I WANT TO TRAVEL

Across the land

And over seas,

I want to travel,

Oh, I beg you please.

Many seasons are gone,

And several plans dashed,

But nothing of them has come,

And all hopes have crashed.

To travel means to see,

Places and people new,

Adventures too it brings,

Which are not in number few.

When I meet travellers,

In the walk of life,

They tell me their stories,

Some of fun, others of strife.

But through it all,

I've never met anyone

Who said travelling wasn't fun,

Who thought they should quit and run.

I want to travel

And see the world,

I want to know what it is like,

To have it before me unfurl.

And therefore,

Across the land

And over seas,

I want to travel,

Oh, I beg you please.

Up Close and Personal with Jonty Rhodes

Taking interviews has always been fun, but when the interviewee in question is fielding legend Jonty Rhodes, it’s a different issue altogether.

Eager to meet him, I waited for him to arrive at the decided time – 1.30pm. However, half past one came and went, and Jonty only made an appearance at 2.10pm, 20 minutes before his fielding camp at Mumbai’s Western Railway Cricket Ground was supposed to start. While waiting for him though, I had, if not a fun time, an interesting one at least. From 1.30pm to 2pm I walked around the perimeter of the grounds and, being dresses formally, got suitably stared at by the sportspersons present there. Since it was the ground at the Western Railway Sports Association, all the sportspersons were present. It was only post 2pm that the kids who were going to be a part of Jonty’s camp started arriving. No sooner had they entered the premises than they started worrying about their clothes and gear. One of them insited on changing into his protective guard right there, in the passageway! He would have, too, had it not been for one of the tall men, quite possibly one of the WR athletes, who put forth the idea that the child change in the men’s dressing room.

Did I say tall player? Oh my, were they tall, and how! Just that morning I’d been speaking with some colleagues about how Indian men aren’t tall, and here were these 6’4”, 6’5” specimens, whose sole agenda seemed to be to prove me wrong. And boy, were they good looking!

So, after all this, Jonty finally arrives and I went up to himt o ask about the interview. Turns out, he wasn’t aware there was supposed to be one! And since he was short on time, he couldn’t spare a few minutes then. Damn! I was told to return at 5.30pm, after the camp got over. Would he give me an interview then? Only time would tell...

Review: Ferrari ki Sawaari

Cricket. This one word, one sport, manages to achieve what no man working towards peace can ever hope to achieve. As a sport, cricket is able to bring the atheist to his knees in prayer, turn the hostile neighbour to Mr. Congeniality (in case his TV set is broken and yours happens to be an LCD).

Not surprisingly, then, innumerable movies have been made on the subject – be it the brilliantly made Iqbal, or the slightly older and entirely forgettable Awwal Number, and several others in between. Now, there’s one more addition to the list – Ferrari ki Sawaari. The movie ropes in the concept of cricket at two levels. One is direct, with the protagonist’s son being a cricketer-in-the-making himself. The second is more subtle but as emphatic; and why wouldn’t it be, when it has to do with the car that belongs to the God of the game himself – Sachin Tendulkar’s Ferrari.

Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s success as a film producer has always partially depended on the caasting. Half his battles are won even before the filming of the movie starts, such is the man’s knack for picking the perfect actor to play the perfect role in his movies. Ferrari ki Sawaari is no different. Boman Irani, as Behram Deboo,  blows your mind as the cynical has-been cricketer. Sharman Joshi, the second generation Deboo, is also convincing in his role as a Parsi man who works as a clerk in a government office. But neither of them surprise the viewer, because both are preceded by their reputation as being extremely fine actors. The one that truly surprises, however, is Kayo Rustom Deboo, played by Ritwik Sahore. Little Kayo is probably the best child actor to have surfaced in a long time, a truly great find. Besides playing his role as a young, honest, motherless child who loves his father to bits to perfection, it’s not just his acting that draws the audience. There is something unspeakably endearing about the child and one can’t help but fall in love with him the moment one sets eyes on him. Sahore is here to stay, and hopefully, unlike many other child artistes who showed promise but were never heard of again, we will see much more of him in the future, to the benefit of cinemagoers.

