ज़िन्दगी का सवाल..

ऑफिस में बैठा अपने लैपटॉप की स्क्रीन में झांकते हुए मैं बस यह सोच रहा था की क्या 15 साल पहले इस बात का अंदाजा था की ज़िन्दगी ऐसी होगी? आज भी याद करता हूँ वो पुराने दिन तो सीना गर्व से चौड़ा हो जाता है. भला बताईये, कितने ही लोग ऐसे होंगे जो ज़मीन पर नाचते हुए लट्टू को अपने हथेलियों पर उठाकर नचा सकते हैं. पतंगबाजी का कभी official इतिहास लिखा गया तो gurantee देता हूँ की किसी न किसी पन्ने पर नाम ज़रूर आएगा. और आज देखिये, AC cubicle में बैठा मैं Excel में conditional formatting कर रहा. Important Deliverable है. Client को आज ही चाहिए. चाहे भले ही उसको पूरा करने में आपके और घड़ी, दोनों के बारह क्यूँ न बजे.

उस वक़्त हर सोमवार को होने वाले टेस्ट से डर लगता था. पेपर में कोई सवाल छूट जाए तो अगले दो period तक कोहराम मचा रहता था. और अब देखिये, ज़िन्दगी एक सवाल बन चुकी है, पर कभी दो मिनट कोशिश नहीं करी जवाब ढूंढने की. खैर कोई बात नहीं. आइये SAS और Excel के सवालों के जवाब दें. आसपास के लोग आपकी बुद्धिमता की तारीफ़ करेंगे. आपकी Facebook की Wall पर तारीफों की पुल बांधेंगे. 15-20 likes और आप खुश. भूल जायेंगे की किसी सवाल का जवाब ढूंढने की कोशिश कर रहे थे आप.

खैर यह पोस्ट भी Facebook पर शेयर हो जाएगा. चंद बुद्धिजीवियों के likes आ जायेंगे. शाम की दारु पार्टी के लिए एक विषय मिल जाएगा discussion के लिए. कल hangover के बाद कुछ याद न रहेगा और  ज़िन्दगी का सवाल फिर से कहीं किसी कोने में खो जाएगा.

Death of Innocence

February, 2002. Class 10 board exams were just around the corner. As a kid who had to hold a cricket bat every evening to drain out his daily quota of sweat, these bloody exams were still a month away. Bokaro was a small place, comfortably shielded from the mall culture which was gripping the country those days. Gossips and occasional family re-unions were the only source of entertainment to the simpletons out there.

It was during those days that a relatively very close friend of my dad visited my place sometime in the evening. I had just come back from my daily routine of smashing the ball all around the street. With a cup of tea in his one hand, the bespectacled uncle asked "और क्या प्लान्स हैं exam के बाद "? Without a pause, I replied "जी अंकल, आजकल तो खेलना थोडा कम कर दिया है ...exam के बाद पीछे वाली गली में रहने वाली टीम से मैच रखा है!" Eyebrows were raised, and my dad pitched in to save the situation "अरे नहीं ..exam ख़त्म होते ही इसको coaching में डाल देंगे...आई आई टी के exam में ज्यादा समय थोड़ी न बचा है !" Probably, that was the day I ceased being a kid.

Hilarious, but true

The next two years were spent rigorously in making an engineer out of me. You name the course material, and I had that on my study table FIITJEE Rankers Study Material, Comprehensive Chemistry, HC Verma, Resnick Halliday, R D Sharma, S L Loney blah blah blah....every damn book you could ask for. People around me said, "अभी पढ़ाई कर लो...फिर आगे तो ऐश ही ऐश है ". Even "that" Ash went with that loser Junior Bachchan of all people.

