Sports Greatest Upsets - My take...

Watching a game recently and talking to a friend of mine, we went back and forth on some of the greatest sporting upsets of all times... This pushed me to write some of them, that I've experienced in my life time... Here they are in, in my order:

At #5, Kimi Raikonnen winning the F1-2007 Championship

This was so bizarre, I'm sure if Oliver Stone was a F1 enthusiast, he would have definitely done a movie on this - in the lines of JFK... a 3 hour marathon with a lot of twist and turns along the way, with equally intense players - an upstart Englishman, a petulant Spaniard, an enigmatic Finn, who seemed to be content as a crown prince, but never the king and the fast-speaking, fast-driving-on-a-straight-line-but-non-on-corners Brazilian.

It came down to the last race of the season. Three men battling for the title. Kimi had numerically a chance of winning, but perhaps the least probability. The other two contenders, Alonso, needed Lewis (the most favoured) to complete no earlier than the 8th finisher, and with Kimi not in first position and he finishing 3rd... or something like that.

Given all that, in the final race, Lewis made all the rookie mistakes that he didn't seem to make the whole season; everything fell apart in the final two. He seemed to be beset by anxiety, made wrong decisions, had car problems and faded away out of the title contention - his season seemed to mirror the penultimate race episode - his car stalling at the entrance to the pit-stops and could not get out of the gravel!!!

But it was still not over between the Alonso and Kimi. Alonso was at third place and with Kimi at second behind Massa, the world title was Alonso’s to win. But we know, unlike Mclaren drivers, Ferrari drivers tend to listen to the team orders ! After Ferrari’s last pit stop, that’s exactly seem to happen. Exiting the pits, Kimi went past his teammate Felipe Massa to the disappointment of the Brazilian crowd and perhaps Massa himself.

We had a new Formula 1 Champion in the most extraordinarily freakish alignment of events.

At #4 India defeats WI - WC 83

All the facts on the table - on one side: West Indies undefeated champions of the world. Have pummeled one and all who stood in their way. If they were unbeatable in tests, they were invincible in what was then, the new format of the game - the ODs. Led by a shrewd captain, who commanded respect, with 4 fearsome fast bowlers, who could either take your wicket or head off; with one of the most destructive batman of the modern era on their side, most successful openers at that time and reasonably good middle-order. Possibly, the greatest team to have played cricket in the modern-era.

On the other side, a team captained by a young man - whose strategy for winning any match would be 'kupple of wickets before lunch, kupple of wickets before tea and kupple of wickets after tea and the boys will have the game in the bag'. I wonder how it translated into the ODs. Anyhow, a Team full of trundlers whose bowling speed was slower than speed of the West Indian bowlers run-up.

The result India won by 43 runs - the greatest upset in a WC final. So aggrieved was Clive Lloyd not to have won 3 in a row, when they toured India immediately after the WC, they whupped us 5-0 in the ODs and 3-0 in the tests.

At #3, James Buster Douglas knock-out of Mike Tyson

When Mike Tyson was at his peak (monikered as Iron Mike), he was unbeatable. Not only did he win his fights with ease, he won it with a definite brutality and quickness. He had knack of knock-outs in the first round, with his awesome power - the opponents seemed scared coming into the fight. I recall seeing a bout in televised in India on a Sunday, when all of were all prepared to watch the fight, and it got over in 90s in the first round - was that Spinks ?

On the other corner was James Buster Douglas - who at 30 was fighting a much younger, meaner and most feared opponent in Mike Tyson. Somewhere during all his knock-outs, Tyson had morphed into one-punch-knock-out boxer, rather than using his defensive skills to get closer to the opponent. Through out the fight, Douglas had an upper hand, landing jabs and closing one of Tyson's eyes. The uppercut from Tyson almost ended the fight in the 8th round, but Douglas got up ("a slow 10 count", Tyson's camp alleged) and knocked the heavily favoured (42-1 odds) champ out in the 10th round.

Douglas had pulled off one of the greatest upset in the boxing history.

At #2, we have the Superbowl XLII (that is 42, for Romanically Challenged)

This game was the trigger for me to write this blog. New England patriots were pretty much the champion side throughout the season pumelling most team during the early part of the season and bringing in a perfect 18-0 season the Superbowl. New York Giants on the other side, had all their issues - hold-out, a two-game slide early in the season, a "will live in the shadow of star brother QB and tenative" QB, coach who was second guessed, a wild-card entry into the play-offs, but gathering momentum as they went through the play-offs.

The superbowl was a defensive fight. Going the last quarter, NE was leading 7-3; although for the first time their offense seemed to be on shaky grounds, harried by the quick NY defense all the time - I bet Brady was on the ground the most during this game that would perhaps match the sum total for the season. In the last quarter, the NY drew the first blood, marching down to the field for a TD; and Brady answered back very quickly, putting Patriots up, 14-10. With just over 2 minutes to go, the game seemed to be over.

Then came the stunner. Eli Manning seemed to zone out, take control and moved the ball. But the defining moment came in what some folks call as "The Catch-2". Manning in desperate need to get to first down, hassled by the defense who get to him, eludes 3 of them and throws down; Tyree jumps up, catches the pass and pins it down between his hand and his helmet, brought down in an arch by Harrison, by some magic holds on to the ball. 1st down. And Giants eventually get a TD with 30-something second to go. 17-14 Giants upset the universally anointed favourites - Patriots and their perfection.