The supporting cast is equally brilliant, with the slightly corrupt but still likeable politician (played by Vijay Nikam), Seema Bhargava as Babbo Didi and the politician’s son (Nilesh Divekar) doing their roles brilliantly. A special mention must be made here of Aakash Dabhade, the lucky guy who plays the role of Sachin Tendulkar’s servant and who plays a pivotal role in the Ferrari getting stolen. His timing is brilliant, and expressions spot on. Deepak Shirke plays the role of the security guard as the toughie with a soft interior very well.

And of course, for all car fanatics, this movie is sure to be a treat; after all, the great man had agreed to lend his Ferrari for the movie and it is a living, breathing character in the movie. The movie also accomplishes to deliver good laughs without resorting to innuendos and dirty jokes; a movie which is truly child-friendly – although the Vidya Balan number could have entirely been done without, considering it added nothing to the plot, even by way of an ‘item number’.

Paresh Rawal’s cameo as the cricketing legend who made it big under dubious circumstances is nothing to write home about. To nitpick, how Rustom hopes to avoid the news of him stealing Sachin’s car from reaching the big man’s ears, is a big question mark, given that the media is all over it. In that alone, the movie is a little shortsighted. And of course, we’re left confused as to where Boman’s talents as a cricketer lie; at different points we’re introduced to his brilliant batting and bowling abilities. Oh well, maybe he was an all-rounder. And the movie could have done with a stricter hand in editing.

But none of these seem to matter as the ‘niceness’ of the movie makes everything else worthwhile. Another parallel to the plot is the relationship between father and son (two generations of them). The first is simple and sweet – a relationship based on love, faith and mutual respect. The second is more complicated, the father and son both leaving things unsaid and suffering in silence. But it is the relationship between Sharman and Ritwik that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Their love makes you smile at the inanity of a father deliberately looking for a traffic cop to pay a fine to for running a red light, just because he wants to set an example for his son. But what would seem plain stupid in other circumstances is made sweet because you believe the father when he does this. The son in turn is as honest as the father, and completely understanding of the father’s difficulties in spite of his young years. The sacrifices the father makes for his son, and his disappointment when he fails to give the best of everything to his child, is bound to touch your heart (and if you’re someone with poor control over your tear glands, like me, then you will even shed a few tears).

Ferrari ki Sawaari comes as a breath of fresh air, a feel-good movie that every person should watch. The narrative is typical of Rajkumar Hirani and his clean, simple form of storytelling. The man who managed to portray roadside lingo without using degrading language, continues to do just that with this movie too. Finally, it is cricket that brings everyone together in the end in the way that only cricket can. This movie is truly depictive of India for what she is – a cricket-crazy nation. If you are a cricket fan, this movie will bring you much joy. Once again, cricket plays the unifying role in our lives, albeit in the world of cinema.

The Sequel

I read a book as a youngster of about 9 or 10. Even then, I had a voracious love for reading. So much so, my friends used to come up to me and ask for a book recommendation. At the aforementioned age, I had recently read Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster. So whenever anyone asked for a recommendation, I would suggest the novel. It was, and still remains, an all-time favourite. Daddy Long Legs is the story of an orphan girl. The story, written entirely in letters, tells us about the girl’s life in an orphanage under a harsh mistress. But, as all children’s/young adults’ novels, it had to have a happy ending. So, by the end, we come to know through the letters she writes to her sponsor (who sends her to college), that she has grown up to find herself a man worth keeping. Who is he? You’ll just have to read Daddy Long Legs to find out.

Years have passed since I read Daddy Long Legs. The novel is confined to the ‘sweet memories’ part of my brain. A few days ago, while doodling on the Net, I came across a site which offers free, legit downloadable ebooks. The best thing of all – most of them are classic! For a classics-fanatic like me, this was brilliant news. I found loads of brilliant classics that I downloaded. Of the existence of some of these, I didn’t even have a clue – such as the Scarlet Pimpernel series! (Did you know there was more than one book? I didn’t!) So then imagine my great joy when I discovered the sequel to Daddy Long Legs, and by the same author; not one of those pointless sequels written by some random person who can never have a hope in hell of capturing the writer’s essence (who ever can?). I downloaded that faster than you could say Google Chrome, and started reading it immediately. I read it at work, at home, even while travelling.

