Last English Premier League season ended in May, ever since my weekends have just been dreary and lackadaisical. There’s only so much reading one can do, what with Google and the Internet affecting my attention span. I tried watching the IPL but who was I kidding? I detest every form of cricket now unless it’s a test match. I tried following the tennis action at Roland Garros and Wimbledon but it failed to capture my attention for long — how I wish every game was Sharapova vs. Ivanovic! And F1, it just doesn’t have enough pit babes to keep me on the track. Game of Thrones has been a revelation of sorts but I digress.

Nothing else will cut it for me, I miss English football like crazy — I can’t say it enough. Okay, I think I can reminisce a bit: What a great season it was! Manchester United lifted their record 19th league crown to “knock Liverpool off their fucking perch,” fulfilling the prophetic words of manager Alex Ferguson when he took over at United back in 1986. But they managed to so with the lowest point tally for a winning club in recent memory. At one point of time, it seemed no one wanted to win the title, it was that open a race for the championship. Topsy turvy, full of drama, excitement, heartbreak and joy. Arsenal and Chelsea were in it at the start but floundered and lost their footing midway through the gruelling campaign and never really recovered — like an embarrassed runway model suffering a wardrobe malfunction, never to be seen again in a hurry. But along with Tottenham and Manchester City, they pursued the Red Devils close to the finish line. So much so that it took United a 1-1 draw at Blackburn Rovers to seal the deal on the penultimate weekend, such was life at the top of the table. Definitely one of the best title races in a number of years.

But the relegation battle was as intense, if not more. Going into the final month of the season, it looked like any of the bottom eight teams could face the agonizing drop back into second division. I can never forget the unbelievable scenes of jubilant madness at Wolves and Wigan Athletic as they survived relegation, and the stunned faces of Birmingham and Blackpool fans as their team failed to make the cut — oh how cruel! Darwin’s survival of the fittest witnessed at the most unlikeliest places, and all this high tension drama right on the final day of the season was a script that just couldn’t have been written. It was memorable.

The past season had its moment of distraction, too. Rooney’s off-field one-two with Juicy Jeni, angry swearing into a live camera, and shocking desire to leave Manchester United before doing a dramatic U-turn provided extra entertainment than Shebby Singh’s squeaky voice during the pre-match build-up show on ESPN. Fernando Torres’ bank-breaking 50 million dollar transfer from Liverpool to Chelsea and his subsequent loss of form — re: goalscoring mojo — was equally intriguing. But probably the best moment came when Arsene Wenger refused to shake Kenny Dalglish’s hand after a brutal 1-1 draw at home, only to be told to “fuck off.” That was just priceless, better than any retort in those ageing Ekta Kapoor soaps. How can you not miss such drama?

Right now, it’s still vacation time for most of the club’s players and management, enjoying a much-deserved break from the crazy game. It won’t be long before the madness begins, though — preseason training has already started for some clubs. But currently it’s time for stadium repairs, buying leftover season tickets, and more importantly player transfers. Amidst contract renewals, clubs are busy serenading future stars, facing endless negotiations with player agents, and inking complicated deals. The press is having a field day reporting every rumour and speculation, which means football (news) isn’t completely off the air. But that’s small consolation and a poor substitute to live action. August just couldn’t come any sooner.

As I write this, the season opener is just a month away. The bitter rivals of Manchester (City and United) will lock heads for the one-off Community Shield trophy as FA Cup and Premier League winners, respectively. Mouthwatering prospect. That will open the proverbial floodgates for nine months of non-stop football action. Seventeen teams from the previous season and three newly promoted clubs (QPR is back!) will get the 2011/12 season underway on a fine Saturday afternoon.

And the universe will make sense again. Funny, isn’t it?

Chelsea's Carlo Ancelotti / Image Courtesy: The Guardian

Carlo Ancelotti’s illustrious managerial career requires no mention here. He led Chelsea to a historic Premier League and FA Cup double in his debut season of 2009-10. However, he arrived at Stamford Bridge with one objective: to capture the crown jewel of European club competition, a trophy steeped in Chelsea’s recent history, the UEFA Champions League. Ancelotti knows his work and legacy at Chelsea is incomplete if the European Cup fails to grace the West London club.

Roberto Mancini made a name for himself with Inter Milan, earning three successive Scudetto for the Italian giant before moving to England. He took over the reigns from Mark Hughes in late 2009, knowing fully well what Manchester City’s wealthy owners expected of him. To drop City’s “noisy neighbors” tag and elevate the club to new heights, with domestic and European success. While Ancelotti has delivered some modicum of success to Chelsea fans and Abramovich, Mancini has yet to earn any silverware for Manchester City, despite a side filled with superstars. More than anyone else Mancini knows he has to deliver something this season, least of all a Champions League spot.

