The day I met Gunjan

Well, the missus always complains that I hardly write anything about her on my blogs. So thought would dedicate a whole post to her. And what better way to start than writing about the day when I first met her.

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She peeped from behind the pillar. She looked nervous. She couldn’t decide if she should walk down from the stairs into the ballroom hall. She wasn’t even sure if she belonged there. She had no idea that a few moments later she would be making the entire gathering nervous and handing them a sense of un-belongingness. She fully emerged from behind the pillars. Parvati was the first to notice, and immediately announced, “She looks beautiful”. That was the understatement of the century (succeeded by 'this time there is no Modi wave'). She could well have said 'She looks like a Goddess' and gotten away with all blasphemy charges - even in Bengal.

She started her walk down the stairs hesitantly, the nerves slowly giving way to a smile. Her hair was elegantly done in a knot, with some strands deliberately skipped to be left hanging by her left cheek. The skipping of some of my heart beats was not deliberate though. The robe, perhaps chiffon, exhibited various shades of pink and purple. The other shades that made a rainbow had ceased to become relevant at that moment. The black belt at her hips perfectly showed off her hour-glass figure. But for me, no sand was flowing through any hour-glass - time had completely frozen. The ruffles and frills completed her dress, even as giant waves of hypnotism swept me off the floor.

She took another step and her face was clearer now. There was a hint of lipstick on those perfect lips of hers. Diamond ear rings gleamed, but looked pale in comparison to the sparkle in her eyes. The smile grew more confident, and more mesmerizing. She knew she owned the place now, as she reached the final step.

My phone beeped, so I paused ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’, even as a hint of blush took over Hermione/Emma Watson's stunning face.

Gunjan had agreed for our first date. We met at Bombay Bites that evening (In totally unrelated news, the place has now closed down). We ordered chocolate muffins, cheese chilli toast and coffee.

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The pact, and the impact!!!

It was early December 2018. Poonam and I were discussing about the monotony in our lives and how we needed a dramatic pact like the one in ZNMD bull-fighting scene do egg us on to do something different. Since Spain is not on top of either of our holiday lists, we decided to base it on something else (the fact that both of us lack the courage to even go near a bull also contributed, but let’s not get into the specifics please). We decided that I will write a blog again, and Poonam will compose another song if India were to win the test series against Australia. We joked that I could blog about his song, and he could compose a song on my blog, but that would have posed a Catch 22 situation which had the potential to make Joseph Heller turn in his graves. So I decided to base my blog on its catalyst – India’s series victory.

“India have won a test series in Australia.” The words are special. Ask any cricket fan that. Ask anyone of my generation who’ve put in many an alarms for early mornings hoping for magic, only to be disappointed each time - until now. 

The 1991-92 tour or the 0-4 scoreline invoke no memories within me. But recordings of that Sachin hundred (and the awe expressed by the commentators) in Perth are nothing short of pornography.

In 1999-2000, after desert storm and Warnie’s nighmares, Sachin was made captain. As a romantic falling in love with cricket every day, I knew we had a chance. I was wrong. We came back 0-3 with Agarkar’s five ducks and a scoreboard which read Sachin lbw McGrath to a ball which hit his shoulders. 

2003-2004 saw Dada at the helm. I had my class XII exams in a few months and studies gave me the perfect pretext to wake up early. There were talks of ‘chin music’, but Dada was not one to take a backward step. A century by him in the drawn test at the Gabba spurned India to go one-up in Adelaide - thanks to a Dravid masterclass. The imagery of Dravid kissing his India cap after hitting the winning runs off McGill is something which I uphold whenever I have doubts about the world, and all seems well again.  After being 278-1 for in Melbourne I was convinced that this would be the series. I was wrong. We had to come back content with 1-1.

2007-2008 saw Jumbo take the reins and me in the final year of college. With a good depth in bowling and batting, I thought this was going to be it. I was wrong. Steve Bucknor had other plans. Another Sachin century at Sydney, but another series defeat. The vengeance at Perth after all ugly talks did taste sweet though. 1-2 is how it ended.

2011-12 came. World Champions India were touring an Aussie side caught in transition.  Sachin’s 100^th ton was in sight. Surely a fairy tale ending to his career was being scripted. I was wrong. We came back 0-4.

2014-15 saw Dhoni retire mid-series to give the mantle to Virat who had already shown the world what he was capable of. The new India (who had refused to try and chase 87 runs in 15 overs in the West Indies a few months ago) were attempting to chase 360+ at about 4 an over in Adelaide. Virat had scored his second century of the test, and I was supposed to take my bestie and his charming new bride to Cherrapunjee. I ditched them, knowing that history beckoned. I was wrong. India lost the test, and the next, and we came back 0-2. 

2018-19 arrived. I knew we had a chance against a depleted Aussie side. The Indian team had been checking the correct boxes. It was all déjà vu, and maybe I had moved on from cricket - life had happened. What if Pakistan was to finally win in a World Cup match against India and the Mauka guy no longer wanted to burst the crackers as his priorities had changed! I thought I would remain somewhat indifferent to the result.

I was wrong. Again.

The morning alarms were out again. Opened Cricinfo app became a regular feature in my office desk. I never missed the highlights session in the evenings. The proverbial crackers were well and truly burst.

One infograhic that will stick is how the ‘Indian Pace Troika’ comprising of Bumrah, Ishant and Shami broke the record for highest number of wickets in a calendar year. It does not matter that they broke the record held by Holding, Marshal and Garner; what matters is the words ‘Indian Pace Troika’. Say the words slowly, and let them sink in – Indian... Pace... Troika... Having been a keen student of the game for the good part of the past two and a half decades, I’ve seen Indian batsmen dictate terms and intimidate bowlers; I’ve seen Indian spinners spin a web around the opposition; heck -  I’ve even seen Agarkar score a century in Lords. I’ve been witness to some great spells of fast bowling – Srinath at Nagpur, Pathan at Karachi, Sreesanth at Jo’burg, Ishant at Perth, but never did I think that I would live to see a day when the words ‘Indian Pace Troika’ would be said in unison, in one sentence, in one breath.

Shaw injured? No problem. Ashwin injured? We had Sir and Kuldeep. Openers in bad form? Dude, we still got Mayank. First choice keeper not fit? Let’s see if Pant gets time out from babysitting. Pujara and Kohli batted, like they had to - it was almost as it in their contracts. Catches stuck. All the pieces fell into place. India won the series. 2-1 – a scoreline the Aussies will probably confess themselves lucky to have come out of.

Virat confessed yesterday that the 2011 World Cup Victory had not meant as much to him at that time because he did not know what failure was like, and how two series defeats in Australia added more context to his current feelings. As a viewer too, the many defeats in the past and the coatings of anticipation sure make this special.

As we celebrate and cherish India’s upmanship Down Under, I’ll end with the magical and soothing words – Indian Pace Troika.

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