The story of Dear Enemy (the sequel) is something like this: while at college, Jerusha Abbott (the protagonist of Daddy Long Legs) made a life-long friend in well-to-do Sallie McBride. While Sallie is a sweet-natured girl, she is shown to be a little flaky and frivolous, unlike Jerusha, in Daddy Long Legs. Dear Enemy opens with Sallie as the protagonist. Jerusha Abbott (now married) has taken it upon herself to institute Sallie as the superintendent of the very orphanage where she herself grew up. (If I tell you how that happens, I’ll be giving away who is Jerusha’s man.) Sallie takes up the position only to show her friend Gordon Hallock (whom we see early on as a romantic prospect) that she is capable of the responsibility. Earlier quite opposed to her job, by the end of a few trials and tribulations and many laughs, Sallie McBride is a changed person. She is a frivolous girl no longer; she has matured into a responsible woman. The name of the novel is the title give by Sallie to the on-site physician, Dr. Robin McRae, whom she always gets into arguments with, but whose wise counsel she always seeks – she, an Irishwoman, and he, a Scotsman. I will say no further, but it is obvious where the story ends.

The point of narrating this is to give a little bit of background before I establish why it’s important. Both these books, similar in their writing style (Webster is hilarious and possesses amazing dry wit – a quality I’ve found to be present in abundance only in Wodehouse so far – not that I’m comparing them; Wodehouse is a class apart), were introduced to me at very different stages of my life. The first I read as a little girl who didn’t know much about the world. My life was my family and friends; I had a sheltered upbringing between school and home. The other, I read as a 22-something-year old. My world is still family and friends, though a lot of priorities have now changed. I am no longer naïve (well, at least not as much as I used to be), I have seen a lot of the good and bad that the world has to offer, been through various dramatic moments in life, and still emerged more or less in one piece, though maybe not entirely unphased. Oh well – that’s life.

But the effect of Dear Enemy is what is important. A person can be irrevocably changed due to his/her experiences in life; I have too. But Dear Enemy evoked in me the same feeling of happiness that Daddy Long Legs did. I wrote a few days ago that “Hope is a brilliant, fascinating thing. No matter what the circumstances, no matter how dire the situation, it refuses to die and burns on...” and the truth of that is resounding in my emotions towards Dear Enemy. You could blame it on the fact that I’m a hopeless romantic – guilty as charged. But the idea that no matter what, the end is happy, and in fact happily ever after, never ceases to give me that warm, fuzzy feeling; to make me happy and to take away, even for just a little while, the veil of constant cynicism that I wear.

Literature, in its simplest form, has had a tremendous effect – on a 10-year old, and a 22-year old.

Just saying – A contrarian view

I disagree. More often than not, I disagree with the views of those around me (not in general, but in a particular area of my life). Do I disagree to get attention? Do I disagree to irritate them? Much as they might like to believe that is the real reason, the boring truth is, they’re not important enough for me to go through all that trouble.

I like Ajay Devgn and Sunny Deol. I think they’re both hot. I like Uday Chopra, I think he seems like a sweet guy. I love Govinda. I have seen very few do comedy as well as him and I think he’s very endearing. In fact, I think he is a good actor, period (cue movies like Khuddar, Jaisi Karni Waisi Bharni and Shikari, but I’m guessing they haven’t watched any of them). I think Abhishek Bachchan is a fabulous actor. I just wish he’d choose his movies more wisely. They think he looks like a ‘mali’ and can’t act to save his life. In fact, they don’t like any of them. That’s fine. Completely. But do I really need to justify time and again why I like them? Maybe it’s because I had a different kind of exposure growing up. Or maybe my head is just screwed on the wrong way. Either way, why does it matter if I disagree? It doesn’t make me contrarian. Incidentally, if they rolled down the tinted glass windows of their air-conditioned cars, they’d realise I am not the one whose views differ. They need to just step out of the car, and look around them, look at the rest of India — the real India — and I think they will have their answer. Because, as a professor never tired of reminding us, “The three per cent English speakers in this country are not the real India. You are not the real India.”