Roberto Mancini at Manchester City / Image Courtesy: The Guardian

Arise the common nemesis! Manchester United holds the key that could unlock the fortunes of both these teams. They play Chelsea in Tuesday’s Champions League quarter final and Manchester City in the FA Cup semi final on Saturday. This five-day span is the most noteworthy this season in English football; United can keep their treble dream alive, Chelsea and Manchester City can give their fans something to cheer about. Or face the aftermath of agonizing defeats that could quickly spiral down to a season gone horribly wrong.

If United get past Chelsea in the Champions League quarter final on Tuesday, Carlo Ancelotti will have to come to terms with a barren Chelsea season without any silverware during his short stint as manager. How that will go down with Abramovich, only time will tell. Chelsea’s hunger and appetite for success will be questioned, and doubts over an aging squad will receive fresh attention. Ancelotti and Chelsea will have their work cut out.

Mancini’s cause is more desperate compared to Ancelotti’s, in my opinion. Manchester City’s Abu Dhabi-based owners aren’t big fans of cultivating success over time, relying on fat cheque books to buy it for them instead. But success has eluded them so far and it isn’t going to be easy on Saturday. If Manchester City’s outwitted by United–not for the first time this season, who knows how short a leash Mancini will be on? Will the owners be patient with him–if so, for how long? So much rides on Saturday’s FA Cup semi final result for Manchester City’s manager. For all his big name signings, Mancini’s City remains a far cry from upsetting Manchester United, Chelsea and Arsenal’s stranglehold over English football.

Of course, there’s every chance that Chelsea and Manchester City will trounce over United in the coming week. But so awful have United been this season that the scribes will only feel vindicated in their prediction of doom for the club from Old Trafford. Nothing more.

The repercussions of defeat for Chelsea and Manchester City will not just stop at acrimonious press coverage. It may have deeper ramifications for Carlo Ancelotti and Roberto Mancini than any oracle or football pundit could’ve predicted at the beginning of the season.

No, I wasn’t sloshed — far from it. But the sea at night is an intoxicating experience. In fact, as I waited for an epiphany at the edge of the sea, at one moment I felt like Tuor seeking Ulmo at the coast of Nevrast*. That night remains an everlasting memory of my first visit to Goa last weekend.

However, that wasn’t the first beach I saw en route to Goa. It was cold at dawn as our car raced along NH-17, me and my mates low on sleep, waiting for the journey to end. As morning broke and the first rays hit the eastern horizon, I caught a whiff of the sea. I knew it was near, the long wait about to end.

On the brink of Karwar, breaking through the thickets, the road bent in a wide arc for a stretch of 50-60 meters. From above, I gazed down a line of palm trees with sand at their feet, the sea outstretched not too far ahead. Two hills flanked the beach, rock pinnacles dotted the water few hundred meters inside. The sky was a riot of pink, orange, and blue. I tried remembering when I had last glimpsed upon the sea but failed. It was a majestic view!

Past Panjim, we reached Mapusa by 10 a.m., and onwards to Siolim, our base camp for the Goa trip. From here we covered Arambol, Velha Goa, Mangeshi Temple, Fort Aguada — its picturesque lighthouse, Dona Paula, the beaches at Miramar, Baga and Calangute, and a ferry ride to Fort Tiracol (Terekhol) within two days. In that time, I realized the sheer scale of foreign tourists all over the place. Strangely, I felt like an outsider in my own country.

Of course, food was a big highlight of the trip. I fell in love with Goan cuisine, especially sea food. So much so that apart from breakfast, every other meal featured something from the sea. I remember two meals very clearly; one was on Arambol’s coast inside a small restaurant overlooking the sea at the stroke of sunset, the other atop Fort Tiracol on a hill between two beaches with an unforgettable view. Best thing I had? Fish curry and rice, Goan style. Simply delicious.

Apart from the sandy coastline, I fondly remember my time inside the Basilica of Bom Jesus and Se Cathedral, two iconic churches in Old Goa. The Basilica’s architecture is alluring, especially its flying buttresses. Inside it holds an elaborate altar that takes the breath away at first sight. The Basilica is renowned all over Christendom for holding the relics and mortal remains of St. Francis Xavier. Do not miss it on your next Goa trip.
Across the road from the Basilica of Bom Jesus sits the Se Cathedral of Santa Catarina, next to the Archaeological Survey of India building. It has a clean white facade and only one of its two tall bell towers. The cathedral is proportionally larger and grander compared to the Basilica, with a high-vaulted ceiling and multitude of side chapels. With less tourists and low voices, I had no problem sitting there for a long time, studying the altar, feeling right at home.

