A beginning!

Pebble by the beach

2010-05-24T07:19:00.010+05:30

Its twilight but not quite dusky yet. With vastness of ocean stretching by my side, I wander off on a path delineated by coconut trees. I pretend that this path has no beginning, and no end. Just for a while, I live in ignorance. Just for a while, I live in cognizance. For once, I live in complete incompleteness. For once, I live in unfulfilled fulfillment. The worldly matters can wait, or not. For once, it doesn't matter. I ramble on; mesmerized.

I stoop to pick a handful of sand. The fine particles fondle with my palm, then jostle, but can't escape. I unclench my fist. The gentle breeze sweeping over the ocean sprinkles the sand back on to the beach. Its gone, all of it, but for one little pebble.

Hundreds of years in sea tides have eroded it. It has lost its originality. But it has also shaded sharp edges of inflexibility. The pebble, or whatever is left of it, still shines, even in the sinking sun. I stare at it for a while and then throw it into the sea, as far as I could. I turn my back towards the sea and start walking.

I will never see that pebble again, but when the tide rises tomorrow, and rise it will, it will bring the pebble back on to the beach.

Destiny

2009-11-28T03:07:00.013+05:30

"I will call Dad", said the young man as he held the door ajar. Though scars crumpled his smile, there was an air of pleasantness as he beckoned her towards sofa.

She must have been her thirties, but looked much older with those wrinkles. Last week's unfortunate events had left impression on her face. She walked slowly and uncertainly across the living room and finally sank into the sofa.

Few minutes passed before the young man came back with his father. He was an old man with a slightly stooped posture. But he walked in rather briskly for a man supporting himself with a cane.

"We talked over phone", she began rather impatiently.

"Are you sure you called the right guy?", the old man interjected, "how could I possibly help?". He was as puzzled as you would be if a complete stranger called and sought your help in her family matters.

She shifted uneasily, crossed and uncrossed her legs before finally reaching for her purse. She fiddled for a while before finally pulling out a diary. "Does this diary mean anything to you?", her tone almost expressionless, but her face betraying the anxiety underneath.

The old man bent over to take the diary from her outstretched arm, took a quick look, and looked even more perplexed than before. She has my old personal diary? When did I stop writing dairy? 10 years ago? 20 years ago? more? I thought this was lost when we moved out of that house.

"Where did you find th...", But before his son could finish the question, she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

Confused, the father and son sat motionless, not knowing how to appease her. They weren't even sure why she was crying.

"It matches, it matches in every detail", she finally spoke, with her eyes still fixated on the diary. "our little family, our little world, my husband, his education, job, even his interests, our little kid, everything, everything that has happened to us is exactly like what you describe in this diary. Even to minutest of the detail".

She paused, drew a breath and then rumbled on, "our destiny is exactly as your family lived some 20 years ago... until... until... last week."

"My husband picked our kid from school gathering and was driving home late that evening. And then it happened.", She continued, in a tone that was now frequently punctured by sobs, "They say a truck jumped red light and rammed into the car.... My husband and kid are lying... in ICU. Doctors say they will try.... this diary, this diary.. talks about picking kid from school gathering tomorrow.. and then.. then... blank pages.. not a single entry after that... ".

"Oh my dear lady", the old man jumped up from his armchair, "don't you worry at all, this is indeed my diary! and this is my son! We were operated but we saw through that phase all right. I escaped with this little arc, he gestured towards his back, "and my son has to live with these facial scars, but it turned out all right. I had a successful career before happily retiring, my son graduated. He is now working for MNC and drawing handsome salary. "

For next half an hour, the old man spoke. Answering her questions, soothing her. She felt like tonnes of weight being lifted off her mind. Relieved and still thanking profusely, she finally got up to leave. "I must rush to hospital now, and share this with all my relatives", she said.

Happy and cheerful she waved goodbye, but not before she looked painstakingly at the permanent scars on the young man's face.

"Dad, you have not been completely honest", said the young man after he closed the door behind her. "What do you mean? We saw it through all right, didn't we?", The old man's voice sounded hoarse and tense.

He turned around and looked at the photo hanging right above the sofa as he spoke softly, barely audible to himself, "Mom had heart-attack just before our operation".

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Disclaimer: I do not take credit for the originality of this concept, but the treatment is solely mine. I came across this theme several years ago through a Marathi serial. Would be glad to give credit for conceptualization if anybody points me to appropriate source. Would also pull out this entry if need be.
Also, special thanks to Devendra.

... death is still a spectacle

2009-06-08T08:48:00.013+05:30

The boat quivered as the engine squeaked into life. It continued grumbling for a while before setting into smooth rhythmic motion. We - a group of over 50 people from different backgrounds, cultures and age groups - were off for jet boat excursion.

The boat cut through the waves as it veered through the water. Every once in a while, our captain would take a sharp U-turn or deliberately drive through the welts drawn by other boats. Waves would hit our boat with a thud splashing water all over us. We would shout, cheer, and encourage our captain further.

Our captain was not just an adept sailor but also an expert anchor. He kept us busy with anecdotes, wisecracks and interesting local information.

... and suddenly our captain pulled across a fishing boat. His trained eye was quick to notice the tiny wobble of the fishing tackle.

Everybody in the boat wanted a closer view. The excitement in the atmosphere was palpable. It took efforts. The little over a foot long fish, even with a hook stuck in its jaw, put on a brave fight - fight for its life. It ended as it usually does. Without letting the fish go off-hook, the fisherman expertly pulled the tackle inside his boat and carefully released the fish onto the net. Wounded, and struggling to breath, the fish gasped for a while before finally giving in.

Everybody in our boat stood and clapped and cheered the fisherman. Feeling proud and satisfied the fisherman half bowed in acknowledgment.

In 21'st century's civilized world, death is still a spectacle.

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... And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all... They refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know...
- J. K. Rowling
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Duplicate...

2009-04-06T01:30:00.005+05:30

Buzz...

