael Nadal.

Here finally was a rivalry that gave us what was missing in this era of tennis. Though Federer still dominated the other Slams and surfaces, Nadal repeatedly made a mockery out of him on clay. And then came 2008 - a bumpy ride for Roger. Mind it, he still reached all the four semi-finals, three finals and won one grand slam but over the years he had set such astronomically high standards for himself that even all this was not enough to satiate him or his fans. He lost to a determined Djokovic in the season's first slam at Melbourne and in straight sets to Nadal in the French Open but he was still not disturbed as he stepped onto his favourite surface at Wimbledon. But, here a defining moment was just waiting to happen. In an epic five-setter (which by the way, has an entire post devoted to itself on this very blog), Nadal beat Federer - and within weeks, took away the number one ranking from him. Was this the end of the champion? Would the ever-so-calm persona of Federer ever forget this terrible mental wound? Although he won the US Open later, he once again lost to Nadal at the next slam - another five-setter. And for the first time, the world saw tears pouring out of the eyes that never even blinked at historic moments. People thought Federer had become weaker, but there could be no bigger mistake - the tears and those losses only made him stronger. It showed, as I have said in an earlier post that Federer was not a God as people has started believing him to be. He was better than God - he was human. And he knew what those tears were for. He had just let everything out in those tears - his frustration, his uncertainties, his weaknesses. Federer knew this was the last time his confidence was to be shaken. And we all know how he just swallowed the rest of 2009. No doubt, he was aided by the defeat of Nadal in France and his absence at Wimbledon, but Federer had his eyes only on the altar of greatness that was beckoning to him. He won the French. He won the Wimbledon. He nearly won the US Open but found Del Potro in top form in the finals. He won the Australian Open 2010 - the first slam of the new decade. He has now steered clear of Sampras' record and is setting new limits of his own. He is remodelling tennis and its history. He is a both a loving husband and a proud father now. He is the darling of the crowd. He is the most recognizable face of tennis. He has the whole media licking out of his fingers. One wonders what is left to be achieved and what keeps Federer going then...

To understand the answer, you must first understand Roger Federer as a man and as a phenomenon, not just as a tennis player. Federer is no longer playing for this generation - he is simply laying ground for the coming generation. Higher the ground, he feels, the better they will be able to serve tennis. He is in such a communion with his tennis that he can't fail even if he wants to. He may seem fallible at times and have the occasional bad game - but you can be sure, that he will bounce back. Federer is just one of those people who have greatness flowing in their veins - there has to be a delibrate dialysis if you want to seperate the two. Like Tendulkar, Federer is not only about tennis. More than the greatest tennis player, he is the greatest man ever to have played tennis. Some people would find no difference between the two. Some people would probably be more awed by the former qualification. But, for the others like me, the difference is the reason why we believe in the man called Roger Federer.

Remember the Titans #1 : Sachin Tendulkar

2010-03-10T13:09:00.010+05:30

This article is a part of the Remember the Titans series. To know about the series, go through the introductory post by clicking here.

If ever I will be writing an article, which I am confident is the common voice of millions other than me and not just my ramblings on random issues - it is this. I have heard and read that certain poisons and psychological disorders induce a person to fabricate new words of his own - a queer form of neologism. I wish I could do it right now for the very thought of describing the feats of the individual who becomes the first 'titan' of this series is scary. Words would fail me and memories would betray me because the sheer mass of contribution this little man from Mumbai has made for his country and his sport is still being measured by people with the largest scales they can hold in their hands.

One of the reasons I can never thank God enough is that He put me in an era that concurs with the greatest part of Tendulkar's achievements. The genius of Tendulkar would lord over three generations. Mine, the one above me and the one that's coming after me. Tendulkar has done enough to achieve the zenith of greatness by his cricketing abilities alone. But, that is only the most conspicuous and probably the least important reason why people adore him to an extent that it borders to worship. Tendulkar as a person is much, much more. He is the greatest icon ever of hope - a simple non-extinguishable flame that has kept a million lanterns lit and brightened up the lives of billions who live by their light. No individual, both in this country and in the world of cricket, has had to handle as much as this little man had to. What should he listen to when he steps onto the ground every single time - his own heart thumping wildly, the glass-shattering roar of the stadium crowd or the hopeful prayers that people all over the country mutter as the stocky man carrying one of the heaviest bats looks skyward before taking guard? Eventually, he trained his ears to listen to each of those and yet establish within his mind the kind of silence and concentration that sages used to attempt sitting in deep caves of old mountains. And then as they say - let his bat do the talking.

