Casting a Hawk eye on..

Why We Love This Game

2012-01-14T20:39:00.000+05:30

"¿Un juego de 5 días? ¡Hostia, no me jodas! ¿Como puedes ver un partido por más que 90 minutos?"
<A game of 5 days? Don't fuck around with me. How can you watch a game for more than 90 minutes?>

Literally that's the reaction you would when you begin explaining a game of test cricket to a Spaniard. Or anyone for that matter from the non-commonwealth nations. But it's still a game that captivates the imagination of a nation that accounts for about a sixth of the world's population, and the millions more living away from their motherland.

To understand cricket, one must first realise the magnitude that India encompasses: 1.1 billion people from different religious backgrounds (Sí, viven gente que no son solo Hindus), speaking different languages (the census of 1962 recognized 1652 languages), divided now by vote bank politics, but there is just one thing that unites us all, whether rich or poor, black, brown or white: cricket.

That's probably because it is the only sport we can stand up to the world and say "We're much better than you." And it is probably the only thing which treats all Indians equally: it doesn't matter whether you're rich or poor, what religion you follow, what your father does and who he knows in the upper echelons of the political hierarchy. There are no special quotas for certain sections -- neither can you just pay and get into the team-- and thus in the eyes of the public the 11 men that represent the country are the real champions for having overcome all the obstacles that one faces in a nation of 1.1 billion people. They are there because they deserve to be there. And the champions of champions take a demi-god like stature.

Some tell me it is akin to football in the Latin countries. Having lived in Madrid for about 6 months now (including just before and after the time when Spain were anointed world champions in football) I can confidently say it is far greater. Italian football still seems to be struggling from the post Calciopoli fall out. The match-fixing scandal in India, which was far greater in magnitude and seemed destined to finish the game, was only a mere aberration. A Barça-Real Madrid match might have political connotations with the Catalunya-Castilla face off, but is eons away from what an India-Pakistan match is.

Even if we lose 7 or 8 test matches in a row, the Indian team will always have a massive support: they always did. Whether they were down in the abyss in the late 1990s or when they became world beaters in the 2000s. Yes we do become hysterical when the team does badly, but no one expects Gods to be humiliated by ordinary humans, do they? And moreover, no one complains "it's too much" when we raise them to the high pedestals when we win.

It's a pity that a sport keenly followed and played by a quarter of the world's population (probably only football and athletics have greater numbers) isn't considered worthy of an Olympic berth. But Olympics or not, it will always be more than just a game for us. You can take an Indian out of India, but you can't take the ~~India~~ cricket out of an Indian.

In the Land of Asterix and Tintin: a few observations.

2012-01-06T23:32:00.000+05:30

Recently I had the pleasure of visiting the couple of Francophone countries in the Western Europe. Here's a few things I observed.

Ryan Air is like some red KSRTC bus that went out of service some 10 years ago. No seat numbers, no push back. Imagine going in some godforsaken state transport bus, with a firangi lady going on with the equivalent of "chaaya, chaaya, kapeee". That's Ryanair for you.
Eurolines is worse than Ryan air. Enough said.
The present state of Majestic bus stand, Bangalore can put Bruxelles Nord to shame. And many others across this "developed" part of the world.
The country of Belgium is obsessed with people taking a leak. Their national symbol is that tiny Mannekin-Pis. They have one of a lady taking a piss too. Apparently there's one more. Crazy.
But for all that pissing, Belgium gave us Tintin. That more than compensates for everything.
Paris has a good metro system. But it aint clean and totally stinks. Probably the Belgians or wannabe Belgians have something to do about this.
The Mona Lisa is over rated. The two sided picture of David and Goliath by Daniele de Volterra is far better. But the best part of the Louvre has to be that narcissistic Napolean Bonaparte's collection.
The Eiffel Tower is NOT overrated. Don't listen to any Parisien telling you that the view from his 8th floor terrace is better than the one from up the Eiffel Tower.
If Nantes had the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, it would be beat Paris hollow.
Nobody knows why there are 3000 odd menhirs aligned in Carnac, dating back 4500 years. This mystery is surely more interesting than whether That Stupid Lady was smiling or not 500 years ago.
107 min: runtime for the movie In Bruges. 60 min: time it takes to see the whole city of Bruges, Belgium. Oh yes, the people from this region are proud to call themselves Flanders.

No offense intended at any community/race, all meant in good humour.

Guiri en Madrid VI: Gól Gól Gól Gól Gól Gól Gooool

2011-04-20T00:33:00.000+05:30

As fate would have it, I arrived in Madrid exactly two days after Barcelona hammered 6 in the Bernabeu. No self-respecting Blanco wanted to talk football. But it was not all gloom in Madrid. The perennial underachievers by the side of the Manzanares seemed to hit one of their purple patches in their blow-hot, blow-cold cycle that made often made their supporters lament "what if ".

May 17 2009, Estadio Vicente Calderón

After spending a lazy Sunday of the San Isidro weekend (easily the best time to visit Madrid) in my room, I decided to venture out for a typical Spanish afternoon stroll at 8pm with a camera, a Metrobus pass with 2 trips left and the mandatory €50 emergency note. I reached the metro station where I saw a young man wearing red and white striped shirt with a similarly colored scarf rushing into the station.

I remembered going through the Marca over the week, where they urged the true Colchoneros to come down to the Vicente Calderón on Sunday, to support their Atleti in their final against Valencia (read 4th place play-off). The morning's edition stated, from what I could understand, that the 55000 seater stadium was filled to the brim (Can Valencia survive? or something of that sort was the headline).Wouldn't it be bad to just go and soak in the atmosphere, click some pics, and come back? One pradakshina around the Calderón, that's all. And maybe, just maybe somebody might have dropped their ticket on the ground mistakenly.

Estadio Vicente Calderón from outside

Following my Metro amigo, I was soon passing by shops selling red and white flags with the crest of the Atlético, and landed up in front of this imposing structure with glass panels in the middle and Coca Cola and Mahou boards at the ends. I began the pradakshina and the oohs and aahs of the crowd getting louder and louder. Next thing I know, I'm in the stadium, right behind Leo Franco's goal, just to the left of the away fans with € 50 less in my wallet. My first ever European football game.

Over a quarter of the game had already passed and I had barely found my seat then there was a loud roar. Penalty.

Forlán stepping up to make it 1-0 to the Rojiblancos

At the other end of the stadium, the Great Man's son-in-law, Sergio 'Kun' Agüero had been brought down in the box by Cesar Sanchez. From this end, it looked dubious to me. The stadium reverberated with shouts of "¡Kun Kun Agüero! ¡Kun Kun Agüero!" with fans waving their scarves and flags, jumping up and down. Up stepped Diego Forlán, in the second-best form in of his life and competing for the Pichichi, and duly dispatched it past Cesar. A packed house of 55000 baying for Valencian blood soon changed their war cry: "¡Uruguayo! ¡Uruguayo!". And this was followed by the club hymn, sung in unison by all. This was something amazing for a person used to hearing 45000 odd people shouting "India Jeetega!" or "Sachin! Sachin!" back home at the Chinnaswamy Stadium. IPL still has a long way to go.

55000 Colchoneros making Chinnaswamy Stadium pale in comparison

The fans singing and scarf waving went unabated till half time. And then a few big loud speakers took over. The queue to get the Mahou/Coke was long. The one in front of the men's restroom was longer. There was just one thing being discussed.
"¿Crees que fue una penaltí?" {"Do you think that was a penalty?"}

[Guy in Atletico shirt] "Sí. Muy claro!" {"Yeah, totally!"}
[Guy in Valencia shirt] "Claro que no! Kun se cae facilmente!" {"Of course not! Kun went down easily!}

By the time I was back in my seat the second half began. Valencia tried desperately to get the equalizer. Villa (I think) was brought down. The Valencia fans to my left shouted penaltí. Not given. Atletí fans do the Nelson Muntz Ha-ha at the visiting fans. Minutes later a Valencia player comically goes down in the box. Atletí fans mock their rivals by shouting Penaltí.

Valencia huffed and puffed. But as time ticked on, the decibel levels continued to rise, and this seemed to fizzle out the Valencian efforts. The fans could smell the Champions League qualification: as time drew to a close their singing got louder, scarves and flags were waved more ferociously, and they began to jump higher and higher, in sync -- it didn't matter if it meant they were dropping their Mahou/Coke in the process. Atletí-Atletí-Atlético Madrid resonated in the Calderón.

As the scent of the Champions league qualification got stronger, so did the cheering and scarf-waving

The fourth official held the board up to signal extra time. The fans began to whistle. And after about three minutes the referee gave in to the fans' demands: Atlético were more or less assured of 4th spot. The fans couldn't hide their joy, their singing went a notch higher -- now drowning the anthem played on the speakers. They continued to dance until they were asked to leave by the police. The party continued on to the streets: cold night and traffic jams be damned, Atletí were in the Champions League and that's all that mattered. And I went back to the Blume, completely broke but rich with memories that I would cherish forever.

The best €50 I spent in Madrid

Previous posts: Guiri en Madrid, parts: One, Two, Three, Four and Five

Guiri en Madrid - II: Behind Enemy Lines

2011-04-06T11:49:00.000+05:30

Click here for part 1.

May 5, 2009:

8.30 am, Residencia Joaquin Blume, Madrid

Did the sun ever set? I had crashed around 10 the previous "night" and woke up at 7 in the morning. Thank god my mother forced me to take those extra theplas, ketchup sachets and achaar. The leftovers from last night's dinner served as my breakfast.

Tap water quenched my thirst. But I needed a bottle. Stupid airlines don't allow them. Even KSRTC's Airavath provides a water bottle! I managed to find that slot machine kind of thing. But I had no clue where to insert the coin. There was no "INSERT COIN" sign in English or Spanish with arrows pointing towards where to insert it. I tried pressing all the Coke, Fanta and Agua (I finally figured out how to say water in Spanish) symbols with the hope that some place in the machine would light up and ask for money to be inserted (or just throw out whatever I asked for for free).

Losing all hope, I turned around to see a short, pretty girl, wearing a t shirt which said GALICIA and a cast on her leg, smiling away to glory at my plight.

[with a big smile and very rapidly] "¿Necesitas ayuda? ¿Qué quieres? ¿Tienes monedas?"

[sheepishly smiling back, barely understood a word she said] "Lo siento, no español"

[smile gets bigger, probably thinking which village this idiot came from, this time with hand gestures] "No problema, te mostraré"

I didn't understand a word she said, but paid rapt attention to how she placed the coin in a round slot, pushed a slider up, sending the coin inside and lighting up the machine. The amount she inserted showed up on a display and then she pressed coke, and there was the can of coke and her change. She did it all slowly, turning around after every step, making sure I understood. For a moment, I was ashamed to call myself an engineer.

"Gracias" was all I could muster.

"¿Qué país es tu?"

[remembering something from the Spanish book] "Perdona. Lo siento pero yo no entiendo."

[pointing to herself, really very slowly] "Soy española."[and pointing to me] "¿Y tu?"

"India"

"Aah. Eres indio. Que bueno! Hasta luego"

"Adios"

1.30 pm, Cafeteria, INEF, Madrid

When I was a kid, I was pretty comfortable with seventeen times tables. But after entering engineering and the advent of the calculator into my life, I would use it to do something like 12 x 9. It got worse in the second year, as the calculator was used to solve single digit multiplications. But its funny, how comfortable I had got with 65 times tables, two weeks after finishing 2nd year of engineering. Even 65 x 1.45 wasn't too difficult. I guess it was the Marwadi genes coming out.

The menu in the cafeteria was huge. Being vegetarian I eliminated everything that had jamon (ham), pescado(fish) and pollo (chicken). Now the huge list seemed to whittle down to exactly 4 items. There was coke for € 0.75. Bocadillo con queso (cheese baguette) was € 3.50. My eyes finally settled on a heart shaped chocolate donut looking thing.

"¿Cuanto es?"

"Un euro ochenta."

"Uno, por favor"

"¿Algo mas?"

"Nada mas, gracias."

I had read the exact dialogue in the Spanish book yesterday. And I spoke the exact same words. Thank you Oxford Press.

But it wasn't a donut. It wasn't even bread. It was a puff. Without the vegetable/egg stuffing. And a huge layer of chocolate sauce on it. And I paid Rs.117 for it! What a rip off!

Tall girl: "Are you having that for lunch?" asked the tall girl who had three different plates on her tray.

Long haired guy [offering an orange]: "Do you want?"

"No thank you"

And they continued their conversation with an Atletico B coach who was also worked in the lab. They spoke in a speed that would make Usain Bolt seem slow. I'm NOT exaggerating. The long haired guy tried a lot to make me understand, using a lot of gestures, and funny sounds, but somehow I just couldn't laugh like the others at the table.

I could barely understand a word he said. Or rather what anyone said in this country. Very few people could understand me. I still had not spoken to my parents. I was hungry. It didn't look like I could eat much here: my MTR Ready-To-Eat and Maggie would last me another 4 days max (assuming three meals a day). I had half a mind to catch the next flight home and never return. But I don't think I knew enough Spanish to get me to the airport.

4.30 pm, Internet parlor behind the second bus stop on Avenida Valladolid, Madrid

Just one more try, I said to myself as I left the lab in search of a SIM. I decided to walk down Avenida Valladolid towards Príncipe Pio. I was wondering why the streets were empty then I remembered about siesta. The shops over here were very different from those in India. They don't have those big advertisement boards of a particular product with the shop's name written in small at the bottom. In Chennai one could at least make out what a particular shop sold by the hoardings outside the shop.