The alarm clock squeaked. Still sleepy, he dragged himself out of the bed reluctantly. With eyes still half closed, he would barely see his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hand stretched out for toothbrush. Something felt different. What is it? He looked towards it, trying to force his eyes open. Two toothbrushes? I had one. When did I buy another one? And when did I put it here?

He had forgotten about it when he entered shower few minutes later. Breakfast, drive to office, meetings, chat-by-coffee-machine, a day like usual....

He would have gone about his life perfectly without ever remembering the little morning mystery if not for the near-empty milk cans he noticed in the fridge that evening. How could that be? Didn't I pour milk out of only can this morning? Am I losing grip? Has my memory started failing me?

It lingered over his mind a bit. He might have let it pass too, but perfectly identical cell-phone chargers on his computer desk meant that he could no longer ignore it. Tossing and turning in the bed late that night, he wondered: what is this? are these seemingly benign objects duplicating themselves? Oh, thats crazy. I watch too much science fiction. If this pattern continues, may be I will seek medical help!

BUZZ!!!

The alarm clock squeaked again. Why did it sound louder?... He was shocked. Two identical alarm clocks buzzed from his desk in unison... Scared and barely in his senses, he hurried off to see his family doctor. As he recounted the peculiar events, the doctor nodded sympathetically and suggested couple of days off from work. “Rest a bit, and take these medicines, come back again next week”, he said, sliding prescription across the table. He could see that doctor did not believe his story. The medicines were perhaps just placebos, he thought.

He took those medicines nevertheless, but forced himself through another work day. Barring two identical staplers by his desk (Oh, I think I had two of them all along, he told himself), nothing stuck out.

He decided to hit the bed earlier than usual. No alarm tonight, I need rest, he told himself. Did he fall asleep? or was he awake all night? Seemed awfully long time but it was bright and sunny outside now. Feeling bit jaded, he tried waking up but felt something move on his left. He turned around. To his horror, a man exactly identical to him was waking up besides him... he let out a scream in terror...

"Heart Attack", the family doctor said shaking his head as the victim's neighbors gathered around the body. The doctor pulled stethoscope out from his ears and let it hang loosely around his neck. He was summoned by a panic-stricken neighbor who heard the horrible scream. They had to force the door open. It took a while, but even if they had key, it was too late anyway.

“I suspected hallucinations, but did not expect things to worsen to this end. Ambulance, must take body to hospital. But of course call police before that”, the doctor continued as he opened his briefcase to put stethoscope back.

To his horror, there was perfectly identical stethoscope inside.

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Disclaimer: I do not take credit for the originality of this concept, but the treatment is solely mine. Heard this theme from a friend years ago. Would be glad to give credit for conceptualization if anybody points me to appropriate source. Would also pull out this entry if need be.

Two AceS

2008-10-28T08:07:00.007+05:30

As an avid cricket follower, I feel lucky to have witnessed the era when careers of two of the finest Indian cricketers coincided. Even as Saurav walks in the eventide, ageless Sachin marches on.

Arguably, both were in the best form of their life during late 1990s and early century. Sachin's Desert Storm, Saurav's Toronto heroics with both bat and ball, World Cup 2003 and the innumerable great starts the flamboyant pair provided in ODIs for years... the list can go on and on... Scores of newspaper columns have been written in their praise. Much has been said about how Sachin's attacking batting and Saurav's batting (to some extent) and captainship (to larger extent) represents the face of emerging nation freeing itself from psychological shackles of colonialism that transcended generations after Independence.

If one is to compare (can one really?), then Sachin wins hands-down. He was always far superior technically. Discipline, determination, balance, modesty. He has it all.

Saurav was never perfect - as a player or even otherwise. Struggling to short pitch bowling, refusing to carry drinks as 12th man, crossing path with opposition players, dancing shirtless on Lord's balcony, getting on odds with then coach Chappell (finally resulting in his ouster from team)...

While Sachin was a monk-like perfectionist, Saurav was always more human. He never fully managed to master his shortcomings. Who would forget Sachin's Sydney double hundred where he exhibited supreme self control and refused to play cover drive till he crossed 150? Could one even dream of something similar from Saurav?

But Saurav had his own flair. He always managed to hold on to his own even while batting together with Sachin. Unlike Rahul, who always played second fiddle to Sachin, Saurav played his own game. As a caption, he instilled self-belief in his players to compete against the strongest of the oppositions on their home turf. He was never as modest as Sachin but usually managed to channelize his aggression well to have positive effect on team performance.

While I would continue to worship Sachin like all fans, Saurav would always find a special place in my heart as he hits something closer home! He is more like us lesser mortals. Just like we know our shortcomings but never fully manage to fix it, Saurav had his share too. What makes him hero is that while he could never overcome them fully, he had the right attitude and mental strength to see it through and make it big. He was a great survivor and succeeded against odds and finds place in same bracket as some of the greatest.

He might be the lesser gifted amongst the two, but if I were to pick a batsman to hit a last ball Six to win the World Cup, I would pick Saurav over Sachin!

Let the summer come, I will ...

2008-04-03T05:11:00.011+05:30

It was raining. Drenched and shivering the Monkey muttered, “Enough is enough, let the Summer come, I will build myself a house on this tree".

It rained everyday, and each passing day made the Monkey's resolve only stronger. Months passed... One such rainy night, weak and quivering, the Monkey fell asleep cuddling a tree branch...

Sun rays, albeit filtered by tree branches, fell on the Monkey's face. He woke up with a startle. Birds were chirping around. It was sunny and pleasant morning. Monsoon was over. The Monkey jumped across trees, played with his tail, troubled the birds... he thought, "Life is Fun!". Days passed, weeks passed and so did months! Life was indeed fun!!

One day, it rained heavily. Drenched and shivering the Monkey muttered, "Enough is enough, let the Summer come. I will... "

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Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper.

- Sir Francis Bacon

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Don'ts versus Dos

2007-10-20T06:56:00.000+05:30

Dusk fall. Sun rays that had relentlessly set the desert ablaze all day were losing ferocity like retreating army. But the sand still burned. The green little patch bore the sole testimony of habitat across sea of sand that stretched over thousands of acres. It was lighthouse for sojourners lost in myriads of sand. Few families resided there, mainly earning their livelihood by selling stuff to the travelers.