At #1, I have the India bt Aus - Calcutta 2001

Yet another cricket. Australia had won 16 tests in a row. It was very clear from the happenings that they were clearly rolling over the opponents ruthlessly, under their unforgiving captain, Steve Waugh. They had just comprehensively beaten India in the previous test match at Mumbai, the first of the 3-test series.

Half of the second test followed the same pattern. Australia bats first, puts up a ~450 score, India folds for 170 odd. Waugh going for the kill, asks India to followon - there was nothing to suggest its going to be different, as India lose 3 at 115 and floundering at 4 for 230, with Laxman like in the first Innings playing the lone warrior. Then came the astounding and amazing innings and partnership - one whole day of play, with Laxman scoring 164* and Dravid 148*; Laxman's innings was one for the lore (it did find a place in the top 10 innings ever played in cricket - iirc, it was at #6 and best innings to be every played by an Indian) - faultless, strokeful, great timing and amazingly amazing. When he got out at 281 and after Ganguly waffled for a while, he declared and India won the match by 171 runs. And the series.

One of the great upsets authored by one of the most artistic batsman in the world cricket. Some would say this is not an upset per se, but to me the fact that we came back so far from behind, playing such an unforgettable innings and partnership, makes it one of the greatest upsets to watch. To understand it, one should understand the collective despair of the cricket fans, when we were 4/230.

Finally... ... the greatest upset of all times; never ever seen before in the history by most of anyone - is how upset my son gets when something does not go his way ! :)

A bit of grace...

All we are looking for is a bit of grace.

The story is the same: BCCI flexed its newly toned and pumped up on-steroids-financial muscle, CA made the usual noises about how it is in their DNA to play hard right from the days of the backyard and play fair (not the color, stupid) and the men and women across hemispheres took side depending on the color (the color of the flag - yet again, don't want another "thats vilification mate"),

In all these, what are the bets that we would ever see:

• the Aussie cricketers give up almost-laughable, but feigned and aggrieved posturing, and do accept that they did screw-up quite a bit in the Sydney test; and for all the victimized look Mr.Symonds carry, he is as culpable as the accused is, if not more
• the Indians in spite of all the bravado of Sreesanth or Harbhajan accept that they are still not as good as the Aussies; and those few Indians who are as good as Aussies, don't carry that silly bravado
• the Cricket Australia stop believing in its own stories, but start hearing voices of reality
• the BCCI have the gonads to ban Harbhajan for a match in spite of ICC's let-off due to rip-roaring-comedic "human" errors. BCCI does have access to those earlier offenses ! If you take refuge in the culture, why not show some ?
  
• Finally the BCCI to have some grace and back-off; they are coming across as the gold-decked, wealth-flaunting, uneducated goonda of the 'pettai'.

On the contrary, a bet on Shoaib Aktar become a team-man may be more sensible.

Big Change !!

Momentary lapse of reason, as Pink Floyd would say.

Yes, it has got to be that. Or else, knowing how I feel now, why would I have said yes 5-6 months ago? It was an opportunity that presented itself and we took it – we here is the collective family decision. I still believe we based our decision on right priorities for the family rather than me or my own career. It is just icing on the cake that I will also be working on something different and challenging and definitely something that I can spectacularly screw up and fail miserably.

We are the cusp of change. In about 4 hours we would have left our house of 2+ years, city of several years and importantly comfort zone of a lifetime. Everything in this zone was fine and good; but we needed to get the next inflection for our topmost priority. So we are taking a chance. We will be in a new city, new country and new culture in about two days time.

Its not that we have not done this before; a couple of times and at the end of it, we were back at our comfort zone. The previous sojourns always seemed easier – just packed our bags, locked our doors and left. This time, it is elaborate – not sure why – I think with age and time, comes cob-webs that anchors firmly to the ground. It seems that there are million things that needed to be taken care of before we leave. It is also a function of our own experience and our own assessment of risking something, I guess. On the other side of the (global) village, I’m not sure what lies ahead – would our decision get vindicated? Would there be that exponential improvement that we are banking on and are expecting? Would my work, the primary vehicle for what we want to do, be that bit more challenging than what I can handle? Don’t know – the air of uncertain future is apprehensive; and the thought that we are moving from a nice and cozy comfort makes it a bit tougher and raises the apprehension higher.

In any case, the deed is done and we are committed. With a transcontinental hop across the big pond and hope, we are taking that leap of faith. I believe that umbilical chord to that faith would not snap.

Perhaps its Grateful Dead that I should be quoting – “We will get by, we will survive”…

Penny for my thoughts? Thank you – please make it a small change!!

The Love story

There is nothing much to write about me. I was the normal IT person (or the abnormal or sub-normal, if you ask the other 50% of the people in Bangalore), have been doing the normal IT thing for the past decade and now, am in normal cross-roads, with a host of others crowding the space and looking for signposts. So I had taken up to writing, conjuring up a few, peddling those as stories and such. Given my new hobby, I also started reading up various magazines – predominantly the tamil ones (like Vikatan), which in anyways seems to have more movie stuff covered and starlets uncovered than real stories; but they do carry a story every week, and sometimes real good ones – including the one, I wrote, if I may add, modestly!!

