beingdesh

Tag: Cricket

  • Silly Point

    Hashim Amla-Ian Bell
    Hashim Amla driving with Ian Bell at Silly Point. Picture from EspnCricinfo.

    It is unusually close to the batsmen. It is a dangerous, yet a rewarding position. It gives new players a chance to learn the game, the nimble ones a chance to display their fielding prowess, and the wily ones a chance to show-off their “running-someone-out” smartness. But sadly it gives the careless, inattentive ones, a chance to get injured, or sometimes just die. No wonder they call it the silly point.

    Over the years this spot has developed another utility beyond the realms of fielding. The unstructured and sometimes insensible rise of sledging or Mental Disintegration (as Steven Waugh famously honey-coated the practice) in Cricket has provided it more significance on field than ever before, for it is the only position apart from the bowler who can constantly throw a gaze at the batsman. Learning has been replaced with a know-it-all attitude, nimbleness has been verbalized, and wiliness is now wrapped with arrogance.

    What has stayed the same is the fear. Fear of losing your senses for a moment. Fear of getting hit by the thread-infused leather. Fear of injury. Fear of death. Fear of batsman.

    The best silly point fielders are those who overcome fear, for whom the dismissal is more important than the reactionary jump, the gaze more important than showing the back.

    And then there is the stupid thing called life, full of conversations, good ones, bad ones, and those silly ones. In all our conversations we are either trying to learn something about someone, discuss shared interests, evoke a set of emotions, or debate with rationality and mutual respect. On certain occasions the conversations do not go the right way, leading to confusion, chaos, and ultimately a lot of pain.

    Over the years we have changed and so have our conversations. We are trying too hard to talk at times, but too little to connect with others. Changing technology has increased the volume of our conversations, but its value is questionable. Changing social structures and behavioural patterns has led to people vigorously competing for attention. Conversations are being used as tools to please people, to judge them, and many a times to inflict insult or to demean them. Learning has been replaced with a know-it-all attitude, rationality with trivial emotions, and respect with arrogance.

    What has stayed the same is the fear. Fear of losing your senses during an important conversation. Fear of getting hit by a verbal blow. Fear of insult. Fear of conflict. Fear of losing a friend, or a loved one.

    The best of the conversations are had without any fear and inhibitions in mind, where measured responses take precedence over  maintaining an image, and conclusion is more important than outcome.

    Never be afraid of making an honest point which you truly believe in. In life, as in Cricket, even a Silly Point is not a bad idea.

    If you liked the post, try reading this one: Well left

  • To Sri Lanka, with Love.

    To Sri Lanka, with Love.

    Hi Sri Lanka,

    I am quite to used to writing letters, just that it has been some time since I felt like writing one for someone. But then I couldn’t resist dropping you note.

    It has been a month since I left your shores, and I have thought about you quite often. Before I met you, I had known you only through Cricket, the legend of Ramayana, and sometimes through the history of long running conflict between your children. As a kid who enjoyed bits of the Ramayana (through the eyes of Ramanand Sagar and Uncle Pai) and lots of Cricket, I grew up visualizing you across these two dimensions. But then actual meetings do break notions and change perceptions.

    My week long journey took me across your coastal waist line, a bit towards your mountainous heart, and slightly up towards your brain full of knowledge, culture, and tradition.

    I have always been attracted towards a curvy waistline like yours. But in your case the attraction was more a result of your immaculate shores and cheerful inhabitants. Sitting on your shores, where the clean waters of Indian Ocean playfully stroked the sands at Hikkaduwa and Unawatuna and skies promptly changed colors through all the shades of a Doordarshan-VIBGYOR, I felt completely at peace. It was a relaxing, a Po-like feeling, sound-years away from all the noise of the city I live in. It was here that I found your kin of happy, beach-cricket playing Buddhists flashing their toothy grins, and flaunting their attractive dark shiny skin, with long flowing Malinga-like hair (probably as a result of their protein-rich seafood diet). In between those smiles, I also came across a few broken grins, carrying wounds of the Tsunami which violated your shores some years back. But the smile of my toothless Scuba Diving instructor assured me that you and your children had moved on.

    I  left the comfort of your waist and followed your partially ruptured network of railway tracks, and neatly laid out roads towards the central highlands. It was at Kandy where I found the lost tooth of your child’s smile, quite amazingly being that of the Buddha himself. It was the Temple of Tooth which gave me an alternate mythological narrative to the India-Sri Lanka relationship, so deeply engrained in the Ramayana, where the story of the tooth depicted through a series of paintings “Amar Chitra Katha-ed” me. Beyond the temple, with the noise coming back Kandy had started feeling a bit more like home. If your waistline gave me peace and comfort, your heart palpitated between the noisy and the normal, between the brawn  and the Buddha.