What did I bring back from Goa? A bottle of port wine, several packets of prawn pickle and cashew nuts — the Mapusa market didn’t disappoint. And quite a few fond memories. They’re better than the best photographs. Of course, two days is way too short a time to even scratch the surface of what Goa has to offer. As I hastened back to the real world, I felt torn apart, and finally understood people’s fascination with Goa. Sun, sand, relaxation — who wouldn’t wanna go back?

* Tolkien illiterates, click here.

Sunday’s strictly a leisure day for me. So what pushed me to make an exception, instead of laze around hugging my mattress, refusing to do anything but “chillout” on Sundays as is my wont? Given Bangalore’s stick-up-the-bum public transport system, which I detest from the bottom of my artery-clogged heart, even the idea of traversing halfway across the city was enough to stir some bile. If anything, it was to reconnect with ISKCON, soak in the divinity, that pushed me to go. IndiBlogger’s “Akshaya Patra” meet was an added bonus, nothing more.

ISKCON

I’ve had a fruitful relationship with ISKCON since my early teens, but for a variety of excuses had lost touch with the institution for the past few years. It was nice to learn about Akshaya Patra, ISKCON’s and India’s largest mid-day cooked meal program that reaches out to over 1.25 million school kids everyday in eight Indian states. Between IndiBlogger’s interruptions, the ISKCON representatives brought the blogging community up to speed with their charity initiatives — they even fielded questions on day-to-day operations, corporate donation programs, food production, and blogging efforts impacting the Akshaya Patra movement.

To hear a religious-cum-spiritual organization interested in social media initiatives to propagate their message is something I don’t see very often. Just like my memory of ISKCON’s Juhu temple, the humble repast or prasadam served continued to be simple yet sumptuous.

Surprisingly, the afternoon turned out none too bad for me. The fact that IndiBlogger’s meet didn’t have a set itinerary helped keep the mood informal, I met some new people, reconnected with some old faces, and left the premises before I could snag a free T-shirt — Manchester United vs. Liverpool awaited.

One of these days, I will go back to ISKCON again. The temple fascinates me.

On Sunday, December 19, 2010, Sachin Tendulkar scored his 50th test hundred, the first ever to reach that milestone in cricket history; the same day saw Sir Alex Ferguson surpass Sir Matt Busby’s time at Old Trafford to become the longest serving manager in the history of Manchester United, over 24 years of coaching one of England’s elite football club.

What football is to the English, cricket is to Indians. Two games that enjoy immense national interest and are a constant subject of discussion and debate for the two people. Tendulkar’s been delighting cricket lovers since 1989, while Ferguson took over the reigns at Old Trafford back in 1986. And in their time they have rewritten record books.

That the two geniuses should reach their personal milestones on the same day is a pleasant coincidence indeed. As a cricket and football fan, I consider myself privileged to witness the era of Sachin and Fergie, and thankfully there seems no immediate end in sight.

Boost is the secret of my energy too, Sachin; and Fergie, thanks for knocking Liverpool off their fucking perch.

Yet I don’t view churches as an excuse for public libraries—minus the public, of course. Right from the moment my puny-but-cute self stepped inside St Thomas Cathedral—Mumbai’s first Anglican church—all those long years ago, I’ve been smitten by their architecture. Tall bell towers, grand doors, long naves, high vaulted ceilings, wooden pews, arched pillars, arcades, clerestory windows (with stained glass work), prominent altars, chapels, choirs—there’s so much to take in and marvel at for unsuspecting eyes. Every visit to Horniman Circle ever after hasn’t been without a quick pitstop at St Thomas. It attracted me, this structure of stone and mortar, and I couldn’t resist stepping over its threshold time and again. I was curious to know more.

Churches of course are places of worship, but I was never tickled by their divinity, only by their structural grandeur. I got a little more insight into churches while reading Ken Follett’s The Pillars Of The Earth, a novel about the building of a grand cathedral church. I read two-thirds of Pillars between time spent among couple of churches, and it helped me appreciate the structural nuances of the church, as a building, and correlate it with Follett’s commentary on masonry and construction. In some ways it saved my poor head the trouble of visualizing Follett’s written word, if I had read it anywhere else. Believe me when I say that a church is an apt setting to devour Pillars in—been there done that, hence.