The personality of Sachin Tendulkar is one that should be taught in classrooms as a lesson of self-management. So many times has he been given out wrongly, at times by visibly atrocious decisions. So many times have his centuries gone in vain as the rest of the team failed to rally around him. So many times he has come agonizingly close to triple figures and then fallen prey to an ordinary ball. So many times has he had to endure the criticisms that pour in after a short spate of low scores. Lesser mortals would have succumbed to even half the magnitude of this tumultuous assault. Tendulkar, miraculously is still standing as the face of Indian cricket after 21 long years. So many paeans have been sung about his strokeplay, his aggression, his technical soundness...even his wily spin - but very few people have acknowledged the most wondrous of Tendulkar's many achievements - his longevity. He has himself said several times recently, as have many others, that his body is not what it used to be. But, Tendulkar is such an intelligent cricketer that with gradual modification he has achieved an equilibrium between what he demands from his body and what it permits him to do. His game now is one that requires less agility and less power, but it draws heavily from his skill and experience. The most recent of his magnificent knocks - 175 against Australia and 200* against South Africa - facing some the world's most fierce bowlers saw an exhibition of the widest range of shots any single innings could ever have featured. Inspite of being under the media spotlight incessantly for so many years, Tendulkar still remains one of the most humble and well-mannered cricketers you could ever come across. With the achievements under his belt and the huge talents at this disposal, he has every right to show what people usually term 'attitude'. And yet, the chemistry he shares with the current captain and the new crop of players retains the same excitement and mutual, healthy respect that he shared with the likes of Azharuddin and Kapil Dev. More than learning how to play cricket one can learn from him how to handle cricket once you have mastered the art of playing it. Long shadows though his stature casts on the national front, Tendulkar has always made sure that the game and the team is valued more than him. Just sample this statement he made at the presentation ceremony after his record 200* knock - ''I dedicate this knock to all the people of India, who have supported me throughout over the last 20 years. I was timing the ball well, and I felt that anywhere between 340 to 350 was a good target. I thought Karthik, Yusuf and Dhoni supported me well. I thought that a 200 would be possible once I crossed 175 in the 42nd over. I am enjoying my cricket at the moment. There have been a few bad decisions I have made as a batsman, but as long as the passion is there I will carry on. It feels good that I lasted the 50 overs, it was a good test of my fitness and I would like to do this once again.''

Tendulkar has quite candidly said that he is uncomfortable with the comparisions made between him and the legends of yesteryears like the great Donald Bradman, Sunny Gavaskar and Vivian Richards. But, his lakhs of fans and followers are hell-bent on proving that he is THE best. While nothing can be said with certainty on the topic, no one can ever argue that Tendulkar has written his name across literally every record when it comes to batting. In the national team as a 16-year old and put up on debut against a hostile Pakistani bowling attack, the unique blend of resilience and aggression that Tendulkar showed back then had already laid down his credentials as a batting prodigy. He has never been chucked out of the team ever since - perhaps the only player who has had that fortune. The last decade of the last century belonged completely to Sachin Tendulkar. Bowlers trembled at his name and he won every duel that he was forced to participate him. What other player could give nightmares to Shane Warne and occasionally make the swing of Akram and the pace of Allan Donald look pedestrian? Gradually, the team began to rely heavily on him - more than it should have. A blitzkrieg was expected from him every time he stepped onto the crease. The opposition spent nights mulling over strategies to unsettle him and find any flaws in his near-perfect batting. But, Tendulkar was not one who could be beaten by technology or strategy. To beat him you had to be the near-perfect bowler bowling the near-perfect ball. After a bout of successive injuries, many wrote off Tendulkar as a spent force. Not those who knew him closely. And true to his nature, Tendulkar bounced back, better than ever - and nearly won India the 2003 World Cup. And seven years after that, he still mesmerizes the scorers and the spectators alike. Tendulkar has achieved a level where the only person he can compete with is himself. And that is what makes him the most-loved and the most-respected cricketer in the world today.

A day will come...and its not very far too...when Sachin Tendulkar will bid adieu to cricket. I can't still imagine cricket without Sachin Tendulkar. For many, he remains the only reason to watch cricket. Oh, lets not say it will be a dark day for cricket. New players have taken the game to new levels. We must not be unjust to the talents that cricketers like Dhoni and Michael Clarke possess. The show will go on - Sachin's records, however monumental they may seem now, will eventually be broken at some point in time - many many years later maybe. But, will a cricketer emerge who will be the object of such affection, such devotion and such attention as this man? Will we ever get to see so many breaths held to watch the swerve of a single bat? Will a cricketer indeed reach a position when people will start questioning whether he is a human at all? Even Sachin, modest as he is ever, will find these questions hard to evade...

Introduction : Remember the Titans

2010-03-10T10:15:00.005+05:30

Some people are born great and some people have greatness thrust upon them. Nowhere can this be illustrated more clearly than in the arena of sports. I will be honest - I do not have the requisite levels of proficiency in even a single sport. I did play cricket and the odd game of football as a kid but once academics and other co-curricular activities began eating into my time, I abandoned sports. Abandoning is not actually quite the correct terminology, for you will come across very few born spectators of sports like me. I can watch a whole test match without moving a muscle and I can rattle off the names of over six scores of contemporary tennis players without pausing for breath. Being a sports enthusiast isn't an experience you can imagine or narrate - its something you have got to feel. Either you are one and you know what I am talking about or you are not and you are still wondering where this post is going. On the scales of glamour and glory, I would still bet on sports weighing down the dreamland of cinema...for cinema is painstakingly orchestrated whereas sports is rich in spontaneity. The 'Remember the Titans' series will celebrate this glory of sports - its power to suddenly make you aware of your skin as a separate organ, the phenomenal celebrations of narrow victories and the heart-rending agony of close defeats, the arrival of a moment when a million eyes are glued over a single line waiting for a ball to make it on one side or the other, the sight of a time-tortured body suspended over two feet in air, the raucous cries of a reverent crowd, the speed of players weaving into each other on a wet turf...simply put, this series is my tribute to sports and sportsmen who have given me some of the most memorable moments of life.