As the heat grew lesser, kids came out of their huts and started playing. They climbed and jumped across the trees. Their parents, tired from hard day’s work, rested at a distance, looking aloof, albeit fondly watching their kids play.

It looked all serene till the storm hit. The slow humming wind suddenly hit the little town with force of hammer. Dust filled the town like water swallowing wrecked ship. Kids started running everywhere in panic even as their parents screamed for them.

In the midst of this hubbub, two boys, perhaps too scared to act at this unexpected eventuality, got stuck on tree branches. By the time their fathers realized, it was too late to even keep eyes open let alone climb down.

One boy’s father shouted, “Son, no matter what, don’t let your hands drop off the branch”. Other boy’s father shouted, “Son, just hold the branch tightly”.

As the storm hit, the first boy lost his grip and fell on ground. Second boy clung on till the wind abated and then climbed down.

It’s a simple story, and my rhetoric experimentation means it is perhaps packaged with more preface than it warranted. But the message is subtle.

‘Don’ts’ can clutter mind to the extent that one often walks into the very trap it is trying to avoid. ‘Dos’ are lot more effective since they help focus only on what needs to be done.

As the second boy’s father shrewdly expressed, every ‘don’t’ can be phrased into a ‘Do’. A point to ponder: how many times in our day to day life do we think in terms of Dont's rather than Dos?

[The story pages of Reader's Digest where I read similar story few years back are long lost. But I haven’t lost its gist though I cannot possibly recount it verbatim].

My little share of limelight

2007-04-30T00:21:00.000+05:30

click here

Contrary to what the caption says, am on the right.

शाळेतली मराठी कवीता

2007-04-19T08:21:00.000+05:30

कॉठुन येते ही उदासीनता मझया मना कळेना
काय बोचाते ते समजेना हृधयाच्या अंतर-हृधयाला

- त्रिम्बक बापू थोम्ब्रे

Mysticism

2007-02-07T11:41:00.000+05:30

Mysticism with touch of sadness is often tool adeptly used by "story tellers" (metaphor). While the touch of sadness begs empathy, the mysticism conveys deliberate attempt to conceal it (holding up the subject's self esteem), while also arousing the curiosity of listener.

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"Ah, All things come to those who wait,
" (I say these words to make me glad),
But something answers, soft and sad,
"They come, but often come too late".
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Tigers Roar Back

2006-10-01T06:45:00.001+05:30

You can hate him you can love him, but you just can’t ignore him.

Ganguly has been on India’s sports cover pages for well over a decade now. For refusing to carry drinks as 12th man, scoring back to back test centuries on debut, captain of biggest sport in India, waving his shirt on Lords balcony, shouting at his teammates, getting tamely dismissed at short pitch stuff to even unlikely bowling heroics in Toronto. He has been under severe scrutiny. Ganguly the leader, Ganguly the batsman, Ganguly the person; but the fact remained – he was (and still is) the best captain India ever produced.

Ganguly had charisma around him. He had the arrogance(?) to comment that, “Everybody seems to know what Indian caption should do rather than the captain himself”. He had defiance to walk late for toss, he had ability to envision and build for future. His contributions to India cricket’s future in terms of Sehwag, Yuvraj, Harbhajan is tremendous. He backed people. Succeeding more often than failing.

But, suddenly(?) things went berserk. Once upon a time Greg Chappell had actually helped Sourav get his technique right. Greg was endorsed by none other than Sourav himself for coach position. And then came the Zimbabwe tour. After half a dozen “secret letters” going public and lots of politics and fight, Chappell stayed while Ganguly had to go.

Trouble with Indian cricket is that people would either worship you or just condemn you. Ganguly was never as good as he was celebrated while he was at the helm, and never as bad as he is portrayed now.

Statistically, he is next only to Sachin Tendulkar as best ODI batsman. Agreed he has been on decline in last couple of years. Skipper’s burden finally getting too much? Complacency? Whatever the reason, but he truly deserves a chance in Indian team on sheer merit; especially after looking at his "so called" replacements. What Ganguly makes of this opportunity should decide his career.

He was hailed as the Prince of Calcutta and Bengal Tiger. Here is your chance to prove Sourav! Because when prodded, Tigers Roar Back!

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It doesn't matter if you've won before,
It makes no difference what's the half time score,
It's never over until the final gun,
So keep on trying and you'll find you've won,
You grab your dream and then believe it,
Go out and work and you'll achieve it,
If you think you can, you can,
If you think you can, you can!
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Memoirs

2006-06-23T12:23:00.000+05:30

Some voluntary dives expecting to unleash pearls from the depths of blue water... some involuntary drags into streams of destiny... Life has it all. Change is inevitable. But memories, we cherish... as those outlive their cause.

---------------------------------------------------
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.
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Musings...

2006-03-25T15:16:00.000+05:30

He looked up. Clouds drew welts across the sky. It hid and exposed the Moon as it glided in the infinite void. The serrated waves shimmered like blood thirsty blade of a warrior’s sword giving ominous warning. With bloated vision he gazed at the lights flickering at distance. The yellow glittering spheres reminded him of the festival celebration in his younger days. The happy memories made his stiffened jaw loosen a bit… only for split of second. He had no time to dwell over it. He was drowning.

He stroked furiously, splashing water, gaining little. He knew he was wasting his energy - little of which had remained. But pain and tiredness were fast outscoring his intellect. He had to swim across to the shore; against the low tide…He was desperate. He wanted to live.

He died.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

He lived to tell the tale of the great rescue by the kind fishermen.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

It came as surprise. A thud created by waves hitting metal. With considerable effort, he turned around. His first perception was a wrinkled face hanging in mid air illuminated by dimly lit lantern. Then he saw many more faces glaring at him with concern. He refused to hold the rope thrown for him. He started thanking them but soon gave up as he realized that he is only consuming salty water. Attempting a nod of recognition, he swam with all his might; he swam away from the boat, towards the shore. No pain, no tiredness, no other feeling, just determination.