I entered a shop which had stickers of all sorts on the walls: Vodafone, Movistar, internet etc. I entered the shop and saw a bearded, brown skin man. He was speaking in Spanish to a customer. Must be from North Africa. Morocco I guess.

"Do you speak English?"

"Littal littal."

"I want to make an international phone call."

"Yes you can make here."

"What are the call charges?". I didn't want to be ripped off.

"Where you call? Depends on that."

"India."

"आप इंडिया से आये हो और उर्दू नहीं बोलते?" (You're from India and you don't speak Urdu?)

My face immediately lit up. "आप इंडिया से हो?" (Are you from India?)

"नहीं जी, हम पाकिस्तान से हैं." (No, I'm from Pakistan)

Over the next hour, my friend from Lahore helped me buy a sim, told me how to use the Metro, the location of Indian restaurants, the supermarkets and a whole lot of other stuff that was important to live in Madrid. And as usual the conversation went on to cricket and the debate as to who would win the upcoming T20 World Cup, and the 2007 final.

"अगर आपको कोई भी मुसीबत महसूस होती हैं., बेफिक्र यहाँ आ जाना, नहीं तो एक फोन कर देना." (If you face any problem, feel free to come down here or just give me a call).

He gave me a Coke for free as well."अल्लाह कहता है िक मेहमानों की मदद करने में हमारी भलाई होती हैं." (Allah says if one will prosper if he helps his guests)

It felt like god had sent an angel just to help me out: at the right place at the right time. Never in hell would I have ever thought that a Pakistani could be an angel. But had it not been for him I probably would never have enjoyed Madrid so much.

Its very strange. We speak the same language. We look very similar. We eat similar food. But we fight for a small piece of land: causing a lot of bloodshed and creating more hatred.

Vitruvian Article: The World Cup of Emotions

2011-03-29T19:59:00.001+05:30

“Este mundial es nuestro!”(This world cup is ours) was all that was echoing all over Madrid three weeks prior to the beginning of the arguably biggest sporting extravaganza in the world. The hysteria was ubiquitous: the billboards, the radio, the TV, and the talk at the tapas bars. Even the small event of the UEFA Champions League final transcended into a Germany versus Italy debate, eventually being settled by expats shouting “Argentina!” after Diego Milito’s stellar performance.

At Amsterdam’s Schipol airport, the pride on the passengers’ faces waiting to board the Johannesburg flight was clearly evident. And so was the envy of those unlucky folks staring at the long queue before the gate while they moved on to “less happening” destinations. A walk down the aircraft aisles just reinforced the hype: every second guy was watching the Goal trilogy or Greatest Ever World Cup Goals. The frenzy reached its pinnacle when we disembarked at the OR Tambo airport, being welcomed to the Rainbow Nation by with posters of Mandela holding the World Cup plastered everywhere.

After an hour and a half's drive from the airport we were at our designated residence: a sprawling resort nestled in the outskirts of Pretoria. The fellow residents encompassed a unique milieu of persons from all walks of life—physical education instructors, sociologists, policemen, and lawyers to name a few. They hailed from diverse corners of the globe, speaking different languages but united by a strange set of things: two distinctly colored cards, a whistle, and La Camisa Negra. Two thirds of them carried a flag, while the others, at times, carried a big board capable of displaying two sets of numbers.

Invictus showed the seeds of South African unity being sown post apartheid in their triumph of the Rugby World Cup of 1994. Come 2010 and this had blossomed into a full grown Protea plant. Many questioned awarding the tournament of such a magnitude to an African nation in the first place. Many warned about the perils involved as South Africa had one of the highest crime rates in the world, and there were fears that the infrastructure would give way. But this was their chance to prove the doubters wrong, show the world that Africa is capable of hosting the world’s biggest spectacle without incident and importantly keep up the promise that Nelson Mandela had entrusted them with.

Right up to the start of the tournament frantic activity took place at the stadiums: the volunteers were cleaning each seat in the stands, the media coordinators tried to satisfy as many journalists as they could in the media tribune, the groundsmen were using lights to defrost the pitches they had prepared while the general coordinators of stadiums supervised the flag boys till they got their routine perfectly right. Finally, June 11 arrived. Ke Nako (It’s time in Sotho-Tshawana).

The football didn’t disappoint. The single digit temperatures rarely seemed to affect teams, whose coaches tended to opt for a more tactical approach in the games. But it is the emotions that make the World Cup so special. The decibel level went up several notches whenever Brazil or Argentina scored a goal. An eerie silence seemed to echo throughout Pretoria when a Diego Forlán inspired Uruguay delivered the knock-out punch to the hosts. A sense of a euphoric, triumphant “bring-it-on” flowed through non-Slovenian fans as Londan Donovan helped USA claw back a two goal deficit. A shock reverberated throughout the football fraternity when Italy and France were knocked out in the first round. And there was relief when Spain tiki-taka’d their way into the knockouts.

But the mother of all emotional dramas was played out at a quarter final in Soccer City stadium on the second of July. South Africans, irrespective of race, came out with their faces painted in red, yellow and green with a prominent black star. The match went into extra time, and penalties seemed certain when suddenly Luis Suárez saved what appeared to be a certain goal right at the death. The whole stadium saw it, and he was duly sent off for a professional foul. The vuvuzelas were blowing louder than ever, Africa were going to have their first ever semi-finalists. It was Time for Africa after all. But then tragedy struck.

The ever reliable Asamoah Gyan hit the cross bar. The crowd was stunned into silence: they knew the script had horribly gone wrong. The match went to penalties, and the rest, as they as say, is history. That cheeky Suárez instantaneously became Ghana’s (and Africa’s) most wanted. But for three and half million odd people back in South America he was martyr.

The Uruguayan juggernaut finally came unstuck against the Oranje in the first semi. At the other end of the draw Paul the Octopus’ omen and Spain’s technical superiority and experience stopped the young Mannshaft on their tracks.

After a month of action, a new world champion would be crowned in soccer’s newest destination. On a personal level, watching the finale to, arguably, the greatest sporting spectacle in the world was something I had yet to get a grip onto. What was a mere dream a few months ago had now become a reality. And to make it better, Shakira was performing Waka Waka live.

But what transpired on the pitch was neither a dream nor a spectacle to behold. Tackles were flying in and the Dutch looked a shadow of their Joga Bonito self. Arjen Robben gave the Spanish fans a couple of heart stopping moments, but San Iker’s brilliance ensured that they continued to tick, as the game went to extra time. The entire Spanish contingent had almost begun to celebreate as Cesc Fàbregas took on the keeper with David Villa alongside, but Stekelenburg proved his worth by saving a certain goal. The Dutch weren’t deterred by the Heitinga sending off as they kept trying in vain to penetrate the Spanish defense.

Then in the 116^th minute a Jesús Navas inspired counter attack ended up with Cesc having the ball. Cesc found Andrés Iniesta. Andrés took a touch, and stroked the ball passed Stekelenburg into an empty net. The red half of the crowd erupted. The entire Spanish team ran towards Iniesta in one corner of Soccer City. But the ever-so-humble man decided to dedicate the goal of his life to a close friend, Dani Jarque, whose memories had united La Furia Roja. Five long minutes later, Mr Webb blew his whistle, condemning the Dutch to hold on to their tag as the World Cup’s bridesmaids.

Watching my Spanish colleague jumping with joy, shouting Campeones at the top of his voice, still coming to terms with what had just occurred, made me think how the scene would be back in Madrid. A good 24 hours later, we were back in the land of the new World Champions and the fiesta from last night didn’t seem to stop. The locals continued their rendition of “Yo Soy Español” and “Viva España” went unabated till their throats were dry (obviously there was Sangria to quench the thirst).

Spain may have won the world cup, but the South Africans won the hearts. The infrastructure for one of the safest world cups was world-class, and they kept Madiba’s promise being excellent hosts to the world’s biggest sporting spectacle. The Spanish and the South Africans can rightly proclaim, “the world cup is ours”.

Truly a WORLD Cup!

2010-12-04T12:15:00.000+05:30

There has been a huge outcry in the British, American, Spanish and Australian bids over FIFA's announcement of the hosts for the 2018 and 2022 World Cups. Unfortunately, all of them: The New York Times, The Guardian, The Sydney Morning Herald, Marca and their likes, fail to understand the meaning of the WORLD cup.

As Gabriel Marcotti, has pointed out in his column in Sports Illustrated, we might as well have the World Cup hosted in 3 or 4 countries all the time, or just in Germany every time. It is a well known fact that no matter where it is hosted, the World Cup will be a success. The main revenue comes from television anyways. But the western media tend to overlook the fact that just 6 months back, when FIFA and South Africa proved all the naysayers wrong and conducted an extremely successful World Cup.

I was lucky enough to be at South Africa for the entire duration of the tournament. And there was none of the problems that the western media had pointed out before the tournament. The stadiums were impeccable. There were no terrorists attacks, in fact security was fantastic. No incidents of crimes. And the very hospitable South Africans made sure all the visitors left with a smile on their faces.

My driver in South Africa told me with a beaming face, "We have shown the world what we can do. Everyone said Africa cannot do it. You can see the results yourselves. Today I'm very proud of my country and am proud to be South African."

South Africa 2010: leaving a legacy for the entire Africa

Absolutely true. Today Durban is touted as a strong candidate for the 2020 Olympics. FIFA and Sepp Blatter must be lauded for this change in impression. And this is the grand opportunity that the Arabs and Eastern Europe have.

Russia intelligently put the statistics in their presentation: Western Europe 10, Eastern Europe 0. Their presentation had everything: showing the dreams of young kids like Sasha, Isinbayeba talking how the bid would help women (no other bid mentioned the fairer sex), and it ended with the entire Russia becoming one big playground. No offense to the Sochi games, but the World Cup of football is a bigger event.

It would improve the infrastructure of the entire country, not just a single city. The World Cup would give the impetus to build better roads, rail links between cities, and spring out many hotels. And the no-visa and free ground transport facility to match ticket holders definitely makes things more feasible.

And why not Qatar? Just because the oil fuels the economy, doesn't mean it doesn't deserve the chance to hold the World Cup. Isn't the United States of America worse? It is waging a war for oil. Strangely, nobody raised the questions of heat with the Iberian bid, where temperatures rise up over 40ºC in the June-July. Hypocrites.

Like South Africa 2010, this World Cup presents a the opportunity to change the impression about the Arab world. A chance, as the Sheikh said, "to change the misconceptions" of the Arab world. It also gives a chance for an Arab nation to change: to integrate new things into their culture so that their society improves.

They're building air-conditioned stadiums running on clean technology. Qatar has a burgeoning economy that can build and sustain this proven technology. Also most of the matches occur at night/late evenings, shouldn't be so much of a problem. Despite this, the Organizing Committee says all matches, training facilities will be at 27ºC, none of the other bids presented such ideal conditions. Plus a compact world cup, after 3 large ones (South Africa, Brazil and Russia), would be a welcome change.

If England had got the 2018 and USA 2022, the corruption allegations in FIFA would have been brushed under the carpet, wouldn't it? The corrupt officials were suspended. The questions raised in the Panorama program have been addressed by FIFA long back. Looks like the grapes are all too sour. The sooner they stop looking at the "developing world" (as they like to call it), with a Slumdog Millionaire attitude, the better.

To re-iterate, it is called a WORLD cup for a reason. If all 208 countries do not get an equal opportunity to host it, the game would never grow. Give Eastern Europe and the Arabs a chance. They will surely not disappoint, and leave a legacy behind that no one will forget.

Guiri en Madrid V: El diference en la cultura

2010-11-10T19:44:00.002+05:30

Case 1: Lunch at a friend's place in India, with friend's mother cooking

I've already had 1 serving, but I'm really hungry and the paneer sabji my friend's mother made adds to the hunger.

Aunty: Beta, take one more helping...
Me: No aunty, thank you. I'm really full.(I'm actually not. I'm hungry)
Aunty: You haven't eaten a thing. Take some more.
Me: No aunty. I'm really really full. (I'm really not)
Aunty: You don't eat anything. Look how thin you are. Just eat this.

Despite being forced to eat a couple of servings more, I end up eating just about the right amount. In the end I'm not overfull.

Case 2: Lunch at a friend's place in Spain, with friend's mother cooking

Tortilla de Patata on the left with Gazpacho

I've already had 1 serving, but I'm really hungry and the tortilla de patata (spanish omelette) my friend's mother made adds to the hunger.

Señora: ¿Quieres más? (You wan't some more?)
Me: No, gracias. (I actually want more, I am hungry)
Señora: ¿Estas seguro? (Are you sure?)
Me: Sí.
Señora: Vale.

She takes the plate away. And I stay hungry. The End.

Moral of the story: In Spain, no means no.

Guiri en Madrid IV: Metro, Tennis, and duped by a Sardar again

2010-11-03T12:48:00.001+05:30

May 10, 2009

The Madrid Metro

The epic Madrid masters, famous world over for their model ball girls was shifted so that yours truly could be present when it happened. Very mindful of my carbon footprint, I refused their offer to send me a chauffeur-driven limo, and instead use my favorite madrileño mode of transport, the metro. There were many reasons, why I loved the metro, the most important being that I did not need to know Spanish to figure out how to go from one place to another! And you don't need to even bother about the cost, it is a simple € 1, whether you travel 1km or 20km; whether you travel only on the "R" line or changed from the yellow, to the red, the blue and then the light green. A metro map is all you need and you can pick up one anywhere in the city.