Each article in the series will feature a single sportsperson. Let one thing be clear - this series should not be taken as a definitive list of the greatest servants of sport. It is a personal list and will be heavily influenced by my own tastes and preferences in sport. For instance, the likes of Muhammad Ali and Carl Lewis, though towering figures in their own right, would never make it to this list because I watch neither boxing nor follow any particular discipline of track and field events. Sports popular in Indian households - cricket, tennis, soccer and to some extent, hockey - would thus be the chief reservoirs from which this list will flow out. Facts of course will be facts. Important they are but they don't matter for the moment. The articles will neither be a biographical account nor a mere recitation of the fellow's stupendous achievements. It will have a personal touch - something that is a must to work up magic. Opinions and reflections may then be exaggerated or downplayed accordingly.

God has given us four tools to fabricate greatness with - mind, body, heart and soul. Successful sportspersons usually make a successful use of the first two and enthrall the audiences. But, the ones truly great play their game using the last two as well which is why their names get honoured with hitherto unheard praises by the followers and custodians of history.

Apollo's Ire

2009-08-18T23:45:00.003+05:30

A good doctor treats a disease. A great doctor treats a patient. The medical education system, which I am a part of, is probably suffieciently equipped to churn out good doctors. But, rarely does this framework go beyond the realms of scientific teachings and cultivate a batch of great doctors. Free medical services do not give you the license to compromise on the quality of healthcare - something which professionals associated with government hospitals all over the country need to be reminded. When you become a doctor and undertake the Hippocratic Oath, you embark on a voyage in the sea of humanity. Storms in the forms of diseases have to be weathered and newer and better routes to good health need to be constantly chartered. Sadly, the money-making tendencies and the lack of a moral dimension to medical practice has brought about a partial, if not complete, erosion of these extremely essential social ingredients of medical profession.

I have watched with my own eyes, a patient first become a clinical history, then an examination, a diagnosis, a chart, a case number and eventually a shabbily stored hospital record. I have seen a sick man stand in line for six hours, waiting and still waiting, to be shuffled through an inefficient system of impatient receptionists, an overworked nursing staff and a breed of doctors who couldn't care less. I have seen patients in a pathetic state being robbed of whatever little comfort and dignity they carried when they entered the hospital premises. I have seen them languishing in their beds by the day, oblivious to the hustle-bustle in the wards. I have heard them howling in the nights with noone to alleviate their pain. I have watched a patient being told bluntly that he had cancer - irrevocable and invariably fatal - and then shoved out of the clinician's room to ponder over his impending end. I have seen twenty abdomens being examined in thirty minutes without so much as a glance at the fear writ large on the face of the patients. I have seen the facial muscles of an old man's wife twitch as two junior residents mutter gross jargon with sardonic smiles over her husband's ailing body.

I am ashamed that such inhuman actions are perpetrated under the guise of State-sponsored charity. I am ashamed that the sick of the society are seen as liabilities and obligations. I am ashamed that we have become so insensitive and academically carried away that we are more interested in the disease rather than the diseased. The worrying rise in the incidence of nosocomial (hospital acquired) cross-infections is another indication that all is not well with our public tertiary health services. Patients instead of getting treated, often go out in a worse situation than ever before. They are overloaded with empirical pharmacological agents and acted upon as experiments for the young and the ignorant. Mind you - the situation is this bad only in the civil hospitals. Their private counterparts literally pamper their patients even if it is eventually only to fill their own pockets. The time has come to infuse humanity back into medicine. The time has come to understand that your patient is someone's father, brother, husband or son and if not even that - atleast he is a fellow human being, created and loved by God, just as you are. The time has come to win back the faith of the Gods and carry out in earnest the job entrusted to us. It might be a mere professional routine to us but for someone else it is a matter between life and death...

Saffron, White and Green

2009-08-15T16:57:00.006+05:30

Today, on independent India's 63rd birthday, let us not talk about where we are lagging. Let us not whip the lousy bureaucrats or the stinking hypocrites who tarnish our country. Let us not spin an incomprehensible tale about two Indias - one fresh and fervent and the other inactive and indolent. Let today's narration register my feelings of pride -

The pride I feel when I am called an Indian. The pride I feel when India is considered as a member of the league of global superpowers. The pride I feel when the happenings at Dalal Street evoke serious reactions in Wall Street. The pride I feel when an exuberant Dhoni hoists a silver cup and a dejected Ponting stares into nothingness. The pride I feel when a Saina and a Sania wield two different racquets with the same compassion. The pride I feel when Sachin Tendulkar's face at 35 shows the same delight when he reaches triple figures as it showed when it was 18. The pride I feel when an Indian jawan patrols over impossible terrains to protect his motherland. The pride I feel when the musical genius of Rehman effortlessly renders 'Jaya He' with Pandit Jasraj and 'Jai Ho' for Danny Boyle. The pride I feel when an Indian beauty mesmerizes shutterbugs in Cannes and Venice. The pride I feel when our cine-legends get to marvel their wax effigies in London. The pride I feel when an Indian kid beats his American counterparts in their own language at the Spelling-Bee competitions. The pride I feel when despite years of communal strife, Hindus still flock Ajmer and Muslims still pay homages at Banaras. The pride I feel when Ratan Tata silences his detractors by giving the people of India the first and the only Common Man's Car. The pride I feel when India flexes its military muscle in the field displays at the Republic Day celebrations in Delhi. The pride I feel when rubbishing all modern cultural influences, an Indian youth still doesn't fail to touch the feet of his elders. The pride I feel when I see the entire healthcare system of the nation collectively persevering to battle pandemics and epidemics all round the clock. The pride I feel when books of Chetan Bhagat and Salman Rushdie sell like hotcakes at the local book-stores. The pride I feel when Mumbai and other blast-hit cities show unparalleled courage and concord to make the shards of terrorism blunter with each attack. The pride I feel when a group of fourth-graders discuss Pachauri and global warming with authority and interest. The pride I feel when I see the sky decorated with a thousand colours on Uttarayan and a shower of lights on Deepawali. The pride I feel when a billion aspirations take flight at the break of every dawn and quite a number of them manage to soar till enviable heights. The pride I feel when the lullabies of the night put those billion avian aspirations to sleep with the knowledge of having inched closer to their destinations. The pride I feel when the tri-colour unfurls over the roof of a building. The pride I feel when soul-stirring patriotic songs pour out of All-India Radio transmitters. The pride I feel when I call India my love, my home, my motherland. The pride I feel....a pride we all ought to feel.