He lived. For his own (absurd!) principles. The realization was not proactive.

He ran

2005-09-14T14:20:00.000+05:30

He ran. His crooked fingers pointed skywards, as if accusing God - in whom he had never believed - for this predicament. The branches of trees, which happily oblige even a gentle breeze hindered his path with absolute stubbornness: scratching his body, tearing his clothes. His right hand motioned vehemently sweeping aside the branches and twigs, but it seemed to rebound on his face with redoubled vigor, as if with vengeance. The leaves cracked beneath his heels. Jostling of foliage subdued the groan, not pain. He had nowhere to run. But, he had nowhere to stay. So, he ran.

... he stopped. He was dead.

The Question

2005-08-12T18:02:00.000+05:30

Answer is always there... easily available... but you should know what question to ask!

Reality check?

2005-07-12T18:28:00.000+05:30

Messages are loud and clear... they come screaming at you... but your mind.. blindfolded with the picture of dream World...fails to see.. or rather.. chooses to ignore ..

GOO VIN DAAA...!

2005-07-10T20:28:00.000+05:30

Mario Puzo wrote the epic Godfather in 1969. Since then, many directors and authors have gleefully and at times even shamelessly copied from it. Sarkar starts by accepting Godfather’s influence over it. The very first scene portrays a hapless and helpless father seeking revenge for his daughter’s molestation… pretty much like Godfather.

You start fearing a tame remake of Godfather. But, enter Sarkar. You forget it all. Next two hours is a riveting thriller. AB senior scores in first half while AB junior doesn’t lag behind in second.

Sarkar is messiah for common man, their court for last appeal. He is not bound by laws and rules. He does things as he sees them fit. People respect him, adore him, venerate him. White collared society thinks he is gunda, but they are too afraid to oppose him. Sarkar is widely misinterpreted by them. Sarkar never hurts innocent. He refuses to smuggle, declines illegal business proposals even when monetary rewards are high. But then he firmly believes, “There are no rights or wrongs, only power”.

His character has strength, but no impatience. His character exhibits power, but no arrogance. He has power, but he knows where and how to use it. No rash decisions. He goes about doing things in ruthless manner with cool businessman like precision. No emotions involved.

Rashid, a drug dealer from Dubai approaches Sarkar with an offer of 20 lakhs per shipment. No hassles, no frills, Sarkar is direct, “Nahi karunga main” (I wont do it) and he adds, “aur sun, tumhe bhi nahi karne dunga” (and wont let you do it either).

But, Rashid turns his nemesis. His stratagem gets Sarkar (AB senior) in jail. It is followed by a murderous attack. The whole world revolves around his young son (AB junior). Their close confidants turn against them. But, even in midst of this hubbub, AB junior stands tall. He takes over the reins of the sagging empire. Slowly but steadily, he claws back to supreme position both in world of power and hearts of common man.

At times you feel that, the whole process is not shown as dramatic as it could have been, but then the movie manages to be realistic for larger part. You don’t have hero fighting with ten browbeats and still managing to get out unscathed adjusting his necktie (read James Bond here!). There are no songs; just the chanting of “Govinda Govinda Govinda” which achieves its effect.

The actors in side roles like Kay Kay - playing impatient, hostile son of Sarkar, Chandar – Sarkar’s close confidant etc. deliver superb performances. As you think of characters, you can’t help but compare them with Godfather's consigliere Tom Hagen, Luca Brasi, Johnny Fontane. Tanishaa has little role and so does Katrina. But Katrina’s screen presence is refreshing. You can hear people gasp on her entry. She is the one to watch out for if she can act and of course speak Hindi!

Amitabh is ... superb? marvelous? stupendous? Aren't we running short of adjectives for him? If not better, he is at his usual best for sure. Finally, for Abhishek: It has been projected that Abhishek has performed better than his Dad. Sounds more like publicity stunt. No comparison. Big B is way ahead. But, Abhishek has came a long way as actor since Refugee and the debacles that followed. With B&B and now Sarkar, he puts his feet firmly on ground. He is here to stay; and he is here to rule the box office for years to come!

In the end as you leave the theater with the incantation druming in ears: Govinda Govinda Govinda Govinda GOO VIN DAAA!

Kangaroos tamed!

2005-06-20T22:39:00.000+05:30

Ever since Steven Waugh took over the captainship mantle from Mark Taylor, there has been no looking back for Australian cricket. (Of course the process must have started long ago and at the root level of first class cricket). Crushing every cricketing nation like minnows, Aussies play ruthless game. Their batsmen hoist opponents for sixers and fours treating them with utter disdain. With amazing consistency and ability to extract bounce and swing, bowlers strike fear in the minds of batsmen. Be it sledging, mind-games, innovative tactics, aggression they are the forerunners. They made mockery of those who competed (?) with them, completely outsmarting them in all departments.

Only hiccup in this glorious saga came in the form of string of poor performances against traditional rivals Kiwis. ACBs reaction was impromptu. Showing thorough professionalism, they dropped the legendary Waugh twins from the one day squad. And once again, now under the leadership of Ponting, the Aussie dadagiri continued. Losses were few, and when they came it owed more to the truly exceptional performances of opponents, for example VVS Laxman’s epic 281 at Eden Gardens, Harbhajan Singh’s 13/196 in the same match, or gritty 173 from Mark Butcher at Leeds…

Not all Aussies victories were clean sweeps. Albeit rarely, their famous top ordered faltered. But they always found a hero to steady the tottering ship. Unlike other teams, they didn’t produce “pride salvagers”. They produced match winners: Andrew Symonds, Michel Clark or now forgotten Ian Harvey, Andy Bichel, Michel Bevan or hardly known Jimmy Maher. Be it with bat, ball or fielding, they produced scintillating performances when it mattered most. The scene was no different in much hyped battle: India vs Australia world cup final. The Bengal tiger was tamed by bunch of Kangaroos!