    DSC_0233
    The City of Kandy

    A trip southwards of Kandy would have led us to the beautiful highlands of Nuwara Elaya and Horton Plains, but we chose to navigate northwards. The trek to the royal seat of Sigriya, crossing its recovered 4th Century A.D. compound, its neatly reconstructed gardens, its faded frescos, and artificially constructed staircases helped me overcome my curiosity. It might have been the ruling post of the mighty King Kashyapa, but for me it was my small seat of enlightenment. Sitting atop acres of dark forests, and a murky set of clouds passing at a knee-length, I felt like a learned man. I was happy that I got to know and experience you a bit more. And I finally had an answer to why those Lions are printed on your dress. I wish I could have traveled deeper into your brain towards Anuradhapura, but then the time was less, and I had to caress your hand on my way back home.

    DSC_0238
    The Road to Sigriya

    I chose your right hand, the industrious, populated city of Colombo. I saw your children working hard, be it the stock exchange white-collared executives or the street vendors at Galle Face. All of a sudden you were as noisy as my own country, and the lines between you and India blurred. But I noticed more happiness on the face of your children. They all seemed content. You it seems are content after the war has ended. You also have a strong leader running your country. You are lucky.

    It was in Colombo where I truly discovered your passion for the gentlemen’s game. From the kids playing Cricket on the Galle Face promenade, to a nostalgic and gastronomically satisfying evening at Cricket Club Café, my last moments in Sri Lanka were spent in the company of a sport we both equally love.

    Cricket Club Cafe, Colombo

    And there was the food. Yes the food. Oh, those angelic prawns, devilled dishes, and liters of EGB.

    I saw you talking to others to my friend. A lot of travelers come from western countries looking for what I found, but I could notice the special bond you shared with Britishers (probably the aftereffect of the Raj), Australians (influence on Cafés, Steaks, Burgers, and the City of Galle which shares a deep, but recent connect with the continent-nation), and Indians (with whom you share a love-hate relationship). And yes then there were our new friends,  the Chinese. I know they are building you bridges, but do remember who built the first bridge to connect your country with the world.

    I miss you a bit and so I will be back. For watching a Test Match at Galle, or probably to wander through the remains of Anuradhapura, or for a dive at Trincomalee.

    Thanks for the hospitality and comfort you gave me.

    Peace. Quite truly.

    Desh

    Photos were clicked by either Nishant or me.

  • 11 memories of 2011

    1. Watching Sachin at Bangalore scoring 100 in a World Cup match in Feb. If I would I have jumped from the stands at that very moment, it would have been a great death. And also at the end of it all we won the cup, the cup which mattered the most on April 2nd.
    2. Sitting comfortably on a slowly moving houseboat in Kerala backwaters. Amazing trip to Kerala followed by loss of my costliest cellphone ever and a wonderful wedding of a wonderful friend.
    3. Silence of the noise party at Palolim Goa, and the story of why it never happened. The most amazing of trips with my bestest friends…
    4. Losing a dear friend. Yesterday night as we drove past Lonavla, Naresh was the only person I could think of. Sachin’s birthday, the online world, DAIICT bakar and watching Katrina Kaif songs will never be the same again.
    5. Sitting on Sam dunes and watching the sun set. Nothing else, just so so peaceful and nice.
    6. Gaining weight, gaining a lot of weight, losing a LOT of weight and then putting some back again. The year when I was struck by Jaundice which led to a month of salary lesser than my maid and no holidays leading to no Ladakh for another year.
    7. Dancing at weddings. Too many weddings this year, although I did plan it well enough with some tours. I guess I danced pretty madly at Katti and Dhari’s wedding, Ankit and Apeksha was relatively sober.
    8. Meeting pretty girls randomly. A Brazilian Chef, few Danish linguistic students, an international affairs student interested in mahabharat, a  playwright, a lawyer with an amazing knowledge of tennis and cricket, a journalist who could have better been a food critic, a marketeer with love for wines and cheese and a few others. But as expected this just resulted in more stories getting added to my database. Swear.
    9. Consolidating the REAL friend-list. Hardly any additions to the new friends category, people who were close kept coming closer. Few who were distanced kept going far away. Very few recalls from the past and accidental meetups with old buddies.
    10. Idlis, dosas, upmas and vada. South Indian was the cuisine of the year, if my countless visits to Matunga’s Madras Cafe with Harsh and other friends is anything to go by. The Hyderabad Chutneys Sambhar was one of the best things I had during the year. Also idlis and dosas gave me company during the most food deprived time of my life, Jaundice.
    11. Sutts and the amazing bakar around it. The chai-sutta breaks at office led to really engaging conversations covering all aspects of life with the office gang (I was a pretty active passive smoker this year). Just that the participants kept going down every month.