The only "piece of advertisement" that I saw

What I really found surprising was the apparent lack of advertisement for this tournament in the city and its papers. When you have the likes of Federer, Nadal, Djokovic, Williams, and Kuznetsova playing, you probably don´t need any. But even though I got down at the designated metro station, the only thing closest to the hoarding I found was a small arrow pointing to the location of the tournament, a proposed venue for the city's (unsuccessful) 2016 Olympic bid. Even the sign for the metro station was larger. And remembering from the metro map, there was a station called Santiago Bernabéu, it appeared to me that it was barely any different from India, just replace cricket with football. Nothing else seems to matter. Later on, I was shocked to see MARCA as a sponsor, which throughout the week seemed more interested in Cristiano Ronaldo's alleged search for a house in Madrid ahead of his impending transfer, than report about the biggest exhibition of tennis .

Contrary to my prior expectations, at the Caja Magica, there seemed to be no rush for tickets, and I easily managed to get hold of €20 one: a decent price to pay to see the best in tennis slog it out. The autographs and photographs that I managed to collect also did justice to what I paid. I really enjoyed the matches of the old stalwart Cañas and Robredo, and upcoming stars like Chela and Na Li. At the fag end of the day, I did catch Murray practicing and Sania Mirza in action. And I did get a prized pic with a model ball girl.

Sania Mirza warming up; Juan Ignacio Chela in action; Caja Magica Centre Court

The only downside was the €8 I paid for the salad. I barely filled my stomach and I ended up throwing more than half of it because I couldn't quite digest it. I did buy M&Ms for €2.50, but the quantity of that was equivalent to the Gems you get in India for Rs10 ( = € 0.12). Yes, the maarwadi dimag was at work again, and I was converting every single € to the Rs (btw why doesn't blogger accept the goddamn symbol yet!) .

Despite tennis satisfying my appetite, hunger caught up with me when twilight descended on the Caja Magica and the games came to a halt. Watching Sania Mirza in action probably instigated my craving for spicy, Indian food, so as suggested by my Pakistani friend, headed to Lavapiés, the apparent jaunt for foreigners in Madrid.

Once there, I was surprised to see the number of Indian looking people. Repulsed by restaurants with the names Anorkoli and Momtaz Mohal (and with waiters who could not speak Hindi, instead replied with the Spanish "¿qué?" I figured that they were Bangladeshis, pretending to be Indians. Idiots, just because your country doesn't have an identity doesn't mean you spoil the reputation of a beautiful country.), I finally went to Maharaja, which had a friendly Sardar inviting all and sundry to try out "Hindu food". And he spoke Hindi.

The menu startled me. €2.00 for a naan (=Rs. 130). €6.50 (=Rs 422.50) for the cheapest sabzi: Navratan Kurma. €4.50 for a samosa!! Terrible time to be starving. After "cheaping it" with 2 naans and the navratan kurma (even NITK mess kurma is better), I told the waiter "बॉस पानी लाना " (dude get me some water).

The bill was a shocker. After carefully choosing items so that my bill doesn't exceed €10.50 (=Rs. 682.50), I was surprised to see an additional €2.00 added for "agua". Who the hell charges for €2.00 for water? When I asked the Sardar, he smiled, "अगर ताप वाटर चाहिए था तो पहले बोलना था|" ("if you wanted tap water, you should have asked for it"). Duped by a Sardar. Again.

Guiri en Madrid III: Arte Moderno

2010-03-21T18:16:00.002+05:30

When I was 8, I was forced to enter a drawing competition. And I can still clearly remember I wanted to submit the worst drawing possible so that I wouldn't be forced to attend stupid drawing competitions ever again, and I could play cricket instead.

But who knew the mess that I thought I had made would turn out to be a masterclass? When the prize was announced and my drawing displayed, the judges had said "look at the great interplay of colors he has used" or something of that sort. I still don't know how I won.

Twelve years on, I was in Madrid, wondering where to go to on my very first weekend in the city. After quick Google search and a couple of recommendations from my fellow collaborators, I found out what I could do for free on a Saturday afternoon in Madrid: visit the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía.

I was just blown over by what I saw at the entrance:

Not the girl in the short skirt! But the object she was posing next to. I could not understand what it was. So this was modern art. And art, as the brochure that I collected from the entrance told me, is the strongest form of expression that exists in this world. And everyone in the museum seemed to be staring at the different pieces of art and trying to decipher what message the artist was trying to give out.

Not to be left out, I tried to mimic what the guy closest to me was doing: I put on a serious face, placed my fingers on my chin and began moving my fingers up and down periodically. Goddammit, why did I have to shave today?

I hoped that by looking at it, I would get some meaning out of it. Everyone else seemed to be getting that and explaining to the person next to them in Spanish, French or whatever language those white men spoke. And then the other person began to nod their head in agreement. But to no avail.

I spent the next few hours looking at the works of Pablo Picasso, Julio Gonzalez, Paul Sietsema, Juan Muñoz and other 20th century geniuses from the Iberian peninsula, without having the slightest understanding of what they were trying to say. I still don't, but it was all very interesting. Look at this for example:

To me it looks like a solid combination of a bull, bird unicorn and antelope. It does not seem to have any meaning but yet is very attractive. It was something that you could stare at for hours together and never know what it means.

23 May, 2009: Modern art museum, Cuenca

Multilinkual organized a trip to Segobriga and Cuenca. A part of the trip was a visit to the modern art museum. David had made sure that we got a guide while we were there and she explained a lot of things that I would seem beyond my realm of thinking. Take this one for example:

"....The straight lines represent a sense of order in the painter's life. But you see that the paint is smudged in one corner. So this painting shows that there was a sudden disturbance in his life. This could possibly be the Spanish civil war when Franco took control..."

This seemed obvious to me. Modern art finally making sense!But then I saw this: the most intriguing piece of art among them all:

Who ever thought a mosquito coil could ever be a piece of art? Crazy Europeans!

Guiri en Madrid - I: Foreign

2009-12-29T19:51:00.003+05:30

First thing you got to remember when you travel to Spain and someone calls you a Guiri(pronounced with a silent 'u') he/she isn't calling you an avatar of Lord Vishnu(in Hindu culture) or referring to the Japanese name of justice, but basically insulting you. It basically refers to a "मैं कौन हूँ? मैं कहा हूँ?" (Who am I? Where am I?) types.

May 4, 2009:
Around 11am local time, Ataturk International Airport, Istanbul

Random Indian co-passenger while getting off the plane: "Its so bloody cold here!"
Turkish co-passenger in reply: "Are you kidding? Its only 15 degrees C!"
15 degrees???!!! I swear it was colder. Probably the Turkish guys don't know how to read temperatures. That was my first experience of "normalcy" in Europe. 10 more weeks in this place, only god could help me.

4pm, Barajas International Airport, Madrid

After flying for 8 hours and a three hour stop over in Istanbul, I finally landed in Madrid. No one mugged me or tore my visa pages in Mumbai, as I had been warned. I was startled to find the exit of the airport deserted. Even Mangalore Airport will have more people at any given time waiting at the exit. Only a really tall girl and a guy with really long hair were there and they held up one colourful paper with my name written on it.

Foreign. Or rather the joy of being in foreign. I had been to Thailand before, but that doesn't count as foreign does it? Yes we do have big buildings, automatically opening doors, sprawling malls and modern cars in India too. So how would foreign or foreign-like be described by an Indian? I have drafted up a definition below, if anyone has got something better in mind, let me know:

Any place that is clean, decked up with modern architecture and technology and where pretty girls wear short dresses.

The tall girl: "Hello Archeeeet! Welcome to Madrid."

Me [struggling to remember the minuscle spanish I had learnt] : "Hola! Como esta usted?"

Tall girl [smiling]: "Bueno! Hablas español?"

Me [struggling to grasp what the girl had said, catching only the last word] : "No. Know español only pequeño."

Tall girl [laughing]: "Poquito, no pequeño. No problem. In one week you'll speak fluently. In the laboratory we only speak Spanish."

After the introductions, we headed to the lab. In the car, my professor called.

Prof : "Hello Archeeey! Welcome to Madrid! Everything it is okay?"

Me [totally forgetting what the girl had taught me 10 minutes ago] : "Hola sir! Gracias. Everything is okay. Como esta usted?"

Prof : "I'm very good. You speak spanish?"

Me : "Sí. Pequeño"

Prof : "No problem. In one week you'll speak fluently. In the laboratory we only speak Spanish."

The joy of being in foreign soon turned into fear. My friends in the front of the car were speaking Spanish at a speed that would Usain Bolt to shame. I could barely grasp a single word. Back home, I used to criticize a couple of friends who spoke really fast. Well I could at least understand what they were saying.

Along the way we saw the Valdebebas, the training ground of Real Madrid. Estadio Alfredo di Stéfano where Castilla, the Real Madrid B team plays made the Chinnaswamy stadium look small. The sight sure did help me settle a few nerves: I was at the city of my dreams, where football is more than just a sport.

No wonder the long haired guy said: "When you speak English, we can all understand. When the English people speak, we cannot."

7.30 pm, Príncipe Pio, Madrid

"I want to buy a SIM card."

Shopkeeper [totally confused]:"Perdona! Puede repitir por favor?"

"Do you speak English?"

Shopkeeper 1 [using gestures to call buddy] : "Un momento por favor."

Shopkeeper 2 [nodding his head with confidence] "Yes."

"I want to buy a SIM card. Vodafone please."

"We have Vodafone." [takes out a mobile phone]

Me [using hand gestures] : "I don't want a mobile phone. I only want a SIM card."

I looked at the tall girl, she was confused as well. I took out my phone and showed him what I meant by a SIM card. And to make the feeling more weird, the sun was still shining brightly. at 7.30 pm! This was new to me.

This was Príncipe Pio, one of the central shopping districts of Madrid. Remember, when someone in Madrid says they know English, speak slowly, very slowly, so that they understand. Even if they sing those complicated lyrics of that Lady Gaga song off the radio perfectly, doesn't mean they can understand everything you say.

Takes out those normal envelopes containing SIM cards " Here you are."

"What are the tariffs?"

"What?"

"Call charges? I want to make and receive phone calls to India."

"€ 1.00 per minute."

[Marwadi brain thinking] What a bloody rip off! 1 x Rs. 65 = Rs. 65/min for a phone call!

Me : "Incoming is free right?"

Shopkeeper: "No free."

"Then how much."

"€ 1.00 per minute."

"Even for incoming? For receiving phone calls from India?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Can you tell me the exact figure?"

"I don't know. You can see the website."

"But you're sure I have to pay some one from India calls me on this phone?"

"Yes.....I think so."

There was no way in bloody hell I was going to pay €1.00 (to re-iterate, Rs. 65) per minute when my parents would call. At least not at that very moment. I thought I had to pay for food at € 5-10 per day for the next 70 days. And I had just a little bit more, for maybe to see the Bernabeu. I came all the way from 8848 km away and I was going to go to the Bernabeu at all costs, even for a stadium tour, if not a match.

The same story continued in the other two stores in the complex. Shopkeepers having no clue about tariffs and passers-by wondering what this guiri wanted that. Why can't you just speak Spanish? thats what they seemed to be saying.

Me, to the tall girl : "Is there a STD booth here?" "I mean a public telephone, I just want to call home."

"I think there is one outside."

There was one outside. But there seemed no slot to put cash. My international calling card from Istanbul didn't seem to work.

"Where can I get a calling card for this phone?"

"I think over there. But the shop is closed."

Just great. It is just 8. Shops are closed. The sun was still shining brightly.

"Lets go to the Residencia. Gracias"

9pm, Residencia Joaquin Blume

The comfort of living in a large single room. A nice bouncy bed. With a beautiful table. A huge wardrobe. An attached bathroom with a tub. A great view. Truly amazing. But one thing was lacking.

"Perdona. Where can I get water?"

Very friendly fat gentleman behind the recoptinist desk, smiling: "What is water?"

Yes. The sun was still out.

The three days I will never forget...Part 3: Dilli

2009-12-16T18:23:00.009+05:30

Click here for Part 1 and Part 2.
Day 3: 15 May 2008, Delhi
If I could choose any city to live in India, I would choose Bangalore. Then New Delhi. I don't know why I love this city. Is it the great food? Is it the old world charm with all those monuments? Or the malls in Gurgaon and Noida? The pretty women? Or is it just because its the capital of the greatest country on earth? But I do know why it comes after Bangalore: the weather. Though autumns in Delhi are awesome.

Coming from a city where the metro always seems to be in construction, we more or less decided to visit only those places in Delhi which we could approach by metro. Later we would see the Rajpath. First stop Connought Place. Had great lunch there. Loafed around there and Pallika before heading down to Karol Bagh.
Around 5, Roshan di Kulfi, Karol Bagh
I wanted to go to Chandini Chowk. I remember going there as a kid and I loved the chaat. But RSlime said Roshan di Kulfi was better. The fact that the tam-brahm had lived in Dilli previously and the even more crucial fact that the metro went to Karol Bagh meant we all went to Roshan di Kulfi. I still maintain Chandini Chowk is (and will always be) better. I've eaten better stuff in Bangalore. And quite a few among us seemed to concur.
Around 8, Chanakyapuri bus stand
After seeing the India gate, Rashtrapathi Bhavan and Parliament houses on the way back, we packed our luggage to catch the 9.30 train back home. We hoped to catch an auto to the station, but there was not one in sight. Being one of India's most posh localities, with atleast every house having a Merc/BMW sedan or higher, definitely had something to do with it. We finally did get a bus and were in the station by 9.15, just in time to get into the train. Pseudo's ticket wasn't confirmed yet. We were advising him where to hide when the T.T.E. would come (the toilet, upper berth, under the seat). Once in the train, we thought finally no more problems. We can sleep in the AC and go home happily. Little did we know what was in store.
10pm, on board Karnataka Express, 3AC coach
"Ticket batana please (Please show me your ticket)"
Never think Sardars (or sardarnis) are stupid. Never. They might be the butt of all jokes, but that's all fiction. The fact is our present prime minister is a Sardar. And he is into his second term. All my Sardar friends are smart. Studying in top universities in the USA and doing really well. So the point is, after narrating this incident, you cannot laugh at us for being duped by a Sardar.