Critics hailed Aussie success, ridiculed and questioned other nations cricketing abilities. Some went on to say that Aussies should stop playing cricket and make “exhibition tour” to show the world “how to play cricket”. In the midst of the glory, that has lasted almost a decade now, few cricket pundits, kept questioning about longevity of their dominance cautioning against the age factor. ACB did not seem to bother. And why should it? The team was still delivering goods and the bench strength was superb. Provincial teams like Queensland kept confirming ACB’s faith by beating touring international teams in warm up games.

But then… then lightening struck… the team which boasted over 80% winning ratio suddenly succumbed. First in Twenty-20 cricket, against the Poms (as Kangaroos called Britishers). It followed with a remarkable game as Somerset, thanks to their overseas players, chased an improbable 343 in warm up match! Ponting tried to shrug of all the doubts as they went into the match against Bangladesh… a match that was supposed to be cakewalk. These are still early days in international cricket for Bangladesh and they were simply outclasses by England a day earlier. But the miracle happened… Aussies were made to bite the dust. Thanks to flamboyant 100 by Mohammad Ashraful, Bangladesh humiliated Australia by successfully chasing 250. Such upsets are rare; it is even rarer to see minnows batting second and winning. Chasing totals is usually difficult as the pressure mounts up on the batting side along with the required run rate. Additionally, flood lights and due factor become can mar the winning chances. But Bangladesh survived; they survived it all to pull off a remarkable win, slapping the critics who raised their eyebrows at Bangladesh’s dismal outing at international stage.

While showering praises on the Bangladesh team, the same critics have now engaged themselves in assessing Australian cricket’s future. The fourth loss in the row (the one against England), assures that their opponents victories weren’t fluke.

Of the four losses, last three involved successful run chases. That puts a question mark on ability of current crop of Australian bowlers. With McGrath not getting any younger, Warne retired, Gilliespie struggling, Kasprowicz as good as sorted out and injured Lee, there doesn’t seem a promising bowler on the horizon to carry forward the mantle. True, Australians have great bench strength, and lost-in-wilderness bowlers like Bracken, Dale will be eyeing for come back. But how many of them really have the international exposure? These now struggling bowlers have ruled so long that despite of the rotation policy they have deprived youngsters of invaluable experience. Will Australian cricket come out of this challenge with flying colors? Or will England finally manage to win Ashes back?

Keep following Natwest trophy and the test-series that follows…

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Kevin Pietersen is AWESOME!!! Hats off! His statistics:

mat inns no runs hs ave bf sr 100 50 4s 6s ct st
13 10 6 649 116 162.25 619 104.84 3 3 49 22 8 0

Even if he scores just 1 run and gets out 7 times,
he can still boast an average of 50!

There is remarkable resemblance between Pietersen and guess who???
Hrithik Roshan!!! Check out

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Dave Whatmore has found liking for something unique. Coach a lesser gifted team and
beat Australians… first it was Sri Lanka which later went on to win world cup…
Now Bangladesh beating Kangaroos… what is next Dave?
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Saying sorry

2005-05-27T18:38:00.000+05:30

In most cases, saying "sorry" is superfluous; ironically, for exactly opposite reasons..

I am preaching :-)

2005-05-08T17:45:00.000+05:30

Indecisiveness that leads to procrastination is criminal. Wrong decision(if it turns out) might be pardonable, because you endeavored; not trying, under the disguise of “am evaluating alternatives”, is hallucinating your mind that you are solving the problem.

To Beduk ... Mee Beduk

2005-04-30T11:32:00.000+05:30

Meaning – “That is frog, I am frog”. Bizarre title! Aroused my interest to read the story. That was over a decade ago!

When I was still in primary school, we had subscribed to a Marathi magazine: ‘Kishor’ [Anybody heard of it of late? Is it still in circulation?]. First sunday of every month, my sister and I used to eagerly wait for the paper boy to deliver it. What followed was not too unfamiliar tussle (you can even call it altercation!) as to who gets to read it first :-).

‘To Beduk, Mee Beduk” was one of the stories from this magazine. I won’t say I liked it; but it appealed to me in some strange way, I didn’t know why then. It is not mystery, neither a comedy. Oh, why stretch it further, here goes the story (in my words, the pages of that magazine are long lost…) :-

Late in the evening, a little boy was paddling on his way back home from school. Looking for little adventure, he decided to take different route. On the deserted street, he paddled monotonously. There was a pond by the roadside. Gazing at the motionless liquid, the boy stopped. He noticed a little frog wandering merrily, hopping in and out of water. Staring at the frog, the boy was lost in thoughts, he seemed oblivious of everything.

Suddenly, a queer sound screamed passed his ears. Unable to move, he stood their helplessly. A circular disc zoomed over the pond. Was it UFO? The world went dimmer. Impalpable claws of darkness clutched him. He lost consciousness.

The boy opened his eyes. He could not move. All limbs strapped! He felt like specimen lying on laboratory table. On a table next to him, was a frog, completely dissected. The boy recognized it; it was the same frog he had seen by the pond, now lying vivisected. Almost dumb by shock and unable to scream, the boy managed a shriek. It seemed to cause panic around him. Two strange creatures, which he now noticed, uttered queer sounds. Swiftly and quikcly they operated the strange machinery in that grotesque lab. Before the boy could realize, he sank back to unconsciousness.

The boy opened his eyes. He got up quickly and looked around. He was standing by the pond. There was nothing … except the frog hopping around merrily... He murmured to himself, “To Beduk, Mee Beduk”.

The story still appeals… and I still don’t know why.

The boy on the roof

2005-04-20T18:48:00.000+05:30

Waking up early morning has always been out of compulsion rather than choice. Thankfully, we had lectures in the noon and I could afford the luxury of getting up at 8.30 even in college days!

Post college (read after joining professional company), there isn’t much change on that front. Irregular timings and late night work culture are not alien in software industry. Try coming at 7 in the morning and security guards are staring at you in disbelief! But leave at 1.30 in night and nobody will think your behavior is aberrant!

