Back in the mid 90s, Joe DiMaggio was just a name in a song (the classic "Mrs. Robinson) - something surprising considering I'd like to think I've been a Yankee fan since I was 4 or 5 (when my aunt and uncle gave me a Yankees tshirt). It was only when he passed on, that I realized his on- and off-field exploits. Back then he probably fit the bill of a 'gentleman', considering the fact that he was married to Ms. Monroe, and the way he took care of things once she passed on. Today, his baseball prowess
I didn't even know he had a younger brother, the Little Professor. It was only after reading Halberstam's masterpiece "The Teammates" that I got to know about friendships and baseball, and life in general for four legends. Ted Williams had an air of arrogance about him, in life (and possibly in death). There was not much in the book about the modern-day Bobby Doerr. But Pesky and DiMaggio came across as humble folks - quiet and unassuming. I wonder if Pesky still suits up for the Red Sox like he used to.
And so, today, we wonder..."Where have you gone....."
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Rediscovering Malayalam literature
Every time I go back home, I get more addicted to Indian writing. This time was no different, with Ramachandra Guha's "India After Gandhi" being largely polished off on the train to Bangalore, while "Sea of Poppies" was my companion on the flight back to the US. "The Last Mughal" was left half-read, while MT Vasudevan Nair's "Naalukettu" was unread when I left India.
Achan described it as an 'emotionally charged' book, and that made me decide to keep it for a sunny day. And am I glad that I did not read it in India, at a time when you relive so many memories in the space of three weeks. Just reading it brought back the sights, sounds, and smells of summer vacations spent in Thrissur. Although everything was relatively drama-free in reality, I could relate with the events narrated in the book. The politics of the family, the socio-economic divisions, the rituals all struck a chord. Rarely does a book leave me with a sense of being hit by a cyclone, and "Naalukettu" did just that. The story climaxes in the last twenty pages or so, leaving the reader with a sense of wonder. Somehow, there seems to be something incomplete in the story, and one can only conjecture.
I think Gita Krishnankutty has done a wonderful job of translating the original version from Malayalam, and I hope to see MT's masterpiece "Randa moozham" (Second Turn) translated and out in the market soon. The story deals with the Mahabharatha, told through the eyes of Bheema. Prem Panicker (formerly of cricket-blogging fame, I dare say) has a wonderful take on the storyline, with his own personal touch here. It's like I have often wondered what the Mahabharatha would sound like if it were to be retold from Karna's point of view.
PS: My previous post on discovering Malayalam literature is here.
Update from April 2009: I managed to pick up and go through a copy of "Randa moozham" thanks to that treasure trove for all grad students - an inter-library loan.
Achan described it as an 'emotionally charged' book, and that made me decide to keep it for a sunny day. And am I glad that I did not read it in India, at a time when you relive so many memories in the space of three weeks. Just reading it brought back the sights, sounds, and smells of summer vacations spent in Thrissur. Although everything was relatively drama-free in reality, I could relate with the events narrated in the book. The politics of the family, the socio-economic divisions, the rituals all struck a chord. Rarely does a book leave me with a sense of being hit by a cyclone, and "Naalukettu" did just that. The story climaxes in the last twenty pages or so, leaving the reader with a sense of wonder. Somehow, there seems to be something incomplete in the story, and one can only conjecture.
I think Gita Krishnankutty has done a wonderful job of translating the original version from Malayalam, and I hope to see MT's masterpiece "Randa moozham" (Second Turn) translated and out in the market soon. The story deals with the Mahabharatha, told through the eyes of Bheema. Prem Panicker (formerly of cricket-blogging fame, I dare say) has a wonderful take on the storyline, with his own personal touch here. It's like I have often wondered what the Mahabharatha would sound like if it were to be retold from Karna's point of view.
PS: My previous post on discovering Malayalam literature is here.
Update from April 2009: I managed to pick up and go through a copy of "Randa moozham" thanks to that treasure trove for all grad students - an inter-library loan.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Memories of a Principal - Part II
I happened to watch an old episode of NDTV's "Walk the Talk" with Shekhar Gupta this morning, and it kindled some more memories of Mr. Lewis. The guest on show was the inimitable Harsha Bhogle, a man who always brings a smile to my face when I hear him talk about cricket and life in general. (I bet the Aussies feel the same way about Richie Benaud). The venue for the interview was the Bombay Gymkhana, steeped in tradition and history (with due apologies to the Madras Cricket Club, the other 'club' I have grown to admire so much), as the first venue in India to stage a Test match.
Considering the silent, serene glory of the place, it was always my dream to play a game at "Bombay Gym", as we always called it. And play I did, not once but on three or four occasions thanks to Mr. Lewis. The results were embarrassing (score-wise and clothes-wise), but to a teenage boy who grew up literally worshipping the wood and the grass of Bombay Gym, the moments spent there were some of the most priceless ones. I am not sure too many of the kids who go to the Cricket Club of India (CCI)/Brabourne Stadium and Bombay Gym realize the historical importance of the floors they walk.
One of those games was an inter-house one, which was supposed to be rugby (or rugger as Mr. Lewis called it!) but was more like a free-for-all melee in the slush. I am sure a seasoned rugby follower would have been dismayed at what he saw, if he were present. All the same, the game never really took off at Campion in the mid-90s (possibly since it was seen as another "Cathedral" thing introduced at Campion), and I guess 1990-1993 would probably be the only time Campionites ever tried their hands at rugby!
In my first five years at Campion, we rarely saw any celebrities. But thanks to Mr. Lewis we had a whole set of high-fliers making visits to our humble 13 Cooperage Road. Vijay Amritraj had to watch his head when he ducked into our 5th std. classroom one afternoon, while WWF's "Macho Man" (aka Randy Savage) must have grimaced in agony when he was introduced as the "Muncho man". But the crowning moment was in March 1996, when the Windies cricket team who were in India for the World Cup, stopped by Campion for some chai and biscuits.
The dusty football ground was converted into a makeshift cricket pitch, and one Brian Charles Lara took massive swings at deliveries bowled by the Campion pace quartet which featured a trundler who went by the moniker of "Soultan of Swing". I could see the genial, bearded Andy Roberts (who was the manager of the team) shake his head in absolute disapproval as ball after ball disappeared into oblivion. Lara of course refused to sign autographs for us, dismissing us with a wave of his hands, prompting someone to ask if his initials actually stood for something else. Jimmy Adams on the other hand, signed every book that came his way, and probably missed out on his share of tea for his troubles. Jimmy was one of the most soft-spoken cricketers I have met, someone who always had time to chat a bit while signing autographs, and he's been forgiven for all the padding he did against the Indian spinners while amassing 500 odd runs in the test series the previous winter, earning him the sobriquet of "Padams". And oh yes, Mr. Lewis made the poor cricketers stand through our school anthem and some prayers, and ofcourse "ineez hands". It worked for the Windies, as they won all their matches from that point on, going all the way to the semi-finals, where they stumbled at the last hurdle against the Aussies!
PS: I suddenly think that this sounds like Tom Brown's Schooldays! A student's tribute to his headmaster! And oh, there's rugby thrown in there too!
Considering the silent, serene glory of the place, it was always my dream to play a game at "Bombay Gym", as we always called it. And play I did, not once but on three or four occasions thanks to Mr. Lewis. The results were embarrassing (score-wise and clothes-wise), but to a teenage boy who grew up literally worshipping the wood and the grass of Bombay Gym, the moments spent there were some of the most priceless ones. I am not sure too many of the kids who go to the Cricket Club of India (CCI)/Brabourne Stadium and Bombay Gym realize the historical importance of the floors they walk.
One of those games was an inter-house one, which was supposed to be rugby (or rugger as Mr. Lewis called it!) but was more like a free-for-all melee in the slush. I am sure a seasoned rugby follower would have been dismayed at what he saw, if he were present. All the same, the game never really took off at Campion in the mid-90s (possibly since it was seen as another "Cathedral" thing introduced at Campion), and I guess 1990-1993 would probably be the only time Campionites ever tried their hands at rugby!
In my first five years at Campion, we rarely saw any celebrities. But thanks to Mr. Lewis we had a whole set of high-fliers making visits to our humble 13 Cooperage Road. Vijay Amritraj had to watch his head when he ducked into our 5th std. classroom one afternoon, while WWF's "Macho Man" (aka Randy Savage) must have grimaced in agony when he was introduced as the "Muncho man". But the crowning moment was in March 1996, when the Windies cricket team who were in India for the World Cup, stopped by Campion for some chai and biscuits.
The dusty football ground was converted into a makeshift cricket pitch, and one Brian Charles Lara took massive swings at deliveries bowled by the Campion pace quartet which featured a trundler who went by the moniker of "Soultan of Swing". I could see the genial, bearded Andy Roberts (who was the manager of the team) shake his head in absolute disapproval as ball after ball disappeared into oblivion. Lara of course refused to sign autographs for us, dismissing us with a wave of his hands, prompting someone to ask if his initials actually stood for something else. Jimmy Adams on the other hand, signed every book that came his way, and probably missed out on his share of tea for his troubles. Jimmy was one of the most soft-spoken cricketers I have met, someone who always had time to chat a bit while signing autographs, and he's been forgiven for all the padding he did against the Indian spinners while amassing 500 odd runs in the test series the previous winter, earning him the sobriquet of "Padams". And oh yes, Mr. Lewis made the poor cricketers stand through our school anthem and some prayers, and ofcourse "ineez hands". It worked for the Windies, as they won all their matches from that point on, going all the way to the semi-finals, where they stumbled at the last hurdle against the Aussies!
PS: I suddenly think that this sounds like Tom Brown's Schooldays! A student's tribute to his headmaster! And oh, there's rugby thrown in there too!
Friday, February 20, 2009
Memories of a Principal
I was in the fifth standard when Mr. John Lewis took over as the Principal at Campion. Since he was the Vice-Principal at Cathedral before switching to Campion, I remember some degree of worry over how well he would "Cathedralize" the school. Almost 20 years down the line, I can sit back and reminisce, and realize what a huge difference he made to Campion. He is the only Principal I interacted with on a personal level, so it would be unfair to draw any comparisons with any of the other illustrious principals.