One such story had peaked my interest laterally – buried in one corner of it was an analogy of Mukilan-Nila; I’ve never heard of that one before – heard of Ambikapathy-Amaravathy several times over in Tamil literature, even Laila-Majnu, but Mukilan-Nila ? Not even once. I had googled for it, and came up with nothing. Then called up the Vikatan’s office, introduced myself and got the coordinates of the author. Long story short, I was pointed to a small town in Tamil Nadu near Tirunelveli; he also said that there was very little literature around it, would send whatever he had to me; but averred for its authenticity. The intrigue around this was very tempting; I had decided to give it a shot and pursue the veracity – hopeful that it would give me a story to write and to veer off my normal cross-roads !

So here I am sitting in a passenger train between Madurai to Tenkasi, aiming to go to Tenkasi where Nila’s family were purported to have lived thereabouts. The train, in all its rustic ambience and bullock-cart speed was crawling – stopping at every station; and it wasn’t crowded either. I took out the sheaf of papers that the author had sent and looked through it once more to find any nuances – It was around the Indian independence time – Mukilan and Nila had fallen in love and it was one of unrequited due to family differences; the circumstances over their separation and demise. As I was poring through it, I didn’t notice a Geriatric (of course, of uncertain age) old man who had moved into the seat in front. He should have boarded the train at the last stop.

He stuck up a conversation; “Thambi, enna padichittu irrukeenga ?”. His dialect was strange, but I told him what I was reading...

“Aaah. That story! That was a long time ago, thambi”. I sensed my pulse quicken.

I asked him, “Periyavare, Do you know something about it?” He nodded and I looked at him and he launched into the story.

***

Mukilan’s and Nila’s family were close and next door in a village near Virudhunagar. Mukilan was a few months older than Nila. As they grew up together, they had fabulous time together playing around in the fields, in and around the pond and the orchards. Fate intervened; when they were 8, some differences cropped up between the families around land and use of water. It escalated from verbal, then fisticuffs and ended up in bloodshed of Nila’s uncle and jail term for Mukilan’s cousin. To avoid further bloodshed, Nila’s family moved out.

Time fades the past in the young. Mukilan had gone on to a college to do his Intermediate in Tenkasi and had seen a quiet girl and fallen for her. He did not have the courage to go up to and talk to her, since she was in a different group. However, things turned on its head in the end of the first year – Mukilan had topped his class in the first year and as is wont in that college, all the top students in various groups were to be felicitated in a function. He saw that quiet girl in the same group. When Mukilan’s name was called out he did not notice, the girl had jerked her head up and look at him intently. When the girl name was called out, she was looking directly at Mukilan and it was Mukilan’s turn to be surprised. It was Nila; soon after the function, they met and talked about the past and the present – came to know the families had still sworn vendetta. Through that year, their proximity grew and their fear grew. Particularly, Nila’s cousin, who had lost his father, was still intent on revenge when Mukilan’s cousin gets out of the jail in a few years from then. At the same time they were doing extremely well in the college and the principal had secretly wagered a bet that both of them would top their group in the state exams and they would go on to do greater things.

The time rolled on to the year, both managed to keep their love off public; principal had won half of his wager. Nila had topped her group and Mukilan had come second. Mukilan and Nila went to colleges in Tirunelveli, Mukilan aiming to go for civil services and Nila for her science. It was towards the end of the 3^rd year that trouble reared her head. When Nila had gone home at Rajapalayam, her mother had announced that they have found a potential groom for her, who was working in Madras. Nila was mortified, but she did not have guts to talk to her parents – since the hatred still ran deep and her cousin was just out from jail. Mukilan and Nila had decided to elope to Madras and get married. Mukilan would go to Virudhunagar for the last time, take leave of his parents and would meet Nila at the Rajapalayam railway station and take the bus to Madurai on the day their exams ended.

Little did they know their story had leaked out and reached the ears of Nila’s parents, on that fateful day.

***

The old man had paused; as the darkness fell and the train was slowing down. The old man seemed rushed. He quickly said he needed to take leave as his destination had come and rushed out, when the train had stopped at Sivakasi. I was desperate – I didn’t know if I should follow him or not. It was night and there wasn’t much light and my indecision was taken care by the train, as it started. I sat back, marveled at the story the old man had just spun… At the same time I felt a need to know what had actually happened to Mukilan and Nila. I sat through rest of the journey up to Rajapalayam thinking about various combinations and permutations. It felt very strange to have known so much and not known the whole thing – it was like reading a thriller, only finding out that the last few chapters have been ripped out.

With heightened sense of curiosity and a disappointment, I got down at Rajapalayam and found my colleague’s brother waiting for me to take me to his house. I had told him the fascinating story that I had heard from the old man. He responded that he had heard about the story himself from various people with various versions, each changing based on the Goran who tells it. He said he would check around tomorrow with some to know if they can add more light to it. After dinner, I could hardly sleep and when I slept the old man was in the dreams reliving the story again.