It has always been ...as if the whole world has modeled itself to allow me to get up as late as I want to! However, I don’t always think of world that fondly. And when I don't, I wonder if the world has in fact conspired to keep me asleep till late. When such whim takes me over, which I must confess, is not too frequent, I get up early.

Although feeling giddy and drowsy, I engage myself in the ordeal of brushing my teeth. A glance out from window and I can see huge cement mass till the vision permits. I see a boy, a 10-12 year old kid. He is there, always there, studying on the slanting roof top of a small tin shade. He inspires.

A comment like Iceberg!

2005-03-05T18:13:00.000+05:30

“Man vadhay vadhay ubhay pickatla dhor, kiti hakla hakla firi yete pickavar” Sant Bahina Bai in one of her abhangs. (Meaning: Human mind is notorious like cattle. Even if you try to shoo it off, again and again, it will come back to eat the crop!).

“…Sri Lankan score is running like an Indian taxi meter…”, “Nobody travels on the road to success without a puncture or two”…. Most popular contemporary commentator Navjot Sidhu is talking.

“Familiarize yourself with the chains of bondage and you prepare your own limbs to wear them.” Abraham Lincoln quote.

These are people from diverse background, trying to convey something to you and me. What do they all have in common? Everyone is relying on giving analogies to get their point across.

This is not uncommon. Any article, speech, poem, report… anything that is directed to public is often made ‘simple’ by giving analogies. Human mind is capable of learning fast by comparing and picking up similarities about the things that it already knows.

At the same time this confines one’s idea about the issue to the analogy given to explain it. Can’t concepts be understood without crutches of analogies? The answer to the question lies in the question itself! I had to use analogy of ‘crutches’ to get my question across!! Not that it is impossible otherwise, but more often than not, the fastest way to acquaint oneself with new concepts is to resort to analogies. The subject should be shrewd enough to grasp the essentialities pertaining to the topic through the analogy presented and not allow it to impede the learning process. He must contrast the subtleties of new concept with the analogy itself, and gain better insight.

Wont it be fitting to present an analogy to get this point across ? Analogies should be used the way a child uses supports to learn walking. First he crawls. Then he attempts walking but uses wall, cot or table to support him. But very soon he is walking on his own without using any aid!

Often, you will realize that we tend to approach and learn new things ‘in terms of things we already know’. If, like me, you knew of typewriters before, you initially thought of computers as typing device with special feature of ‘backspace’. When you saw people playing baseball for first time you thought, “Oh! it’s cricket played with stump as bat!”. Remember the scene where Bhuvan and his fellow villagers (in Lagaan) watch British people playing cricket? First reaction is ‘Aapne gulli-dande jaisa hai’!

Thus, learning in terms of what is already known comes naturally. These analogies when refined and applied in systematic scientific manner take us closer to ‘Modeling’ - simplification of reality in order to better understand the system at hand.

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If your head is wax, don't walk under sun!
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B..L..A..C..K..

2005-02-11T17:10:00.000+05:30

New wine packaged aesthetically…the wine...promises more....delivers less....however before you realise...you are intoxicated...inspired....by the blind girl who served you this wine....

[ Thanks Mohan, for helping out in this little blog ]

TrekKing

2005-01-26T18:15:00.000+05:30

For trekking, Pune presents lots of alternatives. Natives might argue that there aren’t tall hill ranges or hills in this region lack the luster of snowy Himalayas, however, for someone who hails from Nashik, it presents an exciting prospect. Add to that 5 days a week working culture and there is ample opportunity for organizing a trek!

Last Sunday, it was first time we visited Sinhgadh. I reached our meeting place early morning only to find that I am the only one to make it on time (an experience not alien to me : - ) ). In the early hours of morning, one can drive the bike in full throttle. I relished the opportunity as busy streets in Pune rarely present chance to harness the true power of Pulsar.

The road is straight and fairly smooth. It travels through small villages, greenery and last but not the least it goes by Khadakwasla dam. The dam provides excellent site. We stopped to take a few snaps; but hurried off to Sinhgadh – We didn’t want to climb while sweating under sun rays!

One can either climb the hill using stone steps or one can drive straight to top using the tar road. Like all trekking enthusiasts, we chose the stone steps. We parked bikes at bottom and started climbing the hill. It gets steep. One has to be careful as rubble pieces make the road slippery. If you are really excited about trekking and want to be little adventurous, you can go for steeper climbs which, of course, are short cuts to stone steps.

Villagers living nearby have done their bit in developing the place for tourist attraction. They serve you ‘limbu sarbat’, ‘dahi’, ‘tak’ etc. Dahi is served in special pots.

You see all types of people there. School boys who run there way up in 30 minutes, young people - determined to enjoy but usually lacking stamina (!), few regulars who climb at ease, elderly people who take their own time and frequent breaks…

We occasionally stopped, appreciating the greenery and the view that the altitude provided. Took few snaps and proceeded. 90 minutes for ascending (not bad for first attempt!).

Once you reach the top all the tiredness just fades. There is hardly anything left of the ancient fort (Formerly known as Kondhana). Hoteliers there tell you about where Udaybhanu’s Wada was and eagerly show you the places from where Tanaji and Suryaji climbed up on that historic night.

I was surprised to find out that there is a bungalow at the top. It was owned by famous freedom fighter Lokmanya Tilak. It has a special significance as meeting between Lokmanya and Mahatma Gandhi took place there.

If you are pure vegetarian, you get ‘Zunka-bhakri’ and ‘pithala’ in the hotels. It is their specialty. Perhaps, the term hotel is misnomer; they are actually shops in small huts run by villagers nearby. Lunching in the shade of trees is an experience by itself!

We started descending at around 12 and nearly took same time as for ascending.

It was exhilarating experience. Away from daily drudgery, away from pollution and traffic….At the end of the day, it just makes one wonder what we bargained for on the way to our ‘civilization’.

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I don’t question our existence, I question our modern needs.
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The Point...