Happy birthday, independent India. May your Gods bless you.

NOTE: That was indeed quite a long list of prides. Knowing the cynical fools that we are, the list of shames would probably be even longer. But, we have until the next fifteenth of August to talk about that!

180 not out

2008-10-31T11:44:00.004+05:30

I was never a sportsman in the true sense of the word. But, I was (and still am) a hardcore sports enthusiast with keen interest in a multitude of sports. As such, most of my trysts with sporting glory have been as a witness sitting opposite the television screen. I too have felt my heart beat at a worrying pace as Misbah-ul-Haq went for that audacious shot in the T20 World Cup final last summer. I too have felt a chill run down my spine as Zidane executed that infamous head butt. I too have felt my senses oscillate as Federer and Nadal battled it out in two consecutive Wimbledon finals to usher into the tennis world a rivalry that will be talked about for ages. Splendid sensations though these all were, they were always in celebration of some other person’s glory. They never had the personal touch that makes everlasting imprints on one’s mind. However, there was this one instance...when I was the One – standing at the pinnacle of sporting achievement, the man in the limelight, the actual performer as opposed to the spectator I have always been.

In a special issue of Sport Star a few years back, they had adroitly listed the most memorable Indian batting performances (one wonders if some of them were not actually ‘betting’ performances!). An eminent panel of cricketing greats had ranked them and had come to the conclusion that VVS Laxman’s epic 281 against Australia in the fairy-tale 2001 Kolkata Test Match was the best ever batting performance by an Indian. Now I do not wish to steal away any credit from Laxman – it was a legendary display of batting skills and the pivot around which we brought about one of the most dramatic upsets in Test Match history. I concede that even if Laxman had played only that single inning and hung up his boots, he would have gone down the annals of cricketing history as a great batsman. But, in the depths of my mind I knew that I had played a greater inning – an inning which was an amalgam of silken touch, controlled aggression, masterful strokeplay and unwavering resilience. I was on song then, the mellow rhythm of which had managed to hypnotize every single member of the opposition. It was rather unfortunate that baring the fielding side (4 players), only 5 other humans were spectators to that fine performance (3 of them constituted the rest of the batting side, one a neutral umpire and one a friend who had nothing better to do). Before talking you through that inning, I feel it would be logical to make you aware of the scenario in which it was scripted for it will probably make things less confusing. The venue was a piece of barren ground behind our classroom (and about the same size as it). The stumps were three lines (two were straight, one wasn’t) made on a wall in front of which the batsman stood. The boundary was the opposite wall (straight) and a couple of bushes in either direction. The ball was the usual one that we used in schools at that age – the ‘hanky’ ball (For those who have no idea what that means, do this: Take a large handkerchief. Fold it along its diameter to obtain a triangular shape. Now continue tying knots in whatever manner you may feel like till you can do it no more. The final product should resemble a ball. If it doesn’t - untie the knots, and do it again adopting different methods of knotting. Better – use another handkerchief). The bat was not the standard willow; it was this ‘board’ that students used then during examinations to overcome the craters that adorned the desks. Oh! And before you brand me stupid for playing in such a scenario, let it be known that I was in 4th grade then – merely 9 years of age. If you are a cricket fanatic, you must have heard about how Tendulkar and Kambli established their batting credentials at a young age in school itself with a mammoth partnership of 600-odd runs. Consider this to be on similar, if not more spectacular lines.

That afternoon the sky was remarkably serene – maybe out of respectful anticipation for the glorious events that were to unfold beneath it. When I came in to bat, the team was in a precarious situation – 8/2. A couple of minutes later, the 3rd wicket fell too and I was the only unbeaten batsman in our team of four. The ‘Last Man’ rule being operative then, I was left to wage a lone battle against a fiery bowling attack. But then calm seas are never known to make skilful sailors and the troublesome circumstances had set the stage for the outstanding inning that was to follow. Over the next 80 minutes, I made life difficult for that poor hanky ball. A ruthless and clinical approach to every single delivery saw me strike a shower of fours and sixes as I accumulated an unbelievable 180 runs within that short time. The spectators’ eyes grew larger and rounder with each delivery as they speechlessly saw history being fabricated at my hands. The fielding team helplessly tossed the ball amongst each other hoping to stem the vicious onslaught that I had let loose upon them but it was just not their day. I suppose even Laxman had given the Aussies a couple of opportunities to dismiss him which they had not been able to grab. But my inning was an epitome of perfection – there were no dropped catches, no missed-by-a-whisker passes by the stumps, no deliveries that caught me napping. The bad deliveries were naturally dispatched to boundaries but the good deliveries didn’t manage to do much better either. None of Tendulkar’s tons were decorated with such panache. None of Lara’s demolition acts were so hopelessly one-sided. Not even the great Don Bradman had made things look so easy and yet so elegant. The ill fate of the opposition was only cut short by the ringing of the bell that signalled the end of the day at school. I was ofcourse interested in continuing but a couple of members from the fielding team had to catch the school bus which apparently couldn’t wait for my dismissal. The next day, I eagerly reached the match venue in the afternoon, looking forward to continue my dazzling performance of the previous day but the whole fielding team had opted to go for football that day (The reason was obviously an escape from the prospect of facing me again). And so, the saga ended there – a splendid tale that the celebrated historians of cricket were unfortunate to miss. Maybe even Gods were reluctant to share the memories of that inning with mortals.