Mr. Lewis was moulded as a young man by the great Dr. Kuruvila Jacob, who was Principal at Cathedral when he joined, or so he told my parents. Maths was his passion, and each and everyone of his students will remember his Rs. 15 mathematics book and his encouraging words of "The more I practice, the more I score, and score I must". He introduced a plethora of co-curricular activities at school, including the much dreaded gymnastics which became a part of every PT period during the monsoons when we could not play outside in the Back Gardens! House games were dismissed as a bane initially, but today I look back and realize how much fun we had, the wind in our hair, often playing well beyond time, with the sun making its slow descent into the evening.
Introducing the fourth house (Berchmans) was a master-stroke, since it created a situation where there would be one house in every competition which would be left without even the wooden spoon. It divided a lot of us, who had spent 5 solid years fighting for Loyola; but at the same time it made us strive harder to do well, since we peace-loving Loyolaites were rather happy getting our bronze-medals without much effort. And who can forget the one day in January every year when bus-loads of bleary-eyed teenagers would be transported to an absolute dustbowl called the Aarey Milk Colony and made to run through streams, slush, bush and brambles as part of what was dubbed the Annual Cross-Country Race. The dust-bowl had been witness to one of the greatest battles in the annals of Indian television, and the place was strewn with the remnants of the various 'chariots' of the heroes from BR Chopra's epic "Mahabharatha". I'd love to say that it made a jogger out of me, and stressed the importance of fitness.
The morning assemblies were quite a lot of fun, with the introduction of Mr. Lewis' little red book aka the hymnal. Every student was expected to have a hymnal, and sing the hymns with gusto every day. It had about 50 hymns, but Mr. Lewis had his favorites and needless to say I can sing "Give me oil in my lamp" and "Whole world in His hands" if you wake me up in the middle of the night! Some time in the 8th, we caught on to Mr. Lewis' pronounciation of "in his" and for a good three years we enjoyed singing that the good Lord had the "whole world INEEEEEEEEEEZ hands", much to the consternation of Mr. Eddie Noronha and Mr. Alvaro. My classmates still have not forgotten the day he sang the Cathedral school song instead of "Campion Calls...", and topped it off with some hums and la-la's once he realized his mistake!
I have a lot to thank the gentleman for, personally. He paid for an ambulance once, the first time I twisted my knee and made sure that I got taken care of at Bombay Hospital. My mother was quite amused to hear him chuckle about how he had "his parents working at Bombay Hospital" and how it was not a huge deal to make sure that I was well taken care of. She had visions of a school principal's parents slogging it out at the hospital - she still remembers him for that. He was a strict man, but he softened up to me after all the quizzes and debates I participated in; even letting me bunk one Chemistry lab (much to Mr. Colaco's irritation) and watch a couple of good friends from Cathedral debate against Hiranandani Foundation.
Idiosyncrasies aside, he was a good man, and he probably did a lot more for Campion than we realized or gave him credit for back then (or today for that matter). Mr. John S. Lewis passed away this morning. To scores of Campionites who saw the 'good times' in the 90's with him, he will be saluted as he moves on to Elysian Fields to join the pantheon of other Campion/Cathedral greats. He's now well and truly "ineez" hands, and He will take good care of him!
Mr. Lewis was moulded as a young man by the great Dr. Kuruvila Jacob, who was Principal at Cathedral when he joined, or so he told my parents. Maths was his passion, and each and everyone of his students will remember his Rs. 15 mathematics book and his encouraging words of "The more I practice, the more I score, and score I must". He introduced a plethora of co-curricular activities at school, including the much dreaded gymnastics which became a part of every PT period during the monsoons when we could not play outside in the Back Gardens! House games were dismissed as a bane initially, but today I look back and realize how much fun we had, the wind in our hair, often playing well beyond time, with the sun making its slow descent into the evening.
Introducing the fourth house (Berchmans) was a master-stroke, since it created a situation where there would be one house in every competition which would be left without even the wooden spoon. It divided a lot of us, who had spent 5 solid years fighting for Loyola; but at the same time it made us strive harder to do well, since we peace-loving Loyolaites were rather happy getting our bronze-medals without much effort. And who can forget the one day in January every year when bus-loads of bleary-eyed teenagers would be transported to an absolute dustbowl called the Aarey Milk Colony and made to run through streams, slush, bush and brambles as part of what was dubbed the Annual Cross-Country Race. The dust-bowl had been witness to one of the greatest battles in the annals of Indian television, and the place was strewn with the remnants of the various 'chariots' of the heroes from BR Chopra's epic "Mahabharatha". I'd love to say that it made a jogger out of me, and stressed the importance of fitness.
The morning assemblies were quite a lot of fun, with the introduction of Mr. Lewis' little red book aka the hymnal. Every student was expected to have a hymnal, and sing the hymns with gusto every day. It had about 50 hymns, but Mr. Lewis had his favorites and needless to say I can sing "Give me oil in my lamp" and "Whole world in His hands" if you wake me up in the middle of the night! Some time in the 8th, we caught on to Mr. Lewis' pronounciation of "in his" and for a good three years we enjoyed singing that the good Lord had the "whole world INEEEEEEEEEEZ hands", much to the consternation of Mr. Eddie Noronha and Mr. Alvaro. My classmates still have not forgotten the day he sang the Cathedral school song instead of "Campion Calls...", and topped it off with some hums and la-la's once he realized his mistake!
I have a lot to thank the gentleman for, personally. He paid for an ambulance once, the first time I twisted my knee and made sure that I got taken care of at Bombay Hospital. My mother was quite amused to hear him chuckle about how he had "his parents working at Bombay Hospital" and how it was not a huge deal to make sure that I was well taken care of. She had visions of a school principal's parents slogging it out at the hospital - she still remembers him for that. He was a strict man, but he softened up to me after all the quizzes and debates I participated in; even letting me bunk one Chemistry lab (much to Mr. Colaco's irritation) and watch a couple of good friends from Cathedral debate against Hiranandani Foundation.
Idiosyncrasies aside, he was a good man, and he probably did a lot more for Campion than we realized or gave him credit for back then (or today for that matter). Mr. John S. Lewis passed away this morning. To scores of Campionites who saw the 'good times' in the 90's with him, he will be saluted as he moves on to Elysian Fields to join the pantheon of other Campion/Cathedral greats. He's now well and truly "ineez" hands, and He will take good care of him!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Happy birthday Vishy!
One of the greatest Indian cricketers turned 60 the other day. GR Viswanath was the classiest cricketer in every sense, according to Achan. According to him, the greatness of a batsman was defined not by the records he broke, but by the way he got out. People still talk about the absolute beauty of a yorker he got from Imran in the 1982-83 series, which came out of nowhere to hit the stumps. There aren't too many videos around of Vishy's artistry, and to today's YouTube/20-20 generation, he will remain just another name in the annals of Indian cricket. But he was probably one of the most technically correct batsmen to have every played for India - the other two being Sunny Gavaskar and the man who used to be called Rahul Dravid (there's an impostor who's been on the loose the last year or so).
The knock he will forever be remember for was the 97 he smashed against a rampaging Windies pace attack at the Chepauk in 1975, which was ranked 38th on Wisden's Top 100 innings by batsmen. According to the master himself, he ranked the century he made in the previous test at the Eden Gardens as his personal favorite. The interview with Cricinfo is a delight to read, and one can imagine Vishy with his infectiously naughty grin reminiscing on his career!
The knock he will forever be remember for was the 97 he smashed against a rampaging Windies pace attack at the Chepauk in 1975, which was ranked 38th on Wisden's Top 100 innings by batsmen. According to the master himself, he ranked the century he made in the previous test at the Eden Gardens as his personal favorite. The interview with Cricinfo is a delight to read, and one can imagine Vishy with his infectiously naughty grin reminiscing on his career!
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Baseball- it is what it is!
Now that A-Rod stands accused of steroid-use, Jayson Stark writes about what the Baseball Hall of Fame might look like soon. And it is a huge shock when you consider the full meaning of what might be:
The all-time hits leader (Mr. Peter E. Rose) won't be in the Hall of Fame.
The all-time home run leader (assuming that's where A-Rod's highway leads him) won't be in the Hall of Fame.
The man who broke Hank Aaron's career record (Barry Bonds) won't be in the Hall.
The man who broke Roger Maris' single-season record (Mark McGwire) won't be in the Hall.
The man who was once the winningest right-handed pitcher of the live-ball era (Roger Clemens) won't be in the Hall.
The man with the most 60-homer seasons in baseball history (Sammy Sosa) doesn't look like he's headed for the Hall, either.
Back in 1998, I followed the home-run chase with bated breath, catching up on all the latest news on the 8pm CNN World Sport bulletin. I dare say everyone was drunk with the power of the bat, waiting and hoping that Roger Maris' record would fall. Back then Roger Maris was just a name for me, but today he is a demi-god who belted the ball like no one except possibly The Babe, that too without 'juicing himself' - and mind you, he is not in the Hall of Fame.
The change in Bonds was visible to one and all, as his head just ballooned (or maybe it was just his ego). McGwire too bulked up, and cut a sorry figure with his self-induced amnesia at the Congressional hearings in 2005. Sammy Sosa became a bundle of bumbles at the same hearing, while good old Rafael Paleiro wagged his index finger like Mr. Clinton and claimed "I did not have relations with that woman"....oops..."I have never used steroids".
Which begs the question about A-Rod? Well, like Mr. McNamee said: It is what it is!
The all-time hits leader (Mr. Peter E. Rose) won't be in the Hall of Fame.
The all-time home run leader (assuming that's where A-Rod's highway leads him) won't be in the Hall of Fame.
The man who broke Hank Aaron's career record (Barry Bonds) won't be in the Hall.
The man who broke Roger Maris' single-season record (Mark McGwire) won't be in the Hall.