2005-01-21T19:23:00.000+05:30

...the point is ... there is no point!

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Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do(Luke 23:34).
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Mind n Matter

2005-01-15T12:51:00.000+05:30

Take a piece of wood. Try to stretch it. Apply as much force as you can muster, still, you can't. It might crack, it might break, but you can’t stretch it.

Take a piece of rubber. Stretch it. It’s easy. Apply more force, you can stretch it further. Keep increasing the force and finally it will break.

A Mind made up of wood. A Mind made up of rubber.

Wood - not flexible. Rubber - flexible. But wood never misleads you by getting stretched for a while before giving away to pressure. It denies; but it is consistent with its choice!

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Just when I knew all of life's answers, they changed the questions.
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We, the people!

2005-01-07T22:28:00.000+05:30

I had been planning to watch Swades for quite sometime and at last I managed to find time and occasion this week!

The movie is about a NASA project manager: Mohan Bhargav (Shahrukh Khan). He travels back to India and searches his ‘Dai’ - Kaveriamma with the intention to take her back with him to US. That lands him in a village. Kaveriamma is now living with a school teacher Geeta (Gayatri Joshi) and her younger brother. Geeta, who has modern education, prefers to teach in school in village and fulfill her late parents’ dream.

The village has all sorts of problems! There is cast disparity. There are illiterate people. Furthermore, people refuse to send their children to school. There is no electricity. There is water scarcity. You name the problem they seem to have it! Enter Mohan and bingo he has solution for everything. Are you wondering, why on earth will he try to solve their problems? Touched by their grief? Hmm… well, it begins this way: Kaveriamma is not going to leave the village till Geeta is married and her(Geeta's) school established (or that’s what Mohan thinks). So our hero is busy getting people to attend school and all. That gets him in touch with the people in the village and then he realizes their true problems.

With his ingenious skills (and willingness to spend :-) ), he manages to change the course of water and actually gets the turbine rotating to produce electricity!!!

If that is not enough, digest this: One song (ye tara wo tara) and people forget about cast differences. Oh, I forgot – but no prizes for guessing, the chemistry between Mohan and Geeta develops in the midst of all this!

He keeps stretching his leave, but alas he has to leave sometime and Geeta refuses to accompany him abroad. In the end all is well, Mohan returns back to India and the village and of course gets Geeta…

Got bored? Well, this whole thing takes 3 and ½ hours to unfold! But the direction is good. You don’t really feel the ‘length’ of the movie. A. R. Rehman scores again with his music. Javed Akhtar is at his usual best writing songs befitting the situation. Ashutosh Govarikar fails to reproduce a gem like Lagaan, but still you feel the presence of his direction throughout the movie. There are no villains. The movie isn’t comedy.

As for the performances, the villagers are convincing. No “good looking but dumb” actors are picked for roles. They really make you feel that you are in village. Shahrukh Khan carries the movie on his shoulders. Alas, he gives the glimpses of old Shahrukh. He just seemed lost in Kal Ho Na Ho, Devdas … and the list can go on!

Finally, for the debutant Gayatri Joshi: She looks good (well, she surely has people going ga ga over her looks!), dresses in simple traditional Indian attire (and shows it is still possible to catch attention). Ashutosh has also done justice to her character by giving her dialogues and songs. In general, she does not disappoint, though, she fails to score in highly emotional scenes. But definitlely not bad for start!

Special mention: the ‘Dasara’ scene. There is a song ‘pal pal hai’. The song has been particularly directed and presented well. You can real feel to be part of the whole festival in the village while watching the song!

Yea, people criticize saying that the movie is like ‘documentary’. It does get akin to that at times But, the overall effect of the movie is good. I would recommend the movie for watching (the movie, I will say, actually shines, on the background of some of the movies released off late!).

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The secret of being boring is to say everything.
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P. S. I got a forward with Gayatri's pictures with subject line arguing that a movie cannot be documentary with heroine like this ;-), and well I must say I don't disagree :D.

Art of Li(ea)ving

2004-12-27T18:48:00.000+05:30

I first came across ‘Art of living’ when I was in college. Like some of my friends, I had the attitude of ‘I know the art of living’ and even if I don’t, no course can teach me that!

Now almost three years later, with the curiosity and want for new experience, I ventured into doing the course.

First and foremost, it made me wake up early in the morning. To get up as early as 5.30 in winter season is not something I will do out of hobby!

It was exhilarating experience! Most people will dub the things that are taught in this course as ‘common sense’ things. But then, as Dale Carnegie says – “Our trouble is not ignorance but inaction”. The course can go a long way in getting you into ‘action’.

“Love thy enemy”, Christ said more than 2000 years ago. How many of us can do that? Give 100% in whatever you do. Can we put it in practice? ‘Art of living’ has the potential to ‘kick you into your shins’ and get you going.

Art of living is about acquiring new habits. Art of living is also ‘Art of Leaving’. Leaving tea, leaving coffee, leaving non-veg, leaving hatred...! Habits! Habits!! Habits!!! Something we do ‘just because we are used to do it that way’. Something we do without applying ‘intellect’.

It is a school of thoughts. Exposure to new thoughts often conflicts with our intellect. But then war hardened and still surviving new thoughts are the only ones that can appeal and stay with the intellect or rather become part of it.

In nutshell, I would recommend the course to anyone or everyone (if you disagree with their views, it would probably teach you how to be disagreeable and still remain agreeable!).

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...and you , Marcus, you have given me many things; now I shall
give you this good advice. Be many people. Give up the game of
being always Marcus Cocoza. You have worried too much about
Marcus Cocoza, so that you have really been his slave and
prisoner.
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P. S. My college friends would be amused to know that - during the course, I actually danced!!! (So what if everyone around me was dancing too and more importantly, everyone's eyes were closed!).

Understanding

2004-11-06T14:43:00.000+05:30

Like most mortals, I used to think that I understand things. However, now, I understand that I don't understand anything. This 'understanding' has helped me a great deal in actually 'understanding' people.