Despite my preference to sit in empty churches, they are seldom completely empty. People keep coming in their ones and twos to offer prayer, and there’s the church staff that keeps waltzing in every now and then. However, churches are almost always quiet (unlike temples – ring any bells? Precisely!) unless on occasions of choir practice or music lessons, which I’ve had the chance to witness and enjoy. I fondly remember this one instance where my “crazy church fixation” got me an invitation to attend a Sunday School Christmas function at St John’s—best free entertainment I’ve had on consecrated grounds. Ever.

Yesterday, I took my relationship with churches beyond the realms of mere structural fascination. You see I had been toying with the idea of attending mass for some time now, just to see how it felt. Throughout my time spent in churches, I couldn’t help notice people walking up the nave, some kneeling at the altar, others sitting on the front pews, their heads bowed in silent prayer. I wanted to do all that without emotion, with no strings attached, and I wanted to do it in front of the congregation. Madly exciting, don’t you think?

Sunday service begins at 7 am at St Mark’s Cathedral, I attended the one at 8.30 am. The church’s dominating features include a striking dome and a marble altar I had never seen before. I saw people enter the church through its two facade doors and main entrance on the west end. I sat in the second from last row, my view of the congregation and most of the church unfettered. An organ started playing somewhere in the chancel, its music deep and resonating—it reminded me of Lurch and the opening theme of The Addams Family. Just before 8.30, when the church was packed to full capacity, a priest entered through the main entrance. He carried a staff long and high, followed by the choir and other office bearers of the church. He walked along the central nave and placed the staff near the altar. That was the cue for the presbyter to take over proceedings.

What followed was a series of sung hymns, quoting scriptures, listening to sermon, praying (in song), confessing, and receiving holy communion—the moment I was waiting for. I followed the line of people walking towards the altar, my palms sweating. Was I doing something wrong? I abandoned that thought and went with the flow. As I knelt in front of the altar, and swallowed the bread and wine the priest offered, I felt relieved. My intention in attending mass was to observe and learn, never to offend. Will I still continue visiting churches? Absolutely.

If by now you’ve guessed I had “receiving holy communion” written down in my bucket list, give yourself a bournville. You’ve certainly earned it.

As long as I’m entitled to my share of shirkhurma and biryani on Eid ul-Fitr, and tender turkey meat on Christmas day—who gives a hoot for Diwali crackers?—I say hell yeah!

It was only natural, what with my newfound affinity towards rock music (heavy metal, in particular), that I had to attend the Bangalore leg of Great Indian Rock 2009—the largest platform for the country’s leading rock bands to showcase their talent. But the event clashed with one of my passions: weekend football, and Manchester United’s irresistible Premiership encounter with Liverpool at Anfield. Choosing to attend the rock show over watching the football game wasn’t easy, but it turns out I made the right choice.

Palace Grounds was the venerable venue. I went with fellow metalheads, first to congregate outside the gates, arriving well over two hours before they opened. Apart from baking under the uncharacteristically hot Bangalore sun, and contemplating unlikely conditions invoking “force majeure” (as printed on the back of our entry tickets), we saw a bunch of security guards being taught how to frisk people (no kidding!). Slowly, as the minutes trickled past excruciatingly, the crowd started swelling. Black t-shirts proclaiming several band allegiances were everywhere.

We entered the ground at 5 o’clock and saw a mini-hangar of a stage in front of us. I am told it wasn’t even one-fifth the size of the stage Iron Maiden had for their gig in February. I had no idea what to expect, but from the lukewarm reception to Parachute XVI‘s curtain raising performance, I had mixed feelings over the rest of the evening. I’m no authority on music but this three man band just didn’t cut it for me: their music was so-so, vocals were imperceptible, and the bespectacled lead singer-cum-lead guitarist looked out of place and lacked any semblance of stage presence.

Next in line were Inner Sanctum. In sharp contrast to the near-lethargic Parachute XVI, these guys just exploded on stage and resuscitated GIR 2009 back to life through their death metal. Inner Sanctum’s frenetic, no-nonsense music finally brought the crowd to their feet, inspired no doubt by their lead singer, a figure bursting with energy (one Red Bull too many, perhaps) and nothing short of a rampaging bull. He acted and sang like a man possessed. Although I didn’t comprehend much but I liked the guttural vocals, and how their 40-odd minute performance never dipped in mind-numbing, bone-crushing intensity. Inner Sanctum snapped me out of my daydream, took me by the scruff of the neck and compelled me to initiate the evening’s headbanging. I’ll never forget that performance.