    Featured image by Harsh Mehta

  • Our obsession with the 100th 100

    कब बनेगा शतको का शतक?
    (आज तक, 193 times since Feb’11)

    Ever since end of February 2011 all of us have been waiting for Sachin to score that century. Personally I have been counting every run of his backwards from 100, from the 16 left against Pakistan at Mohali to the 27 left at Melbourne the wait for that perfect figure still continues. Throughout this time I have been through a multitude of feelings. I have been logical and appreciative of opposing bowlers at times; erratic and abusive to the bowlers, Dhoni and even Sharad Pawar at times; emotional and thinking about the century too much; nostalgic and thinking about classics from Perth to Chennai to Sharjah; a fool to neglect all the other action around him; a connoisseur of the game and loving every moment of the awesome test cricket which has been on offer this year and above all obsessed with him reaching his 100.

    Reaching 100 is not just a milestone for Sachin, it just a manifestation of all our childhood dreams. We have been always chasing that 100, that perfect number. Ask a Father back in 90s and he would have told My kid should get 100 in Maths, बाकी अंग्रेजी वगेरा के नंबर कौन देखता है.

    So the child would run behind that target, he would get a 25 on 25 in unit test, but that is like getting a 100 in Bangladesh or in a Ranji match. One needs a 100 in exams, so he would then get it in Half Yearly, only to hear Son, its still not the finals.

    That kid would burn the midnight oil to get that 100, he would reach 97, 98, 99, but it was always the 100 which mattered. All along this time there were classmates doing brilliantly in multiple areas (like Kallis: scoring 100s and taking wickets), becoming excellent orators (like Dravid, Sanga, scoring 100s and winning hearts with their speeches), being naughty (like Ponting, scoring 100 and being that arrogant naughty brat in the class), becoming school leaders like Head Boy/Girl (like Kumble taking wickets and showing his leadership mettle both on and off the field, or like Ganguly, always leading from the front and scoring 100s too) and going around with pretty girls (like Warnie, one of the best bowler ever, and pretty smooth with girls too :)).

    But there was always that silent humble chap in the class trying to score a century in Maths (or maybe Physics, Chemistry, Biology, our quest for excellence never goes beyond the Science subjects). The entire set of teachers, kids, and parents just looked up to him to score that 100, and he was just expected to do that, where as the rest of the class was doing many other things. Many kids and parent idolized him as the perfect student, as millions around the world have idolized Sachin now, as the perfect student of the game.

    The simple issue here is, for us Sachin is they way we have lived our life for over 22 years, beyond his 100th 100 there is nothing else left for us to chase. Some might say that we have reduced Sachin to a mere number, but its just the way we have been with him, we have just wanted him to score hundreds, hundred after hundred, without thinking about simple things like India’s victory, Sachin’s happiness, and just Cricket.

    For me the attempt to give him Bharat Ratna is nothing different from the Scholar Blazers/Markers Cup/CBSE Merit Certificate (just stamping our approval of his perfection)

    I wish everyone leaves Sachin to his own, like Dravid leaving the cricket ball. The wicketkeeper (read the ghost of that 100th 100) would be there to catch him, but Sachin for sure knows his way around.

    Even the perfect student wanted to participate in debates, become the School Captain or talk to girl sometimes ;).

    Featured Image by Vikas via WikiMedia Commons

  • Ahhh… we won it!?

    It was a weird feeling, a never before kind of experience, roaming around near Shivaji Park at night, thousands of people of all kinds on street. I think it was their presence on streets, rather than of actually watching it on TV, or talking to a 100 friends on phone, or messaging a thousand, or going through all those updates on facebook, or those ever so vocal news channels which made me believe. Did we win it for sure?

    Infact what happened felt more like a dream for a considerable period of time. It started when we were floating in the beautiful surroundings of Kerala, and while attending my friend’s wedding we missed the Bangladesh one. But that was supposed to be won, no major worries there.

    Then came my Bangalore trip, and watching one of the most amazing matches of the world cup at Chennaswamy, with one of the biggest cricket fan I know (my school friend who watches blind cricket and also followed all the ICL matches), and 2 mahaan DAIICTians whose love for cricket is unparalleled. Sitting between them I was the most pessimistic one during the match. But the dream went on, Sachin had scored a century, and for a moment I actually thought this is it. Now I would be able to tell my kids that I saw Sachin make a World Cup century, that I could jump of the Chennaswamy stand and still float in air, and that the food at cricket stadiums sucks.

