Monday, November 20, 2023

The Destiny of Burden

 “God, it’s killing me”. -- Roger Federer after the 2009 Australian Open Finals loss to Nadal.

You know you've lost all your writing knack when you have to resort to the same opening lines used in another blog post. But, what do you do when these are the thoughts you wake up with, on the bluest possible Monday morning?

WhatsApp and Social Media have been inundated by posts on how we should be proud of the Indian Cricket Team, and not abuse them/their family on social media. The general outpouring of love and support at them has, in fact, been heartening. I AM proud of the Men in Blue, will always be. I AM proud of the "brand of cricket" they have conjured in the past seven weeks. Abusing anyone on social media was never a consideration. But none of those messages have told me how to cope with this setback heartbreak soul-crushing at a personal level. 

Raghav had commented before the start of the match of how the next few hours were going to define our mental state for the next 10 years. I'll be bluffing if I say that cricket is just a game for me, and for many I know. The World Cup was not so much about the players, it was more about us. (Hadn't we ditched a seemingly indispensable Pandya because his absence seemed to bring desired results in a few matches, before it came to haunt us in the finals?). 

Federer would have been proud of the "brand of tennis" he would have been playing leading upto that loss (and some gut wrenching losses preceding that). Yet, he was upset dejected destroyed by the outcome of that match. The runner-up feat was no consolation to him. The likes of Kohli, Sharma, Bumrah, Shami were all destroyed by the loss as was evident from the visuals available - more than what the visuals portrayed, more than we can ever fathom, more than we can ever empathise. None of them were probably thinking about the potential abuses that could come their way. Yet, it was killing them. 

In the brilliant season finale of Loki Season 2 (titled 'Glorious Purpose'), Mobius comments to Loki that 'most purpose is more burden than glory'. The Indian cricketers were within striking distance of glory; yet, will have to carry a lifetime of burden. The burden will be shared by the fans. The glory for us will perhaps come in another season. Some cricketers will never have another shot at it.

Over the last few hours that I have been awake, I have been dissecting the final match. It has been almost theatrical in the sense that a version of me dressed in white robes has been in zen mode, saying that the boys gave it their best and one bad day should not define them. They have not just won, but annihilated oppositions in the road to the finals. Ohh the joy they have brought in our lives for all these weeks! Another version of me dressed in black robes, perhaps as a cold and calculating judge concerned not with purpose but results, has been questioning the reading of the pitch, and the mid-inning tactics. What prompted the management to go for the pitch they did, a move which backfired grandly? How does one explain only 4 boundaries in the last 40 overs? In Tennis, it is always about one bad game. India have lost only 4 games (out of 28) in the last 3 World Cups, yet have come out as losing finalists or semi-finalsts. (Both these versions were encapsulated by Abhishek and Madhukar in our WhatsApp group). 

There are comparisons with 2003, and many have commented that it was worse two decades ago. In season 2, Loki masters "time slipping" and is able to re-orchestrate the same event again and again hoping for a better result. What makes 2023 worse for me is the knowledge that, unlike 2003, we were the better team of the two now. If the same match were re-orchestrated again and again, India would emerge triumphs more often than not. 

The cricketers, support staff, management will have to take the hard grind, and don the purpose of burden for more time. No amount of dissection has given me any answer, or brought me any closer to it. Loki had seemingly found his glorious purpose - that of being able to oversee his friends happy. But time slipping is not an option, the Indian Cricket Team fans will have to continue to wait for the future. 

It will be a long and agonizing wait, but as a perennially optimistic fan, am hoping it will be met with glory some day.


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Tuesday, October 11, 2022

Home Sweet Home

 There is enough written material romanticizing the first love or the first job, yet strangely very few about the first home.

Papa and Mummy (the last two inhabitants of the house) will be shifting to Guwahati, and we are spending our last night at my first home in Shillong. I have been gripped by a plethora of emotions. My first den! My first abode! The place that became My Home, even before I got to learn the distinction between a house and a home. The place I was born and brought up in for the first nineteen years of my life, and the dwelling that had always, always, been my comfort zone in all the subsequent ones.

As Mom and Gunjan have been packing stuff the whole day, I have been trying my best to pack some memories. Both the groups will be leaving so much behind. 


---

The place I would have pestered my parents with my first demands;
The place I would have turned upside down while holding my sisters' hands.