Here I am, two days later, waiting in the Sivakasi station. It had been the most frustrating time for me. It was like chasing a mirage and false leads. Aided by my host, I had gone and met several people. Everyone had heard about it in vague terms, but nothing concrete. A lead to the descendent of Nila’s family turned out to be completely false and we got thrown out – fortunate not to have been inflicted bodily harm, since the Nila in question there was a young girl, who was just about to get married in two days time!

The whole experience was maddeningly futile; added to the misery was constant rain and power-cut. I later decided to abandon the project and take the train to Tirunelveli and go meet a relative of mine there and return to Bangalore. My host dropped me in the station. At the station, I found the train (the one I traveled into Rajapalayam) was 2 hours late, now arriving around 11PM at night. I had nothing to do – the station was deserted and I did not want to go back in pouring rain. I cursed the whole experience and sat down under a dim light with a book I had brought in – there were couple of homeless people scattered out in the station, finding their own warm and dry nooks. The book was good enough for me to not to feel the pangs of hunger immediately! It was around half-past ten, I decided to eat. As I took out my packed dinner, I found one such old person looking at it. I held out a packet of rice out to her; The old lady ambled closer to me and let the packet lie on the bench and took the other corner of the bench.

Something told me that she isn’t a common beggar for alms – I stuck up the conversation with her. She talked about the rain this season, which is something she hasn’t seen for a long time. On a hunch, I asked her if she had heard about Mukilan-Nila’s story. What the heck? Last ditch attempt is not going to hurt.

“Oh yes, those two – poor ones, thambi”… she started. She covered the same background of their early days, the days of enmity and meeting again at the college and how Nila liked the quiet and modest demeanor of Mukilan. And how she fell in love all over again for his kindness and how they were perfect for each other. And how they had decided to elope! My senses quickened, as I listened intently…

***

Prior to that day, Nila had diligently collected a few of her essentials elsewhere. The plan was she would go out on the pretext of meeting a friend, and join Mukilan onboard the train at the Rajapalayam station. She left around 11 AM for the late evening train.

Unknown to her, the news of their impending elopement had reached their parents. Nila’s cousin who had sworn revenge on Mukilan’s family found this to be an opportunity to get even. He and his friends set-out to intercept Mukilan midway, where as Nila’s father and his friends set-out in search of Nila – unable to locate her, they settled to wait in the station.

The revenge-party had boarded the train just ahead of Virudhunagar in one of the small stations and found Mukilan. Mukilan had no chance – it was brutal and it was quick. He was hacked and his body was thrown out of the train at Sivakasi. The story has it that they killers traveled in the same train until Rajapalayam and got down from the train with the blood-soaked sickles.

Nila who had just entered the station had seen her parent and knew things have gone awry. However, as soon as she saw her cousin and his friends getting down the train with red plastered on their shirts, she knew the worst has happened. She fainted and she was carried away and no one had since heard of her.

***

The old woman monologue was broken by the train which had just steamed in. I knew there was something here – I didn’t want to miss the ending and also didn’t want to miss the train. As I hauled my back-pack, I asked her what had happened to Nila later on…

As I was getting into the train, she looked at me and said, “Thambi, the legend has it that even today, Mukilan still travels on this train from Virudhunagar to get to Nila and Nila patiently waits for him at the station”…

As the visage of the old-man in the train emerged from my subconscious, I dropped the rucksack down and turned around quickly to look at her; she was already gone, an ambling silhouette framed against a distant lightning streak. A mere apparition in the darkness!

Apparition??? Realization hit me like that distant thunder!!!

Act of Kindness

Interesting experience.

We stopped by a petrol bunk in the intersection of Ringroad (in Bangalore between Old Madras Road and Hebbal Road) and the road leading to the Sultanpalya. The gas station is in the southern corner of that intersection. As we stopped for filling up, I saw a A5 size photograph of "Manjunath" stuck on the glass enclosure with the bold "Employee of the Month". As usual the photo didn't match the actual individual and I asked the attendant who was filling up my car, pointing to another guy who resembled Manjunath, if that was indeed the guy in the photo. The current attendent nodded in affirmative; and immediately started to take extra care in filling up and was more courteous ! But thats the not the main point of this post...

Just before we left the pump, I sought Manjunath out and congratulated him. He was extremely happy and profusely "tanks-saar'ed" me. Then we had moved to fill air and 5m after we left and I could still see Manjunath in smiles.

As we left I told my co-occupant that Manjunath is still smiling and he'd probably feel good for the day. Then I realized, the very fact I found that its something that I can point out to someone else and the fact that I'm thinking about a day later, that "congratulations" has made me feel good too...

So, looks like any act of kindness that we do to others, helps us to get in touch with our own decent self, I guess. Is it an act of kindness on ourselves ?
__________________________________________
ps: The intent of giving such a graphical (!) explanation of the location of the petrol bunk is, if at all, you pass thataway, you could stop by and do yourself an act of kindness ! :)

Whats it all about ? Second year on...

Hmm... I missed the anniversary - not that of ours - but that of this blah'g. I completed two years of blogging on the 22nd Dec. I blissfully was asleep in Chennai on that day. So I guess, if the anniversary has been forgotten, then I suppose the marriage has gone stale :) or its moved on to the mature phase of "content" rather than the "niceties". I'd rather believe the latter !