Anees: "Yeh lo jee."
T.T.E.: "ID please."

Anees gives him a paper.
T.T.E.: "Original please sir. Yeh to xerox hai.(This is a photocopy. Show me an original please)"
Anees:" Xerox toh chalta hai. Maine pehle bhi e-ticket par savaar kiya hai. Unhone xerox accept kiya sir (A copy is fine. I have previously travelled on an e-ticket and used photocopies of the ID)"
T.T.E.:"Aapko railways ke rules nahi pata? E-ticket ke liye, original ID hona sakth zaroori hai. Nahi toh ticket valid nahi hai! (You don't know the rules of the Railways? You need to carry the ID in original for the ticket to be valid)"

Now that took all of us by surprise. Just when we thought all was over for good.

Anees: "Mere paas iska original nahi hai sir. Doosra photo ID hai? Woh chalega? (I don't have this ID in original sir. Can I show you another photo ID)? Will that be okay?)"
Please note this incident happened three months before the rule change came in that allowed the passenger to carry any photo ID.
A few of us "Hamare paas bhi hai..(We also have(IDs))"

Remember: when a Sardar is laughing and you are not, you are in trouble! Big trouble!

T.T.E.:"I will have to fine you. Without ticket fine plus entire fare from Delhi to Bangalore. For 6 people. That would be Rs. 11500"

All of us were stunned. 11500. From where the bloody hell were we going to get that amount of cash? The train didn't have an ATM. The train never stopped at a station long enough so that we could go to the ATM. Its 10.30 in the night. Three of us were on a different ticket and we had a valid ID for that. And Pseudo was hiding somewhere.

Anees (with a completely discoloured face): "But sir. We are students. We don't carry that much amount of money."
But the sardar wouldn't budge. No matter how much begging and pleading we did.
T.T.E.: "You are all educated people. You should know the rules. I work for the government and I have to follow the rules. I'm supposed to be fining you double the amount, as you boarded from Delhi. But I'm not doing that. Don't worry I'll give you a receipt."

One of us: "Sir, please sir. Can we get a seat in Sleeper instead? We can pay for the tickets then."
T.T.E. : "Arrey baba, train full chal rahi hai. Waitlist wale train pe chadh chuke hai. Agla station Mathura hai, 11 baje aayega. Agar paise nahi hai to waha utar kar general mein ghoos jana.( The train is full. People with waitlisted tickets have boarded the train. The next station is Mathura, we'll reach there. If you do not have enough money, please get down there and board the general compartment."

We were all completely lost. Some tried asking how much cash he wanted, but being an honest government employee he didn't budge. Now where do we get the cash from?

Fortunately I had around 6k with me. Decision not to buy myself a birthday present at Delhi saved us. GS and Arun had some 3k. The rest 2.5k we collected from our wallets by putting all the notes of all denominations that we had with us. Including 5 rupee notes! I think we fell short by 20 or 30 bucks. And finally the T.T.E. agreed. We did get a receipt. And a photo. And it was all over. Finally.

The three days I will never forget...Part 2: Agra

2009-12-05T21:07:00.014+05:30

Part 1 is here.

Day 2: 7.30 am New Delhi Railway Station

Golden Temple Express chugs into India's biggest station and we realize that the T.T.E. never came at night. Was it worth buying the ticket for this journey? Anyways the bogie was empty. We split into two, one batch went to buy tickets for the next train to Agra. The other goes to stand in queue for the cloak room. We finally get general tickets on Howrah mail departing at 8.15, fifteen minutes prior to departure. The cloak room just closed for breakfast when Kaadu reached the counter. So pulling all our luggage, over the bridge and running upto the end of the platform we got into one of the most crowded bogies ever.

8.15-12.45 am, on board Howrah-Delhi TOOFAN Express

The next few hours in Gandhi class was a novel experience. Sitting on the train footboard, standing wherever we could find place for our feet or squeezing between passengers, at the same time guarding our luggage negotiating the beggars. The train did stop for sometime midway because of a high velocity dust storm (we later learnt that it uprooted many trees in Delhi and UP and toppled a few cars as well). And the TOOFAN express took over 4hrs for a 2.5 hrs journey(thanks Chaitu).

1 pm, in Agra, the City of Crooks

After much negotiating we finally agreed upon the following:

2 autos, 8 people + luggage. 300 bucks. Tour schedule: "lunch @ good but reasonable restaurant", visit to Taj, visit market area and return by 6.30 to catch the train back to New Delhi.

1.30pm, "Lunch @ good but reasonable restaurant"

Waiter: Lunch mein kya leenge sir?

GS: Kya hai?

Waiter : Butter chicken roast le leejiye, teen logo ke liye kaafi rahega.

GS : Anees we'll take that. What shall we take for starters?

Anees: Hang on. Did you see the menu

GS sees the menu. Butter chicken costs 250 bucks.

GS: Aanth Veg thaali .

Waiter : Are you sure sir?

GS : Yes!

Turned out to be one of the worst things we've ever eaten. Still we saw the drivers get some commission from the restaurant owner as we were leaving. Should have realized.

2.30 pm, Wah Taj!

Fortunately for Manu, the road leading upto Taj turned out to be spic and span. We left our luggage with the waiting auto guys who gave us 2 hrs, and most of us hoped we would return to find them. We saw a funny thing at the entrance:

Indian visitors: Rs.20

Foreign visitors: Rs. 750

Justice finally I thought, after all those 250+ years of "Dogs and Indians not allowed". They earn in $, they should pay in $.

The Taj was completely worth the pain we endured while traveling from Amritsar the previous day. The white marble marvel was built by one of India's greatest kings in the memory of his wife, who apparently chopped the fingers of th workers who worked on the monument for 22 years so that another Taj would not be created. I might be biased but this is the most beautiful of all the 7 wonders. Words would never do it justice.

Being a mosque, we were asked to remove our footwear when we entered the main monument. We noticed a funny thing, the foreigners still had their shoes on but covered them in a plastic bag and continued walking in the monument. Anees took great offence at this. He approached an Indian looking guy wearing a Canada cap while we all sat back.

Anees: Sir, how can you wear shoes in a religious monument? I'm a muslim and you've hurt my religious sentiments.

Indian looking Man: I'm sorry. But I've paid 750 bucks for this and they told me it was okay.

Anees just couldn't control himself. Started smirking even before turning to walk towards us. Who the hell in their right minds would pay 750 bucks for 2 plastic covers on their feet?

Anees returned to tell us the whole story and we couldn't control laughing either.

Indian man sees us laughing. Comes upto Anees : You think this is a big joke? Are you trying to make a fool out of me? I will teach you a lesson so that you will never make fun of anybody ever in your life. Do you know who I am? I am a travel agent! "

I seriously don't know how we controlled our laughing there. But when he had gone, we couldn't hold it anymore. Travel agent

5.45pm The Agra Market Place

The auto drivers and our luggage were in place. As per schedule we went to the "market". When we got there we realized "the market" had just 2 shops in close proximity of each other: A UP Government Handicrafts Store and an Agra Petha Shop which sold petha at ridiculously high costs (Rs 500/kg of kesar petha). Most of us spent buying some goods for home, and ended up giving the driver some commission.

We finally reached the station at 6.30 pm. The train was 3 hours late. In the train GS made friends with a foreigner couple who couldn't visit Taj as it was expensive. Not all foreigners are rich. We reached Nizamuddin station at 12.30 in the night. We ate the cold food at the 24hr restaurant before heading back to the hostel, completely out. ne more day and then home.

Good v/s Great

2009-12-03T00:35:00.002+05:30

What is the difference between what is good and what is great? What is it that lends a legendary status on somebody that helps one carve a niche for oneself: making one stand-out like a Colossus while the others in the field seem like Gulliver’s lilliputs in comparison. The answer is quite simple: the resistance to change.

Let us take the case of two things that are considered great, more or less by consensus.
Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar began playing cricket in November 1989 as a mere 16 year old. Within 3 years of his debut his performance would determine the outcome of the match that India played in. This has more or less continued even to this date. Sachin has barely changed over the last twenty years. He still has that characteristic boyish look, the same curly hair, the low pitch voice and that smile when he takes a wicket. He has never seemed to change his batting style or aggressiveness over the last twenty years, taking the opposition front on, and letting his bat do the talking; in the process contributing significantly in taking India to the cusp of the top rankings in tests and ODIs.
The Simpsons, which began way back in 1989 and now into its 21st season, is still quite popular and will run for atleast one more season. The plot is the same: there’s an average American family (as Matt Groening, the creater of the show, refers to America’s favorite family) with a fat, bald stupid guy Homer, his cleanliness freak, blue-haired wife Marge, their mischievous eight year old son Bart, super smart seven year old Lisa and baby Maggie. Twenty years on, Bart is still eight, Lisa still six, Maggie still can’t talk and Homer still does not have any problems despite drinking that huge amount of beer for over twenty years. He is still, bald, fat and stupid and everybody loves Homer.

A show like How I Met Your Mother, was good, and is getting really boring into the 5th season. M S Dhoni had a good run when h started off, but now that lady luck has ditched him, he is just one bad series away from getting stripped of captaincy. There are many other great people in different situations: Sir Alex Ferguson, Pete Sampras, Haile Gabreselaisse, Lance Armstrong to name a few. The only common thing is that they have barely changed their style.

All good things must come to an end, but great things stay forever. And ever.

Quotable Quotes

2009-09-04T21:53:00.004+05:30

"You're from Bangalore? (excitedly, as felt when realisation dawns upon someone) So you're Bangladeshi!"--Hot, blonde American at a bar at Valencia
"China is a big country with rapidly growing big cities like Beijing, Shanghai...umm...Mumbai"-- Romanian professor during a presentation in Madrid explaining the reason why he chose China for a tie-up for one of his researches
"So you don't drink coffee? You drink tea? (excitedly, almost as much as the blonde, in a total firang accent)You're a Chaiwallah!" -- Same Romanian prof to when I told him I don't drink coffee. who thought who thought that after watching Slumdog Millionaire he knew all about India and its culture.
"Is it true in India you do not use calculators in school?" (I said yeah, he continues) "No wonder you people are such masters of computers and are there everywhere in the world."--Well informed Spanish guy in a bar in Madrid who probably does not know the number of Indians in software making us omnipresent.
"Is it true in India there is a university for which 100,000 people study very hard for 6 years and only 2000 get in? And is it true that companies sign these 2000 people on a pre-contract with big salaries as soon as they join?" -- Proof that the above mentioned Spanish guy is well informed.
My Columbian neighbor in Madrid: "I really want to visit India. I have read so much about the Taj Mahal, Delhi, Mumbai, Kaalkoota (that's how he pronounced it). (Like an inquisitive young kid) Do you know about Columbia?"; I replied: "Yes. Of course!"; "What have you heard about Columbia?"; "Shakira!" -- We're no better :)
Question in Management test: What are the environmental factors that affect business?; student's answer (who incidentally slogged the entire weekend, bunked the morning classes and searched the internet to prepare for the test and allegedly had a copy of the notes with him during the test) "... It would be a disaster to open an ice-cream shop in the equatorial region, as it rains all the time and no1 would buy the ice-cream. But opening a restaurant near our college is a very good idea..."
"Dude! Lets go inside. There are hot chicks and cold AC"--Random wannabe cool doode outside Pabba's to his buddy who wanted to buy ice-cream from the take away counter inside. I could only see Burqua-clad women and LWS staring at their back.

This is normal in a Spaniards life...

2009-05-14T16:25:00.005+05:30

The sun sets at 10pm and this is only the beginning of summer.
Barely anyone speaks English. This is kind of obvious, but even if some1 says they know English, they probably think five hundred is a bigger number than five thousand. Despite the fact that they know the lyrics of the latest English song perfectly.
Speaking of cell phones, a sim plus phone is cheaper than a sim alone. But you got to recharge with a minimum balance to the former to activate it, making the sim cheaper!
When you say you’re vegetarian, please clearly specify that you don’t eat carne(meat), pescada(fish) and jamon(ham) to be sure that you get none of these in your vegetarian meal.
Everyone follows rules. The drivers will wait till the green walking man turns to the red standing man at the zebra crossing and only then start their cars. Even if you are involved in a highly affectionate PDA with your partner, beginning when the man is still red and don´t realize that it has turned green, they will still wait without honking or hurling abuses at you.
The mature girls and women for some reason think it’s a fashion statement to show some part of every garment that they’re wearing. Its like they’re showing “look at the number of garments that I can wear to cover such a small space”. Instead of us Indians gaping with our mouths wide open at the sight or doing shame-shame puppy-shame, we can learn a thing or two from these pretty girls and apply it to develop it to surge ahead in nano-technology.
A typical issue of Marca/AS: The analysis of who Perez is going to buy once he becomes the president is the most important. Then how Cristiano Ronaldo has developed a new liking for tapas implying that he is inching closer to becoming a Galactico. Then the discussion on whom all should get the boot in order to finance Ronaldo, Kaka AND Villa (even the papers admit that Real Madrid do not have that much cash in this economic crisis). Then comes the quote by Casillas saying he prefers Cesc and Silva instead of Ronaldo and Kaka. This is followed by a call to support Atletico as Forlan needs 54000 people in the Vicente Calderon to win the ‘final’ (read 4th champions league spot) against, Valencia this sunday. Then an in depth preview of the second and third divisions and the youth tournaments in Madrid. Finally, if there are a few pages left to be printed, they’ll talk about the chances of the Spain u-17 team in the upcoming world cup. And maybe, they’ll find space to mention about Rafael Nadal participating in a tennis tournament in Madrid sponsored by Marca which to the rest of the world is almost as big as a grandslam.
Barca and Atletico Madrid never win fair. The referee always helps them. That’s unless they’re playing clubs from Inglaterra, when Iniesta suddenly becomes the greatest player in the world and everyone prays that he gets fit in time for the final in Rome.