The man who was once the winningest right-handed pitcher of the live-ball era (Roger Clemens) won't be in the Hall.
The man with the most 60-homer seasons in baseball history (Sammy Sosa) doesn't look like he's headed for the Hall, either.
Back in 1998, I followed the home-run chase with bated breath, catching up on all the latest news on the 8pm CNN World Sport bulletin. I dare say everyone was drunk with the power of the bat, waiting and hoping that Roger Maris' record would fall. Back then Roger Maris was just a name for me, but today he is a demi-god who belted the ball like no one except possibly The Babe, that too without 'juicing himself' - and mind you, he is not in the Hall of Fame.
The change in Bonds was visible to one and all, as his head just ballooned (or maybe it was just his ego). McGwire too bulked up, and cut a sorry figure with his self-induced amnesia at the Congressional hearings in 2005. Sammy Sosa became a bundle of bumbles at the same hearing, while good old Rafael Paleiro wagged his index finger like Mr. Clinton and claimed "I did not have relations with that woman"....oops..."I have never used steroids".
Which begs the question about A-Rod? Well, like Mr. McNamee said: It is what it is!
Friday, February 06, 2009
Invincible....
There is a song which rings so true nowadays....called "Invincible" by Pat Benatar, written way back in 1985!
We cant afford to be innocent
Stand up and face the enemy
Its a do or die situation
We will be invincible
And with the power of conviction
There is no sacrifice
Its a do or die situation
We will be INVINCIBLE....
That's what the armed forces (and the heroes of 26/11 believe in)....the power of conviction...no sacrifices....they will be INVINCIBLE. The pols are a different story, I guess!
We cant afford to be innocent
Stand up and face the enemy
Its a do or die situation
We will be invincible
And with the power of conviction
There is no sacrifice
Its a do or die situation
We will be INVINCIBLE....
That's what the armed forces (and the heroes of 26/11 believe in)....the power of conviction...no sacrifices....they will be INVINCIBLE. The pols are a different story, I guess!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Sashti-poorthi of the Republic
Our Republic turned 60 today, and like every 60 year old has had more than its share of crests and troughs.
For many of us Republic Day was just another holiday, with flag-hoisting ceremonies in school and in our apartment complexes. Some of us preferred to bunk school, as 'anyway there was no teacher taking attendance', and stay at home. For others, it was exciting to watch each state try to outdo the other with colorful floats which made their way down Rajpath. But what really touched a chord was the co-ordinated marchpast of the various services, along with the children who won Bravery Awards astride their elephants.
A variety of civilian and military awards have been announced. Controversies aside, it was but expected that heroes from 26/11 got their share of recognition. The fact that Tukaram Ombale will be honored with a posthumous Ashoka Chakra is rather refreshing. His tale of bravery is something which must not be forgotten, in a nation which forgets its true heroes easily. It takes a lion's heart to unflinchingly (and not to forget unarmed) take on a terrorist armed with an AK-47 rifle.
And so today, while we salute those who have won awards for bravery, we also pay tribute to those who have laid down their lives and go un-named in battliefieds ranging from the snows of Siachen to the dusty deserts of Northern Africa. There is a poem we learnt in school called "Pushp ki Abhilasha" by Makhanlal Chaturvedi, which rings so true every day, especially today:
Translation by Prashant (Courtesy of Arch at Rang)
I don't want to be a part of the necklace of the beautiful girl,
I don't want to woo the lady love,
I don't want to be spread over dead bodies,
I don't want to act snob, after someone offers me to the Gods
Just pluck me Gardner and throw me on the road,
which is taken by the brave soldiers to give away their lives for the Motherland !
Profound words, indeed!
For many of us Republic Day was just another holiday, with flag-hoisting ceremonies in school and in our apartment complexes. Some of us preferred to bunk school, as 'anyway there was no teacher taking attendance', and stay at home. For others, it was exciting to watch each state try to outdo the other with colorful floats which made their way down Rajpath. But what really touched a chord was the co-ordinated marchpast of the various services, along with the children who won Bravery Awards astride their elephants.
A variety of civilian and military awards have been announced. Controversies aside, it was but expected that heroes from 26/11 got their share of recognition. The fact that Tukaram Ombale will be honored with a posthumous Ashoka Chakra is rather refreshing. His tale of bravery is something which must not be forgotten, in a nation which forgets its true heroes easily. It takes a lion's heart to unflinchingly (and not to forget unarmed) take on a terrorist armed with an AK-47 rifle.
And so today, while we salute those who have won awards for bravery, we also pay tribute to those who have laid down their lives and go un-named in battliefieds ranging from the snows of Siachen to the dusty deserts of Northern Africa. There is a poem we learnt in school called "Pushp ki Abhilasha" by Makhanlal Chaturvedi, which rings so true every day, especially today:
पुष्प की अभिलाषा
- माखनलाल चतुर्वेदी (Makhanlal Chaturvedi)
चाह नहीं मैं सुरबाला के
गहनों में गूँथा जाऊँ
चाह नहीं, प्रेमी-माला में
बिंध प्यारी को ललचाऊँ
चाह नहीं, सम्राटों के शव
पर हे हरि, डाला जाऊँ
चाह नहीं, देवों के सिर पर
चढ़ूँ भाग्य पर इठलाऊँ
मुझे तोड़ लेना वनमाली
उस पथ पर देना तुम फेंक
मातृभूमि पर शीश चढ़ाने
जिस पर जावें वीर अनेक ।।
Translation by Prashant (Courtesy of Arch at Rang)
I don't want to be a part of the necklace of the beautiful girl,
I don't want to woo the lady love,
I don't want to be spread over dead bodies,
I don't want to act snob, after someone offers me to the Gods
Just pluck me Gardner and throw me on the road,
which is taken by the brave soldiers to give away their lives for the Motherland !
Profound words, indeed!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Waiting for the Mahatma
While I read RK Narayan's "Waiting for the Mahatma", for a lot of folks, their wait for their "Mahatma" finally came to an end at the stroke of noon. History was made, as Barack Hussein Obama was finally sworn in as President. The expectations are high, a sense of hope pervades the current economic nadir, and Obama has been clear that he is going to take on whatever comes his way head-on. Hindsight (which is always 20:20) twenty years down the line will tell us if the euphoria was really worth it!
There's something about Obama (with due apologies to Mary). It takes a lot to get ordinary people (who have absolutely no say in the American political process) excited over your speeches, hopes and plans. The way the man has energized people here can only evoke comparisons with the Mahatma himself. People might object to my putting Obama ahead of the Rev. Martin Luther King, but one has to remember that MLK's reach was limited. But that aside, today, a little more than forty years after his (senseless) death his torch has been carried into the White House by Obama. The Reverend and the Mahatma must be smiling, wherever they are.
Gandhiji focused a floundering freedom effort and finally freed us from British shackles. He did it 'his way' (the non-violent one), and it ultimately paid dividends. As we all know, we are a passive society, and it was but natural that the non-violent struggle of Gandhi and his followers trumped the violent one espoused by Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose and his INA. At the same time, I wonder what might have happened had the majority of Indians followed Netaji and taken to the INA. All said and done, he was much more charismatic than the 'half naked Indian fakir' (as Churchill once referred to the Mahatma).
And so today, 60 odd years after Independence, the legacy of Gandhi is sealed and celebrated. He is uniformly hailed as one of the greatest to have walked the face of this earth. But at the same time, the legacy of India as a nation remains blurry. Although Nehru did a lot for the development of a fledgling nation, his greed and arrogance are probably to blame for most of India's ills. Coveting the PM's post was debatably the primary folly (I am not sure what life might have been like had we had Mr. Jinnah as our first PM), and secondary one was his over-indulgence of Krishna Menon's shenanigans which ultimately led to our defeat in the '62 war with China and left Nehru a broken man (so wrote Dr. Ramachandra Guha in his masterpiece on Independent India). In our usual passivity (and the warmth of the whole Hindi-Chini-Bhai-Bhai glow propagated by Nehru) we let the Chinese army overrun our territories. We still remain a passive nation, rarely taking decisive action - the chalta hai attitude pervades.
But still, Chacha-ji is celebrated as a great orator and a fine gentleman, occupying his deserved place in the pantheon of Indian greats. So all said and done, even if Obama is counted as a 'failure' four/eight years down the line, he would unarguably have been one of the greatest orators to have walked this earth. The legacy of his predecessor might look grey right now, but only time will tell!
There's something about Obama (with due apologies to Mary). It takes a lot to get ordinary people (who have absolutely no say in the American political process) excited over your speeches, hopes and plans. The way the man has energized people here can only evoke comparisons with the Mahatma himself. People might object to my putting Obama ahead of the Rev. Martin Luther King, but one has to remember that MLK's reach was limited. But that aside, today, a little more than forty years after his (senseless) death his torch has been carried into the White House by Obama. The Reverend and the Mahatma must be smiling, wherever they are.
Gandhiji focused a floundering freedom effort and finally freed us from British shackles. He did it 'his way' (the non-violent one), and it ultimately paid dividends. As we all know, we are a passive society, and it was but natural that the non-violent struggle of Gandhi and his followers trumped the violent one espoused by Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose and his INA. At the same time, I wonder what might have happened had the majority of Indians followed Netaji and taken to the INA. All said and done, he was much more charismatic than the 'half naked Indian fakir' (as Churchill once referred to the Mahatma).
And so today, 60 odd years after Independence, the legacy of Gandhi is sealed and celebrated. He is uniformly hailed as one of the greatest to have walked the face of this earth. But at the same time, the legacy of India as a nation remains blurry. Although Nehru did a lot for the development of a fledgling nation, his greed and arrogance are probably to blame for most of India's ills. Coveting the PM's post was debatably the primary folly (I am not sure what life might have been like had we had Mr. Jinnah as our first PM), and secondary one was his over-indulgence of Krishna Menon's shenanigans which ultimately led to our defeat in the '62 war with China and left Nehru a broken man (so wrote Dr. Ramachandra Guha in his masterpiece on Independent India). In our usual passivity (and the warmth of the whole Hindi-Chini-Bhai-Bhai glow propagated by Nehru) we let the Chinese army overrun our territories. We still remain a passive nation, rarely taking decisive action - the chalta hai attitude pervades.