So when a filmmaker makes a mindless comedy, it’s not for them. When a certain director makes movie which are about ‘loving your parents’ and people actually appreciate it (including me, of course), they shouldn’t be mortified. When someone makes a movie and casts Govinda in it, it is not for them. It is for people like me.

Oh, I also am a propagator of Communism for India and they disagree. But that’s a topic for another day.

Calm Waters

Calm waters,
Stormy skies;
Can there be
A bigger lie?

With the human world
Such is the case,
Where of humanity,
There is scarcely a trace.

A flutter of the breeze
To raging winds turns,
Bringing with it emotions,
Acts and thoughts that burn.

People are transient,
Never here to stay long;
Remember that always;
It’ll help you remain strong.

The sea brings calm,
It makes me forget men;
But there is always someone
To ruin this perfect zen.

A cackling group of girls,
A noisy lot of aunties;
Fat, well-fed businessmen,
Jogging, ogling at women who catch their fancy.

Thoughts abound,
The spirit soars;
As I find myself,
By the shore.

Oh, and how can I forget;
As I think about my wishes,
The self-same aunties,
Sit next to me and discuss dishes!

I try to tune out,
Gazing up at the sky;
Where the moon and a lone planet,
Near the horizon lie.

From where I sit,
The moon seems to throw
Its light on the sea,
Which is aglow.

No romantic ever could resist,
Such a view,
Which is enough to turn
Even a cynic into a lover anew.

The moon has replaced the sun,
And I’ve had my fun;
I’ve even managed to ignore the ladies,
And their talk of curry and patties!

As I leave for
A more mundane destination,
In my head,
I carry only one question:

Calm waters,
Stormy skies;
Can there be
A bigger lie?

THE CHANGE

The inhibitions I had long ago,
Are now all gone;
So is the fear I had then,
Which you thought was just a stubborn pledge I’d sworn.

I no longer shy away,
I am not scared at all,
I do as I please now,
I make my own call.

The thing that separated us then,
Would today be no barrier;
We could’ve been together,
And no soul could’ve been that us merrier.

I was young then,
I needed a guiding hand;
But in you all I found,
Was a sullen man.

The patience which you didn’t show then,
Could’ve paid off today;
We could’ve been happy and gay,
We would’ve done okay.

But I guess that’s water under the bridge now,
Those days won’t return;
I’ve moved on and,
A few lessons I have learned.

You are happy, so am I,
If I ever think of you,
My consolation is that,
Sometimes, so do you.

What it takes to piss someone off

For the longest time, I've been a crusader for the political, judicial, social and defence systems of India. Whenever somebody has called the police 'rishvatkhor', I have pointed out the likes of Hemant Karkare, the ex-ATS chief who died in the line of duty, and others. I am even okay with corrupt politicians, so long as they are doing good work – work that they are meant to do. What is the government doing about the city's infrastructure? I point to the various skywalks which people conveniently forget to use; the bridges that, while they were being built, earned several brickbats for the Shiv Sena (who propagated and pushed for their construction), but which today are a boon for the city.

So when someone who has always backed the country's lawmakers and keepers gets pissed at them, it has to really be the result of absolute frustration – frustration that comes at the end of a feeling of helplessness. Yes, I am pissed off. At the fact that a little girl gets asked to get off the local bus for not having change. At the fact that there is no place to walk on the city's streets. At the fact that people do not follow traffic rules. At the fact that roads are constantly under construction and nothing ever seems to get built. I am complaining for the first time in the 22 years of my existence on Earth. I would like, as a non-complaining individual, to have my issues redressed, by people who genuinely give a damn about the country; enough to drag it back from the hell that it is fast hurtling towards.