Through the year, I changed the name of the blog to 'thegoodblahg', perhaps slowed down on posting, added cricket tag, moved to new Blogger from google and new look, started (and stopped) contributing to a "Media watch blog" with a fellow-bloggers (which is badly in need of more contributions, anyways) and opened up another private blog that is very very dear and close to us.

Anyways, on the first anniversary, I did a word-cloud (of what the blog was all about) using snapshirts.com - which crawls the site and picks out the oft used words - i'm sure they are doing this syntactically rather than semantically ! I did one again now... Here is what its picked out...


But disappointingly, still no Floyd and Asterix - I guess those live in my heart and in my quotes!!!

Resurrecting the Champ

This is not about the recent movie starring Josh Hartnett and Samuel Jackson, about a boxer, washed out, living out a lie and finding a person-in-a-hurry-to-fame as a conduit to spin a yarn... Infact, I should have named this as “Crucifying a Champ – A step-by-step instruction on how to take a perfectly cooked recipe, and screw it up into a distasteful and completely messed up mish-mash”.

In case, you have not caught on, this is about Dravid.

Here is the guy who has amazing technique, a great temperament for batting, perfect gentleman, a perfectionist and consummate team-man; take him, add some second-guessers to it, create a parallel structure and slowly watch him disintegrate; He has been now turned him into a perfect specimen for a case-study on psychological experiment. Freud would be rubbing his hands in glee and would call variety of people – Greg Chappell, Sharad Pawar, Zaheer Khan, Tendulkar and Mr. D himself – Dilip Vengasarkar to get their expert opinion, for his case-study.

In my belief, Dravid is a complex man – a perfectionist seeking excellence in whatever he chooses to do and driven more by intent rather than agenda. He is someone who would look at the goal and hope the team around him will look at the goal and align themselves to achieve it without the politicking and without their own agenda. If you had seen him bat in the last few innings, it is clear that he is going through a crisis of confidence. Just cannot believe someone who played so well in the final OD innings in England could decline so fast – I believe it has got to do more with mind than the technique.

Flash back to recent events: He won a series in West Indies and then in England. In England, as a captain, he decides that he would not enforce follow-on – hue and cry were raised by people who cannot hold a candle to what he has achieved; forget the fact that Vaughn himself admitted that had he been in Dravid’s place he’d done the exact same. Then when Dravid talked about having his tiring bowlers have a rest, Zaheer Khan (who was earlier docked in the Chappell-Dravid regime) came out and says he wasn’t tired. Add to it a constant by-play with the newfound we-are-close-friends-now – Tendulkar/Ganguly combine. Then we hear stories about how Vengsarkar wanted the batting order to be changed. And you would think that Selectors select players and then shut the eff up; and the rest is upto the captain. But you know, this is Vengsarkar – the man who wrote in Hindu 15 years ago that the only time India cricket does well is when it has Mumbai players in it. No wonder, Dravid talked about shelf-life of a captain. He returns and lets Sharad Pawar know that he no longer wants to be the captain. Mr. Vengsarkar, hurt that he was not being told first, does everything in his power to get Tendulkar as the captain. Fortunately, good sense prevailed in Tendulkar. The worse is yet to come – someone who played a blinder of an innings in England is “rested” from the team after one poor series at home. If he was rested, then he should have brought back to the later part of the series; but no.

Now touring Australia, inspite of two specialist openers in the 16 – Karthik and Sehwag, Dravid has been asked to open to accommodate Yuvraj in the final 11. I wonder if someone could ask the same of Tendulkar or Ganguly – could be natural choices as both have opened for dogs years in the ODs. Dravid, I’m sure, agreed to open, although he may have had other opinions... I've actually now become a proponent of euthanasia, after hearing about Dravid's T1, innings 1 labour.

This could be pop-psychology – but Dravid I believe is a person who strives for perfection; and that too with great intensity. When you do that, then most times even a simple thing could become complicated. Not saying opening is a simple thing – but Dravid would have built a lot of what-if-scenarios around it and would have made it more complex than it ought to be. He had already talked about the change-over between innings as one of the what-if scenarios. He also comes across as a person who can get quickly get into a siege mentality and sink deeper into crisis of confidence; and the more he gets deeper into, the more he gets into point of no return. Case in point is his stagnation as a run-scoring opener in the warm-up game and in the first-innings. We see a completely different and tentative batsman – the guy who is intent on battling it out in keeping his wicket intact rather than scoring runs.

This had happened once, earlier to Dravid – when he was dropped from the OD team for his ability to rotate the strike and score briskly. At that time, two things happened – one, he reinvented himself and more importantly, he had a strong support from the leadership – Ganguly as the captain, had insisted that Dravid to be in the team in the lower order and also got him to keep wickets. That kind of unconditional support and faith was required to get Dravid into the mind-set of a champion. The rest is history – his OD confidence carrying into stupendous test forms, setting up a host of hundreds and double hundreds, leading to famous test wins for India abroad.

I believe Dravid is more needed in the test team and in the middle-order to provide the solidity that others can build around it and he has still 2-3 years in him. He certainly needs that kind of leadership support now – if not from Kumble (who is not much dissimilar to Dravid in mental make-up), from his team-mates, like Tendulkars and Gangulys. Dravid being, perhaps, the most self-less in that group, would definitely make the others look good too.