It was just 9 years ago when evenings were spent bickering about whether somebody could bowl just after they had batted. Right? I finished Engineering where I did burn the midnight oil (sometimes) remembering the same line  "अभी पढ़ाई कर लो...फिर आगे तो ऐश ही ऐश है ". When I sit back and introspect, all I can realize is how the word "ऐश" has changed it's meaning all these years. From fierce cricket matches, to all night chatting on Gtalk, to weekend booze parties, surroundings changed, priorities changed. The childish enthusiasm and innocence gave way to inconsequential worries and tensions. Sitting in my balcony,I am wondering, how much would I pay, just to get those days back.

Thank You Team !

An unforgettable image !

The year was 1990...India were playing a one day international against Sri Lanka at Pune. A chubby 16 year old kid won the man of the match against the Lankans by scoring 53 and grabbing a couple of wickets. I was a 4 year old kid back then, unable to understand why my parents were so excited about a bloody cricket match, it was just a game...people won..people lost..why the fuss?

In about two years time, the understanding about the game had improved, the rules had been properly understood, the game had become interesting. As a kid I was watching India getting wallopped 4-0 in the test series against the Aussies and subsequently getting mauled in the World Cup. A little disappointed though, I still believed in this team and that 18 year old chap who had been the youngest to score a ton on Australian soil.

I saw them flounder at the Eden Gardens in 1996, I saw them failing to chase 271 at Chennai against the Pakistanis, I saw them unable to score 253 against the Zimbabweans at Leicester in 1999, I saw them getting bundled out for 125 against the Aussies at Centurion and most recently losing out against our neighbors in the 2007 edition of the World Cup. Each time, the pain was visible in his eyes, the passion never seemed to diminish, we would do it again, some other day, some other time.

While Mohammad Kaif’s home was being vandalized in 2003, I requested my father to get me a Team India T-shirt. I had to order this T-shirt online for you didn’t get Nike T-shirts in a small district like Bokaro. I was chided, but I didn’t care, for I seriously believed in this team. From Harare to Jo’burg, I cheered for the team by wearing the Team India T-shirt on every match day, a ritual I repeated again in 2011. The disappointment of a mistimed pull against the “Pigeon” resonated in my heart with each passing day. Every day I used to defend him in countless meaningless discussions where people dug out stats to prove how a certain “Punter” was a much accomplished batsman than our very own “Superman” from Mumbai. Each time, I felt a little tinge of sadness for the man who had dedicated almost his entire youth for the betterment of Indian Cricket, and yet we were stupid enough to raise fingers at him, for failing to fulfill our ever growing demands and expectations.

Tonight, I saw him leap in happiness, I saw his team mates showering praises on him about carrying the burden of 1.2 billion individuals over the past 21 years. If Newton is to be believed, then the weights of those expectations have been equalized by an upward force of triumph. More importantly, I saw tears, probably highlighting the point that he is still a mortal, in spite of being a Demi-God for millions across the planet. From the core of my heart, I just want to say, Thank You Sachin, for inspiring us all throughout these years, for it has been a privilege and honor to see you play.

While the euphoria and celebrations continue across every state of this great country, let’s not forget the contribution of the entire team, for realizing the dream of a nation.Thank you Viru and Gauti for the fearless attitude that you have brought in this side since your respective debuts, Thank you Yuvifor winning us the cup with your magical bowling and amazing batting, Thank you Raina and Virat for the amazing fielding displays, Thank you Mahi for making me scream “Jai Jharkhand” every time you materialized a fabulous stumping, Thank you Bhajji for the breakthroughs in the middle overs, Thank you Zak for leading the rest of the bowling unit like a pack of hungry wolves, ready to devour anything that came in their way. Last and certainly not the least, let me take the honor of thankingGary Kirsten, Dada, John Wright, The Wall, Jumbo and the Very Very Special for taking us at the helm of both the ODI and Test Rankings. And on a special note, Gary, we will miss you!

Well played team. We are with you, during both the good and the bad times, for you have given us glorious moments to cherish throughout our lives. It’s been an absolute pleasure to “bleed blue” all these years. You guys made us proud today!

Thank You!

An average Indian Cricket Fan!

