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 :)

The Burger Families!

This pic has nothing to do with this blog. I just found it funny

I am back, with some more sarcasm, some more thoughts on everything that’s wrong with this world. Most of you would revert back, labeling me as perhaps the only thing that’s wrong with this world. For all those people, seriously guys, I don’t give a fuck.  Trust me; I have encountered more fuckers than the number of chicks you guys have letched at during your entire stay on this fucked up planet. And it’s because of you fuckers, that I have realized not to give a fuck anymore. Period!

Forget the fuckers; let’s get back to the topic of this blog entry.The Burger Families is a tribute to the affluent, modern families residing in the so called metros of India. This entire generation has learnt to live on Pizza Huts and Mc Donald’s, feasting on Burgers, Pizzas and French fries. Typically, a burger family consists of a middle aged father, his middle aged wife and two spoilt kids, preferably a daughter and a son. Probably, the only thing positive about a burger family is their adherence to the Indian Government’s theme of  Ham do Hamare do. I am still unsure whether that helped in boosting the nationwide sales of Nirodh, but that’s a totally unrelated topic.

Flaunting your riches is probably the one thing the Burger Families love to do. Travel to any posh location in Delhi, and you would realize why the BJP government came up with the slogan India Shining while still, 30% of the population strived hard for a two time meal. Right from a Tissot watch, to a Blackberry and finally to a Mercedes Benz, the food remains undigested in the intestines if you are stupid enough not to show off. Probably, the reason behind why you would find the husband taking calls on his blackberry even while pooping, pretending to be even busier than that President Obama.

The middle aged wife has nothing to do, except to bitch around when the husband goes out to work. Kitty party is just a sophisticated term used for this bitching. The other day I was lunching with my team at some high end restaurant, when I got a chance to overhear some bitching stuff going on, on an adjacent table. "You know, Gupta ji’s daughter ran away with one of her college friends. They were apparently caught in some farmhouse near Lonavala". I know I was wrong in enjoying at other’s expense, but perhaps they were dumb enough to talk about this so loud. Fake US accent, loads of make up just to cover their heavily wrinkled face and shit talk, come on, you can do better.

The kids are perhaps the worst of the lot. Gone are those days when a Nokia 3315 was considered a status symbol. The iPhone’s, the iPod’s, the Xbox’s ruined this generation. Steve Jobs, you surely owe an apology, just like Mark Zuckerberg. While I was busy stalking some random chicks on Facebook, I accidentally discovered a community titled “I was born in the 1980’s, the last generation with common sense”. Probably the owner of the community must have had siblings who belonged to this stupid generation. And probably, their parents have a hand in making them such douche bags. I mean, why do you have to pamper them even when they have acted like assholes. Beta, Please don’t do that, Beta, Please eat your food, I mean, can’t you scold your kids in Hindi? Can’t you just stop pampering them?

As a kid, I had been caned a lot. And a lot means, A LOT. Belts, scale, broom, comb being some of the gadgets used for teaching me a lesson every now and then. Frequent caning made me obdurate and shameless; two qualities which really helped me cope up with serious issues like poor grades and ragging. I had read this somewhere, The greatest pleasure in life is in doing things which others say you can’t do. Thanks to my parents, I modified it to The greatest pleasure in life is in NOT doing things which others say you can’t do, and I call it the middle finger logic. Had my parents acted like the parents these burger kids have, I would have committed suicide long ago just because I scored 06/25 in a Chemistry Test, or when I was asked to recite stories from that distinguished author Mastram in front of an entire Nesci crowd.

In short, the world is a really fucked up place. And it’s getting worse each day because of people like these.

Peace !

A trip on the Indian Railways

Only a man with balls can travel on this train

“Gaadi bula rahi hai..Seeti baja rahi hai…Chalna hi zindagi hai…Chalti hi jaa rahi hai”. This Kishore Kumar number,so beautifully describes the essence of life and one of the lifelines of modern India. Indian Railways, have been uniting this country since 1853, much before Cricket and Bollywood came into the picture.

I have traveled wide and across this vast nation, courtesy Indian Railways. Be it to the extreme northern parts of India, or the down south, or the colorful west, I have been lucky to taste flavors from every nook and corner of this country. I remember each and every train journey I have ever made, because each one has been a special one. New experiences, new memories, distant lands, beautiful landscapes, different people, interesting discussions, in a nutshell, every little thing has been worth treasuring. May be someday, before I die, I would love to travel in the Himsagar Express. 3700 kilometers from Jammutawi to Kanyakumari, that would be one hell of a journey.

It’s easier to get a Congress ticket to contest elections in Bihar than get a railway ticket. I don’t suffer from amnesia, but I can’t recall exactly, when was the last time I booked a confirmed ticket by myself. Thanks to the rigged IRCTC website, I have never been able to book a train ticket at 8 in the morning after sacrificing my ever so precious sleep. And this is the exact situation, when you run from every pillar to post in search of a travel agent to get you a traveling ticket, even willing to shell out bucks to get that ever elusive tatkal ticket. Excellent strategy Indian Railways, no wonder runs into profits each passing year.

Analyzing the reservation chart happens to be one of the best ways to spend time while waiting for the train to move. I do it every time, and I know every guy does this, checking the names of the co-passengers in his compartment. While "F-22" brings immense joy, "M-55" kills the very idea of a fun journey. The worst combination, "M-55" accompanying the "F-22".And you know that very instant, that your chance to write your own desi DDLJ has just been screwed.

Never in those 4 years, when I used to travel from college to home during vacations, I could locate a single “F-22” in my compartment. I was never lucky as a kid, Engineering didn’t help either.  May be it was during these pathetic train journeys, that I started hating kids altogether. Sleeping during the day, conserving their energies for non-stop crying throughout the night, seriously W.T.F.? Hope science comes up with a mind boggling invention sometime in the future, where we get readymade kids aged 3 and above. At least they are tolerable, unlike the infants.

Uttar Pradesh and Bihar is where I have done most of the traveling. Chances of meeting an old weirdo uncle traveling in the same compartment as yours are pretty high. The best thing, these guys are pretty obsessed in knowing your caste/religion. Questions like, “Aur Papa ka naam kya hua??” are bound to arrive, even Shoaib Akhtar’s bouncers are easier to handle than questions like these, with 4 other weirdos waiting patiently for your reply. These multi-talented guys are experts on almost everything, ranging from Obama’s foreign policy, to Mallika Sherawat’s nagin avatar in “Hisss”, Man, you can just sit there and admire. (On a totally different note, I am planning to watch “Hisss”, first day first show, needs some volunteers for company. Totally in love with Mallika’s new look)

It would be extremely unfair not to mention the special “chai waala” on this post. “Chai chai” in that very special nasal tone in the wee hours of a cold morning, can make anybody’s day. Who can forget the “magazine waala” carrying all those cheap Hindi novels scanning the compartments for potential customers? “Sir, woh waali bhi hain..Dikhaaon kya”? And even if you desperately wanted to buy it, the staring eyes prevent you to do so.

The journey has always been as beautiful as the destination.Meeting new people,discussing intense issues over numerous cups of tea, "the special samosa", the amalgamation of different cultures, I must admit, India can best be discovered on a long, beautiful train journey.