However, not very evident what would such kind of unstinted support for Dravid would come from. One place where we do NOT have to look is, for sure, from the office of Chairman of Selectors!!

Ps: On a different note, can anyone find a logic in screwing up three positions within the batting order to get Yuvraj in – The opener slot, the #3 and #6 and sacrifice an opener, Dravid and Laxman ? Why cant we just drop one of the middle-order rather than screwing up the set-order!

Same Difference !

Flying to an alien land,
At 30kft, I peep down
The ice-scape,
The dry brown,
Cloud’s feathery-cape,
The Blue Sea,
The green trees,
All that I see
Look the same,
In whichever lat-long I am.

In the distant land,
I look up.
The blue skies,
The Bright sun,
The twinkling-stars,
The silent moon,
The crisp cool,
Makes me feel,
I’m at home;
Heavens the same,
Even in the land afar.

Then I look level,
into the eyes of another.
Averted, looking away,
In unspoken judgment.
Questions unasked
of each others intent.
And questions asked
of my existence,
in his land.

Ah, for the sameness
of His creation
And the differences
in ours!!!

Test of Temptations - Ramba, Menaka, Urvashi and Yana !

I had written (if I may add, very proudly) about how I quit smoking elsewhere in the blog (you should read that before you read this one)… Again during this travel, I passed by that gas station and I “one number kumbidu pottaen” to that monument.

I was also talking about it to someone this travel. The funny thing was the there is a huge (well, small anyway) untold story about what followed immediately after that event… In the earlier blog, it was like the nostalgia – I had given the good details and left out the ugly ones !

Here is the account of the other side of the story – the sultry temptress that came in all forms including a fat friend of mine, (who would take umbrage in calling him fat, but anyways, he isn’t reading this blog – so I can even get away by calling him intelligent), Mr.Purported-Devarajan and host of others that came in stunning sequence out of the Mumbai airport’s concrete-work. All sent by the creator for one sole reason – go forth and screw up this guy’s penance of denying himself the pleasure of smoking !

So here is the untold story that has been told/read never before in the public forum; now open to the whole wide-world audience of nine regular readers (ok, sue me, I’m reporting higher numbers in this blog’s TRP rating)…

As I walked out of the gas station as “proud quitter”, I needed to travel from Fort Collins to another small city in the US – Roseville – its near Sacramento and more importantly (to none who reads this blog), had a site where our company operates. Me, with a great amount of confidence and faith in my own ability to stick to my decision of quitting, checked myself into the hotel and into a “smoking room”. I knew, like all my romances, this is going to be short lived. I check in, and then the sun sets on the American empire – so I go walking in search of food places to eat- I find a Denny’s, but it is very conveniently situated adjacent to the gas station. So I walk across the Gas station and… and walk straight into Denny’s, had some food and turn my head away from the gas station and walk out. Ramba has been denied.

Cool, I thought to myself and when I returned back to Ft.Collins, I proudly checked myself into a “non-smoking” room. I was quite sure that I had kicked the habit, although it was only 3 days into abstinence, not really believing that this abstinence is going to be any different from every other resolutions that occurred on 1^st of every January… The only material difference was, this wasn’t winter, but Fall, if that makes a lot of sense to the nine of you !!

Like jet-lag, sometimes the absence of nicotine in the blood-stream can hit you much later; atleast, so I theorize ! After all the phoren work, I return back to our country. Those days, there were no direct flights to Bangalore, but one has to come through one of the other cities and in the middle of the night with a 5-6 hour wait. So I wait in the airport. Second theory: Once you quit smoking, the other thing you want to avoid is to wait aimlessly (the first one you want to avoid is the fat friends that smoke). So, since I waited aimlessly, I saw the sultrier Menaka dance in front of my eyes; so those roved. Found Mr.Devarajan smoking; and I built a story in my own mind – I would go tap him on the back and say hello Deva – he could be even Thiyagarajan or Govindarajan or some other Rajan – but I decided he would be Devarajan. Ofcourse, he would be some other (what are the chances that he really could be Devarajan ?); he would naturally, look at me puzzled but its an opportunity to strike up a conversation – what you up to, are you also waiting for the Bangalore flight blah, blah and finally let go, “can I bum a fag ?” (yep, for all the smoker fag does mean just that) and lo behold, I’d have my smoke. I made my move; unfortunately, he also made his move – he walked away… Shoot, I sat back down. I thought, was it a message from the providence… As I wrestled bumming when he returned, it was 4.30AM and the PA called for the check-ins and Deva had moved with extreme speed… Menaka faded into black !