बस एक बार वापस लौटने का मन करता है...

Sir Arthur C. Clarke, do you know how I really miss you right now. If only your idea of time travel had been materialized, I would have probably paid anything and almost everything to time travel back to June 2006. Five years have passed since then, physical distances have increased gigantically, from a couple of hundred meters to over a thousand miles, local calls have been replaced by STD calls. Yet the story remains the same. The hearts beat at the same frequency, the love blossoms as ever and the six letter word F.R.I.E.N.D.S. seems more precious than the gold stored at Fort Knox.

Life was so simple back then. Life was actually beautiful and carefree (of course without the alcohol and marijuana). All you cared was whether you would be reaching KNGH before 8.30 pm or whether even a single digit score in DE paper would get you a C grade. I miss those times when a two word SMS “Kahan ho?” used to bring a smile on my face. Yes, the people I loved and the people who loved me had just bunked their classes, waiting for me at our usual hangout place, The Nesci. There’s no way I was going to disappoint them. Damn, you GPA’s and gold medals, I wasn’t attending the remaining three lectures for there was and probably there is no one more precious than those “wild maniacs”.

Aata Maggi for a distinguished few, normal Maggi for the others were the staple diet. Lemon iced teas had replaced water/cold drinks as the official drink of the group and Nestle was probably the official sponsor. Sagar Ratna was common mess where the menu for one of the distinguished member was fixed, “Onion Rava Masala Dosa”. For the rest, the menu revolved around Veg Schzwan Noodles, Panner Tikki, Manchurian, Baby Corn, Varieties of Dosa, Dum Aaloo Kashmiri, Naan, Kulcha etc etc. We loved spilling stuff, someone was actually an expert in this field, we loved fighting for those green and red chutneys, we loved making noise, a lot of it actually, without caring for the stares and the occasional taunts from others sharing the space with us. In short, we loved everything about everything stupid we did and without caring a dime about what the world thought about us.

Birthdays were celebrated with more fervor and enthusiasm than the Republic and Independence Day celebrations of this great country. Rarely, you would see a group of people jumping and shouting around the birthday boy/girl. With your every move being scrutinized, you really felt like a celebrity on your special day just because of these people. Not a single day was spent without a ping on Google Talk or a short message on the cell phone. The group met almost everyday, barring the days when someone would have oiled their hair. Even during exams, everybody found a way for a regular meeting at the Nesci. After crying incessantly “Iss baar to main pakka fail ho jaaoongi”, you probably needed your group to provide the necessary words of confidence.

I just had a lousy birthday four days back. At 12 midnight, I was busy screwing around on some stupid excel sheets and powerpoint presentations. There were no cakes, no candles, none of the idiots jumping around me, no GPL’s and no one to smother a perfectly baked Black Forest cake on my face. In the eerie silence of the office, I just said “Happy Birthday” to myself remembering the idiots who made it special every year.

The railway crossing, the rigid guards, the stupid institute rules, the guitar jamming sessions at the Narayani, Uptron chauraha, the reunion outside the Patel Hostel on the pretext of having sugarcane juice and most importantly those times spent with you all can never be erased from the heart. Love you all.

बस एक बार ...बस एक बार वापस लौटने का मन करता है...

Sachin or Laxman?

Durban, where we were bamboozled for a paltry 66 fourteen years back was conquered yesterday. And boy, it was conquered in some style. The image of an arched Jacques Kallis, helplessly trying to avoid a Sreesanth snorter would be etched in the memories of every Indian cricket fan. Fantastic stuff boys, keep up the good work.

Happens to a South African too

While Zaheer, Bhajji and Sree were exceptional with the ball, it was that man VVS again who set up the game for them. Scoring 96 sublime runs on a pitch where every other batsman was found wanting was something quite extraordinary. Well, as they say, when the going gets tough, Laxman gets going.