Nevertheless, Spaniards are the friendliest bunch of people I have ever met: always there to help you out and would even go out of their way even though you barely speak their language. They would do anything to make you feel at home.

The 3 days that I'll never forget...Part 1: Amritsar

2008-12-07T15:19:00.013+05:30

Prologue:

12 May 2008, Around 4.45 pm:

Tickets to Amritsar were already booked. We were leaving by the 5.15 bus from Kullu. It was pouring. We were at Babeli, a good 7kms away from Kullu. It would take us atleast half an hour to reach the Kullu bus stop. No bus seemed to stop. Time was running out, we were getting wet in the rain and our rain sheets were abandoned God knows where. All the buses seemed to be headed the other way, Oh Murphy! Why are your stupid laws always right?

After an anxious 10min we did get a bus. We were certain it would be touch and go, if we were lucky. Fortunately the bus to Amritsar was late by half-an-hour. The birthday boy had luck, but for how long.

Day 1, 13 May 2008 : Amritsar

After a good 16 hours in a local bus, we reached Amritsar. Stuck with heavy luggage with no leg room was terrible. The delicious makke di roti n sarso ka saag from the road side dhaba the previous night made matters worse. Being sandwitched between sleepy Sagar and Manu didn't help either. I certainly was releived to be in Amritsar.

9 am, the Underwear "scandal"

Never cheat a 70+ year old man, no matter how illiterate he is. Even if he trusts you when he can't read English numerals himself. Well even if its Rs. 40, it means a lot to some people.

We(Pseudo and me) told him we were living out of our suitcases in the bus stand. When his son told him that there was some difference, he hunted us down, made us come out while we were taking bath, made us take out the thrown packets from the dust-bin, and prove our innocence. Turned out, I was innocent. Pseudo's claims of "being offered a discount" turned out to be false. He waited till we were dressed, made us pay the 40 bucks and told us all what we needed to know to get around Amritsar.

The Jallianwalah Bagh

The bullet marks

The sight of the most tragic chapter in our history. The lone entry passage, kept as it is, was way too narrow. Bullet marks all around still show carnage that bloody Dyer caused on that fateful Baisakhi day way back in 1919. One just realises that the number of fatalities that the British government put up(379 in a crowd of around 5000) were farcial.Just imagining what happened that day, was horrifying.

The Golden Temple

Why can't other temples in India be clean? The maintainence of the temple just exemplifies the beauty of the temple. The gold was impressive, the clean water of the pond was a welcome change, and the langaar, simply awesome. For once, I actually liked visiting a temple and cant wait to go back.

Wagah Border

The Indian entrance to the border...

It's just a different feeling coming here. The surge of patriotism in oneself that rushes like adrenaline in a crunch situations adds to the occaision. What made it worthy was the number of friends on the other side of the border compared to ours. We beat them 10000 to 1 atleast. I guess its just in our blood lto look upon our neighbors in a condescending manner.

The numbers speak for themselves...

The signboards just reminded us how great our country is. Yet we always look down upon it, glare only at its flaws rather than appreciate what is unique to our country. The detractors carrying an Indian passport should be ashamed of themselves.

Around 8.30, G.T.Road, near Amritsar bus stand

We had to catch the 9.30 Golden Temple Express. We were on our way back from Wagah, on the taxi that the good policeman at the temple helped us get. We had tried to book the train on the railway station but the queue was way too long. With time short on our hands, I called up my dad, who booked 9 tatkal tickets on the train. We had to print the tickets.

It was really difficult finding a cyber cafe in Amritsar. While the others went ahead with the luggage to grab something to eat, I went to print our ticket. I did manage to find one, but at that moment, the printer stopped working! It took 20 minutes to get it working.

With time running short I had to get to the station. I got hold of a shared auto guy, who initially refused to take me citing "time ho gaya sir jee". I did take me to pay 4 people's fare to get me to the station. I did get there, and we boarded the train.

Luck was with us, but for how long would it last?

Saurkundi Pass Diaries 4: GPL at 12900ft

2008-10-06T18:53:00.027+05:30

May 9, 2008: I want ~~mummy/daddy~~ traffic/pollution

The camp leader at Maylee Thatch got us out of the camp pretty early, hoping that we would take advantage of the clear skies and reach the next camp by avoiding the storm. I had a couple of sweatshirts and my only pair of woolen gloves on me to keep me warm from the freezing environs.

But the weather changes pace at a rate that rivalled Usain Bolt. Drizzle soon turned to snow and the strong, chilly winds didn't help either. We were a little late in taking out our plastic rain sheets, and our woolens got wet.

In these gruesome times, when everyone remembered their parents/girlfriends fearing that the worst would befall upon them, Manu managed to outdo all of us(again!), shouting "I want traffic. I want pollution".

We did have our first slide on the way. Compared to this one, the slide at Chanderkhani was a farce. From the top I could barely see the end. It was really really hazy. There was snow everywhere and we had to brake at the right time. Else ram naam satya hai. I was one of the fastest down though doubts still persisted as to whether I outpaced GS or not.

The pic thru the storm

Our lunch point came n went with no one bothering to stop in the storm. The storm continued for a couple of hours and the glimpse of the next camp just made us jump with joy. All I wanted to do was get into the camp, get into the sleeping bag n doze off.

What was most pissing off was the fact that the storm cleared up as soon as we reached the camp. The cocky camp leader didn't help realise my dream and gave the sleeping bags a good 3 hours later. I slept early, thinking what lay ahead of us--just one day to go till we hit the peak. Moreover, I was glad to be alive.

May 10, 2008: Saurkundi Pass-ed, with a World Record
The day we had all been waiting for was here. Finally we would reach the summit(unless of course, God played spoilsport). Adrenaline levels never dropped, and the excitement just rose exponentially as we ascended. Navigating through the 6 feet deep snow wasn't easy. People did slip, but fortunately there were no casualties. The Sword of Justice, was right there with me, helping me get a decent foothold on the snow.

For once, walking in a straight line...

After nearly 3 hours of trekking, we did reach the Lake of the Sun, or in local dialect, Saur-kundi. It was frozen with a glacier of sorts leading into it. The guide told us that within 15 days a fair would come up, and people from the mountains would come and take a dip in this lake. With so much ice, in 15 days, not happening. And even if it did manage to unfreeze, which idiot would jump into that icy cold water. We're not Russians.

Saur-Kundi

A further half an hour climb took us to the pass. The sense of achievement and accomplishment that swelled in all of us has been rare. We did show our true NITK tradition, and the guys just lifted me off the ground and the 10 other people did what they were good at.

At that time, the 20 2 inch thick rubber soles whacking against my butt were like a blessing in disguise. A warm butt with temperatures around 5 degrees C always feels good. The video will be up as soon as I get hold of it.

Mission Accomplished!

The view from the peak was breathtaking. Snow capped peaks all around us, we could see Manali, the dstant Rohtang Pass and the near Sar-Khor Pass. It all seemed worth the effort.

Sar Khor

The photoshoot on the peak was followed by one of the longest slides down, straight to the lunch point. Our day got better when we met our next camp leader--Rakshit from Karnataka. His Bangalore lingo, just made the day better. Not even more snowfall could deter us.

One more really long slide down and we were at the camp. It was just 1, when it began to snow really hard. For the first time, I faced sub-zero temperatures. But we were already in the tent. We just avoided it. It didn't stop for the next three hours, while Rakshit ensured we had our blankets n sleeping bags.

Why dont u slide...

The hot pakodas that he himself brought to the tent, followed by custard during dinner made it the best day of our trek. He did join us for an hour or so, helping him connect back with the Bangalore crowd. He was definitely fed up being amidst the plethora of Matthas entering and leaving the camps everyday. Giving up an entire career to adventure sports is a risk hardly anyone would take. But he did, and that just held him in high esteem in our minds.

May 11, 2008: The lull after(before?) the storm

We had to bid adieu to the best camp leader ever. He had just made our stay better: hot alu parathas for breakfast! We just couldn't thank him enough.

Rakshith n us...

Its funny how suddenly all the body aches show up once you are done with the trek. Or rather once you've reached the peak. It was easily the most hopeless and boring days of the trek. Everyone just wanted to go out and plans were being hatched as to what to do after the trek.

The only noteworthy thing was Manu slipping, while standing. Imagine a person standing, perfectly balanced, suddenly slips and falls. Just defies physics. Or rather is explained by Loco Logic.

After meeting at least a thousand goats and a dozen of horses. Around four, with heavy thighs and strained ankles, we reached the most comfortable camps the trek had to offer. A house in the village, with 3 big, really excited dogs and a somewhat comfortable-looking room to sleep in. We finally had a camp fire, with yours truly stealing the show with a melodious recitation of an old marwari folk song. Actually, it was only a couple of lines and completely besura. It was :) Buddha who did steal the show with his ta-dhin-dhin-ta, ta-dhin-dhin-ta.

May 12, 2008: 19!

5.30 am. I am crammed up in the sleeping bag. Sandwitched between Manu and Sagar was a nightmare. They were like perfectly elastic bodies, who would return to their former position in a matter of seconds if I pushed them. Reminded me of those curvy balloon like dolls. I didn't have place to turn itself.

The much-threatened GPL never happened. Everyone was sleeping. My phone still didn't work!! I could live without it on the hills, but today I needed it. My parents would definitely call. So would my Nani. Calls could come from USA and if lucky, Zurich. But the god damn thing didn't fking work!

Anees was up in half an hour, and I took his phone and dialled Hutch care. "Is this the service I expect from Vodafone?...."
The operator on the other hend said "Sir, I can see you're in Himachal Pradesh and your phone is getting full signal."
"If that is so, why the hell cant I make calls?"
Totally weird! I then inserted the SIM into another phone and it still didn't work. Sainik uncle said "Archeeeet, ek aur bar try kar, phir us saale par gaaliya barsaa. Tujhe kuch achchi gaaliyaa pata hai naa?"

I was third time lucky! The Hutch guy escaped unscathed. I finally heaved a sigh of relief. A few calls and messages later, the smile just got wider. though none of them came from Zurich. Everyone's legs were really heavy and the GPL never happened(thanks god! this time the hunters wuda hurt!).

Soon one guide took Anees, GS and me to Manali bus stand so that we could book tickets to Amritsar and a bus for the rest of us to go back to base camp. The trek down took an hour.

At the bus stand, after booking the Amritsar bus, we began bargaining for a bus from Manali to Babeli. The Maaru was at work again, bringing 1600 down to 1200. A hot stuffed alu paratha outside the bus stand was a treat to savour. GS who had earlier suggested that we eat and go coz he was "damn hungry" ate one-third of his, before Anees and me helped him out.

Meanwhile, the rest of the guys met a few girls selling strawberries. Manu apparently told them "yeh strawberries achche hain."
To which he got a reply that he took time to digest "kyun, hum achche nahi hai kya?"

Within an hour, after picking up the other guys, we finally reached Babeli base camp. There was a sense of relief in everyone, a bigger feeling of accomplishment. The smiles refused to fade away from the faces, whether they were shouting Bee Jee at the camera or not. We faced many novel situations, but came out at the helm with the feeling, nothing's impossible. And I did, with loads of cherished memories and a World Record =)

Saurkundi Pass Diaries 3: The ascent begins

2008-08-01T13:07:00.018+05:30

May 6, 2008: The Sword of Justice

Sketch of the route...

Almost all the guys had a good night's sleep. Almost. The harsh, cold winds were almost cut out by the canvas. But the canvas had holes, and there were gaps. Kamin was sleeping next to me. I clearly remember sleeping with two blankets over my inners. As the night progressed, I suddenly could feel the chilly winds seeping through whatever holes and gaps were there on the canvas. Sometime past midnight, to my dismay, I found that one of my blankets had "slipped" off me. I tried in vain searching for them. Sleeping no longer was comfortable.

The next morning, as we were folding our blankets in order to deposit them, I asked if anyone if they had taken my blanket at night. I questioned Manu personally on this. He replied:"No da. I had only 2 blankets on me. I didn't take yours."

Anees asked him to check once. Yes there were indeed only two blankets on him. But there was a third under him. No wonder he was fit and fine that morning after making a miraculous recovery overnight! No wonder he remarked as he got up: "I slept really well last night!" Yeah, I bet you did. What probably helped was the fact that it came at the expense of SomeOne else.

The next hour was spent in helping Manu find his "lost" items, only for him to realize that he had deposited most of them in his left luggage. Manu managed to arrange for goggles from a group which had completed the trek. Thats where I got my Sword of Justice.

The Sword of Justice and its rightful owner!

The christening of the stick(yeah, it was a bamboo stick with a red handle) was EC Mama's idea. "(Music in the background:the thing they play in movies when someone's gonna dialogue-bittify) Today, the Marathis will interact with us in a non-Marathi language. Today, we'll get justice!"