    Then there was the South African encounter with the person with whom I had scene the ever so forgettable India Bangladesh encounter in 2007. We tried to not do anything we had done that day, still we lost.

    Then there were the minnows, simple boring encounters where Yuvraj was having fun and generally I was getting bored.

    Holi came and also came with it the West Indies encounter. We were beyond repair that day, and for the entire day I just saw weird visualizations of a cricket match, by the end of it I just knew. We had won. Australia they were saying was up next. Australia. Scared.

    The next three encounters can easily be the three best days of every Indian’s life. The pessimistic me gave hope when Dhoni got out, only to catch a glimpse of the match Filmy style on roads with crowd as I walked back from office to home. By the time I was home Raina was hitting Lee out of the park. We had won. Still it was difficult to digest all this, now it was happening a bit too quick.

    Pakistan it was, and I was nervous. Very very nervous. I had a meeting till 1 AM a day before, went back home, came to office at 8 AM, did all the follow-up and basically immersed myself in too much work so that I don’t think of the match. In between 100s of options of watching it here or there, it was going to be the huge office screen where I would watch it. And when Umar Gul started running in towards Sehwag, I was shivering. It was just too much tension. Sachin’s scratchy knock, Pakistan’s pathetic fielding, Umar Gul being thankfully off colour, and awesomest bowling by Ajmal stood out. By far a much more superior side than us in terms of bowling. After Hafeez got out playing a very very stupid shout I knew we will win it, till Umran Akmal (whom I think will become the next Pak captain, anyone who survives for 2-3 years becomes the captain there, anyway, awesome player) started smashing us but somehow finally despite Misbah last minute hitting it was comfortably won.

    And then there was the Final, so much has been written about it already, but I felt Jayawardane’s knock was truly amazing. Low risk high return innings, especially one shot he played from outside the off stump towards fine leg was truly amazing. Gambhir and Dhoni were really good on the night. And we ended up burning tonnes of aggarbattis to satisfy our superstitious selfs.

    So this World Cup ended, and I was truly happy, but still it was much different from the 1996 one. We were kids back then, there were not many Deepikas and Katrinas in the stand, we could see cricketers though, we were never bleeding blue, our blood was red back then, we discussed cricket, we discussed the stats, never the number of drinks which we had in each game, people always thought of cricket as a family affair, never a reason to party and so many things.

    But we used to, we still, and we will always discuss Sachin.

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    What are your memories of Cricket World Cup 2011?

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  • Well Left

    Gone are the awesome days of test cricket, when Dravid just used to leave it on its way, even God did it but Dravid was much more elegant in leaving the cricket ball. Commentators always used to say he had an exact idea where his off stump is, a supreme bowler like Glenn McGrath would be hovering around that line but Dravid was extremely sure when to leave it and when to play (followed by an extremely elegant nod of the head, which became a trademark of sorts and something very well imitated by couple of school friends). No doubt he was extremely successful when it came to playing abroad when there were just fast bowlers all over us.But leaving the ball is an art, when it comes to you, you just want to hit it, it requires a lot of patience to leave it and just let it be on its own. Sometimes I felt its the batsman who love ball more than a bowler does, they want it see clearly, slowly they start feeling it and it appears bigger and better to them and aaah, that sexy sound and feel which comes when they hit it.

    And then there is the stupid thing called, what they have always called it, life! A lot of things come your way, you just don’t want to leave them, because leaving them requires a lot of courage, you are not sure how you are placed, you just don’t know where your footing is, and where your off stump lies. Plus we are not patient as Dravid is, we tend to hurry up and nick it on the way at times. And a brush with the ball is mostly a wicket, rarely we would be dropped. You just want to hit at things which doesn’t usually happen, and then you finally hit one and aaah, that sexy sound and feel comes from life’s willow. Happiness follows, and you are rewarded for leaving things which were not meant for you.

    So just try leaving a few things on on the way, don’t worry a lot about things you leave behind, there is always a wicketkeeper to take care of them.

  • Sorry to say but they surely are…

    During Hero Cup I liked them but Sachin ended them in that historic over;1996 I was fascinated by them: by Jonty, by Cronje, by Donald, but Lara did them; 1999 they were surely the best, and I cried with millions others when Klusner was run out, Steve Waugh did them; 2003 they were the home side lead by the brilliant pollock, but Duckworth Lewis did them; 2007 they did themselves limping out in semis; T20-1 they played awesome but didnt qualify after loosing to Indians and for the first time I stopped supporting them, I started believing what they were labeled as was true, 2009 and 2010 the pakistanis helped us to prove that the South African Cricket team is well and truly:

    “CHOKERS”Me and many like me have stopped loving South African Cricket