It was disappointing though, to notice swords being drawn on SRT (again!!) for failing when the team needed him the most. Statistics were dug up in order to prove how Laxman is a far better batsman than Tendulkar when the chips are down. Glorifying Laxman’s performances while berating Tendulkar’s was totally uncalled for. Not everybody knows the fact that out of his 50 Test hundreds, 20 have resulted in an Indian win. Not everybody knows that out of his 46 ODI hundreds, 32 have resulted in wins. I could have jotted down thousands of statistics just to prove that he has been India’s biggest match winner ever, but refrained from doing so, as it would have provided more fodder for the so called “Tendulkar critics” to dig up some more stats and figures to downplay the man’s contribution to Indian Cricket. He failed at Durban because he is a human, just like you and me. He had an off day at the office, but made sure that his end of year reviews were totally in the top bracket. Over 1500 runs with an outstanding average of 78, not everybody delivers a performance of that stature consistently over a period of 21 years.

“Oh, he failed right? Then why call him God”? Tendulkar worshipers don’t call him God just because they expect him to win every game for India with his divine presence. Like we believe in the creator of all universes, we believe in him. As long as he is at the crease, impossible seems possible, living up to the tagline of one of the brands he endorses. In the 90's, he was the one who used to give us hope when the rub of the green seemed to be going against our way. Not every 17 year old can bat for 6 hours on a seaming Old Trafford track to save a test match for India. It’s only when he departs, the panic sets in, the nervousness starts showing in the form of chewing of nails and wrinkles on the forehead. Remember the 1996 World Cup semifinal against the Lankans? Or the nail biter at Chennai against the arch rivals? Or the most recent Hyderabad hurricane against the Aussies? Impossible was made possible on countless other occasions, only to be made impossible again by the individuals who surround him.

It’s probably only under these situations that even a half century from somebody else looks more valuable than “those” 96 international tons. We expect him to hit a ton every innings, we expect him to stay on the crease till the last run is scored and we expect him to chase down 360 to win the World Cup. Isn't that a little too much? Probably, that's the benchmark the man has set, something which even Laxman and Dravid have failed to do so.We expect him to be accountable for every time he fails to deliver the goods while we forget that it’s a team game afterall. The same Laxman failed when India were battling hard to save the Centurion test, but it went down as an another innings where a Tendulkar century had failed to save India. I am just wondering, had India lost the Durban test, who would have been crucified then? 

It’s high time we appreciate what these men of steel have done for Indian Cricket, rather than baying for their blood every time they fail. Trust me, you would never have a batting line-up as strong as the one which has mesmerized crowds the world over in a long long time. Let’s savor their heroic feats before they decide to hang their boots, because I still feel, that majority of us are incapable of achieving even half of the glory these men have achieved.

P.S. Happy New Year Guys ! :)

Night at an Airport

Disclaimer : The blog posts are meant for the sole purpose of entertainment and humor. Please do not attach personal emotions to whatever I say, and even if you do, I would not be responsible for any heart breaks or emotional break downs.

I am back, to the same place, roughly after a 10 months hiatus. And guess what, nothing has changed. Not every time you walk into an airport, expecting mind boggling changes, but Kolkata airport, for once, just once, could you surprise me a little?

I was in for a little surprise myself when I walked into the Pune Airport earlier in the day. Apparently, my flight to Kolkata via Hyderabad was cancelled due to non-availability of the aircraft. While I shivered at the idea of shelling out close to 15K bucks on a new booking, Jet Airways had a bigger surprise for me. Not only did they manage to find a seat for me on a Mumbai bound aircraft headed for Kolkata, they actually upgraded my ticket to a business class one with no additional charges whatsoever. As luck would have it, I had a sneak peek at richness.Trust me, it's beautiful.

The sad little place

Anyway,coming back to the topic. There are awards for the best airports in the world, isn't there any award to actually identify the worst airports on the planet? I believe only Chennai and probably Pune can give Kolkata a run for its money. While Mumbai, Delhi, Hyderabad and Bangalore have grown significantly over the years to provide top of the shelf facilities to the passengers, sadly Kolkata and Chennai seem no where close to the pole position.