I was slightly sad when they left the stage, unsure how the next band would fare. Up next were Kryptos, the flagbearers of Indian heavy metal, and I soon knew why. Smoke engulfed the stage, silhouetting the band members in a dim red glow. It resembled a ghost light amidst evil incarnates. And their music unleashed hell upon the captivated crowd, mosh pits erupted without warning, and everyone loved every moment of it. Any niggling doubt I had over the Indian heavy metal scene was laid to rest by Kryptos. Where Inner Sanctum bubbled over with raw energy, Kryptos had an accomplished veteran’s musical style and grace. I liked their structured song-play—every song had a beginning, middle and end. Their guitar play, solos, and drumming was best amongst the three Indian bands. And these guys knew they were good. One of their songs, Mask of Anubis, was strikingly similar to Metallica’s Master of Puppets. Memorable performance from a celebrated band.

Easily the best band of the night, Solstate (based in New Zealand) had a potent mixture of powerful vocals, engaging lyrics, and the ability to deliver a professional performance. Their genre was more of alternative rock, definitely more mainstream than the other bands. Lead singer and songwriter Troy McKrube did a nice job of belting the lyrics, while the puny bassist’s darting around on stage was also good to see.

The final act came from Benea Reach, a Norwegian heavy metal band. Their music was of the thrash-throb kind but distinctively different. The lead singer’s onstage appearance reminded me of Adam Gontier, and his lung-busting vocals were impressive. They were the only band at GIR 2009 who had some props on stage by erecting three towering mannequins—white masks, black cloaks, they reminded me of that monster from Hellraiser. Benea Reach gave a powerful performance to say the least, and also interacted quite a bit with the crowd.

By the time curtains fell on GIR 2009, and as we exited the premises, I was aware of the acute pain in my neck (one headbang too many), my calves and feet (over four hours of standing). But it didn’t take away anything from a great night out having witnessed my very first rock show.

Didn’t blog about United’s 2-1 win over Arsenal or their 3-1 triumph over Tottenham Hotspurs, but I’ve been forced out of hibernation by the sheer class of this game. Easily the best game I’ve seen for a long time, with terrific passing, great attacking play from both teams and snatches of individual brilliance.

I have a million things to say about this game, but some other time. Suffice to say that I never in my wildest dreams imagined Michael Owen would play any part in a Manchester derby, let alone win one–courtesy of his last-gasp shot six minutes into extra time. The guy’s a genius!

I should’ve known it was meant to be when I watched Metallica’s video of Unforgiven Two on VH1, last evening. That set the ball rolling, and my roommate suggested me to watch Some Kind of Monster, a documentary that chronicles the individual and collective lives of the people who make Metallica while they were busy at work on an album, St Anger. Not that I didn’t know anything about Metallica, but admittedly, I knew very little. I didn’t know who the players were, their history, their candid personalities, not even their names; just that their music was good—Nothing Else Matters—and loud. I kinda like loud now. That wasn’t the case growing up, loudness and noise was pretty much what I associated rock music (especially heavy metal) with: harsh and uncouth on the ear, and it wasn’t my cup of tea. Who in their right minds would want to bleed their ears to death?

Much has been written about the documentary in question, more so of the band, so no point repeating. What I liked most was its amazing insight into the birth pangs of Metallica’s music. The jamming sessions of Ulrich, Hetfield, and Hammett (yeah, I know their names now) in a leased studio, digesting the day’s work, searching for the bits in there that are worthy of a song, and finally etching out the lyrics. There’s method to their madness, controlled chaos, and it was enlightening to see.

But that isn’t all the documentary covers. The album is a mere sub-plot to what the cameras ultimately capture: Metallica’s inner discord, and its struggle to survive. Broadly, it puts people and their relationships in perspective, and their attempts at exorcising their personal demons to flourish again as a group. It’s real-life events, therefore unscripted, honest and truthful and recommended to everyone who wants to know more about Metallica—arguably at their most weakest and greatest juncture. However, be warned that at the end of it, you will feel an uncontrollable urge to hear Metallica’s St Anger album. Guaranteed. Otherwise you aren’t what we describe ourselves as “normal people”.

I should’ve known I was getting sucked into a rabbit hole when I asked my roommate for his Metallica collection. It was past midnight, very unlike me to tune into any kind of music at that hour, let alone rock. But there in my room, at an ungodly hour, I heard St Anger and Death Magnetic for the very first time… and I felt at home. Over two hours of frenetic music, it never felt crude or unsophisticated, but gentle and soothing. It was peaceful in an alien way, and I liked it.

For me, I don’t think there ever was a better time or place to listen to better music other than Metallica.

Nikhil what have you done, mate?