We were given a Guard of Honour by other trekkers as we left the base camp, onto the bus. The bus would drop us till Bara Gram. The bus journey began with the traditional Marathi slogan-"jai shivaji, jai bhavani!" We didn't want to be outdone, so Mama shouted "Srinivasa Venkataramana Govida, Goooovindaaa"

We did manage to outdo them in our Absolut besura voices, croaking and shouting to the songs(trust Anees and Slime to lead the pack and make fools out of themselves) like "We will rock you", "Hotel California"(Slime forgot the lyrics midway) and even "Boulevard of Broken dreams". The others in the cramped bus were giving us weird looks and sniggering, and Anees managed to distract them with "Oodibaba Boooorf!"

All eyes turned to a distant mountain where we could see its peak covered in snow. Only the tip was covered in snow, but for many first-timers, it was an experience to behold. But for us "experienced souls" it was only a method to stop those weird glares we were getting.

The trek to Segli camp(7100 ft) wasn't challenging at all. We had to trek up a motorable path upto the village of Nyayalakh. What amazed me there was the presence of a Maruthi Omni. I was amazed as to how the hell the van managed to come all the way up in that tiny piece of sloping road whose width would have been just a little greater than that of the car itself. I guess, with a Maruthi, anything's possible.

What annoyed us was the repeated number of stops that we were making. The guide apparently had been given strict instructions not to reach the camp before 4. We just lay at the different rest points, while the guide enjoyed his sutta following it with many more. At these rest points we got to mingle with the Marathis. It was a delight to know that they could actually converse in a non-Marathi language!

We also got a chance to interact with the localites during the 1 to 1.5 hr breaks. There was 8-year-old Binod, who sold sticks for Rs.5 to us at the cost of attendance at school so that he could make some money. There was his 3-year-old cousin Rajat Thakur(he certainly lives up to his name) who accompanied his 21-year-old uncle-BSc student Ishaan to sell apple juice. The latter aspired to be a doctor. There were also a couple of his friends who tagged along to have some fun.

Binod, Rajat and me

We learnt that an annual income of roughly 1-2lakhs(got from the apple trade) was enough to suffice for a family to live happily. They were really happy. Despite the fact that they sold their apples at 10 bucks a kilo, which somehow gloats upto 50 during season and 100 off-season back in Bangalore. The conniving middlemen are everywhere!

The welcome drink and soup barely filled our stomachs. The packed lunch wasn't really that great when cold and most of us had finished our chikkis and biscuits. Basically, the hot maggie was tempting. As the auntie-in-the-shop was preparing our meal, Anees, GS and Yaji went high at the sight(smell??taste??) of the wild plant growing at the edges of the footpath. Future business plans were made, deals done in mid-air, but fortunately better sense prevailed.

The camp-fire began well, with Anees' Jamkhudi, and Nikon Uncle's Meri Murgi Kho Gayi Hai Naa, but the event soon ranscended into a Marathi cultural program, with Slime later trying to salvage it with Dr Rajkumar's If You Come Today and Ippidee Po-da but he failed miserably. We hit the sack around 9, with Mama's blessings of-course, but what bothered me was how I was gonna survive that night--sleeping on the edge of a tent on a sloping surface, a few feet away from a cliff of sorts and Manu next to me(again!). I went to sleep wondering what if I die without a will, who'll get all my prized possessions--The Caps, The Watches and The Clothes...

May 7, 2008: Rage for Ravalgaon

What do you think happened at night? The reason I live to narrate this experience is enough proof that I didn't slide. But again, Manu flicked blankets(Pseudo also suffered this time), I felt cold, blah blah blah...

As we were about to leave our tents, Anees asked: "Does anyone have sunscreen?"
Manu replied: "I do"
Anees "Give it to me, I need it."
Manu "I left it in the left luggage macha!"

After breakfast and packing our lunch, we set off towards Hora Thatch. The map said 10km, 7 hours. We hoped we would actually trek today and there would be some challenge involved. The ascent started off pretty well. The magnificence of the Himalayas just seemed to increase substantially, the higher we ascended. Chanderkhani Pass, on the parallel range in front of us, looked a shadow of itself 4 years ago--there was snow on it, and loads of it. The white snow in the background, with the tall, evergreen forests in the foreground made the sight just like that out of a Nat Geo wallpaper.

Just what I was talking about...

Slime had his a sustained MTM(Moment of Temporary Madness) when he ran with the Forward Bloc(the 3 Gujjus and the wannabe hotshot Yogesh). This was interspersed by events(MTMs?) when the rest of us thought he was taking macro-photographs of thin air( a claim refuted by The Man himself, but we always thought otherwise).

Slime, please explain this macro pic...

With our biscuit packets and chikkis being exhausted, we attacked the Ravalgaons possessed by Chaitu and Sagar. I really doubt if any of us would have ever stooped lower just to get the extra toffee, using novel techniques just to outsmart the owners, much to their dismay. You can imagine to what depths the world has plunged: back home we despise those boiled 50p toffees.

Beauty of the Himalayas!

We passed a couple of roaring, breathtaking falls before we were driven away from it by the guide coz it was 'dangerous'. The guide wasn't a sutta-addict like the previous one, but still out of the stipulated 7 hours we trekked only for an effective 2.5 hours.

At an altitude of 9000ft, Hora Thatch was a natural clearing nestled among the mountains. Again the 11 of us opted for the extreme tent. The temperature of the water reached new lows. Once we washed our faces, we could barely feel the soap on it. The toilets weren't ready that day, so all of us had to use the open for all our purposes. The ploy was to find an abandoned place between rocks, gid a pit and later cover it up nicely. Certain souls(names not revelaed to protect identity) weren't as lucky--they found that their spots had been 'discovered' earlier.

Thatch refers to a place where cattle are brought to graze. The cows did not moo, the dogs did not bark and when provoked they did not react normally as how they would in other parts of the country. I was convinced they were doped, as there was no logic that could describe their behavior.

The camp fire was a time when the Marathis engaged in an effort to speak in a non-Marathi language. From the previous days' experience we would give them 6/10 for effort, but this number was rising steadily. But the effort lasted a mere 5 minutes. The freezing cold weather, the absence of fire except in the slogan that kick-started the event("Fire, Fire! (Chorus) Camp fire!") was somewhat tamed by the hot Bournvita(or was it Milo? Does anyone care?) we used to get during the camp fire. But somehow I managed to get zilch here. The absence of light played very much into the favour of the desperate souls, but I made it a point that revenge would be sweet.

May 8, 2008: "Oodibaba booorf!"

I had a good 12 hours of peaceful sleep at night. Two factors accounted for that: I slept in the middle and Kamin wasn't next to me. Our "excellent speeds" of trekking made the camp leader make us leave at 9.30 instead of the stipulated 8.

Toilets were made for us(read: a deep pit was made surrounded by cloth all around). It was basically the camp leader who got it done that day itself: it was his job to go and make 'toilets' along the route in whichever camp there were none existing. But I chose to use the most scenic one, rather than the stinkiest one. After managing to find a decent spot, the most embarassing thing happened to me. No peeping toms, but a bird sitting on a tree directly above me, decided to do Mother Nature a favor and return what I was giving her. Fortunately, it just fell on my tracks. What goes around, comes around.

During the head count prior to us leaving, Manu suddenly decided to switch lines after answering his call once. He continued the process of counting in his new line. Suddenly there were 45 people in a group of 44. Counting himself twice was easily the most Kamin-est event ever.

The trek had finally begun. The slope suddenly increased, making it somewhat(though barely) challenging. The higher we climbed, the more snow we saw on the mountains around us. We tried to snap as many pics as we could while Slime continued in his quest of finding the perfect macro photograph...

After the mandatory 2 hour lunch break, we came across a small patch of snow: the excitement couldn't be contained in our expressions--this was what we had come for! Further on we got a relatively larger patch, but being in the middle of the pack didn't help. We were subjected to snowball shower from the Forward Bloc, and for a few meters we were helpless and could only dodge.

Once we came in contact with some snow, it was war. We just targeted anybody we could find. Plans were hatched to target someone while we accumulated the snow, only some were successful, the others were mishits, flops and back-stabs. We didn't care about the numbness in our hands. It was half an hour of sheer entertainment and something that we would cherish ~~forever~~ till the next time we get snow.

Gotcha!

After the guide shoo-ed us away, the final third of the days trek seemed never ending. We could see the camp leader, the previous camp leader(the toilet guy) waiting for us, yet it seemed too far away. The steep slope didn't help either. The 9km, 6 hour journey with an ascent to 10500 ft brought us to Maylee Thatch--the camp situated almost at the perch of the peak. Surrounded by snow-capped peaks on almost all sides made it a breathtaking scenery.

As we made ourselves comfortable in the canteen, the skies opened up. It began to pour and the temperatures just kept dropping. And the canteen owner laughing and telling us that "This is only summer" wasn't really encouraging. There was a radio at the canteen of the camp. Our joy knew no bounds when the localite told us that Royal Challengers Bangalore had actually won a match against the Deccan team! But even he called it a test-match team.

The heavy rains and strong, chilly winds didn't permit us from having dinner outside or a camp fire(thank god!). Mama kept us entertained and we found a better use of the gaps in the tent canvas! And so did Kamin with jetpacks. Little did we know of what lay ahead of us.

Oh by the way, GS was still going strong with his bet...

Guess who?

The Saurkundi Pass Diaries 2: Busy Bouncing in Babeli

2008-07-06T14:49:00.006+05:30

May 3, 2008: Kul Kullu

After grabbing some sleep, we awoke early in the morning with our bus passing through the beautiful Himalayas. The bus stopped for a toilet/tea break in some dhaba. I was completely cramped in my seat and as I stepped out, I learnt that we were still 4-5 hours away from Kullu. The problem was I had a very delicious, cheezy pizza at Domino's last night(totally worth it!), and when you gotta go you gotta go. The chilly weather didn't help either. I was pretty much at the back of the que that had gathered in front of the sole loo at Hotel Raja, and after nearly 30-45 min of eager waiting, I could use the dirty little thing. The person after me(name withheld to protect identity) began cursing me and was apparently pancing around, awaiting his turn.

After cleansing out my system, as I made my way to the bus, a buttery, brown alu paratha made my mouth water. I grabbed one as the bus was leaving and managed to flick someone's sandwitch to fill my stomach. All of us were enjoying the scenic beauty that Shivaliks had to offer: Beas forcing its way through mighty mountains, making a deep gorge of sorts and patches of green and brown on the hills. Though they have the same height as the ghats, the Shivaliks aren't dense and the roads were good.

All didn't include GS and Sagar, who managed to sleep on each other and looked like a happy, sleepy couple. Its a pity that no one bothered to snap up this Kodak moment, which lasted for a better part of 3 hours.

The road in Kullu was wide enough to allow two buses go through. And the authorities had managed to install a traffic light there. But guess what, it wasn't working. A sight of a TrafficPoliceWoman alerted Pseudo. Kamin got excited, asked "Where?" and pushed open the window, which went and banged Pseudo's nose, "enjoying" the sight, by sticking his head out. Poor pseudo, we began wondering if the "satyanash" curse had begun to work. Rumour has it that Kamin had said TPW was hot, but its only a rumour.

It was past 11 when we reached base camp Babeli. Once we got out, the bus broke down(we didn't have anything to do with it!). As we were filling out the paperwork, some of us went to freshen up. Cold water took a completely different meaning once we touched the water: we felt it was just melted ice. Little did we know what the higher climes had to offer us on this front.

The base camp was situated on the banks Beas, with the highway separating the two. It was more scenic than the Chanderkhani base camp. The toilets were clean, and so were the tents. The only problem was the continuous words of Marathi we heard all around us.Everyone had been requested to speak only in English and Hindi. But apparently such things fell to deaf ears in the case of Maharashtrians.

Some of the folks decided to go into the Beas for a bath. Kamin enjoyed the cold water so much that he decided that he would take bath in a river whenever he could. A decision he would go on to regret later on. What did surprise us was the sight of a few loco-boy of around 7 yrs crossing the Beas in a basket-like thing, while his younger sister was "footboard travelling", with half her body in the basket, and holding on to the rope.

Night time meant camp-fire time. The most noticable one was the fact that there was no fire to warm us up(banned!). During the onslought of marathi songs, we were explicitly told to clap hands in the YHAI manner "one-two, cha-cha-cha". The drunk compere was busy "arz kiya hai"-fying which really got us irritated. What's worse my chappals got flicked. But Mama's goodnight jokes meant every1 went to sleep with pleasing thoughts.

May 4, 2008: "Y-HAA-EE KI THAALIYAA"

6.15 am: "Pheeeee. SK-9 tent ke bahaar aao. Exercise ka time ho gaya hai!"

6 am? None of us could remember the last time when we actually got up that early in the morning. It was freezing cold. And sleeping on the edge didn't help, with cold wind lashing against the tent and making its way through whatever holes were there. We had to jog up the highway and the buses zooming down the road giving a damn about pedestrians made sure we didn't miss NH-17.

The acclimatisation walk later in the morning introduced us to the various people in our group. We realised that there weren't only Marathis: there were 3 Gujjus and 1 Punjabi too, but it turned out that 1 of the Gujju was a Mattha. An entire family of sorts had come from Bombay, a proper one minus the ladies and kids from Aurangabad and many people from Sholapur. That meant that there were 30 marathis plus Anus in a batch of 44. Repeated requests of speaking in a common language were of no avail. Sagar did win the orientation game, but his GPL was cut short after we were not allowed to follow college traditions.