But still, Chacha-ji is celebrated as a great orator and a fine gentleman, occupying his deserved place in the pantheon of Indian greats. So all said and done, even if Obama is counted as a 'failure' four/eight years down the line, he would unarguably have been one of the greatest orators to have walked this earth. The legacy of his predecessor might look grey right now, but only time will tell!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Slumdog Millionaire
It was nice to see "Slumdog Millionaire" garner the main prize at the Golden Globes over the weekend. But the brickbats which came its way the next day from the Big B was surprising.to say the least - I dare say it sounded like a case of sour grapes.
Although I have not seen the movie yet (and I look forward to the weekend to tick that off on my to-do list) or read the book (which will arrive soon, I hope), some folks did warn me about the picture it painted of India, and its darker side. I think the average Indian (not very different from me) is caught between two critical issues; the primary feel-good factor of an India-centric movie earning plaudits at a major awards show, while on the other hand (s)he wonders if the gora director is actually taking a condescending dig at India and its poverty. At the same time, if Danny Boyle had shifted locales and the hero actually came from some impoverished corner of England/USA, I doubt anyone would have turned a hair. The fact remains that the film is based on an Indian book, written by an Indian author, so it was but natural for the director to choose an Indian background.
At the same time, the Big B's views got me thinking about our 'colonial hangover'. The venerable Dr. Ramachandra Guha had just written about what he called our 'craving for Western approval' the other day in the Sunday Magazine of the Hindu. The telling line in there is the killer-punch in which he muses on a theory he has "long held about our self-proclaimed patriots — that the more Indian and the more Hindu they claim to be, the more they seek and need certificates from White men."
I cannot really think of a bright, vibrant movie made by a Westerner, using an Indian locale (note: I am not counting Mire Nair's "Monsoon Wedding"). Two 'mainstream' movies which come to mind immediately are "Heat and Dust" and David Lean's masterpiece "A Passage to India". All said and done, the latter plays on a lot of standard Indian stereotypes portrayed in the Western media (and believe it or not, Wikipedia actually has a whole section devoted to these stereotypes!). And the movie had its share of Oscar nominations, in addition to winning the Golden Globe back then for "Best Foreign Film"! I eagerly await the Oscar nominations and the final ceremony (more out of wishing to see if Heath Ledger is nominated and wins for his master-role as the Joker - every time I watch the movie, I appreciate his work even more).
On a slightly tangential note, I happened to watch Santosh Sivan's "Before The Rains" over the weekend on DVD. The camera-work was phenomenal (or were the locales just mind-blowing, I wonder?), the plot rather gripping and the acting was top-notch. I have to admit that Rahul Bose and Nandita Das have horrible accents, both in their Malayalam enunciation as well as their contrived effort to sound earthy and shed their convent-educated accents. But at the same time, I am not sure if a Mohanlal/Mammooty (or any mainstream Malayali actor) would have done justice to Rahul Bose's role - the vulnerability of the man just shines through in his eyes.
Although I have not seen the movie yet (and I look forward to the weekend to tick that off on my to-do list) or read the book (which will arrive soon, I hope), some folks did warn me about the picture it painted of India, and its darker side. I think the average Indian (not very different from me) is caught between two critical issues; the primary feel-good factor of an India-centric movie earning plaudits at a major awards show, while on the other hand (s)he wonders if the gora director is actually taking a condescending dig at India and its poverty. At the same time, if Danny Boyle had shifted locales and the hero actually came from some impoverished corner of England/USA, I doubt anyone would have turned a hair. The fact remains that the film is based on an Indian book, written by an Indian author, so it was but natural for the director to choose an Indian background.
At the same time, the Big B's views got me thinking about our 'colonial hangover'. The venerable Dr. Ramachandra Guha had just written about what he called our 'craving for Western approval' the other day in the Sunday Magazine of the Hindu. The telling line in there is the killer-punch in which he muses on a theory he has "long held about our self-proclaimed patriots — that the more Indian and the more Hindu they claim to be, the more they seek and need certificates from White men."
I cannot really think of a bright, vibrant movie made by a Westerner, using an Indian locale (note: I am not counting Mire Nair's "Monsoon Wedding"). Two 'mainstream' movies which come to mind immediately are "Heat and Dust" and David Lean's masterpiece "A Passage to India". All said and done, the latter plays on a lot of standard Indian stereotypes portrayed in the Western media (and believe it or not, Wikipedia actually has a whole section devoted to these stereotypes!). And the movie had its share of Oscar nominations, in addition to winning the Golden Globe back then for "Best Foreign Film"! I eagerly await the Oscar nominations and the final ceremony (more out of wishing to see if Heath Ledger is nominated and wins for his master-role as the Joker - every time I watch the movie, I appreciate his work even more).
On a slightly tangential note, I happened to watch Santosh Sivan's "Before The Rains" over the weekend on DVD. The camera-work was phenomenal (or were the locales just mind-blowing, I wonder?), the plot rather gripping and the acting was top-notch. I have to admit that Rahul Bose and Nandita Das have horrible accents, both in their Malayalam enunciation as well as their contrived effort to sound earthy and shed their convent-educated accents. But at the same time, I am not sure if a Mohanlal/Mammooty (or any mainstream Malayali actor) would have done justice to Rahul Bose's role - the vulnerability of the man just shines through in his eyes.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Some food for thought on our identity post-26/11
The Campion family lost Sunil Parekh (Class of 1978) and his wife Reshma in the attacks at the Oberoi, and Patrick has a nice tribute to Sunil and Reshma, with a video celebrating his life. The part of the video showing Sunil in full form at a class reunion was touching to say the least!
It's been very interesting to see some articles being posted on the Old Campionites Association website. The batch of 1987 has been the most active, with Aashish Contractor (Britto) and Jai Natarajan (Xavier) writing two brilliant articles (in my humble opinion) capturing the essence of the change we need, and 'change we can believe in'! My venerable schoomaster Mr. Indrajit Panjabi (litterateur and librateur sans pareil) called them pieces worthy of TIME/Newsweek!
Aashish was on the scene at Leopold helping out (he's a doctor), and first wrote about his first-hand experiences here. He has hit the nail on the head in saying that over the past fortnight "One of the greatest hurdles that faces us as a nation today is our tendency to obfuscate issues, and no one has given us greater training in that art, than our politicians." The departure of Mr. Beautiful Idiot (aka Shivraj Patil) and the other Patil (RR) were steps taken forward, but sleepwalked back again (to quote Floyd, and Amit Varma). He goes on to talk about our 'chalta hai' attitude, accepting everything which comes our way, be it the corrupt police-force or lack of basic facilities for half the population, as long as we can live in our plush environs. The solution he proposes, of giving every person a sense of ownership of the safety and prosperity of the city might be a tad tough to accomplish although. I am not sure whether the 'communal issues' went up in flames in 2002, or whether it's been on low simmer since 1990-91 when Mr. Advani decided to go retro in his rath.
Jai on the other hand, has written a more emotional article, mincing no words in stating that "Mumbaikars over decades of greed and rapacity, have destroyed rule of law and corrupted the systems which should have protected us. We are the system. We are the reality of Mumbai. We are its pestilence. It is convenient to demand action, to demand results, somehow, anyhow. Can we believe in a fantasy that a bureaucracy, government and law enforcement apparatus which have never delivered anything meaningful, which we have ourselves strangled over the years, can suddenly start delivering results in one narrow sphere of security?"
He has taken a dispassionate view on the situation, hitting a raw nerve, and I guess a lot of folks will be up in arms after reading his post. What he writes does largely hold true - l do believe that the nation suffers from a slight lack of unity as a whole. And the only reason why such a hue and cry is being raised is due to the fact that the places hit were hangouts and the rich and famous (with all due respect to the people who perished in those unfortunate circumstances). As Jai wrote: "Neither Mr. Tata with his billions nor Mr. Bachchan with his pistol was there to save us on Wednesday night. We were saved by lower middle class jawans who on a normal Sunday would not even be allowed to enter the Taj or Oberoi by the security, who cannot even afford a Thums Up at Souk. Do we even deserve these amazing young men to fight and die for us when every public figure and Page 3 celebrity is on air spewing verbal diarrhea about our fear and trauma?". This is probably the first time we have seen the Page 3 varieties of Bombay come out from their coccoons and speak out. It has always been the common man who has been caught in the crossifire, and I am skeptical about any reasonable 'change' happening (not even Rata Tata as the next Obama).
And so to the solution: Unless we re-engage our civic society as responsible and honest citizens of our own free will, we cannot expect better from our institutions. Let’s start with the hard, thankless and unglamorous task of fixing the broken windows and potholes. We have a very long way to go before reclaiming our Maximum City from what we have allowed it to become. Only then can we show the lead to the rest of the nation as we have always prided ourselves on doing.
Much as this makes sense on paper, I am not sure how practical it is. There is a dire need for us to make our nation more 'secure'; the pothole and window fixing will follow automatically. I know of folks who used to stay at the Oberoi, but then shifted to the Taj Heritage as there were rumors floating around about people of 'questionable character/antecedents' living at the Oberoi on a long-term basis. The agencies probably knew, but they never followed up. Why? Because of the general 'chalta hai' attitude which has percolated throughout our society.
And where does the change have to come? To a large extent, the common man is finally showing signs that he is sick and tired of the politicians who have gotten our nation into this quagmire, and although an honest politician is an oxymoron, realization has finally dawned that we don't need Judas-es. It is clear that corruption needs to slowly weeded out, especially in places where it involves national security. And of course, the security forces need to be prepared for any eventuality and properly equipped to handle it.
We cannot afford to let another 26-11 happen to our nation, at any cost. The signs are there for all to see, the action(s) remains to be taken.