The common man complains only when something directly affects him – the same is the case with me. I tried to put up with it – but for how long? I'm not an unreasonable person, one who would knock on the President's door because someone ran a red light. But when every day I have to wait indefinitely to cross the main road because the light at the Saifee Ambulance junction of E. R. Road doesn't mean squat and people have to take a chance and cross on a whim, yes, it pisses me off. I get scared to say ‘no’ to run an errand for my mother. Why? Because if she has to do it herself, she will have to go through that same shit to get to the other side of the road to finish it. But she’s arthritic and can't do the ridiculous dance expected of her to get across a street where there are black and white stripes on the road (as if mocking everyone) and a traffic light just above her head as she waits to cross. At such times, yes, I do get pissed off.

So here’s the deal. What is going to be done about it? Probably nothing. What am I doing about it besides venting my frustration through words? Nothing. But maybe I can appeal to pedestrains to follow signals. Maybe then the vehicle drivers will be shamed into stopping when the light turns red. Maybe I will send this letter to a newspaper’s editor. Maybe I will do something about it. What are you going to do?

AIRBORNE

I was born out of the air,
Meant to live free.
So don't come around now,
Telling me it's not to be.

You don't know me at all,
Know nothing about who I am.
You don't even know from whence I come,
What is my next plan.

Into the future no one can see,
But one can certainly hope;
Hope to make a difference,
No matter on how small a scope.

I learn from my mistakes,
Making amends as I go,
Don't put me on a pedestal,
I'm not a piece to show.

Every little dream of mine
I preciously hold to my heart.
I will do whatever it takes,
To give myself a start.

I'm on my way to glory,
Over the years I've grown;
It won't be too long now,
Before I'm airborne.

From Bombay Meri Jaan to Mumbai Le Le Jaan

Outrage. Anger. Frustration. Bloodlust. These are just some of the emotions coursing through the veins of every Mumbaikar, or at least every Mumbaikar with a conscience at this point in time. The trigger – the Keenan Santos and Reuben Fernandez incident at Amboli.

For those who are unaware — and I don’t know how that possibly might be true — these two young men were stabbed to death for facing up to hooligans who sexually harassed a girl. The question in everyone’s mind is – how could this possibly happen?

The answer is simple – when people around are so dead within their souls, so mindfuckingly numb to everything but that which concerns them directly, then yes, this is possible. And in this incident one might say that the goons were many in number and were armed, which is why nobody tried to help the two bravehearts. Fine. Answer this, then. A colleague at work told me about this incident which drove the final nail in the coffin of Mumbai’s ‘safe’ status, for me. A few days ago, in a BEST bus (and everyone knows how crowded they can be), a man tried to act fresh with a girl. I don’t know details, but, in response, the girl turned around and slapped him. The bastard slapped the girl so hard, that she flew against the railing behind the driver. If this were not enough, the motherfucker tore apart the girl’s shirt and when she slapped him again, he kept molesting her again and again. And how could this POSSIBLY occur in a local bus full of so-called human beings who are fucking-excuses-for-what-call-themselves MEN? Same reason as the Santos/Fernandez incident could take place. And this was even more shameful, considering it was just ONE son-of-a-fucker who was completely unarmed. So yes, maybe the people on the bus were scared and worried about being safe because they had to think of their families. Well, all the men who were on that bus that day, and I hope at least SOME of you see this, I hope you picture your sisters/mothers/wives/girlfriends/grandmothers in place of that girl the next time you think about the episode. THAT is my curse to you. Now let me know if you can sleep peacefully at night. It seems the girl hurled abuses at the ‘men’ before getting off the bus. She called them eunuchs. I wouldn’t have. Because they were not even human, much less eunuchs. I believe eunuchs would stand up against such injustice. And what were the women doing? My friend (and I was disappointed in her for this) was crying. But why couldn’t a couple of women stand up and beat the fuckhead up? All it would take would be two or maybe three women. What happened to their souls? Are they so dead from all the molesting that they go through that it’s become routine? And so this seemed like nothing out of the blue?