In the afternoon, we were given an orientation talk by Swami sir. A few excerpts:

"Mere ko hindi teek se nahi aata haa-ee. Isileeye hum hinglish ka prayog karta haa-ee." "Do din ke baad thum saar-kundi pass ko jaata haa-ee." "Tumhara paas danda kaisa aata haa-ee, woh pata nahi, par sab ke paas aa jaata haa-ee." Chaitanya and EC's preparation for a camp-fire item number were blown away with the strong winds engulfing our camp-site. They almost accounted for camp-fire tent and Slime cutting Kini's call with the words "Blizzard. Talk to you later." Note the fact that it never snows in Babeli. The DFO cancelled his scheduled visit, but we weren't complaining as we were served delicious food. We did go to sleep laughing our asses off to EC's Akbar-Birbal joke.

May 5, 2008: Camp-fires with CFLs... The early morning routine still needed time getting used to. Manu was completely down and out after taking bath in the river again, and the un-locolandness of the weather(no humidity or heat) took a toll on him. Slime did have his Moments of Temperory Madness(MTMs) where he used to suddenly run very fast like some maniac(remember him charging like a bull during the football games at ace n KD's house?).

After we bid adieu to Mr.One-two Cha-cha-cha and gang, we were off rappling. A small rock was the challenge, and EC did enjoy the boulders he saw that day. We all finished it early and one of the uncles called us apart to tell a few of us some NV jokes after we failed to laugh at their first standard toilet humour. The monotony in his voice didnt gain any force laughter for the repetition of the same Akbar-Birbal joke, but instead made us run outta there, fearing we might have to listen to such jokes again.

We had to pack our bags for the trek that was gonna begin the next day. Manu, in his ill-health, was the last to pack his bags n submit the luggage. His bag was the lightest, and by a big margin and he was convinced that he took everything. He confidently said he packed the essentials. But we realised, with Manu, its something different. Always.

Heavy afternoon showers prevented us from going for rock climbing, but the sky did clear up in the evening and the DFO did come. In his speech he told us we must save the environment by lighing CFLs not fires. Like thats gonna provide the warmth of a fire Mr. IFS.

After hogging a delicious meal for the second straight day, we were off to sleep, thinking about what the higher reaches had to offer us, with EC getting our imagination to work, while Manu casually flicked blankets to keep himslef warm.
To be continued...

The Saurkundi Pass Diaries 1: Getting there!

2008-07-05T19:04:00.011+05:30

April 30 2008: Boarded Sampark Kranti Express from Yeswantpur Station around 10

I was the last person to reach the station and was informed about the new developments.
>>Akash Veershetty(who decided to join us almost 3 months after we decided to go) couldn't get his ticket confirmed and it stayed waitlisted. But Anirudh R(Slime) decided to tag along with his parents till Delhi, who also were sight-seeing in Himachal, by flight(which turned out to be a really smart move). A blessing in disguise for Akash, who went on Anirudh's ticket.
>>Manu Kamin had managed to reach the train station causing the usual Kamin-esque confusion. Apparently he was upset Anees Rao didn't come and pick him up as he was new to Bangalore, and didn't want to have his First Experience©®™ with Bangalore mass transport when he didn't know any area in Bangalore apart from Koramangala. So Anees(a Jaynagar resident) was supposed to go there, pick him up en route to the station. Anees blatantly refused(told Kamin to $&*@-off). Kamin then went to ISRO Layout with his mum and little bro in an auto and came with Arun Kumar and Chaitanya Vijay.

Varun Sagar, Vinayak Yaji, and Abhishek GS were already there. We spent the night in the sleeper coach discussing the Royal Challengers match against Delhi Daredevils, following it courtesy of MyToday. RCB did lose, closely, and we were cursing Mallya, Dravid, batsmen and what not.

Oh yeah, there was one more landmark moment. GS had not brought his cell. Well, when a person is accustomed to send atleast 175-200 msgs a day and spend another 45 min speaking to pakkad-mane dove, you can understand his plight of staying 17 days without a mobile! We were wondering what would happen to him: Would he actually move his fingers in his sleep as he were msging? Or worse jump off the peak missing his phone? We were worried, but GS being GS wasn't. He said he could survive. The rest of us seriously doubted that. In the end we put a bet with GS: he couldn't touch a mobile till he reached Bangalore again: no msging, no playing, no "checking out features" and only talking to parents. It went to the extent that Sagar had to enter GS' account onto his phone. GS stood to earn a "eat to one's desire" meal at Bittu's and Palkhi. Else he had to treat the remaining 8 of us. We were certain we would win pretty soon. But GS being GS had other plans.

By midnight we were in our respective berths, ready to doze off as GS assured us he wouldn't jump off the train.

May 1 2008: The train journey that would never end...

One by one we were soon up, Chaitu and Mamu(Arun, dunno how he got his name but it still sticks on) were first ones and GS(thank god he didn't move from his birth!) the last. GS actually got up for breakfast and went back to sleep. Mamu soon got into his Fountainhead and to kill boredom Manu befriended a 3yr old Manav.

A word about Manu here. It was his First Experience©®™ outside the state. Actually outside of Kundapura-Udupi-Surathkal-Bangalore(notice the absence of Mangalore from the list).

Just as we were settling down after breakfast, in walk our greatest fear: the third sex, in their characteristic manner of clapping hands and "begging" for cash and threatening physical action if we didn't. I took refuge behind a newspaper and escaped the "treatment". Kamin did try to escape with his "Eh. Don't touch...How dare you? Don'tthese people have any manners?" Some of the guys did pay the first group of them, but didn't heed to the demands of the second group, causing a mayhem of sorts. Manu claims to have seen A-rated stuff, and one of them landed a curse at Akash "Tera satyanaash ho jaayega!" Big shit, we're not superstitious. We did use it to pull Akash's leg, but little did we realise that it applied to all of us, and it turn out to be a warning of sorts. More on that in a later post.

After a couple of hours Manu was having a tough time dealing with the kid (It was his First Experience©®™ with a 3yr old kid in train). To get rid of him, he pointed out to GS and said:"Please, please be scared of him. That uncle is very bad!"

Being in sleeper class and passing through Gult land and Maharashtra during the day took its toll on us. Most of us being accustomed to Bangalore weather(read:37 deg c is really really hot) or the humid, coastal weather of college. But 40+ temperatures? Thats something novel. We were at the mercy of the vendors selling water and cool-drinks. The train didn't have any stop between Hyderabad(around 9 in the day) and Nagpur(6 in the evening). We were really relieved to reach Nagpur, albeit a couple of hours late, but even around 6 it was terribly hot. You can imagine what was going through my mind when I was mulling over the fact that i had to spend nearly 1 month in such climate once the trek was done.

We were getting really irritated, and couldn't wait till we reached Delhi. The wait and the never-ending journey was killing us.

May 2 2008: Finally, Delhi..

We arose next morning to the news that the train was a further two hours late. We spent time by cursing Slime, as to how lucky he was to miss this 48hour long, boring sojourn for a quick 3 hour flight. We decided he would be dead if he was flying by Kingfisher, but fortunately for him, he wasn't. As we were in the train, stopping continuously whilst other trains zoomed past us, Slime got the needful work done at the YHAI hostel.

We did reach Hazrat Nizamuddin station at 11.30. Our only objective was to reach the Hostel asap, and get fresh. Taking 3 autos with our luggage(I wa the main culprit here with enough luggage to settle down for good), we landed in the embassy-land, Chanakyapuri.

The roads were a delight, being broad and very little traffic. Hats off to the Delhi Government for such brilliant roads. Chanakyapuri is home to the various embassies/high-commissions. Apart from being the diplomatic hot-seat of the country, it is home to the richest of the country. The bungalows there atleast had a Merc/BMW there. Rumour has it that a begger must atleast have a Maruti 800 to have rights to beg there.

Nestled among these embassies, opposite the highly guarded Chinese embassy is Youth Hostels Association of India at No.5, Nyay Marg. Despite being located in one of the most posh areas of India, YHAI offered a 5-star dorm at 150 bucks a day. Pretty neat plus we get clean bathrooms. After the train, it was a relief.

It was here that I first met Prashant Agrawal. He was Anees, Chaitu's senior at school and presently stayed at Patna. It was the first time I was actually interacting with a proper Bihari(I know there are such people in college, but what they say often goes beyond my realms of comprehension). Was great fun throughout the trip, hope to meet you soon prax.

After freshening up, we decided to walk around Chanakyapuri. Surprisingly Delhi wasn't very hot. Though we did feel it, it was a billion times better than the previous day. We loved the cars, the odd girls we could see and the ice lollies(Slime got addicted to them). It was soon time to buzz off to ISBT.

Dragging the heavy luggage, we managed to stuff into a heavily crowded local bus. En route we did catch a glimpse of the Red Fort and Chandini Chowk. At ISBT, 3 of us(Mamu, Kamin and I) decided to eat at Domino's while the others chugged away to the neighboring McDonalds. We placed our order and were told it would take 10min. After 10min the guy comes up to me and says : " Sir, we don't have the pizza that you asked for. Please can you choose another one". I did. Twenty minutes passed when one of the pizzas came. That didn't go down well with me as they told me 10min. A nice way to get out something for free.

I: "You told me 10 min, its took you 20 to serve the food. I might have to miss my bus because of this."
Waiter: "I'm sorry sir. But pizza wasn't there, we told you."
I: "I ordered 2 pizzas, out of which only 1 wasn't there. You should have served the other one, and the other one could come as we finished the 1st one."
W:"I thought I'd serve bth together. Aakhir garam khane mein maza hai naa sir?"
Aha. Something I can screw Dominos for. I can smell the free-bee.
I:"It doesn't matter what you think. I'm the customer, and I never expected this from a company like Dominos. Dominos is a brand that has always stood for service. You advertise yourselves as "30 min-nahi-toh-free". And this appalling service has seriously changed my good-old opinion about Dominos. I'm seriously considering whether to go to a Dominos again or not. Where's your manager". Good old opinion my ass. Just 5 months ago I gotta free pizza off them for really bad service at New BEL Rd outlet. Ask Sood, Nitish or Auri about it.
After a good 10 min of convincing him that I was right and he was wrong, the manager intervened and asked: "How can we make it up to you?"
Hurrah! I won(again!).Free Pizza!! But as fate would have it,
Mamu: "Macha bega maado, late haagta ide(make it quick, its getting late)".
We were infact 10 min away from missing the bus.
I: "1 Coke. I will not accept anything less than that."
Manager:"Sir here is your Coke. We do hope you visit Dominos again. Sorry for the inconvenience" I sure will my friend, and find fault in your service and use it to my advantage. You can be sure of that.

The HRTC bus was a huge let down. We had paid 600 odd bucks for it, and expected a Rajahamsa type bus atleast, if not Airavatha. What we got was worse than a Suvarna. And the bus was supposed to be super-deluxe. Barely any leg-room, I sure did feel sorr for a fellow like Anees.

The only thing eventful that happened was GS talking on a phone to some friend. Rules decreed he could only talk to parents. But he did find a loophole: the friend wanted to talk to him. After much arguing, GS was given the benefit of the doubt, much to our dismay, and he lived to fight another day.

We did meet an IIT Delhi guy, who was Sancheti's son's friend. The world is a small a place afterall.

More to follow...

The Championships 08: Bizzare, almost!

2008-07-02T22:15:00.008+05:30

Normal service resumes at the Championships...finally!! The long-awaited rain delay is here =D. You gotta admit it, lack of rain at Wimbledon had something to do with the weird results at SW19.

First it was the ouster of Novak Djokovic by a rejuvenated, kid sister-inspired Marat Safin. Then Maria Sharapova. Then Ana Ivanovic. Nalbandian's never really got going this year. I forgot to mention the clay-court specialists like Davydenko, and one-off wonders like Bartoli but do they really count as "upsets". Does Sania Mirza's loss fit into the upset category? Or Andy Roddick for that matter. Isn't that more of a regularity?

The Championships of 2001 come closest in memory regarding the upsets. Goran won it then. Henman reached the semis(How often does that happen? A British guy actually doing well in Wimbledon. Credit to him though, he did take Goran to 5).

So fast forward to 2008. Out went Novak in straight sets. So much was expected from him. A 5 time winner Borg went on record ranking him the 2nd favorite to win, after Nadal, ahead of Roger. Following in his sister's footsteps, he didn't stop there, but typical of Marat Safin, went on to send Wawrinka and Seppi on the way home. He has just beaten Feliciano Lopez in a tough battle. Hope he gets through and sets up an intriguing semi-final with Roger Federer. The spirit of Marat lives on! Remember the last time these two played in a Grand Slam semifinal? I reckon Melbourne 2005 can repeat, and he plays Nadal in the final.

Before the tournament, everyone was like this time Roger Federer will fail at Wimbledon. His reply? Beating the sh*t outta Hrbaty, Soderling, Giquel, Hewitt(last champion before Roger's reign) and Ancic(last man to beat Roger here) in such commanding fashion, without dropping a set. But how good was the opposition he faced? Leave the first three apart, Hewitt was definitely distracted with Bec and he announcing they're gonna have a second kid. Ancic has only returned from injury and even getting here was a credible performance by him. I see Safin finishing him off the semis, but if Marat isn't there, its a Roger v Rafa final. Again.

Rafael Nadalis being touted as the favorite here despite him triumphing on grass only at Queens this year. But then again it is the same person who has won French Open on debut, going on never to lose a match there for 4 years straight. Last year he suddenly discovered he can play on grass, and nearly snatched the trophy off Roger, when people were questioning his second seeding being a clay court specialist. He has dropped only a single set against rising Estonian Ernests Gulbis(watch out for him in the future). He did beat Beck, Keifer and Youzhny in straight sets. Now he is facing Andy Murray.