It's been very interesting to see some articles being posted on the Old Campionites Association website. The batch of 1987 has been the most active, with Aashish Contractor (Britto) and Jai Natarajan (Xavier) writing two brilliant articles (in my humble opinion) capturing the essence of the change we need, and 'change we can believe in'! My venerable schoomaster Mr. Indrajit Panjabi (litterateur and librateur sans pareil) called them pieces worthy of TIME/Newsweek!
Aashish was on the scene at Leopold helping out (he's a doctor), and first wrote about his first-hand experiences here. He has hit the nail on the head in saying that over the past fortnight "One of the greatest hurdles that faces us as a nation today is our tendency to obfuscate issues, and no one has given us greater training in that art, than our politicians." The departure of Mr. Beautiful Idiot (aka Shivraj Patil) and the other Patil (RR) were steps taken forward, but sleepwalked back again (to quote Floyd, and Amit Varma). He goes on to talk about our 'chalta hai' attitude, accepting everything which comes our way, be it the corrupt police-force or lack of basic facilities for half the population, as long as we can live in our plush environs. The solution he proposes, of giving every person a sense of ownership of the safety and prosperity of the city might be a tad tough to accomplish although. I am not sure whether the 'communal issues' went up in flames in 2002, or whether it's been on low simmer since 1990-91 when Mr. Advani decided to go retro in his rath.
Jai on the other hand, has written a more emotional article, mincing no words in stating that "Mumbaikars over decades of greed and rapacity, have destroyed rule of law and corrupted the systems which should have protected us. We are the system. We are the reality of Mumbai. We are its pestilence. It is convenient to demand action, to demand results, somehow, anyhow. Can we believe in a fantasy that a bureaucracy, government and law enforcement apparatus which have never delivered anything meaningful, which we have ourselves strangled over the years, can suddenly start delivering results in one narrow sphere of security?"
He has taken a dispassionate view on the situation, hitting a raw nerve, and I guess a lot of folks will be up in arms after reading his post. What he writes does largely hold true - l do believe that the nation suffers from a slight lack of unity as a whole. And the only reason why such a hue and cry is being raised is due to the fact that the places hit were hangouts and the rich and famous (with all due respect to the people who perished in those unfortunate circumstances). As Jai wrote: "Neither Mr. Tata with his billions nor Mr. Bachchan with his pistol was there to save us on Wednesday night. We were saved by lower middle class jawans who on a normal Sunday would not even be allowed to enter the Taj or Oberoi by the security, who cannot even afford a Thums Up at Souk. Do we even deserve these amazing young men to fight and die for us when every public figure and Page 3 celebrity is on air spewing verbal diarrhea about our fear and trauma?". This is probably the first time we have seen the Page 3 varieties of Bombay come out from their coccoons and speak out. It has always been the common man who has been caught in the crossifire, and I am skeptical about any reasonable 'change' happening (not even Rata Tata as the next Obama).
And so to the solution: Unless we re-engage our civic society as responsible and honest citizens of our own free will, we cannot expect better from our institutions. Let’s start with the hard, thankless and unglamorous task of fixing the broken windows and potholes. We have a very long way to go before reclaiming our Maximum City from what we have allowed it to become. Only then can we show the lead to the rest of the nation as we have always prided ourselves on doing.
Much as this makes sense on paper, I am not sure how practical it is. There is a dire need for us to make our nation more 'secure'; the pothole and window fixing will follow automatically. I know of folks who used to stay at the Oberoi, but then shifted to the Taj Heritage as there were rumors floating around about people of 'questionable character/antecedents' living at the Oberoi on a long-term basis. The agencies probably knew, but they never followed up. Why? Because of the general 'chalta hai' attitude which has percolated throughout our society.
And where does the change have to come? To a large extent, the common man is finally showing signs that he is sick and tired of the politicians who have gotten our nation into this quagmire, and although an honest politician is an oxymoron, realization has finally dawned that we don't need Judas-es. It is clear that corruption needs to slowly weeded out, especially in places where it involves national security. And of course, the security forces need to be prepared for any eventuality and properly equipped to handle it.
We cannot afford to let another 26-11 happen to our nation, at any cost. The signs are there for all to see, the action(s) remains to be taken.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Masala in the media
Came across an interesting post on Shiva's blog this morning, raising some fairly pertinent questions about the role of the media (in light of the events of November 26th). He wrote:
Amit was spot-on in his analysis:
I'm sure a lot of us followed cricket matches in school, with the radios carefully hidden underneath our desks. In the middle of a dull Hindi lesson, our antennas would detect a sudden surge in the near-mute commentary (I dare say jabber) emanating from the radios (yes, there were about 7 or 8 of them spread all over class) and heads would suddenly drop, to listen to what the excitement was all about. Sad to say, but the Indian radio commentators of the late 80s through the mid-90s were like rough coir compared to the (supposed) silk of AFS "Bobby" Taleyarkhan (I don't think I have ever heard him, but he is unequivocally considered one of the greatest commentators India has produced). The average radio commentator on AIR was more renowned for his shrieks than for substance. I remember reading somewhere (not sure if it was Harsha Bhogle or Richie Benaud) about the real art of radio commentary being in the ability to paint a picture of what was going on, without unnecessary hype and with minimum words. The same applies to television undoubtedly.
In the end, I cannot really blame the media for the way they deal with the news (and report it), since after all it can only be as good as the general audience it caters to, to use a cliched statement. We love our masalas, be it on the 7pm soap or in our 10pm dinner. So what's wrong if it's in the 9 o'clock news?
PS: Usual disclaimers apply!
It gets worse when it gets sensational and stupid. Picture Barkha Dutt walking up to bedsheets hanging from a window in that cursed hotel talking about how people used that as a lifeline, mindlessly repeating the same thing. Where is the homework? Reportage is like my daughters fighting over who is first. Analysis is about supplying verbiage and making people cry. Presentation is intrusive, voyeuristic and worse, narcissistic.The Thanksgiving weekend was the first time in about five years that I really got hooked to telly signals beamed straight out of India (courtesy CNN-IBN), much to the chagrin of the people around me. Although CNN did carry the Bombay news as its main item, overriding everything else, the choice of experts called in on Wednesday night (EST) was rather poor, with Deepak Chopra and some nondescript bloke (who looked like he had been yanked right out of a club and into the studios, disheveled hair and all) answering Larry King's inane questions, spouting their own weird conspiracy theories. They did have Amit Varma on the show, making it sound like he was in the thick of the action, but sadly Amit "couldn’t offer him any dope there".
Amit was spot-on in his analysis:
....such theories are a consequence of our tendency as a species to want to give gyan. A media pundit, especially, feels compelled to have a narrative for everything. Everything must be explicable, and television expects instant analysis.I think this holds true for all the hoopla that played out on Indian telly channels, causing Shiva to write his anguished post.This is foolish, for sometimes events are complicated, and we simply need to wait for more information to emerge before we can understand it. But many of us—not just the pundits—don’t have the humility to accept that. We want to feel in control, at least on an intellectual level, so reasons and theories emerge. But the world is really far too complicated for us. Yet somehow we muddle along.
I'm sure a lot of us followed cricket matches in school, with the radios carefully hidden underneath our desks. In the middle of a dull Hindi lesson, our antennas would detect a sudden surge in the near-mute commentary (I dare say jabber) emanating from the radios (yes, there were about 7 or 8 of them spread all over class) and heads would suddenly drop, to listen to what the excitement was all about. Sad to say, but the Indian radio commentators of the late 80s through the mid-90s were like rough coir compared to the (supposed) silk of AFS "Bobby" Taleyarkhan (I don't think I have ever heard him, but he is unequivocally considered one of the greatest commentators India has produced). The average radio commentator on AIR was more renowned for his shrieks than for substance. I remember reading somewhere (not sure if it was Harsha Bhogle or Richie Benaud) about the real art of radio commentary being in the ability to paint a picture of what was going on, without unnecessary hype and with minimum words. The same applies to television undoubtedly.
In the end, I cannot really blame the media for the way they deal with the news (and report it), since after all it can only be as good as the general audience it caters to, to use a cliched statement. We love our masalas, be it on the 7pm soap or in our 10pm dinner. So what's wrong if it's in the 9 o'clock news?
PS: Usual disclaimers apply!
Friday, November 28, 2008
Lost for words
A lot has been said (in print and on the telly) about the latest from Bombay. I started writing this post filled with a sense of what I would call 'frustrated anger' (?) at what was happening to the 'city of my youth', as my fellow Campionite Rajdeep Sardesai called it. It's a different story that I was driving in the mountains around the Asheville area, far away from any news-source, and I was on 'simmer mode' all the way on the I-26 and the SC-25. Anger at the people behind the attacks, and frustration at the political elite for obvious reasons. Over the three days the saga played out, I think a more rational outlook on things emerged in my head. I have been lucky not to know of any friends who lost their lives or those of their near and dear ones (touchwood), and am thankful to the "Great Umpire" up there for not raising His dreaded finger. My father was to have stayed at the Taj starting Thursday, but the meeting was canceled! (Note: He used to stay at the Oberoi, but moved out since there were rumors floating around about residents using the premises for questionable purposes
Bombay was home to me for 15 years. When I was three, and I was staying with my grandparents (while Achan set up house in Bombay), Bombay was some magical place in my mind - the proverbial city of dreams. I left in 1998 (from VT; not CST), without bidding it a proper farewell, with the thought that I'd always be back for one more tango. The sad part is that I never went back for more than a weekend, save for a month in the summer of 2001, when I interned with Hindustan Lever at their Sewri factory. For reasons I cannot explain, with every visit back I just felt that the city had changed so much. To draw cliched analogy, it was catching up an old crush - you wonder how it all changed so much and whether it was for the best.