I know what your reactions are right now. Probably you consider the whole thing comical – a shameless narration of a ten year old inconsequential event by a nineteen year old. Fine – have it your way. But, if you are prudent enough you will realize certain things. One, at whatever level cricket is played on, a champion is always a champion and his genius transcends all geographical and chronological barriers. Two, in reality a hanky ball is much more difficult to play cricket on than the standard season ball which is hard and meets the bat with a pleasant crispness. Three, on a similar note, a board is much more difficult to bat with than the willow which is expressly shaped and empowered for that purpose. Four, there are neither well-defined rules nor rational referees in these games and so you may even be given out if your game in not in sync with the popular demands. Put these four together and you realize why this inning has to be rated at par with the finest in the cricketing world. The sporting history is replete with stories of Tendulkars and Beckhams doing unbelievable things at a tender age itself. Ofcourse, they eventually followed it up as a career and came up with more of such exceptional performances. For me, the start was just as good but I chose to ignore that lucrative path and follow up another one. But let it be remembered that at one point in time, I walked with giants and managed to dwarf them as well...

Bat and Baal

2008-10-01T09:32:00.006+05:30

Cricket, they say, is no longer a mere sport in India. In a manner of speaking it is a religion - with its own legion of faithfuls, followers and fanatics. From a quite different viewpoint, it is also a business - a money-spinning machine of mammoth proportions. And the truth of this hit me a few days ago under the most astonishing of circumstances. Given that I had spent the previous two months under a mode of rigorous study for the then-forthcoming 1st MBBS University Examinations, my hair had grown fairly beyond the accepted bounds of civilized appearance. And so, on a Sunday evening, I made my way to a nearby hair-dressing saloon, caressing my hair fondly in the final moments of their existence.

The ICC, I believe, employs a highly structured and well-planned calendar for international ODI fixtures and all matches played in the course of the year strictly adhere to this schedule. Unfortunately, and unintentionally on their part I am sure, the third ODI between India and their southern neighbours Sri Lanka happened to fall on the same date as the one I went to get my haircut on ( I refuse to phrase this sentence in any other manner). Furthermore, the match was a 'day-and-night' encounter - and hence a head-on clash with my evening outing. And so, quite understandably, the first sight that met my eyes as I walked into the saloon was a pretentious Arun Lal delivering a pitch report. At this point, I also registered the fact that the saloon was unusually crowded - the reason for which dawned upon me some time later. By the time I was asked to be 'seated' for the haircut, the Sri Lankan innings had already commenced and Jayasuriya was strutting along the pitch like a bloodhound looking for prey. The Indian bowlers, as always, had already come mentally prepared for a vicious onslaught. It would have been prudent had I been prepared for the same as the next 20 minutes presented a horrible experience for me. The barber, like every true Indian, was a die-hard fan of cricket and considered it as his fundamental duty to watch every ball of the match that India happened to play. Hence every ball was marked by a long pause during which the barber's skillful hands came to a standstill and his eyes darted to the television to realize his cricketing duties. The hair-cutting procedure was thus punctuated by a number of such pauses and a rather nasty jerk which was the direct result of the dangerous Jaysuriya getting out. At that particular instant, I don't know whose heart was beating faster - Jayasuriya's as he was making the long walk back to the pavillion - or mine as I survived a possibly fatal cut in my scalp. I swore loudly but that was hardly heard amidst the cheers that rang through the saloon. By the time my scalp had been completely retouched, two more Lankan wickets had fallen and my head showed the signs of a rather clumsy haircut.

I also figured out the reason behind the unexpected rush at the saloon. This was India - and paan ka gallas, tea-stalls and hair-cutting saloons were the virtual reality simulators to get a feel of the cricket stadium while a match was on. Apparently, every single person sitting there was an expert in the game and had an advice and opinion for every player on the field. (The opinions were as senseless as those offered by the panelists on various sports channels). A middle-aged gentleman was incessantly proclaiming the bowling skills of Brett Lee, probably not being aware that Australia was not in action for the day. Another bearded chap was criticizing the Indian field placement, with a random and repeated use of the terms 'fine leg', 'long on' and 'Jonty Rhodes'. Stupid fools! - I thought - whiling away precious time and creating hassles for people-with-a-purpose like me. And, even as I was leaving the saloon, I caught the steady Jayawardene at the crease from the corner of my eye. A single over wouldn't do any harm, would it?

I walked out of the saloon, an hour later, having proudly sacrificed 60 minutes to unprofitable watching of a cricket match. But, even as I walked out, I solemnly resolved to never ever synchronize my haircut with an India-featuring cricket match.

PS: The resolution made in the last line is likely to be unceremoniously dumped as and when the next cricket match comes. My craving for cricket is so much that I am prepared to undergo through the rut again to watch a cricket match in that splendid atmosphere.