The place which introduced me to a joint family,
Trust me, at one stage this place housed 16 people easily.

The place I would have had my first laugh, the place I would have first cried;
The place where I would have first fallen, and then gotten up and retried.

The place witness to my first success, and also the first failure;
And then seen me through it until I had something to cheer.

Holidays meant non-stop cricket on the front porch;
And then on Mom-cooked food we would gorge.

The place saw me hosting my first ever friends;
Some have drifted away, while others have lasted through all of lives' bends.

The place I experienced my first emotions - be it hope, fandom, love, or envy;
Ohh boy, within me lie faint fragments of memorable stories aplenty!

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In the world of astrology, the "first house" is believed to be about the self and defines one's persona. It wouldn't be wrong to say that this house has influenced me in so many ways.

People who know me would agree that I have always been an ambassador of Shillong. Letting go of this house seems like the umbilical cord with this great city has been cut (even though there are still enough loved ones here).  

I'll miss my first home in Shillong, a place which will always be my 'Rosebud'!


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Thursday, May 27, 2021

It's a Wonderful Life

I've completed the 'IMDB Top 250' challenge twice. Since the past 15 years, I've rated every movie on IMDB. In this wonderful journey, I've come across some pretty stellar movies.

It's a Wonderful Life (1946) is one such movie. It deals with the character of James Stewart who is about to end his own life. The heavens decide to intervene, and send an angel to stop him from doing that. The angel takes him back in time to show an alternate universe of how different (and wretched) things would have been for people around him, had he not been a part of their world.  He is made to realise how he has touched all their lives in such a wonderful way, either wittingly or unwittingly. 

In real life, the heavens will not always intervene - not directly. It is left upon us to play the part of the angel. A certain event recently had left me deeply unsettled. We are in the last few days of Mental Health Awareness Month, and I have been meaning to write something since a few weeks. Perhaps, just like the actions we can do to help our near and dear ones, this blog is better off being late than never. 

Mental illness is just like any physical ailment. It makes the brain react to situations in a manner which may be different to how a healthy brain would have. And just like most physical ailments, it can be cured too. The greatest road block for mental illness is the taboo associated with it, which prevents people from seeking help, or which restricts the resources available to them.

A number greater than we would like to imagine is affected by it in various forms and degrees. We should talk about it, and seek help. The brain can be conditioned to help weed out various behaviours and thoughts. This can be done through self-help, discussions (I cannot emphasise enough about the importance of the unwitting discussions), or professional intervention. For starters, we should acknowledge its existence, and treat it like what it is – a curable disease. There is a whole industry dedicated to it, and for most cases we have our friends and family. Share. Talk. Support.

The movie in the title ends with a line from the angel to the character of James Stewart: 'No Man is a Failure Who Has Friends'. Perhaps we should realise that things aren't always as bad as we perceive them to be, and we are not always alone – there is always somebody out there. Perhaps we should all try to be a friend here for the people who need it, even if they might not realise it. 

After all, it IS a wonderful life!!!

 


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Wednesday, April 28, 2021

RIP Swati Ma'am

 Swati Ma'am had taught me Maths and Physics. And so much about Life and Living. 


She would often encourage me to write more often. And today, as I sit near the laptop to try and give shape to so many thoughts that are swirling in my mind, it is because she is no more with us.

I'm as devastated and shocked as all of you who have known her, and as much at a loss, at her pre-mature departure. Even in times where most news has been negative news, this one is the abyss, and has broken me in a way I could never have imagined. 

She was the best teacher you could ever hope to find, a great cook, and most importantly, she had the kindest heart ever. 

Despite having taught thousands of students, she had a personal connect with each of them. She took a personal interest in all their lives, and remembered everything about them. Remembering (and nurturing) love lives was her forte. Hell, she even knew about me and Gunjan, perhaps even before we did. 

One will find her comment in every post of her student - she always tried to keep in touch with every body. 

Shock and devastation gives way to so many wonderful memories in her company. Memories of the silly games we played in her tuitions, the treats, the gossips, the agony aunt sessions, the motivational speeches, and not to forget her teachings. 

Warm, fun-loving, kind, empathetic, genius, witty are few of the adjectives which would aptly describe her. 

If ever there is a person who fits the bill of 'friend, philosopher, and guide', it is her. 