Ok, got through the 2^nd celestial dancer, by the quirk of bad-timing of the PA system. The ultimate test was waiting to happen… As I checked in and was wandering around – guess who turns up – the fat smart guy who I begun to smoke with in college. Great!! And he offers me a fag – I’ve to hold my ground, I proudly tell him, I quit (without telling it has been only 3 days). He respects that, and doesn’t offer me any more. Are we done? No – the ultimate Urvasi is lurking around the corner – ignoring Prabhu Deva, she isn’t taking it easy! Another guy turns up from the same college – but this is the weird twist – he was not a smoker in the college, but had started after he had gotten a job in a remote and culturally strange-to-him town – the ennui had gotten to him and he had started smoking! So he says, hey G, you used to be smoker, here’s one!! Ok, Oorvasi, I’m on the penance thing – although it was very tempting watching her do the Helen dance (or Yana Gupta of these days, which is more sexier, I’m told – I wouldn’t know, anyways) and although I slyly open one eye to catch a part of it, I shut it out ! I say a firm NO… Oorvasi has been ignored too…

…and have stayed unscathed since! Although Koshy’s still offers temptations, but I think now I’m through all these dances, even if its Yana (doing Baboojeee... :)); maybe it’s the middle age catching up… We are still talking about “Quit-smoking”, by the way !!

Oh, it is perfectly possible; all of the above could be wild delusions of a nicotine-denied brain!!

Land of the Brave!

Nana was living in fear – not fear of death or fear of something major; there was a stretch of train travel in the (infamous) Mumbai suburban train that he loathed – he loathed himself for being afraid. Nana (alias Narayan Iyer s/o Shri. Sivasankaran Iyer, the late priest at the Guruvayoor temple) had been a sheltered son of a very orthodox family down south. He had finished his B.Sc. and after trying for work in and around his native town without much success he landed in the big bad world of Mumbai in search of job – that was in January, nearly 6 months ago. He got one, as a technician in one of the Pharma factories at the suburbs, that paid for his living in a one-room shanty with shared toilet and bath room – more importantly, it helped him to save some money and send it back home to his widowed mother and younger sister.

Nana was scared about Mumbai – he had heard stories about how cold the city could be and how mirthless it is – where people go about doing what they do without bothering about someone’s plight. Coming from a villagish-town it was a huge culture shock for Nana. However, around after the 3^rd month he had learned to cope with Mumbai. It certainly did not win him over, but he found ways to co-exist with it – it was symbiotic, he thought remembering his 12^th standard biology – he needed Mumbai for the survival of his family and Mumbai needed people like him to remain aloof, cold and ruthless. He was insignificant; but by end of first month it had stopped bothering him to an extent and he knew he was becoming one among them. Even in the local train that took him to and from his job, he found people doing their own thing or on the opposite end of the spectrum sticking to the same group. He tried smiling at someone who seemed regular but couldn’t strike up a conversation due to his limited knowledge of Hindi. He then decided it was better to shut-up and not let people know that he was an outsider without the knowledge of Hindi or Marathi.

But then disaster struck. Someone seemed to take attention of him – in a way that Nana did not foresee or ever want. There was this tough looking man wearing a pyjama-kurta and his two cronies who seemed to find Nana’s nervous quietness funny. Initially, indirectly and then directly – they had started bullying him in one way or the other; more so after they found he was an outsider. Nana tried to switch compartments and avoid them. It worked for a week, but then they found him; the same about missing the train – did work for a while, but then it always came back to the same thing. Once they found him waiting for the train to go, got down and told him in no uncertain terms that he needs to take the train that they are in…

Since then, Nana lived in fear. He talked to someone at work, but didn’t help. He thought of changing his residence so that he doesn’t have to take that suburban train, but just couldn’t afford a place anywhere in the city. He was ashamed of his cowardice and lack of courage to stand up to those bullies; He also hoped that someone would come in his aid and help him out. But none did – its Mumbai and more importantly, it was not a movie.

Today he was returning from work – the July weather, matched his mood – seemed morose and threatened the evening with rain. He did not see the goons yet. He chose a place to sit that had his back turned towards the door with a hope that he would escape notice. The train had stopped in Borivli – out of the corner of his eye he saw the main-goon with his usual smirk and unlit beedi climb on to the train. Nana’s heart sank…

Nana further shrunk in his seat and waited for the inevitable tap on the head and the wicked grin. He didn’t get any – maybe the train was crowded enough for the goon to wade his way back to him, maybe goon had a change of heart, Nana hoped. As Nana waited, he felt a blow to his body, much more than what he had expected – he was stunned for a moment; then he lost his consciousness. When he regained it, he was completely disoriented, there was thick smoke and the compartment was in ruins. They were body lying all around; he heard screaming all around and people scrambling out. He quickly understood that a bomb had gone off and ripped through the compartment; along with the crowd and in the chaos he rushed out. Now outside, Nana’s instinct told him to run for safety, since there were screams that there could be more bombs inside. He found himself unhurt, by God’s grace and he thanked God (“Guruvayoorappa”) quickly and started to walk away – he wanted to be as much far away as possible when the next bomb went off.

For some reason, he turned back one more time – he saw the goon down on the floor, very much bleeding, very much conscious and very much in pain, with a piece of twisted metal over him. For the first time, in the Nana saw there was no bravado in Goon’s eyes, but a pleading and panic. Nana hesitated for a minute, flash of thought around God’s ways ran through his mind; “God’s ways”, it struck him – he climbed back in. He quickly inspected the goon’s condition – he seemed ok – there has been big injury to his arm and it was ripped away, but his legs seemed in good condition; and there was bleeding from the stomach, with a big ugly open wound. Nana told the goon to lie still (not sure if he was heard), tried to wrench the twisted metal away – he couldn’t and muttered aloud about being a vegetarian! He, also assessed that he cannot carry the weight of the goon; he decided to drag the goon under the metal to the door-way by his legs. He told the goon what he was going to do in broken Hindi; At the door-way, he let the goon’s legs dangled out, he pulled the goon to sit-up tilted him on his back and carried him out 20 meters away and dropped him on the ground, as yet another tiny blast went off inside.