The only difference I could notice this time around were the new billboards for Reliance and Bank of Baroda, for everything remains just the same when I first visited this place some 6 years back. The same old internet/snacks cafe which charges you 80 bucks an hour, as if the lines are drawn straight from 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, California, United States (Google Headquarters, for people too lazy to Google). Trust me, I have paid nearly half of the same while I surfed Desibaba and those other crappy sites on fucked up dial-up's in the early 2000's. There are practically no places to hang out, with a lone CCD located outside the airport. Even the domestic one at Mumbai has one,close to the departure gates.

Shitty dirty toilets, constant chattering and people acting as nuts are probably the other reasons why I hate to spend a night at this place. Who the hell gets themselves clicked in front of the conveyor belt while picking up their luggage? Thanks to my stars, for making me believe that dumbfucks do exist. I had a sudden urge to go to that lady, and politely request her to sit on the moving conveyor belt while I clicked her picture out of nothing, but pure generosity. But, I am still unsure about how her husband would have reacted to my proposal.

Perhaps, the only solace this time around were the bong chicks and yes...Riya Sen. I guess she had come to Kolkata via a Kingfisher flight from Mumbai. There was no hoopla around her, no mad rush for autographs or anything. She looked a bit old compared to what I saw in that short movie opposite Ashmit Patel. Anyway, who cares. It's Christmas time, and with a lot of colleges closing down for the new year, there were quite a few "patakha's" on my flight. Sadly, as an engineering graduate, I have learnt over time and plenty of experience, that while bird watching is an art, bird hunting is a pain in the ass.

I am still optimistic that Kolkata would surprise me someday. Someday, I am hoping to see some light at the end of the tunnel. And please better be quick. 2012 is round the corner.

And yeah, by the way, Merry Christmas people ! Have fun !

This ain't sarcasm..

Don't expect me to cry.
Don't expect me to lie.
Don't expect me to die for thee.
                                              -   Nirvana (Jesus doesn’t want me for a sunbeam)

The above mentioned song is perhaps one of the best I have ever heard.  Hands down, Nirvana was or perhaps is the greatest band ever.  As if, you could feel Kurt Cobain’s helplessness in coping up with the demands of leading a life of a superstar through his songs.

Life is a crazy bitch. Bitch, because just like women, you can never figure her intentions. Someday you are the bird, shitting everywhere as if the entire world is your loo, the very next day you are statue on which life poops. Or perhaps life isn't as difficult as it seems. It is at least easier than the Mathematics Paper that was dished in front of me in Class XI. Thanks to Tendulkar's 98 against Pakistan at Centurion, 60 on 100 didn't cause much grief.

How dearly I miss those school days, when having the biggest box of crayons was equivalent to winning the Nobel Prize, when friendship meant that you would fight with people twice your size just because he passed a comment at your friend’s love, when inter class cricket matches were bigger than India-Pakistan encounters. Man, those were perhaps the best days of anybody’s life. There were no emotions involved in friendship and yet those friends are perhaps the best people ever to walk into your life.

Slowly, as the days passed by, maturity set in. The thinking became clouded, the heart started dominating the brain, and the fun life evaporated.  The word “friendship” became a lot more complex. It became literally difficult to survive with all these double faced people around. A hell lot changed, innocence got replaced by materialism. People were used, while things were loved. Strange irony, isn’t it? Convoluted relationships didn’t help the case either. It became difficult each day whether you really existed for the people you called friends or you were just someone managing their materialistic needs.

Some of my best relationships have been with people with whom I am not in touch anymore. Years passed, and I am still at sea as to who was at fault back then. Probably, let’s leave it the way it ended. Someday, I hope the innocence would return, people would actually love the one's who care for them and life would be as simple as 2x2.

P.S. : This post hasn't been written under the influence of any narcotic substance :)