Ma'am, wish you had not left us so soon. You have no idea how many lives you have touched in a wonderful way. Your departure is unfair. Wish I had kept in touch more. But I pray that you find peace wherever you are. 

Will always remember you wearing that wonderful smile. You will be missed, always. 



Om Shanti. 




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Tuesday, January 19, 2021

A New Strain of Hope Mutates

 <Written after India’s 2-1 victory over Australia today, but much of the feelings and the blog would have been the same even if we would not have won>

Only a 90’s kid will know that being a 90’s kid is not easy. Perhaps “only 90’s kids will remember” that the internet is full of memes and trivia to remind them of their place in the conundrum of time. One thing common about all these forwards is the invocation of their memories.  

So what memory does a cricket fan have of his childhood? Desert storm, Kumble’s 10, Jadeja tearing into Pakistan’s bowling in Bangalore, Dada in Toronto, any of Sachin’s tons? Before we all became polarized over politics, Sachin vs Warne was the only debate we took part in (and wasn’t even much of a debate as there was hardly ever anyone on the other side). But if we introspect with any honesty, these wonderful memories were like oases in an otherwise desert full of not too good memories.

When Sachin scored the wonderful 169 in Cape Town, the rest of the team just folded. How can anyone forget Prabhakar and Mongia shutting shop in that Kanpur ODI with 7 an over required in an ODI in the last 9. Heck, the Indian Team had refused to try and chase 87 in the last hour - months after winning the World Cup. India couldn’t chase 120 in Bridgetown. The Chennai surrender after the super-hero knock. Meek surrenders in Jamaica, Jo’berg, Old Trafford, Sydney.

Gosh. I still wake up sweating at night.

The hallmark of those growing up years was hope. No matter how bad the situation, you would concoct scenarios for the team to crawl out of it to end up victorious. Now don’t lie even you would have done it. Hope was beautiful but it also crushed you. The hope never somehow ascended to the players

Then we grew up in terms of age and cynicism. Witnessing miracles was not part of our daily to-do lists. Priorities changed. Cricket was still always in the front burner, but the emotional involvement decreased. What caused sleepless nights became “Onto the next project, job, house, interview, etc” (PS - Not taking a jab at Kohli, or maybe I am). The tears were replaced by mere devastation at losses. Don’t get me wrong, there were always brilliant performances to keep one hooked but the hope quotient had fallen.

Even after the last series win (also happens to be my last cricket blog before this), I had written about the context of the victory in terms of the cricketing history. But this one is different. This is many levels up in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. This is like the cuddle after sex. For me, the hope was never there (or atleast I hoped it wasn’t there) in dire situations. I was wary of hoping, yet the Team matched the opponents punch for punch, they braved ball after ball, they weathered every storm, they took in every blow, adversities were turned into opportunities. They refused to buckle. They were high on hope. They believed. The tears of joy were back for me.

They never surrendered. The result is a by-product.

Pura bachpan sapno mein nikal daala, aur jab aaj bade hue toh phir bachpana yaad dila dala. 


Every good memory I have of cricket (and trust me there are a lot) mostly involves individual brilliance, some moments of magic, a partnership or at best multiple people chipping in with superlative performances. But this is straight out of a long-drawn process and that feels so fulfilling. You may credit Dravid for it, Shastri for it, or Kohli, or Rahane but the outcome feels so so so overwhelmingly good, and more so the process, the manner, the context.

Context makes everything even better. And this tweet provides all the context you need. Add to one youngster missing the last rites of his parent, another missing his child birth. Sledged, abused, bruised, and battered, but ready for the next thing to be thrown at them, ready to prove that they belong, to show that they have not given up hope.

In a brilliant tribute to the team made even before the test ended having Sunny Paji’s voice over (Disclaimer: goose bumps may happen), the maker chose an extended footage of Thakur hitting that six to get to his 50. That partnership (also having a ‘no-look’ six from Sundar, besides a third one) was a metaphor for the tour. With 260 behind with 5 gone, Obituaries written, two people having no business playing for India on that day decided to show grit. Between the 36 in Adelaide, and those 3 6s in Brisbane, so much had changed.     

Here’s to hope, and to peaceful sleeps. This series has given so much for everyone to remember, and so much for the 90’s kid to reminisce.


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