I have walked the streets where it all unfolded god knows how many times. The Taj and Oberoi were hangouts reserved for times when folks visited from the US (and from the mid 90s, my father's chosen hotels when he was in Bombay for meetings), while (all said and done) Leopold was a "slightly shady, downmarket eatery patronised by hippies and harlots" (Vinod Mehta could not have put it better!). Colaba was my neck of the woods, and it felt strange to see so many places I have known so well become terror targets. The Metro theater (now called Metro AdLabs, and thankfully restored to its old glory) was where we often watched movies in school, and ate pizzas from "Intermission" (not sure if it still exists). I do admit that I still am lost as to the exact location of the Nariman House/Jewish Center, but do know that it's somewhere in the vicinity of Colaba Market/Pasta Lanes - I just cannot remember which buildings lie on that road or some friend/acquaintance who lives there (which is often how many of us identify streets and apartment complexes)!
A million questions have been asked, and the wise (wo)men have put forward their own theories. I can only pray and hope that good sense prevails (both amongst the powers that be and the seemingly powerless citizens) and the right moves are made to safeguard the common man, who invariably is the victim of these incidents. Rational thinking is probably the need of the hour, and unfortunately some politicians have resorted to their usual tricks of shooting from the hip, which I think has been shameful. People talk endlessly about the resilience of the people of Bombay, but I think that streak is present in people everywhere, be it NYC, London, Madrid, Bali or even the tsunami-affected areas. It's probably just plain human nature, and not the greatness of the people from one city or another - I guess folks will disagree with me on this one.
Last but not the least, I must acknowledge some folks whose blogs/photos kept me 'in the loop' with their perspectives on the events. I don't mean to sound parochial, but one often tends to relate to the words/sights/sounds of the 'sons of the soil' - they tell it from an angle that seems so familiar.
Amit Varma and his four year old baby "India Uncut"
Prem Panicker and his "Smoke Signals"
Vinu Kumar Ranganathan's Online Cloud and Flickers (of Hope)
Dr. Arun Shanbhag, a fellow Colaba-wallah and Clemson-wallah, one level ahead of me on the Dr. Jonathan Black research tree.
Note: Usual disclaimers apply for this post. I don't mean to sound like a pundit, and write this as an anguished Indian, wondering why this keeps happening to his 'hometown'. A lot of folks from South Mumbai would probably feel the same.
Bombay was home to me for 15 years. When I was three, and I was staying with my grandparents (while Achan set up house in Bombay), Bombay was some magical place in my mind - the proverbial city of dreams. I left in 1998 (from VT; not CST), without bidding it a proper farewell, with the thought that I'd always be back for one more tango. The sad part is that I never went back for more than a weekend, save for a month in the summer of 2001, when I interned with Hindustan Lever at their Sewri factory. For reasons I cannot explain, with every visit back I just felt that the city had changed so much. To draw cliched analogy, it was catching up an old crush - you wonder how it all changed so much and whether it was for the best.
I have walked the streets where it all unfolded god knows how many times. The Taj and Oberoi were hangouts reserved for times when folks visited from the US (and from the mid 90s, my father's chosen hotels when he was in Bombay for meetings), while (all said and done) Leopold was a "slightly shady, downmarket eatery patronised by hippies and harlots" (Vinod Mehta could not have put it better!). Colaba was my neck of the woods, and it felt strange to see so many places I have known so well become terror targets. The Metro theater (now called Metro AdLabs, and thankfully restored to its old glory) was where we often watched movies in school, and ate pizzas from "Intermission" (not sure if it still exists). I do admit that I still am lost as to the exact location of the Nariman House/Jewish Center, but do know that it's somewhere in the vicinity of Colaba Market/Pasta Lanes - I just cannot remember which buildings lie on that road or some friend/acquaintance who lives there (which is often how many of us identify streets and apartment complexes)!
A million questions have been asked, and the wise (wo)men have put forward their own theories. I can only pray and hope that good sense prevails (both amongst the powers that be and the seemingly powerless citizens) and the right moves are made to safeguard the common man, who invariably is the victim of these incidents. Rational thinking is probably the need of the hour, and unfortunately some politicians have resorted to their usual tricks of shooting from the hip, which I think has been shameful. People talk endlessly about the resilience of the people of Bombay, but I think that streak is present in people everywhere, be it NYC, London, Madrid, Bali or even the tsunami-affected areas. It's probably just plain human nature, and not the greatness of the people from one city or another - I guess folks will disagree with me on this one.
Last but not the least, I must acknowledge some folks whose blogs/photos kept me 'in the loop' with their perspectives on the events. I don't mean to sound parochial, but one often tends to relate to the words/sights/sounds of the 'sons of the soil' - they tell it from an angle that seems so familiar.
Amit Varma and his four year old baby "India Uncut"
Prem Panicker and his "Smoke Signals"
Vinu Kumar Ranganathan's Online Cloud and Flickers (of Hope)
Dr. Arun Shanbhag, a fellow Colaba-wallah and Clemson-wallah, one level ahead of me on the Dr. Jonathan Black research tree.
Note: Usual disclaimers apply for this post. I don't mean to sound like a pundit, and write this as an anguished Indian, wondering why this keeps happening to his 'hometown'. A lot of folks from South Mumbai would probably feel the same.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Adios Anil
I woke up this morning to two things (or rather transitions) which made me pause and go "Wow!". The first one of course was the change from daylight savings to standard time. The other one, was a stopped me dead in my tracks.
Anil Kumble began his playing career (for India) sometime in 1990, when he was part of the squad at the Australasia Cup - an age when we had to rely on Teenage Video Library for highlights of various cricket tournaments on video cassettes. At that point, he was just another bespectacled spinner and I cannot remember him being hailed as the next Bedi/Chandra/Prasanna (not unlike another Aussie bloke, who had a rather unremarkable start to his career). After looking at his Test and ODI profile on Cricinfo, he was in and out of the team until the home series against England in 1992-93.
It was in this series that he 'came of age', bamboozling the best (not necessarily the brightest) boys from the Old Blighty, in tandem with Venkatapathy Raju and Rajesh Chauhan. I remember watching that series and growing to like the man - partly due to the fact that he was born exactly a decade before I was, but mainly due to his simple, unassuming demeanor (the wickets and matches won were always there).
A lot has been said about his heroics, with the bat and ball, with a bum jaw and cut left hand. But for me, the moment that is another critically 'defining' one for Kumble was the camp held for the Indian players before they faced the Aussies at home, in 2001. Everyone knows Kumble was just recovering from shoulder surgery, but there he was at IIT-Chemplast, arm in a sling, taking an active part in the preparations. He could easily have been elsewhere, but battled it out in the hot sun, deep in a discussion with a young bloke in a puggree while a weather-beaten New Zealander looked on admiringly. [I am guessing someone will bring this point up in his/her tribute to Kumble].
It is sad to see good ol' Kumbles move on, but what brought a smile to my face (and perhaps his) was the fact that he did it with DIGNITY. That too, on his favorite hunting ground at the Kotla, with Sachin handing over his cap one last time to the umpire!
If there was one song that comes to mind for Kumble, it is Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man":
Anil Kumble began his playing career (for India) sometime in 1990, when he was part of the squad at the Australasia Cup - an age when we had to rely on Teenage Video Library for highlights of various cricket tournaments on video cassettes. At that point, he was just another bespectacled spinner and I cannot remember him being hailed as the next Bedi/Chandra/Prasanna (not unlike another Aussie bloke, who had a rather unremarkable start to his career). After looking at his Test and ODI profile on Cricinfo, he was in and out of the team until the home series against England in 1992-93.
It was in this series that he 'came of age', bamboozling the best (not necessarily the brightest) boys from the Old Blighty, in tandem with Venkatapathy Raju and Rajesh Chauhan. I remember watching that series and growing to like the man - partly due to the fact that he was born exactly a decade before I was, but mainly due to his simple, unassuming demeanor (the wickets and matches won were always there).
A lot has been said about his heroics, with the bat and ball, with a bum jaw and cut left hand. But for me, the moment that is another critically 'defining' one for Kumble was the camp held for the Indian players before they faced the Aussies at home, in 2001. Everyone knows Kumble was just recovering from shoulder surgery, but there he was at IIT-Chemplast, arm in a sling, taking an active part in the preparations. He could easily have been elsewhere, but battled it out in the hot sun, deep in a discussion with a young bloke in a puggree while a weather-beaten New Zealander looked on admiringly. [I am guessing someone will bring this point up in his/her tribute to Kumble].
It is sad to see good ol' Kumbles move on, but what brought a smile to my face (and perhaps his) was the fact that he did it with DIGNITY. That too, on his favorite hunting ground at the Kotla, with Sachin handing over his cap one last time to the umpire!
If there was one song that comes to mind for Kumble, it is Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man":
And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.......
.................................
Forget your lust for the rich mans gold
All that you need is in your soul,
And you can do this if you try.......
..............
Boy, dont you worry... youll find yourself.
Follow you heart and nothing else.
And you can do this if you try.
All I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Woh Lamhe - Part Moonu: The "club"
Valiachan had his typewriter in the small room on the first floor. Back in the day, when there were no computers and email, he used to painstakingly type out letters on his faithful typewriter and send them out to various people/companies. Often, letters to one of his siblings would be carbon-copied to a few others (I don't know why, and I doubt he cc-ed the other ten!). And I'm sure he wrote some of his (in)famous vedi poetry up there. You could have called it his 'study' - it was a quiet place - one where he could compose his thoughts and put them down on paper. As always, I don't have much by way of memories of those days, but just fleeting glimpses.
Later on, on a summer evening, bored of playing cricket, R & I decided to make Valiachan's 'study' a shrine to numerous sports superstars and called it the "P.T.Koman Nayar Club". Ammamma gave her permission gladly (I guess she thought we'd stay out of mischief while setting up the club), and so after a few token signatures from her, Amma and Ammama, the club was created. It was graced by posters from Sportstar magazine, with stars from yesteryear like Bradman & Truman, and ofcourse flavors of the 80's like Graf, Kapil, Edberg and Richards. Not one inch of space on the wall was left untouched (and I'm sure that Ammamma was thankful we didn't use the ceiling!), and the front and back of the door was reserved for the best posters.