Nana looked down at the goon. There was gratitude in those eyes; Not sure if those eyes saw fear in Nana’s eyes. Not today, as Nana turned to see if there was someone else he could help with…

Empowerment Vs Delegation Vs...

A lot of times at work, we get told and tell our colleagues that we need to “empower” our folks. I was explaining to someone as to what is the difference between empowerment, delegation and abdication…

…and decided to state that thus:

	The employee has		Then its,	heading for	Long term, manager does	Short term, manager does
	Capability	Potential
When the work gets pushed to one level below	Yes	Yes	Empowerment	success at a “raised bar” level	New objectives, higher bar, mentoring outside of hierarchy	Allow to set objectives, make decisions, "promote" to next level (of hierarchy, complexity etc)
	No	Yes	Delegation	Success	Reviews, coaching, hints on what-if scenarios, asking questions (but no answers)	set context, "gate" decisions with y/n
	No	No	Abdication	Failure	Change the employee out of current role	Operate at "activity/task" level

Makes sense ?

Toilet Humor

Heard in the toilet at our work place...

Middle Aged Guy: So , since it was raining so heavily yesterday, how did you get from the bus stop to your house ?

Young guy: My wife had come to the bus-stand with the umbrella

MAG: Oh... so you have been married only for 3 months right ?

YG: Yep...

MAG: My wife just told me to wait in some shelter until the rain stops

Thats just not it.

A bunch of folks in the toilet nodded in sympathetic been-there-experience-that kind of nod.

A good good Movie

Over the past weekend had watched a Tamil movie - Mozhi. It was a great great surprise - although I had read the review in the Vikatan, didn't really expect the movie to be great shakes. But was pleasantly, pleasantly surprised. During the movie and after the movie, I could clearly feel myself enjoying the story-telling - the movie was extremely well directed and well acted. The visuals were simple and good (with the whole family watching, identifying some of the locales in the foreign land :) ), pleasing, the backgrounds and the other supporting cast blending in nicely.

Essentially I saw the title "Mozhi" (Language) indicating that the two main protoganists relate to two different languages - one the music that he plays and the other the silence, she always hears. The hero, Karthik is a musician by craft and Archana is deaf-mute. Karthik who sees Archana and falls for her show of guts even before he knows of her disablity. When his resolve becomes stronger once he discovers her disability, one doesn't feel, its 'that tamil movie thing'. For, in essence, Karthik comes across a very decent human being, who is sensitive to people who really need that touch. The interactions between the professor (who is stuck in the 1984 due to his son's accidental death) and Karthik have been very sensitively woven into the story. The sorrow that laces the interaction is poignantly poetic. At one scene, when Karthik tries to reason with angry Archana, the professor intrudes with a 1984 non-sequitor. Karthik, for a fleeting nanosecond shows his annoyance as Archana walks away, but then stays with the professor to hear his story. Very beautifully done by the director, Radhamohan.

There are several such moments in the movie. Even Prakash Raj's comedy is not out of line. His comic inter-play with the association secreatary and off-the-cuff-oh-btw one-liners are very enjoyable and do not jar the story line like the regular comedy-track we see in other movies. PR should do more of this - comedy and production ;). Swarnamalya's role as Sheela is underplayed; inspite of my bias, I did believe she too did a decent job, particularly when she talks about her life to Karthik.

Karthik played by Prithviraj is aptly done. If you can pardon his accent, he has beautifully played his role to the T. No overt and overacted emotions, no wasted motions in his actions - very nicely done. Jyotika is very good in most places depicting the character that believes 'what one does not know will hurt you'; and just when Karthik draws her out, she retreats back behind the iron-curtain. She could have used her eyes better, given that she had no dialogue to fall back on.

Although the story ends predictably, you don't begrudge the ending as cinematic. At the end of it, you'd actually think it would be injustice if they don't get together.

The music, by Vidyasagar melts into the story. The editing is sharp with no extraneous scenes and keeping the storyline going. Even the bulb/bell thing that can appear quirky, gives you a touch of humor. In all, a great viewing that touched me in a way that I didn't expect. The taste still lingers on.

Infact, last week I was telling one of my friends that one way to get his young teen-age kids understand "values" is to get them to relate to a cause that is greater then themselves. That way they would realize how fortunate are we. I've told him that he should see this movie as a first step!

Sound bites

The state Governor who had earlier in the evening, when elicited for his views on four young children of the K.R.Halli slums being badly mauled by stray dogs, retorted pointing to the need that we Human Beings, as a more evolved species need to be compassionate to animals, now slept soundly in his fifteen acre mansion far away from and completely immune and oblivious to the cacophonous din created by those pack of dogs in the slums of K.R.Halli in the middle of the night...

It is a singular sentence inhabitants of K.R.Halli go through all their lives.