All of these mindnumbing incidents have finally convinced me of something which I had known to be true for a while now, but was trying to forget. Others told me that was not the case, and I tried to believe them. But the fact can no longer be ignored – the city is changing. There’s something evil brewing within it, waiting to spread. And the people — the kind who commit such heinous crimes, as well as the kind who stand by and watch while it happens — are the hosts to this parasite. What they don’t realise is that this parasite is going to infect their lives so badly (and I hope to god that it does), that they will beg to die and not be granted that relief.

So yes, there was a time when I, at age 12, could return home all alone from a class at midnight with not a care in the world. Today, a decade later at 22, I am a bit apprehensive about travelling alone beyond 10/11pm. These incidents condition women to feel lucky if they return safe at night, rather than feel that it’s their right to be safe in this city that is the Mayanagari. The Mayanagari is changing. The sinister underbelly is boiling. And when nobody gives a fucking rat’s ass about it, the temperature only goes up and, those fuckers out on the streets only get bolder.

The Bombay city of dreams is no more. What has been left behind in its place is a dirty, filthy Mumbai that everyone believes is their oyster, that they can do as they choose with it, because clearly, nobody is going to touch them, no matter what their crime. The CM says the goons who harassed the girl and stabbed Keenan and Reuben should be hanged. Well, I will believe it when I see it. Until then, this city will be alien to me, a city that has gone from being the love of our lives, to the city that wants to snatch our lives.

For anyone who can still claim to have a soul, please, do sign up for this petition: SIGN A PETITION FOR ZERO TOLERANCE Petition | GoPetition

Life's Like That

Life is the cherry,

Upon the Universe’s cake.

You can be merry,

Or put everything at stake.

You could take life as it comes,

Or just let go,

For it will take its own course,

Like a Broadway show.

Put it in hibernate mode

And hit the snooze button;

Before you know it,

Your troubles will be forgotten.

But worry incessantly

And nothing will be got,

Except a massive headache

And you’ll have your happiness shot.

Treat it like a princess,

But remember there’s a catch;

The princess is a Damsel in Distress

To whom you have to prove your match.

So don’t worry my friend,

Whatever will be, will be.

Ke sera or not,

Can any alternative you see?

Most likely you won’t

And in that is a lesson, a fact;

Don’t worry too much,

‘Cause life’s just like that!

Contradictions!

So they say 'Make hay while the sun shines'. But they also say 'Think before you leap'. Okay, so it isn't the best analogy to serve as point and counterpoint. But here's the thing: us humans are a confused lot. Why? Here's why.

How many movies must we have watched wherein the guy falls in love with a girl thinking she's the 'one', but who eventually turns out to be all wrong for him? Who's the right girl for him? His not-so-glamorous best friend, of course. He realises his mistake, and guy and best friend live happily ever after. Now consider this scenario (Note - this scenario is more likely in TV shows): Guy falls in love with girl. Guy asks girl out. Girl says yes, but then things don't work out. OR, girl says no for one of various reasons (career/family/personal morals, etc. etc.) So guy, after moping around for a while, gets over it, and finally finds someone else, someone he's 'truly' happy with. Until he finds out that the 'first' love is real, the current one is, much though he would like to deny it, a sort of consolation. So back he goes to the first love, and now they live happily ever after.

So my question is this: Which of the scenarios does one believe? Or are we just supposed to decide that based on who the 'hero' and 'heroine' of the movie/serial are, and accordingly be happy for the end, whichever way it may go?

This is what I wrote in my SOP: George Eliot asks in Adam Bede, “How is it that the poets have said so many fine things about our first love, so few about our later love?” If she were alive today, I’d have liked to propose a plausible answer to her. Poets talk only about the first love because it is the most intense, the most uncorrupt, the most sacred and the most powerful love. If a person is lucky, that love will stay with them for the rest of their lives. If not, they will learn to love again. But never will they forget that first love.

But how about when Ryan Erikson (no idea who he is, but makes a lot of sense!) says: "The road to finding 'the one' is paved with a bit of promiscuity."

Having said that, though, I come back to the same point I made earlier. Which is correct? Which do you believe?