From the store-room next door, we dragged in a charpoy-like bed and got a bedspread for it. It would serve as our afternoon hangout, a silent witness to many a joke and endless (and sometimes mindless) laughter. J-Valliamma and MK-Valliamma on hearing of our club, gifted us a set of table-tennis rackets and balls, and once we brought in a table from the store-room, we were all set to play TT. And so it went, TT in the mornings upstairs in the club, and 'tennis' in the evenings in the verandah! And so the 'boys of summer' had their fun....
A few years later, we had to pull down the posters when the decision was made to rent the house out. It was a sad evening, as we bid goodbye to Vengsarkar, Sampras, Greenidge, Pele and about 40 other stars! They had livened up many a summer afternoon, witness to the banter of a bunch of crazy boys and now they were consigned to the scrap heap!
And so, when we finally moved to Coimbatore in 2002, it was like rediscovering an old, beloved haunt once again. Much as I would have loved to have the old 'club room' as my room, I ended up getting one of the bedrooms downstairs (it has its own set of memories, which I guess I'll write about in the future). Achan made the 'club room' his adda, with one part devoted to his pooja stuff, and the other part has the CD player and his huge music collection.
Today, I think of the room as "Achan's pooja room"; somehow the days of the 'club room' are long gone by. But sometimes I have a good old chuckle thinking about what it was before it became a room of worship - the first place I really "hung out". And in the quiet serenity of the room, you sometimes hear the laughter of two kids, and sounds of a table-tennis ball going up and down a makeshift TT-table.
Later on, on a summer evening, bored of playing cricket, R & I decided to make Valiachan's 'study' a shrine to numerous sports superstars and called it the "P.T.Koman Nayar Club". Ammamma gave her permission gladly (I guess she thought we'd stay out of mischief while setting up the club), and so after a few token signatures from her, Amma and Ammama, the club was created. It was graced by posters from Sportstar magazine, with stars from yesteryear like Bradman & Truman, and ofcourse flavors of the 80's like Graf, Kapil, Edberg and Richards. Not one inch of space on the wall was left untouched (and I'm sure that Ammamma was thankful we didn't use the ceiling!), and the front and back of the door was reserved for the best posters.
From the store-room next door, we dragged in a charpoy-like bed and got a bedspread for it. It would serve as our afternoon hangout, a silent witness to many a joke and endless (and sometimes mindless) laughter. J-Valliamma and MK-Valliamma on hearing of our club, gifted us a set of table-tennis rackets and balls, and once we brought in a table from the store-room, we were all set to play TT. And so it went, TT in the mornings upstairs in the club, and 'tennis' in the evenings in the verandah! And so the 'boys of summer' had their fun....
A few years later, we had to pull down the posters when the decision was made to rent the house out. It was a sad evening, as we bid goodbye to Vengsarkar, Sampras, Greenidge, Pele and about 40 other stars! They had livened up many a summer afternoon, witness to the banter of a bunch of crazy boys and now they were consigned to the scrap heap!
And so, when we finally moved to Coimbatore in 2002, it was like rediscovering an old, beloved haunt once again. Much as I would have loved to have the old 'club room' as my room, I ended up getting one of the bedrooms downstairs (it has its own set of memories, which I guess I'll write about in the future). Achan made the 'club room' his adda, with one part devoted to his pooja stuff, and the other part has the CD player and his huge music collection.
Today, I think of the room as "Achan's pooja room"; somehow the days of the 'club room' are long gone by. But sometimes I have a good old chuckle thinking about what it was before it became a room of worship - the first place I really "hung out". And in the quiet serenity of the room, you sometimes hear the laughter of two kids, and sounds of a table-tennis ball going up and down a makeshift TT-table.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Woh Lamhe - Part Deux: The verandah
The house would lose so much of its charm without the verandah. Spacious and airy, I think Valiachan spent most of his mornings sitting out in the verandah and enjoying his newspapers/magazines. Post-tea, he would again venture out to take in the cool evening breeze, and watch the sun set - mind you, this was before the place (over)developed. More often than not, someone would drop by during their evening walk to have a short chat. There was a time in the early 70's when you could see all the way to Maruthamalai from our verandah.
The verandah will always be the place where my parents got married - as did Chittamma and RKM. I wonder if there will be another grand event (like those two weddings) gracing the verandah again. The whole idea of getting married in the same place where your parents got married is a rather "cool idea", and there's still time!
On one of the walls, next to the front door, Valiachan used to keep track of the heights of all his grandchildren, noting down the date and height in pencil. Sadly, those marks were whitewashed a long time back; but it would have been interesting (and a humbling experience) to see how we all grew. During our summer vacations, Rama and I would convert the verandah into our own Wimbledon, to play our own version of tennis, with table-tennis rackets and balls, pretending to pit Rod Laver against Bjorn Borg. (And oh yes, Laver always won!).
But the best part of the verandah was the thinna (the cement bench running around half the verandah, for the lack of a better term to describe it). How I would kill to be back home, sitting on it, watching everything go past, Amma picking jasmines in the garden, Valiachan 'chilling out' on his chair, Ammamma looking at all her flowers and Achan sitting on the thinna enjoying a good snooze!
The verandah will always be the place where my parents got married - as did Chittamma and RKM. I wonder if there will be another grand event (like those two weddings) gracing the verandah again. The whole idea of getting married in the same place where your parents got married is a rather "cool idea", and there's still time!
On one of the walls, next to the front door, Valiachan used to keep track of the heights of all his grandchildren, noting down the date and height in pencil. Sadly, those marks were whitewashed a long time back; but it would have been interesting (and a humbling experience) to see how we all grew. During our summer vacations, Rama and I would convert the verandah into our own Wimbledon, to play our own version of tennis, with table-tennis rackets and balls, pretending to pit Rod Laver against Bjorn Borg. (And oh yes, Laver always won!).
But the best part of the verandah was the thinna (the cement bench running around half the verandah, for the lack of a better term to describe it). How I would kill to be back home, sitting on it, watching everything go past, Amma picking jasmines in the garden, Valiachan 'chilling out' on his chair, Ammamma looking at all her flowers and Achan sitting on the thinna enjoying a good snooze!
Friday, September 26, 2008
Woh Lamhe - Part Uno: The garden
For whatever reason, this trip home was a little different - and Amma and Achan felt the same too. There was a lot of discussion, a lot of reading, a fair bit of thinking, loads of laughter, a tinge of sadness (normal when you leave), a wedding, just one movie (watched with Amma and Achan) and a lot less TV! And I'm still thinking, a fortnight after getting back to the US. The house looks older, but brings back the same memories.
The board outside the house still reads P.T.Koman Nayar, although its now a granite one. The driveway leading to the house is still dusty, and becomes a little slushy when it rains. Valiachan used to walk up and down the driveway every morning, sometimes with his youngest grandson for company. His walk would almost always be interrupted by the cries of a pazham-vandi selling his favorite bananas. Bananas safely deposited on the sideboard, he and I would be back on the driveway trying to get to '10 rounds'. It was fun, I remember, for my Valiachan was a man with a great sense of humor.
As a boy, my idea of fun was playing with a tennis ball in Ammamma's carefully manicured garden. Either Valiachan, Ammamma or Amma/Achan kept an eagle eye on me from the veranda, ensuring that I didn't trample any of Ammamma's plants - though Valiachan would be deep into his newspaper or magazine and doze off after a while. Ammamma loved gardening, and
it used to be a plethora of colors with a variety of flowers, with many huge trees creating a nice shade. The garden today is a lot different, with a lot less plants and fewer trees, which had to be cut as they were interfering with the telephone and electricity poles. But what is striking is that the "tree house" is gone.
The "tree-house" was something that Valiachan constructed along one of the corners of the compound. No one really knows why he made it, but the lower level had a store-room at one end, and the other end was a garage where I remember Valliammama used to park his car. The top upper level was just open space, with an asbestos roof. For some strange reason, Rama and I liked the place, and we spent many a crazy evening goofing off up there. It was demolished around the time we moved back in, and although the place looks brighter, the "tree house" still makes me go back 15 years and cherish the good times we had.
Some time in the late 80's, Janthi-A gifted Rama and me a set of kites. What a whale of a time we had, letting it loose, higher and higher. It wasn't a competition really, but just the sheer joy of seeing something in graceful flight, soaring up into the sky. The kites never broke, giving us one unforgettable summer.
Everything looks so much smaller when you grow up. It is sometimes tough to believe that Rama and I used to play (over-arm) cricket along the driveway - today I would probably have to stand closer to the kitchen if we ever played again. Yesterday's 50 steps are today's 20 - I guess that's the way it always is! But sometimes if you look out from the verandah, you might see two boys laughing and playing outside in the garden in the sunshine.
The board outside the house still reads P.T.Koman Nayar, although its now a granite one. The driveway leading to the house is still dusty, and becomes a little slushy when it rains. Valiachan used to walk up and down the driveway every morning, sometimes with his youngest grandson for company. His walk would almost always be interrupted by the cries of a pazham-vandi selling his favorite bananas. Bananas safely deposited on the sideboard, he and I would be back on the driveway trying to get to '10 rounds'. It was fun, I remember, for my Valiachan was a man with a great sense of humor.
As a boy, my idea of fun was playing with a tennis ball in Ammamma's carefully manicured garden. Either Valiachan, Ammamma or Amma/Achan kept an eagle eye on me from the veranda, ensuring that I didn't trample any of Ammamma's plants - though Valiachan would be deep into his newspaper or magazine and doze off after a while. Ammamma loved gardening, and
it used to be a plethora of colors with a variety of flowers, with many huge trees creating a nice shade. The garden today is a lot different, with a lot less plants and fewer trees, which had to be cut as they were interfering with the telephone and electricity poles. But what is striking is that the "tree house" is gone.
The "tree-house" was something that Valiachan constructed along one of the corners of the compound. No one really knows why he made it, but the lower level had a store-room at one end, and the other end was a garage where I remember Valliammama used to park his car. The top upper level was just open space, with an asbestos roof. For some strange reason, Rama and I liked the place, and we spent many a crazy evening goofing off up there. It was demolished around the time we moved back in, and although the place looks brighter, the "tree house" still makes me go back 15 years and cherish the good times we had.