WHACKY QUOTES :

The rules of cricket are simple, and are summarised by the ICC as follows:

You have two sides, one team aiming for the batsman's bails and the others as batsmen trying to hit the ball as far as possible without the other team getting hit! Each man that's in the side that's in goes out, and when he's out he comes in and the next man goes in until he's out. (Make SURE you DON'T go out!) When they are all out, the side that's out comes in and the side that's been in goes out and tries to get those coming in, out. Sometimes you get men still in and not out.

When a man goes out to go in, the men who are out try to get him out, and when he is out he goes in and the next man in goes out and goes in WTF! There are two men called umpires who stay all out all the time and they decide when the men who are in are out. And if something isn't fair it simply isn't cricket. and they sometimes even get hit in the head, which is funny.

When both sides have been in and all the men have been out, and both sides have been out twice after all the men have been in, including those who are not out, that is the end of the game!

The Champion and the Challenger

2008-07-08T08:34:00.008+05:30

Centre Court - Gentlemen's Singles - Finals

Roger Federer SUI (1)

7⁷

7¹⁰

Rafael Nadal ESP (2)

6⁵

6⁸

There are days and times when you hope contests don't end in victories and defeats. But then, there are defeats which are just as sweet as victories. In the world of tennis, Sunday - the 6th of July, 2008 will be remembered as one such day. The Wimbledon Men's singles title, arguably the most sought-after title in tennis was at stake and the two men who were to battle it out already had a fascinating trail of clashes behind them. Roger Federer - five time Wimbledon champion, the grass court wizard - the man who had been the undisputed Emperor of the tennis empire for the last five years. And against him....Rafael Nadal - his arch-rival and nemesis, Clay King - the only man in the world who had beaten Federer more number of times than he had lost to him. It was a dream title-clash but the way it eventually turned out was beyond anybody's wildest dreams.

A few weeks back, Nadal had unceremoniously dumped Federer in straight sets (and one set going 6-0!) at Roland Garros. The memories of that lop-sided match still lingered in people's minds. But then, this was grass and Federer was coming into the final with an unbeaten 65-match winning streak - something unprecedented in tennis history. He had also managed to defend his Wimbledon title for the last two years by defeating Nadal. Both meanwhile were chasing two different records - both of which curiously belonged to the same man. Bjorn Borg, the legendary tennis champion - winner of 5 straight Wimbledons and 6 French Opens. While Federer was aiming to eclipse Borg with a 6th consecutive Wimbledon title - a feat which no man had performed in 122 years of Wimbledon history, Nadal was striving to become the first man since Borg to hold the Roland Garros and the Wimbledon titles in the same year. Both players had launched a fierce demolition drive en route to the final. Hardly any other player had even threatened them in a single match - it was a cakewalk all the way. But then, Destiny is a cruel judge and when it come to sports even more so. So it was that once again the two were left to battle it out for grass supremacy. As I mentioned before, the two players had a trail of epic clashes behind them. The 2007 Wimbledon final - a breath-taking five setter which the Swiss eventually won, three French Open finals - where Nadal exhibited apparent invincibility, another grueling Monte Carlo Masters match.....it seemed that the two were ideal reagents for great tennis to be conjured.

I have always been a hardcore Federer fan. In Federer, I have always found the spirit of a true sportsman and a deserving champion. Cool in the face of adversity, merciless in his play and modesty amidst a gale of fame - it was considered impossible to rival Federer - until the ascent of Nadal. In contrast to Federer, Nadal was unduly aggressive - his characteristic on-court attire and those bulging biceps punching away his opponents to oblivion - he was a package of youthful exhuberance and devastating fearlessness. Over the years, Nadal matured, imbibed the necessary qualities of a champion and posed a real threat to Federer's five year reign over tennis. Until then Federer had an aura of invincibility around him but Nadal could and did make Federer look human on several occasions. He always seemed to hold a rather inexplicable psychological edge over Federer and was obviously more successful than others in bringing Federer's flaws to public notice.

When Nadal took away the first two sets of the final match, most people must have written off Federer. Federer was highly error-prone on Sunday and so many of his otherwise winning shots were going wayward. Nadal meanwhile was a picture of perfection and his grit and determination was palpable over his face. He swung the second set like a pendulum into his favour after coming down from an early break to break two of Federer's service games. The murmurs of the crowd turned into gasps of astonishment and Federer tried his best to repel Nadal's swift attacks. Infact, the heat of the battle was so tremendous that God had to send down showers twice to cool things down. Back after the first delay, Roger Federer was a different player altogether. The booming serves crawled in, the rocket fore-hands began working and he took the next two sets to tie-breaks. A tie-break, I believe, is a really unfair way of settling things. 7 points - either here or there - and you end up with a decision on who gets the hour-long fiercely fought set. Federer eventually won both. Once again, his mental strength and strong serves at critical junctures ruled over Nadal's equally praiseworthy efforts. The top-seed saved a couple of championship-points and in doing so, marred Nadal's chances of settling it earlier.

So far it had been a treat for any tennis fan. Two champions battling it out since 4 hours and still no obvious indication of which way the match was going. It was the contrasting styles of both players which made the watching experience even more delightful. Federer's silky mastery over Nadal's knock-out winners. Federer's modest ruthlessness versus Nadal's steely resilience. Federer's breezy demeanour versus Nadal's unrelenting ferocity. It must have made life difficult for the poor green balls knocked all across the court to quench the thirst and lust of two maestros. The fifth set was a fitting end to an epic clash - the longest Wimbledon final in tennis history - a match played at such high skill-levels and intensity that the tennis world was scorched by its outputs. Cries of 'Come on, Roger!' and 'Vamos Rafa!' echoed in the huge stadium and the crowd, like all Wimbledon crowds, were responsive and appreciative to the efforts of both players. Ultimately it would only be fair to say that the better man on the day won. Nadal had after all been the more consistent of the two while Federer had only showed patches of brilliance interspersed with some really mediocre play. For years, we had only wondered - who would be the man to stop Roger Federer's merciless reign on grass and it was after Nadal sealed away the last set 9-7 that our questions got answered.