Confusing, us humans are!

All that is wrong

There are days when you manage to forget everything. All your worries, all your pain. One almost succeeds in convincing oneself that all is well with the world.

But then something happens. Something that reminds us that all isn't really well. It could be a look from a neighbour, a word from a colleague, the silence of a friend, the elusiveness of a best mate - that's all it takes to remind us of all that is wrong in their world; that's all it take to remind of all that is wrong in ours.

Yes, so hang me, it's in defense of Sachin!

A friend suggested I read this post, not without good prior warning. The warning: not something you will like, but check it. So check it, I did. What was the post about? It was pretty much a question mark about Sachin Tendulkar's greatness. Yes, the author does say, "This isn't a criticism. Though it probably should be. This is more like a plea," but the question that he raises remains the same. Why did Sachin fail us at Lord's?

Now, yes, I am a self-confessed psycho Tendulkar fan who doesn't understand how or even why anybody can have anything against this man. But that aside, I can read a negative post about him (after much hemming and hawing) if it is constructively written. This one, though, I believe isn't constructive at all. It mentions that Sachin has the ability to block out everything else and concentrate on his game. A commendable quality indeed, the author agrees. But, he argues, Sachin should have taken the energy at Lord's and allowed himself to be driven by that energy to play better than he did. So does that mean, in effect, that the author wants the God to give up his perfection to garner the energy at Lord’s? Give in this once, to achieve what the author might think is a more desirable result, just to give in every time? And had he done so, who’s to guarantee it would have helped?

Yes, Lara won the Windies that game against Australia, but hasn’t Tendulkar not stuck around irrespective of his personal health to provide support to a side? One may argue about the validity of this claim, but I am certain if asked, a lot of the Indian players will agree that having Tendulkar stand opposite them provides a sense of reassurance unlike any other. Is that any less of an achievement that Lara’s? Lara won them that one match. Again, I do not mean to detract from Lara's achievements. He's one of my favourites too. But Tendulkar won us countless by just ‘being there’. Just let it be known that the man got a century in the first innings at Lord's while suffering from a fever, and I rest my case.

Again, I have nothing (other than complete dumbfoundedness, if it’s a word) against those who are opposed to Sachin. And this author seems not to be one of those men. Pray why, then, this post? You are looking for one Tendulkar moment of glory at Lord’s, I just look forward to the moment when it comes, no matter where.

Mumbai Blasts

Having recently returned from a holiday, I thought my next post would be about the experiences I had there. But that will have to wait. Another thing must take precedence over it. A more important, but a far sadder event.

The Mumbai blasts which took place today, July 13, 2011 - at Opera House, Dadar and Zaveri Bazar - were a really sad welcome to the city. So far, over 20 lives have been lost and more than 100 people have been injured. Amid all this, there are rumours floating around about terrorist Ajmal Kasab - it is said it's his birthday today. Then they say it was a false alarm; then again they claim that it is his birthday according to the Urdu calendar. I have one question - Who the F cares when the man was born, when all we are praying for at this point is when he will die?!

It's at times like these that one really appreciates life. I was in Zaveri Bazaar just a week ago; a friend was there until 5 minutes before the blast happened! How is one supposed to know which place is safe anymore? Of course we can't know. So we're just supposed to say a little prayer and step out of the house, hoping we'll get back safely. WHY?

As Naseeruddin Shah says in A Wednesday, "We're not resilient by choice, we're resilient by force". Do we choose to be resilient now? But if we do, are we going to be forced to retaliate in a much worse way in the not-so-distant future?

Voices in my head

Voices in my head,

Are you all dead?

You’re supposed to warn me,

Not to do anything stupid.

Instead you desert me,

Just when I need it.

And then I do what I most fear,

Speak before I think, putting in danger all that I hold dear.

Before you know it,

The earth has from under me shifted;

Shifted so that I am buried,

Deep into an abyss towards which I had for long drifted.

But it’s your fault, oh voices,

For not warning me.

For not alerting me to the dangers that lurk beyond,

For not telling me anew,

How crazy things can get,

If I don’t listen to you.

