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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Random Announcement

Well, I’m married.

The missus has even put it on FaceBook, so no escaping now.

So, the last month saw an overtly expensive event with its scandalous after-parties, needless dances and fireworks, and its share of controversies. But my missus doesn’t like cricket so I should stop talking about the IPL.

My marriage event was grand, and like a dream. Thanks a lot to all the people who were responsible for making it so. I mean it. Really! Wish I could have been more expressive in this regard in real. And thanks to all the people who could be a part of it (including Gunjan who, for some reasons, agreed to participate as the bride). For those who couldn’t attend – next time I am not listening to any excuses, okay?

Those of you who have read my posts here and in other platforms would know that I am a big fan of Ayn Rand, and like using her quotes whenever I can. I’ll end this post with one of her most famous ones:

“I swear by my life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another person, nor ask another person to live for mine.”

Only this time, I will disagree with her.

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Just another day in MNIT..

Any day between July 2004 and May 2008, MNIT Jaipur:
The alarm rings - drat, a lecture at 8!

I get up cursing for having slept so late the previous night; last time, I assure myself. Attempts to wake Vaibhav up are futile. He murmurs something in his sleep and doesn’t budge. I curse him and drag myself to the toilet - it’s all dirty - shit has happened. Curses fly again. Somehow manage to get through the chores.

Wake Vaibhav up again. He shows some sign of life this time. Last time, I am waking him up. There is no water - jugaado from another bathroom. Take quick bath. Rush to mess. Pick up bread and banana and walk to lecture room.

Attendance over and Manish has escaped. Machcha diya saale ne. Sid walks in, late as usual. Surely he won’t be allowed now. He is. But surely he won’t be given attendance. He is. Paro and Ketan not in class, it’s going to be a boring hour. Sound of an unmistakeable shrill laughter wakes you up. It is Divya’s. An hour has passed. Time flies.

Rush to the canteen. Jainy owes me 4 bucks, I have 6 of my own – can afford a cold drink. Gargu comes and orders tea for himself – costs him only 2 Rs. Smart guy. But then he ends up having 5 cups.

Next lecture is only at 12 followed by lunch. Calls for a mass bunk. No consensus. Day-schis madar. This is the last time such a proposal is even being tabled to them.

Sit in canteen. Mech batch arrives. Together they tell the latest hits of Anna. Mech batch leaves.
Shantanu arrives. Alone he tells the hits of the entire Civil Branch. Shantanu leaves.
‘Tronics batch arrives. More hits. Anshat, Sipani and Rohit all have different versions. ‘Tronics batch leaves.

Sit with Poonam, Amaresh, Dixit and Harsh among others. Discussions about our project mentor or CAT classes. Then get down to singing and banging the canteen tables. Cheap songs beget dirty looks. Full Mahual.

It’s noon already. Time flies. Vaibhav, Manish and I exchange looks. No words uttered but the question is clear - to go or not to go? Jainy announces he will attend classes. One for all and all for one - we all go. Day-schi madar. But this is the last time we are listening to him.

Go to lecture room. At least this one’s air conditioned. Darn, AC not working. Prof comes late. Spend time texting the girls. Free SMS was the greatest invention for us, students, second to micro-Xerox. Prof leaves late. No time to go to hostel now for lunch. Canteen, it is.

Abhishek joins in. Talks about IT lecturers and algorithms on. Abhishek listens. Abhishek leaves. Time for the lab. Assignments are not done. The good thing is no one else has done it. We pledge that this is the last time we are leaving our assignments incomplete. Some excuse conjured. Rush to the lab. Wow, as many as three computers have booted successfully today. Choms occupy it. No quarters given, none asked for. Two hours have passed. Time flies. Guest faculties are fun.

Mandatory visit to the canteen. It is 5 pm. Jainy says he wants to leave for home. We drag him to the hostel. Everyone has arrived back. Even Amit has woken up by now. Stories of the day exchanged. Full Mahaul.

Time for Sony Bakery. Arrange bikes. Eat patties or footlong. Eat puchkas. Go to Satkar Juice Centre. Drink pineapple juice. Someone says he is bored of the same routine/diet/place. The last time, we assure ourselves.

It is 8 pm. Jainy says he wants to leave for home. We drag him to the hostel. Some movie to be seen. We are open to the genre. Arjun (name changed) has some new ‘stuff’. Should we go to the nearby hostel and get it or should we watch ‘Forbidden’ again? Renee Rea, I tell you. First major decision we have had to make all day. We pass. We watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S. instead.

It is 11 pm. Time flies. We are hungry. Jainy says he wants to leave for home. We drag him to the Thadi. Patel, Saras, Alloy and the gang are there. Gossips are exchanged. Rumours take birth. OP brings maggi and omelet. People keep pouring in. Someone comes because he has no money and wants a loan, while someone else comes because he is in a mood to treat. Someone has come because he is happy, while another has come because he is sad. Some came because they had passed, while some others came because they had got a back. More gossip exchanged. More rumour borne. OP brings more maggi and omelet. Full Mahaul.

It is 2 am. Time flies. Our assignments are still pending. We look at each other. Where is Vaibhav? On the phone with his gal. A quick call to Shruti is made. Jugaad arranged. This is the last time, we assure ourselves. Jainy finally gets to leave for home. Day-schi madar.

We reach hostel. Discussions about class timing the next day. Abhishek asks that dreaded question, "Ab kya?". That dreaded smile by Vaibhav. Manish gives that dreaded nod. A deck of cards makes its way out. 29, it is. Game on.

It is 4 am. Time flies. We go to sleep cursing because we would have to get up early again; We promise ourselves that this was the last time.

***

Sometimes, it just looks like yesterday. Time flies.