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I was born intelligent - education ruined me
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Outsource Indian cricket team!!!

2004-11-01T18:57:00.000+05:30

The title might make a reader think that this is a cry from some frustrated die-hard Indian cricket fan. Perhaps, it is. But it is perfectly logical and practical thing to do!

Why did US IT market go for outsourcing? Reason is simple: cost effectiveness. Also, the comparable (some will argue – even better) quality is available in offshore development centers like in India.

Think of Indian cricket now. Board of Cricket Control of India (BCCI) is the richest body in world cricket. It has enough money. How about outsourcing ‘BCCI cricket team’?

We have no issues with foreign coaches or foreign physiotherapist simply because we feel they are better equipped than the talent available here. Isn’t same true for Indian (rather BCCI) players as well? Why not outsource the team then?

An Australian regional team like Queensland could be far more competitive and consistent in performance. Why not try and contract players there?

The argument is fundamentally flawed. Though the team is not ‘Team India’ but actually ‘Team BCCI’, we still think of the team as representing India. People continue to watch matches in spite of repeated dismal performance of Indian (!) team. Outsourcing will surely improve our winning record. But who cares for winning? BCCI? No. They are not worried as long as people watch matches. Are the viewers caring? Not really.

A century by Dravid or Tendlkar, a flamboyant Sehwag innings or a spirited Pathan effort is good enough to get Indian fans back on the edge of their seats chanting names of their heroes!

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If we must die - oh, let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor as though dead
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We all complain!

2004-10-26T13:30:00.000+05:30

We all complain. We complain when there is a traffic jam. We complain when we lose net connectivity. We complain if there a long queue at ATM. We complain when India loses a cricket match.
Complaining has shades. Complaining out of desperation. Complaining because of realization of helplessness. In general it stems from “Expectations leading to despair”.

Most of the times, if not all, complaining shows a sign of weakness. Weakness for - ‘acceptance of what has happened’.

Thinking logically (i.e. with common sense), we can generalize and enumerate all possible scenarios that can lead to ‘complaining’ (surprisingly, there aren’t plenty) :-

- We had choice, but we chose what turned out to be ‘wrong choice’ (e.g. you purchased a bike after doing all necessary homework but now the bike breaks down frequently).
- We had no choice (e.g. getting trapped in traffic jam).

More often than not, real life scenarios won’t exactly fit into these, but would be some combination of them.
Had we had choice (former case), we had made our decision to what seemed the wise move at that time.
Had we had no choice, there is nothing to regret, frown or complain about!
It is as simple as that. And we all know it! Why do we still keep complaining?
Perhaps, as Dale Carnegie points out, “Our trouble is not ignorance, but inaction”.

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For every ailment under the sun
There is a remedy or there is none
If there be one try to find it
If there be none never mind it.
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Mapping Infinite world ....

2004-10-19T13:32:00.000+05:30

A simple question: how many 3-letter words can be formed with 26 alphabets?
Equally simple answer: 26 x 26 x 26 (as each time we get a choice to choose from 26 alphabets).

Now, lets extend our counting problem little further. How many symbols do newspapers use usually? Lets say 100 (A-Z, a-z, 0-9, punctuation marks, special characters).

How many such symbols can a line accommodate? Make a guess!
Lets say its 200 (just for the sake of discussion).

And how many such a line a newspaper can carry in general?
Lets assume the number is: 5000 (again, for the sake of discussion).

Now, in how many ways can such a newspaper be filled with available 100 symbols?
100 x 100 x 100 ... (200 x 5000 times).

In short it is 100 raised to the power of (200 x 5000).

(Note: This count also includes weird combinations like all words starting with 'AAA' etc. However, this doesn't bother us as the sole purpose is to present an argument and a new insight. Also, the accuracy of figures like 200 alphabets per line is not our concern).

Now, think of the newspaper on the day:
[100 raised to the power 200 x 5000] + 1 (though large, of course this is a finite number)

The newspaper on that day HAS to be a repetition!!!

See the implications? We just proved that there can exist two days with SAME newspaper. What does this mean? How do we 'interpret' this? Perhaps, the contexts might be different. Perhaps the 'world' has changed. But, if 'Team A has beaten Team B in some sport' then it’s recurring again!

Not every newspaper will find its 'duplicate'. But, if we are to cut down on the number of newspapers who have 'duplicates' then we effectively increase the number of 'repetition' a newspaper can undergo!

Where is the hitch? The problem is with 'function' that tries to map presumably 'infinite' domain of real world to 'finite' range of 'newspaper'.

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When you eliminate all that is impossible; whatever remains however improbable must be the truth!
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Beginning of 'A beginning!'

2004-10-15T14:20:00.000+05:30

Few months back, I shifted to new cubicle and found people around me to be frequent blog posters. I was so ignorant till late that when I first heard the term ‘blog’, I actually googled to check out its meaning! Soon, I had my account created on blogspot.com. However, some 2 months have passed before I am actually posting something. I have had a go at it - I have posted few ‘comments’ before ; but this is my first shot at actually writing something.

The ability to think is undoubtedly one of the most distinguishing assets that human race has. Along with this ability, there comes a need – a need for expression of thoughts. Thoughts need some outing or else it can erupt just like a volcano – in some undesired form.

Each individual ‘chooses’ his/her own way. Some might discuss with friends, some might discuss with relatives, some might write a diary, or combination of one or more of these. And of course, not to forget, some people write blogs!!!

How do blogs differ from other ‘expression media' ?

Talking out thoughts (with friends, relatives etc.) and writing them on a piece of paper (diary) are two extremes.
While the former makes it public, later by its very intention, wants to keep it secret. If secrecy is the intent in writing on a piece of paper, then why to write it in first place? The reason is simple – putting them in words and that too on paper, makes thoughts more concise and clear to the writer himself. Blogs, while public, retain this advantage. In fact by allowing people, to read and comment they further stimulate the process of thinking.

Well, Enough for start! Hope I can do some serious posting on the blog.

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Everything you learn to do, you learn by doing!
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