The scenes after the victory were those which would remain etched in my mind for a long, long time. Nadal, squealing in delight and falling down flat on the turf he had finally mastered. Federer, looking dejected but graceful in defeat. Nadal, his eyes flooded with tears, reaching out to his vociferous family members. Federer, for the first time, witnessing another man celebrate at the end of a Wimbledon final. But, the true champion that he is, Federer had only admiration for Nadal at the end of the day and correspondingly Nadal also acknowledged that a single victory, herculean in proportions though it may be, did not mean that Federer was permanently bested. The implications in the tennis world that this result brought were left for the analysts to figure out. But it did make certain things quite obvious. It was a definite and a cruel end to Federer's monopoly in the tennis and now even he would have to perspire and pass through all the scares before winning a title again. He would have to perform exceptionally well and bundle up all the points that he can, to stay at the top at the end of the year. After all, he has much more points to catch up with in the second half of the year compared to Nadal. For Nadal meanwhile it meant a salvation of sorts. People would definitely stop branding him as a mere Clay court genius. The post-match conferences certainly showed Federer's frustrations and disappointments and he knew that he would have to spend some serious hours to find out a way to overcome the Spanish star when he met him next. 'The higher you rise, the harder you fall' and Federer's climb in the last five years had indeed been in league with the greatest of the sport. But the worries seem trivial now....let's salute the new Wimbledon champion and at the same time wish Federer comes back all pumped and pepped up to regain what has been robbed off him. At the end of this Wimbledon we still have a champion and we still have a challenger but the roles have been miraculously reversed in the course of the events in the fortnight. Lets wish the choicest of luck to these two achievers and hope they continue to serve tennis in the same manner as they have done so far.

Nostalgia - Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan's, Baroda

2008-04-13T17:14:00.014+05:30

Its difficult not to feel nostalgic about a place where you have spent the best parts of the best years of your life. And that difficulty borders onto an improbable impossibility when that place happens to be Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan's V.M Public School, Baroda. Apart from my family and my biological antecedents, quite frankly, the biggest contribution in my life so far has been from my school. The fourteen years that I spent in Bhavans as a student have been nothing less than a roller coaster ride - academic highs and disciplinary lows, splendid glory and stifled fury, courage claimed and shyness shed, respect won and ego wounded, friendships forged and boundaries broken, pre-exam phobias and post-exam euphorias, peer pressures and collective adventures - it was such a heady mixture of contrasting elements that the intoxicating smells of it still makes my senses reel. As I replay those fourteen years in my mind, I can still feel the hormones within my body stand up in rapt attention ready to surrender to an impending emotional outburst. Being a Bhavanite was then, and still is, a matter of pride that cannot be bartered for any worldly treasure.

My first memories of Bhavans revolve around its gargantuan dimensions. It is quite understandable to feel belittled when you enter Bhavans and take in its vast expanse - an area that could comfortably lodge a dozen normal-sized schools. And then there were those typical entities and locations that were so dear to every Bhavanite who perused them - the kindergarten sandpit, the great Banyan trees around which morning assemblies were held, Kala Bhavan, AV Room, Dining Halls, Hostels, the mango tree that acted as an official bus-stop, the serpentine roads and busy corridors, the sanctum sanctorum that was supposed to be the Library (!), the four labs (Yes - the computer lab was not actually a gaming zone!!)....they all form distinct remembrances of a quite fantastic school-life. In retrospect, I can hardly imagine Bhavans as a mere school....it was a thriving, breathing mass of a thousand people constituting my daily dosage of life. When I felt depressed - Bhavans comforted me, when I felt lost - Bhavans guided me, when I felt conquered - Bhavans fought for me, when I felt joyous - Bhavans danced along with me, when I felt lonely - Bhavans spoke to me with breathless eloquence. It was a shoulder I could always rest my head upon, a heart I could always trust upon, hands which I could always expect to support me whenever I stumbled - it was an embodiment of a parental institution of philanthropic credentials.

What Bhavans taught me in these fourteen years will definitely remain etched in the crypts of my mind forever. It has taught me that education is not congruent to schooling - it is a lifelong journey that always presents rosier detours and harsh hurdles. It taught me to stay humble even if I manage to break into echelons of power, it taught me to fly in the heavens of knowledge with wings of determination, it taught me to conjure up miracles when no other means were in sight, it taught me to consider every darkness as a premonition for a brighter day tomorrow, it taught me to grow and yet remain loyal to my roots. I know I may sound a trifle complacent when I talk about my stellar academic career in school so I will try to be brief about it. Bhavans has showered me with glories and praises that will always serve as a reminder to me that if I can find a strong enough 'Why?', I will always come up with an effective 'How?'. I learnt to believe in my abilities, to hate losing but if defeated, be sporting enough to accept it and smart enough to deduce what went wrong. I topped my batch for thirteen consecutive years and though it took many sacrifices along the way, I still cherish the picture of my parents' smiles when they heard of my success each year, year after year. When you are in school with a hundred other students as old as you and equally eager to establish their identities in that mini-world, it is important to excel in a particular field to stand out. I chose to make academics my forte and it wouldn't be far from the truth to say that I met with astounding success. Bhavans also gave me friends whose impact in my life has been enormous, friends whose meteoric support to me has always harboured my joys and bore the brunt of my sorrows. Even today, I breath a silent prayer to invoke the most magnanimous of Almighty's blessings on them and wish them success and good fortune wherever in the world they happen to be. When we go beyond this life, I pledge my attendance to a grand reunion at a place where no inhibitions can touch us.