Nagme hain, shikwe hain, kisse hain, baatein hain. Baatein bhool jaati hain; Yaadein yaad aati hain.

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Confessions of a drugged mind

“God, it’s killing me”.

Yes, I am under a heavy dose of medication recovering from a 104.4 fever (since records are all everyone cares about these days, let me add that this is my personal best recorded on a thermometer). Yes, I am aware of another Sachin failure today. But these are not my words. They were spoken by Federer after the 2009 Australian Open loss to Nadal. Here was a champion who had never been introduced to failure, suddenly finding himself grounded. He spoke the words and then broke down. The defeat - and the ones preceding that – had rankled him.

In sports, there is probably nothing more beautiful than watching a fallen great trying to regroup – trying to prove his relevance to the world again – despite all the risk to his 'legacy'. Federer did it. It will be fair to say he has justified his extended run – he won Wimbledon 2012, won himself an Olympics Silver, shot back at the numero uno spot – and PRESUMABLY (we can never say what goes inside the heads of great men) has conquered his ghosts – for the time being, at least.

Before Sachin got out today, I was sure he would choose this innings to finally come good - like I was sure in umpteen innings in the past. I was ready to bet my life on it - and more importantly even my faith. A failure promptly brought the retirement question out of the closet AGAIN (the question, of course, has its own keys to the closet – comes out at its own free will – sometimes never goes back). Now, please forgive me, but I can never be a neutral when it comes to Sachin. I’ve changed my stance on this matter with such a high frequency that as Andy Zaltzman had put it that it could be possible to broadcast a radio channel using it. So we won’t even take the path.

But other things have been bothering me. I confess to having ‘unliked’ his official Facebook page, being fed up of the corporate logos and offers being thrown at my face in the form of tees worn by Sachin and/or as captions adorning the bottom of the pictures. He has never given a miss to the IPL or the CL. But it probably doesn't matter. Hell, he is in a position to make money, why would he not do it. It never mattered to me that he was blocking a youngster’s place - was anyone worthy?. It never bothered to me that he is risking his legacy - isn't it HIS legacy after all?. But it matters when you have stories such as these to content with.

Ponting today said that he isn’t sure if he will be selected for Perth. It matters to me if Sachin shares the same fear. It matters to me if it has occurred to Sachin even once that his 100th ton MAY HAVE cost India the match and a shot at the Asia Cup. It matters to me if he later realized that the men on the street might 'not have taught him cricket', but are responsible for what he is today. It matters to me if his 'mortality' rankles him. It matters to me if his failures ‘kill' him.

I dread to know the answers. God, it might kill me.

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Reunion 2020

As always, my luggage was the last to arrive in the baggage claim area. After collecting it, I made my way out of the Dabolim airport and got into a waiting taxi. I immediately got into flashback mode as to how after six months of planning, we were finally going to have another reunion. I had been pressing for The Andamans as the venue, but it didn’t manage enough nods. The ill-effects of democracy are everywhere! But then, when it is Goa, the electorate doesn’t complain. The tough part was keeping the wives out of the plan. Some people had actually even wanted their wives to come. In the end, common sense had prevailed.

My reverie was broken as the mobile rang. The name flashing on the screen automatically put a smile on my face. Before I had the chance to say Hello, a voice said in an unmistakable tone, “Kahan hai tu?”. 57 seconds and 6 questions later, I hung up only to realize the smile had only grown. Boy, this was going to be fun! The taxi sped past a ground where half-naked children were playing cricket. After three successive World Cup wins, cricket had surpassed football in terms of popularity in Goa.

I reached the resort and was greeted by a familiar figure at the lobby reading the hotel pamphlet in a bid to increase his knowledge base. We hugged even as he motioned to someone to quicken up with his check-in formalities. I scanned the hall and finally saw him. Age hadn’t slowed him down - it would have been a rather difficult task indeed. He slowly advanced towards us as I asked, to no one in particular, what the nurse must have said when he was born. “Good slower delivery” came the reply. Age definitely hadn’t slowed him down.

Together, the three of us went to the room where everyone else reportedly were; expecting them to greet us with abuses. Instead they were locked in an intense debate and didn’t even bother noticing us. It was evident it was one against the rest. Just when it appeared that the rest had almost driven the final nail in the coffin, something happened - something we have come to dread all these years. He nonchalantly said, “Toh?”. That was check and mate for the others.

Someone finally sensed the presence of new people in the room. Profanities flew and everything was normal again as we hugged each other. I mustered up some courage to enquire about the person who was instrumental in helping organize this event. I was pointed to a small bed in the corner where he was sleeping peacefully.

The evening cruised along; we were doing quite well on the ‘Bhasad’ meter. Two people shifted uneasily as the topic steered to some ‘jugalbandi’ which they had indulged in during one hell of a night, before one of our plays in college. But much to their relief, the door swung open just then, and there stood the last of the persons expected – a mere eight hours after his scheduled arrival. A gentle enquiry on the reason revealed that he had opted to self-drive a car he had hired and had lost his way.

It was time for dinner. For the next 15 minutes, everyone’s eyes were glued to one man as he calmly washed his face, then wiped his hands, then put on his contact lenses and washed his hands. Then he wiped them and put on his socks following which he washed and dried his hands again. Then he put on his shoes and – surprise, surprise – he washed and wiped his hands dry. After he was done with his drill, he smiled at us wondering what we were waiting for.

“Kitne lagenge?” asked someone as we were just leaving. Unperturbed by the reply, he allowed his hands to leave the comforts of his hair as he gestured with his hands in ACP Pradyuman style, and said “Chal”.

The night had just begun.

*****

Post Script: Was reminded of a text forward which Poonam had sent a while back, "Fikr-e-rozgar ne thode faasle badha diye.. Warna sab yaar saath hi the, abhi kal hi toh baat hai"

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