Voices in my head,

You used to tell me all;

You used to remind me,

Of things great and small.

And yet now you are silent,

Silent as a lamb,

Leaving me to fight,

This battle damned.

Oh voices in my head,

It’s true I cursed you;

Asked you to go away,

But you took it literally, and silently faded away.

Into the night you’re gone,

But my pain hasn’t receded;

And all that could go wrong

Without you, has in coming true succeeded.

Voices in my head,

Now I’m paying for not listening to you,

But it is your fault,

For I loved, and you didn’t stop me too.

TIME MENDS

It starts with 'hi',

Moving on to a joke;

Before you know it,

You're a gone bloke.

The friendship deepens,

The ties grow strong,

You feel like you have

A shoulder to cry on.

And even though that's true,

You're misreading it my dear,

For of breaking their heart,

You should have no fear.

For they never loved you,

At least not in the way you thought,

And now you're just someone

With their nerves fraught.

But that doesn't really matter,

For you're still a friend,

And every other sorrow,

Time will mend.

Over You

Does it sound like the title of a song?

I don't care,

‘Coz I swear,

I have moved on.

It took a while,

That is certainly true,

But don't turn blue,

With you now I am through.

All the yearning,

The pain, the love songs,

Make me feel nothing,

‘Coz I have moved on.

You'd moved on a while ago,

You seemed to be happy too.

But it took a little longer still,

For me to not love you.

I was tired of not knowing

When I'd be free,

Of thinking incessantly

If you were missing me.

But of course you weren't;

You had started anew,

Leaving me with nothing

But memories few.

Well I guess it was worth it,

Knowing why it didn't work with you,

In the future I will make sure;

Now I know what to do.

You were intelligent and romantic,

You knew just what to say,

To make me forget my anger,

To make my resolve sway.

But you thought too much of yourself,

Blaming me and calling me names;

Never did you stop to think,

Was there any truth to your claims?

I loved you deeply,

More than you'll ever know,

And you thought my reluctance

Was my ego.

And so you had to look better,

Never could you be vulnerable,

And so you put an end

To this lovely fable.

If your pride can be hurt then,

Mine can be dented too,

And if you hadn't stopped me,

I would still have said no to you.

Three long years it has been,

Since that fateful day,

And how much I suffered since then,

I can't even begin to say.

Our paths separated long ago,

Though I kept looking back,

But I won't any more,

‘Coz I've taken a different track.

I took a turn;

An unknown bend,

But without you there,

My heart has had time to mend.

So here's wishing you a happy life,

One that is safe and long,

I can wish for all these things,

Because buddy, I've moved on.

Us

What happened

To the eight of Us?

Why are there

So few left to trust?

The first one went,

No one knew for sure why.

It seemed another one of us was the reason,

Though it was denied.

The second one left,

Greener pastures he’d found.

But did that mean he had to quit,

This friendship sound?

The third went too,

His pride being hurt,

Another one of Us was the cause,

This thought did in that person’s mind lurk.

The fourth had

News horizons to explore,

But he’s not really gone;

The hope is that he’ll stick around some more.

The fifth left too,

On a bad note,

Sad though it is,

One of us had yet again rocked the boat.

That leaves just three,

Who need to adjust;

Look beyond the friendships,

Which have turned to dust.

If so many have left

Because of each other,

It may seem like

They’re not meant to be together.

But that is untrue,

For if one leaves due to the other,

The remaining will

Still worry and bother.

But there’ll never be eight again,

And it’s certainly not just,

That now there are only three,

Instead of eight of Us.

Back Again

No, my English is not poor,
I mean what I say.
Someone I thought long gone
Is back, but is he here to stay?

The last time we parted,
There was a lot of sorrow.
And that is something
Which, I don’t want on the morrow.

So what is the problem you say,
Just walk away,
I wish it were that easy,
For a person not to sway.

He was here again today,
Being very nice,
But in his eyes I saw,
All the old lies.

So there, I’ve done it,
I have sent him back,
And if he ever comes back again,
I’ll not be a jack(ass)!!