Perfection is not a realistic attribute in this world and Bhavans was no exception. There indeed were cases of mismanagement and times when pandemonium reigned supreme in our school. There were also blatant violations of discipline and obvious indications of a rapidly deteriorating moral standard of a place initiated by luminaries of honourable repute. Needless to say, the blame lay on everyone involved with the school - the administrators, the teachers as well as the students. However, the indomitable spirit of resilience that is so characteristic of Bhavans persisted with astonishing gusto. And still, I would rather be a part of a blundering-and-recovering Bhavans than a model school of mechanical academic precision. Till today, apart from the three thousand square feet that house my home, Bhavans remains the only place on the sphere of this planet that I feel connected to and where I unambiguously belong to. Now that I am in college, I realise that a Bhavanite always stands out from the crowd, a Bhavanite always moulds the world around him to lodge himself inside it, a Bhavanite has a distinctly superior probability of making the right decision for himself and taking the right course to reach what he has decided for himself. In modern slang (though I despise it) - We Bhavanites always rock. Today, I feel sad to think that its all over but I feel glad to think that it happened all the same. The journey was studded with both wonders and blunders but in the end what mattered is that the destination was reached with our foray into a brand, new world. The fact that I was fortunate enough to be a part of an institution like Bhavans remains a fond, endearing aspect of my life and I hope that someday I get a chance to repay the enormous debt that I find myself in with a sincerity and dedication which Bhavans has lavishly instilled in me.

PS: The full manuscript of this post was about thrice as long as this and primarily consisted of personal details and random references to apparently trivial (but actually absolutely critical) things like the food in our mess, various teachers and other aspects of Bhavans. I hesitantly cropped these details in the hope that a shorter version would be much more favourably and frequently read. Also, despite of the fact that a very few people know about the existence of this blog and even fewer people bother to read it, the blog still remains irrevocably public and subject to view for all eyes thriving in this world. Keeping this matter in mind, I have resisted taking potshots at anyone and have summarily painted a rather rosy picture of our school. The truth, as it always is, is kept buried in my mind and it will take more than words to spit it all out.

PPS: More details and pictures can be obtained from this ill-maintained website.

First few days at hostel...

2007-08-04T15:12:00.003+05:30

Misery is bitter. But triumph over misery is just as sweet. My first reaction on seeing the place where I am condemned (OK fine...destined) was that of extreme shock, disgustion and disappointment. And my first day at the ghastly place did nothing to tide over my fears. A 10 x 9 (feet) room with two rusted naked iron cots, a cupboard that steadfastly refuses to close, a clear inch of dust and an apparent breeding ground for all members of the Phyla Annelida and Arthropoda....could it get worse? Oh yes, it could. A single toilet to be 'shared' between 60 digestively harassed (by first morsels of hostel food which by the way is fairly good) - a toilet predominated by faeces (supposedly human) and some repugnant insects (that managed to tighten several rectums). Bathrooms were comparatively less worse....in fact they may even be classified as passable. This was MISERY and I swear it was bitter.

The next day was almost the same but our tempers were learning to fly, our tolerance was waning and our environmental flexibility was at its zenith. With some hard work and fraternal inspiration we made our rooms habitable. Relentless knocks at the doors of the Sanitary Inspector also secured a brief span of cleanliness at the toilets/bathrooms.

I feel its unnecessary to detail our adaptive and preventive mechanisms against what we were put up with (It doesn't after all make for pleasant talk, does it?) Now after a week, classes are sinking into torpor and our hostel conditions are sliding back again. But our fight will continue.

Duniya mein hum aaye hain to jeena hi padega,

Yeh jeevan hai agar zeher to peena hi padega.

CAUTION : Most parts of this article may be blundered over-reactions from me. In that case, an apology should be due in the coming weeks...

APOLOGY - dated 19/8/2007

Its been almost three weeks since my induction into the medical professional course at Rajkot and amongst the many things I have realized since then is this :

Hostel is not home. But, hostel isn't hell either. And this is what I hope is an adequately constituted apology for all those demeaning words (or should I put it down as an emotional extravagance?) that I have uttered above. Believe me - I am not kidding when I say that I have developed a queer form of attachment with my hostel (which by the way is named Sir Lakhajiraj Boys Hostel) - an attachment that has room for loyalty, disgust, frustration, ambition an all other feelings that might cause lesser mortals to explode. Maybe it has helped that I am now conveniently oblivious to the presence of all arthropods and annelids creeping ominously around us. How can the eyes see what the mind simply refuses to see?

Man obviously is the most flexible of all of God's dear creations and can adapt best to the situations thrust upon him. All I know is that my room is sufficient for the bare survival of two individuals on the threshold of independence. Its not the proverbial country cottage but then country cottages were never known to produce good doctors. Sometimes you have to allow yourself to be driven by hope - however faint it might appear to be. After all, not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced. So, bring it all on....I am battle-ready.