Some time in the late 80's, Janthi-A gifted Rama and me a set of kites. What a whale of a time we had, letting it loose, higher and higher. It wasn't a competition really, but just the sheer joy of seeing something in graceful flight, soaring up into the sky. The kites never broke, giving us one unforgettable summer.
Everything looks so much smaller when you grow up. It is sometimes tough to believe that Rama and I used to play (over-arm) cricket along the driveway - today I would probably have to stand closer to the kitchen if we ever played again. Yesterday's 50 steps are today's 20 - I guess that's the way it always is! But sometimes if you look out from the verandah, you might see two boys laughing and playing outside in the garden in the sunshine.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Misguided nation?
Krishna Prasad outdoes himself again with a brilliant article talking about the lack of VIP-representation at Field Marshal Manekshaw's funeral yesterday. The fact that the man was celebrated (in life, and in death) by the men who served with/under him, and by the common man, speaks volumes about his greatness. We don't need really need the cliched statements of politicians which have the usual sprinkling of words - 'great soldier', 'service to the nation', 'soul rest in peace'.
I have said this before and I say this again: we are a nation with a majorly short short-term memory, although Mr. B. Raman contends that we are a nation with NO MEMORY! The press is probably also at fault - especially when they prefer to cover the arrival of a person of (possibly) questionable integrity and honor, instead of paying tribute to some of the bravest men who have lost their lives protecting the nation.
The fact that the politicians/VIPs could not spare time to pay tribute (in person) to the Field Marshal does not take away anything from the greatness of the man, but speaks more about the politicians/VIPs. Much as I was disappointed by this (lack of VIPs, not the article!), I am sure the immediate family preferred it that way. He was a gentleman who valued his privacy, I'm sure, which probably explains why he settled in Wellington, as far away from Delhi as he could possibly get! The Field Marshal was a man of integrity I'm sure , and he must be smiling that sly smile of his sitting up there, as if to say "I'm glad you never came to see me at the end!".
In the much-used words of Kipling, he was a man who walked with kings and yet didn't lose his common touch!
I have said this before and I say this again: we are a nation with a majorly short short-term memory, although Mr. B. Raman contends that we are a nation with NO MEMORY! The press is probably also at fault - especially when they prefer to cover the arrival of a person of (possibly) questionable integrity and honor, instead of paying tribute to some of the bravest men who have lost their lives protecting the nation.
The fact that the politicians/VIPs could not spare time to pay tribute (in person) to the Field Marshal does not take away anything from the greatness of the man, but speaks more about the politicians/VIPs. Much as I was disappointed by this (lack of VIPs, not the article!), I am sure the immediate family preferred it that way. He was a gentleman who valued his privacy, I'm sure, which probably explains why he settled in Wellington, as far away from Delhi as he could possibly get! The Field Marshal was a man of integrity I'm sure , and he must be smiling that sly smile of his sitting up there, as if to say "I'm glad you never came to see me at the end!".
In the much-used words of Kipling, he was a man who walked with kings and yet didn't lose his common touch!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
R.I.P "Sam Bahadur"
The first time I encountered him, he was the 'gentleman with the handlebar mustache' sitting in the seat behind me on the flight to Coimbatore.
The second time our paths crossed, he was sitting in the first-class section and got royal treatment when he got off the flight at Peelamedu.
By the time I ran into him again about a year later, I had heard/read a little about the war of 1971 - largely thanks to the Doordarshan serial on the men who have won the Param Vir Chakra. The initials were etched in my mind - SHFJ, a rather long name. So when my father told me at the airport that the gentleman sitting alone in the front row (whom we had seen so often) was the indomitable Field Marshal, I was finally (knowingly) meeting a legend. As he sat blissfully enjoying his peace in the newly renovated Coimbatore airport, this 15 year old gawky guy decided to wish the great man and request his autograph.
Sam Bahadur Sahab being Sam Bahadur Sahab wanted to know why I wanted 'an autograph of this old man". "Go chase the cricketers", he said. Sometimes in the presence of true greatness, your tongue turns to water and I cannot remember what I said, except for a few disjointed words about 'great hero of India'. All the same, he was gracious enough to sign and wish me well in growing up and serving the nation well.
The last time I saw him was on the afternoon of August 30th 2003 - the day I left home for the US. I was expecting to see some actor/actress on their way to a shoot in Ooty. As always, the flight (from Bombay) came to a halt a short distance away from the main terminal and I stared into the distance to watch the passengers disembark. A familiar gentleman, his trademark white handlebars still perfectly in place, walked (fairly) ramrod straight from the aircraft to the main terminal. As he got closer, I realized it was Field Marshal Manekshaw and I smiled to myself. I am fairly sure very few people recognized him, since he just walked undisturbed (no pesky teenagers bothering him) and handed over his bag to the armyman who was waiting to receive the great man. And then they exited the terminal and probably drove off into the Nilgiris.
At the risk of sounding corny/cliched, one of India's greatest sons moved on to Elysian Fields today. India forgets her true hero(ine)s too often and too easily. Our true heros are not necessarily the blokes who can hold a bat and hit a ball, but the brave (wo)men who have put their lives at risk/laid down their lives in many a battlefield not just in India, but all over the world. For every Sam Manekshaw, there is a Rifleman Manoj Kumar and a Lance Naik Karam Singh.
Field Marshal Sam Hormusji Framji Jamshedji Manekshaw, R.I.P!
The second time our paths crossed, he was sitting in the first-class section and got royal treatment when he got off the flight at Peelamedu.
By the time I ran into him again about a year later, I had heard/read a little about the war of 1971 - largely thanks to the Doordarshan serial on the men who have won the Param Vir Chakra. The initials were etched in my mind - SHFJ, a rather long name. So when my father told me at the airport that the gentleman sitting alone in the front row (whom we had seen so often) was the indomitable Field Marshal, I was finally (knowingly) meeting a legend. As he sat blissfully enjoying his peace in the newly renovated Coimbatore airport, this 15 year old gawky guy decided to wish the great man and request his autograph.
Sam Bahadur Sahab being Sam Bahadur Sahab wanted to know why I wanted 'an autograph of this old man". "Go chase the cricketers", he said. Sometimes in the presence of true greatness, your tongue turns to water and I cannot remember what I said, except for a few disjointed words about 'great hero of India'. All the same, he was gracious enough to sign and wish me well in growing up and serving the nation well.
The last time I saw him was on the afternoon of August 30th 2003 - the day I left home for the US. I was expecting to see some actor/actress on their way to a shoot in Ooty. As always, the flight (from Bombay) came to a halt a short distance away from the main terminal and I stared into the distance to watch the passengers disembark. A familiar gentleman, his trademark white handlebars still perfectly in place, walked (fairly) ramrod straight from the aircraft to the main terminal. As he got closer, I realized it was Field Marshal Manekshaw and I smiled to myself. I am fairly sure very few people recognized him, since he just walked undisturbed (no pesky teenagers bothering him) and handed over his bag to the armyman who was waiting to receive the great man. And then they exited the terminal and probably drove off into the Nilgiris.
At the risk of sounding corny/cliched, one of India's greatest sons moved on to Elysian Fields today. India forgets her true hero(ine)s too often and too easily. Our true heros are not necessarily the blokes who can hold a bat and hit a ball, but the brave (wo)men who have put their lives at risk/laid down their lives in many a battlefield not just in India, but all over the world. For every Sam Manekshaw, there is a Rifleman Manoj Kumar and a Lance Naik Karam Singh.
Field Marshal Sam Hormusji Framji Jamshedji Manekshaw, R.I.P!
Sunday, April 27, 2008
The weed and the monkey
It was a firecracker waiting to explode, and when it finally did, we had Sreesanth shedding crocodile's tears and an Harbhajan being well.....obnoxious! A lot has been written about it, and I'm guessing Sreesanth better shoulder his share of the blame.
We all know Harbhajan and his disciplinary problems, but the fact remains that more often than not he has been a good bowler, letting his bowling do the talking and generally gives back only as good as he receives (which probably is human). Sreesanth on the other hand, as the Hindustan Times wrote this morning, is more a 'showman than sportsman'.
They really hit the nail on the head, describing him as an 'attention seeking problem-child'. I have seen the same happen with a cousin of mine, who always loved provoking everyone while playing cricket (and of course crying when he got it nice and hard) and like many a kid threw a typhoon of a tantrum whenever he got out.
There's no excuse for being obnoxious, however great one may be, and Sreesanth is on par with Bhajji on the 'obnoxiometer'. It's rather creepy to hear him talk about himself in the third person, and his innate ability to rile his own team-mates must be frustrating for the Indian cricket team/coaches. I don't know if he ever sat down with a (sports) psychologist and discussed matters, and I'm guessing even the best in the business would tear their hair out trying to figure out the stuff Sreesanth is made of!
I'm waiting to see what the final decision on the matter is.
PS: Has anyone found a resemblance between Curious George and Sreesanth?
We all know Harbhajan and his disciplinary problems, but the fact remains that more often than not he has been a good bowler, letting his bowling do the talking and generally gives back only as good as he receives (which probably is human). Sreesanth on the other hand, as the Hindustan Times wrote this morning, is more a 'showman than sportsman'.
They really hit the nail on the head, describing him as an 'attention seeking problem-child'. I have seen the same happen with a cousin of mine, who always loved provoking everyone while playing cricket (and of course crying when he got it nice and hard) and like many a kid threw a typhoon of a tantrum whenever he got out.
There's no excuse for being obnoxious, however great one may be, and Sreesanth is on par with Bhajji on the 'obnoxiometer'. It's rather creepy to hear him talk about himself in the third person, and his innate ability to rile his own team-mates must be frustrating for the Indian cricket team/coaches. I don't know if he ever sat down with a (sports) psychologist and discussed matters, and I'm guessing even the best in the business would tear their hair out trying to figure out the stuff Sreesanth is made of!
I'm waiting to see what the final decision on the matter is.
PS: Has anyone found a resemblance between Curious George and Sreesanth?
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