Andy Murray has become another Tim. The crowd helped him come from 2 sets down against Richard Gasquet. But Rafa won't succumb to such pressure. Rewind to Roland Garros 08 final third set(ask Roger, he'll remember). Murray has been impressive. And he is good on grass. But Rafa is too strong for him. Maybe next year Andy.

Does any1 bother about the top quarter of the bottom half? After some crazy results, journeymen veterans Clement and Schuettler(losing finalist in Melbourne park 02 to Tomas Johannson) battle it out for a place in the semis. Good luck to them.

impossible final: Schuettler v Feliciano Lopez
minutely possible: Safin v Murray
likely: Roger v Rafa(again!)

Womens:

I seriously consider there should be a proposal to do away with seedings in the Women's games. I mean, how often do you see top 4 seeds being kicked out by round 4? Maria Sharapova went in rd 2(Kudreytseva had the b**** to criticise the hot tux she was wearing in the championships! How dare she). Ana went the next day in the 3rd rd. She is pretty, but not deserving of a number 1 ranking. Maria's record speaks for itself. Her conqueror, wild card double's specialist, Zie Jheng has gone on a Goran-Esq run and faces Serena in the semis.

Jankovic lost to Thai Tanasugarn in the Graveyard of Champions(court 2) and blamed the "outside" court for her ouster! I thought it would be an honour to play in the court where Pistol Pete played his last match at SW19. Apparently not. Kuznetsova again flattered to deceive falling in Rd 4.

Tanasugarn did fall to Venuswho has looked solid throughout the tournament. She plays Dementieva in the semis, who has faltered her way to the semis, but will probably go the same way out of them.

Looks like its gonna be another Williams v Williams grand slam final. Last time they met: Bangalore Open 08 semis, I WAS THERE!

Second-best?

2008-07-01T12:19:00.006+05:30

Few will argue that Ballack has been among the best midfielders of the world. Unfortunately for him his stellar performances on the field haven't brought him the silverware he merits. Here are some stats highlighting his achievements:

Personal
German Footballer of the Year : 2002,2003,2005 (Apart from Kahn, there was no competition)
UEFA Club Midfielder of the Year : 2002
Selected in FIFA's 100 Greatest Living Players

The only award of major significance is the second one. Despite his calibre and breath-taking performances, Ballack has never been selected among the World's or Europe's best. Will talk about it later.

A look at his Club successes:

Bundesliga : FC Kaiserslautern 1998, Bayern Munich 2003,2005,2006
German Cup : Bayern Munich 2003,2005,2006
Football League Cup : FC Chelsea 2007
FA Cup : FC Chelsea 2007

Only the Bundesliga crowns can be considered to be significant. But this league always falls behind its English, Spanish and Italian counterparts in terms of competitveness. But here's what I'm interested in.

Runner Up
Bundesliga : Bayer Leverkusen 1999,2000,2002, Bayern Munich 2004
German Cup : Bayer Leverkusen 2002
UEFA Champions League : Bayer Leverkusen 2002, FC Chelsea 2008
Football League Cup : FC Chelsea 2008
Premier League : FC Chelsea 2007,2008
FIFA World Cup : Runner Up 2002
UEFA European Football Championship : Runner Up 2008
FIFA World Cup : Bronze medallist 2006
FIFA Confederations Cup : Bronze medallist 2005

He was part of the Bayer Leverkusen's treble horror of 2002, when they surrendered a 5 point with 3 weeks to go to Dortmund, lost a Champions League final(albeit to an inspired Zizou) and lost the German Cup to Schalke. He was also a part of Chelsea's 'lesser' treble horror of 2008, losing the League Cup(in extra time), Premier League(last day of the season) and Champions League(penalties).

He missed the FIFA World Cup final in Korea-Japan, and it definitely been a different story had he played after playing the pivotal role throughout the tournament. They were nearly there in 06, only to be pipped by an inspired Italy. And despite arguably being the best player at Euro 08, his team failed. Again.

You might argue its a team game and Ballack has been unlucky. Repeatedly. Its not his fault. Let me quote my favourite poem, The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost, here:

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

This very much applies to Ballack. Its his choices which have brought him to where he is now. In 2002 he should have been more careful and not committed the needless foul resulting in him being suspended for the next match: the final, which Brazil won 2-0. It would have been different had he been there.

He had chances in 2002 and 2006 to go to Real Madrid--one of the world's best football clubs with the best players. But instead he chose Bayern and Chelsea. Was he scared of the competition out in Real? But a Zizou-Ballack partnership would have killed all teams. Brought both the club and player many accolades and riches. Yes, Chelsea and Bayern are big clubs, but apart from Europe, they don't have a strong presence, especially in growing markets like Asia(I'm just saying Real are a bigger club and their players are well known there). Consider the Far East, where Real make big money. A move to Real brought Beckham a commercial windfall because of this. It could have happened to Ballack, but he chose Abromovich's big money instead.
Not only the money, it would have helped him gain many accolades on the personal front too. We all know FIFA's fascination for players from Real, Barca, Inter and Milan to choose world players of the years(Think otherwise? Give me one good reason why Henry hasn't won the award, or even Kahn for that matter). If Cristiano Ronaldo does move to Real this season, he's assured of that prize no matter what. Ballack could miss out again, even though he thoroughly deserves it. It could have been all different had Ballack made the right choices.

And the results can be seen. Wonder what Ballack's thinking now. Or what he will after he retires. It could have been so much more!

The Transfer Market Mayhem

2008-06-27T23:41:00.004+05:30

The European championships are near the climax, but what's hogging the limelight, both off the pitch and on it(those listening to ESPN's commentry team) are the transfer rumors.

Cristiano Ronaldo's failure to deliver at the big stage isn't causing anybody concern, but its the "world's best footballer" 's tapping up by Real Madrid. If one were to open the papers it would seem Andrei Arshavin is busy mulling a move eithre to Arsenal or Barcelona, not lighting up the stage in Austria-Switzerland. Emmanuel Adebayor is supposedly on holiday, but is apparently waiting near the phone in his hotel to find out if the Gunners are going to agree a deal with Milan or Barcelona. What about Luiz Phillepe Scolari's decision to coach Chelsea right in the middle of Euro, after that being tactically outclassed by Kobie Kuhn and Joachim Leow.

Well, the finger does point to the English media. They are really bad losers aren't they? With England snatching exit from the Euro from the jaws of qualification, they were busy reporting on Rooney's wedding, rather than Sneijder and co ripping the World Cup finalists apart. I'd rather listen to Ramiz Raja speak about India taking a leaf out of Pakistan's book by scoring quick runs in the Asia Cup match(at the precise moment the following stat showed up: after 23 overs, Pakistan: 93-1; India 173-1), than listen to the ESPN's Euro commentators. As Kaushik pointed out to me, the way the stress on Kazim Colin Richards(when his name is Kazim Kazim and much easier to say and remember) makes the viewer sick.

So coming to the biggest hype: Cristiano Ronaldo. Looks like Real are going back to Los(s) Galacticos' ways. Though there has been no "official approach" from Real, they're playing their dirty tricks using there mouthpiece Marca to state their interest in the player. They used the same technique to get Reyes, it failed to land them Kaka and now they're eyeing up C. Ronaldo. What's worse, they're apparently ready to offer Sneijder, one of the stars of the Euro, along with some 50million euros. What a waste of cash! I agree he could boost the finances of the club hugely with his image, but look what happened with Beckham. Atleast Beckham could deliver 2 times out of 5 during the big occaision. But Cristiano?? Nonsense. And for those stupid United fans who think he's the best in business, look at Riquelme's performance this season. Or Casillas. Or Fabregas. Or Ballack. Or even Arshavin. They have delivered when it mattered the most, and they deserve to receive awards, not Cristiano. Lets hope better sense prevails or Sneijder plays spoilsport.

The worst club in the transfer market has got to be Barcelona. Like Real, they use Catalan tabloids to state their interest in a player. Here's their procedure: first leak a report saying XYZ wants to play for Barcelona. Then leak another report that Barcelona is interested in XYZ. Then approach XYZ's agent. Agree a contract. Then agent leaks a report saying XYZ wants to move to Barcelona. By this time, the player would be in dreamland: "I wanna be a part of the Barca family...with their stars(even if it means fighting it out with their role-models for a place in the starting XI)" and will want to move at no cost to Barca. Then bargain hard for a good deal. While other decent clubs approach the club, check availability, if they're told to take a walk, the come out with an offer the club cannot refuse. This pisses off a Catalan player who supported them as a kid. Fabregas has this to say about Barca:

"A club like Barcelona must respect a little more the intimacy of a club that never makes 'noise' and that tries to do things well like Arsenal. In the last few weeks it's come out that Barcelona want at least 7 players from Arsenal and this is not necessary. These things cast doubts on our players and upsets them. Arsenal do things in a different way. Always in secret. This is much more normal."

So Sport says Barca's dream trio next year: Messi-Arshavin-Adebayor. Adebayor always wanted to be with/like Henry so if the deal goes through they can have a good time on and off the pitch. Henry is single anyway. Arshavin "dreams of playing for Barcelona". And yeah they want Hleb too. So, what's the problem? Barca don't have any money. Guardiola has got to fund for them by selling Eto'o, Ronaldinho and Deco. While they expect good cash for the players they do not need, they don't wanna spend too much on new players. It is said 55million euros are to be made available by selling these idiots and buying Hleb and Adebayor. Wenger knows these players are good, but not as good as what Barca are offering. Take it, Arsene! Or get 30million from Milan for Adebayor!

In other news, Ronaldinho has apparently snubbed Manchester City(only the English press thought this was going to happen!) and Chelsea. Arsenal have signed Ramsey and Nasri(deal will be confirmed on July 1st). Chelsea have got Bosignwa. Man Utd are after Bayern-reject Blackburn-star Roque Santa Cruz.

But let us enjoy the drama while it lasts. After the Bosman ruling, now FIFA's Webster clause the transfer market would soon collapse. Arsene Wenger has gone on record saying that this is making the manager's job more difficult with players being able to buy out their contract. Hence they have to start afresh each year. Its hard to imagine to see a Ramos walking out of Real, or Fabregas out of Arsenal, or even a Terry out of Chelsea if their contract demands are not met to their satisfaction. Money is driving football right now, but could lead to its downfall.

I do hope we see more bargain throwing up stars like Eduardo, Higuain or Cazorla into the limelight!

NITK Chronicles 3

2008-04-22T10:25:00.010+05:30

Toma had complained about lack of pictures, so let me begin with one:

Engineering Graphics was easily the most taxing course during the year. This was the only subject in which we had to do assignments, and we had to waste an entirely good tuesday afternoon drawing some lines with correct thickness and dimensions and all that shit. What was even worse was the fact that we had to waste an even more perfectly good monday afternoon listening to Dr.S.V. Kamath lecture us on instructions for EG. By god, it was so boring. Baldie attended just 1 EG class and this is what he wrote on the desk within an hour into the instruction class:

"24-07-2007. In Rememberance of all those who perished waiting for the respite from the monologue, the tyranny and the unmatched boredom of Engineering Drawing"

Well, baldie left college the next day...

Electrical was the most irritating of subjects i had in the first year. We got the same teacher that the trical class had got in the first sem. Mrs. Vinatha came in with the dubious distinction of having given them 10 surprise tests(including 3 continuously!). Kind of feel sorry for these chaps, but cmon they're in trical: they're meant to get screwd in college. Its like in their genes to suffer, while we mech people just chill out(and all you Trical fellas, i'd rather enjoy all four years in college in mech rather than suffer for 3 and suffer a little less in the final year in your branch. Any sane person would choose to do that). They are meant to get Rao'd!

We are all worried about her reputation and initially never bunked classes, always somewhat prepared for the surprise test. But it never came. We thought she was being nice to us. Slowly attendance began weening, thinking that she liked us and wouldn't "surprise" us with a test. But as Trical(Mathias devotee) puts it: "A bull will retain the inherent characteristics of a bull, even if you paint it yellow". One fine day, when the attendance was low and we were mid-way through the class, the dreaded words came out "Let us have a small test". Our cries of "No!" weren't of any use. She went on to have one more. Poor Kamin missed both. When we told him so, he was like "B**s. Eh Stop lying man(In the typical Kamin voice)". When he found out it was true and asked the teacher when she gives surprise tests, she replied "I'll give a surprise test whenever you're absent". He didnt bunk anymore electrical classes. Guess thats why the buck stopped at 2.

Environmental studies: a subject forced upon us the government of India. The subject reminded me completely of Ruma Chatterjee from VNS and LM ma'am from NPS. It was the same ecology bullsh*t that we dreaded and i could answer all the questions whilst deep in sleep(Thanks a million Lakshmi Ma'am!). Everyone slept in class, except harender n kumar aditya(n kd at times "i'm just writing the topics man"). I had to face the ignominy of probably being the only person to be pin-pointed for sleeping in class(Why me??!).

Once during the middle of a class, when most of us were sound asleep Akash Roy(yeah, he actually attended class!) wakes everyone of us and asks whether we have a stapler. Turns out, he actually had one. That guy better watch out, as i hate being disturbed in my sleep!

Physics was taught by GKS, and though he's an excellent prof; the subject itslef was so boring(Quantum physics n Fermi stats, go completely over my head!), though the special session on Nano materials n MEMS was interesting. Lab was no better, viva was very screwing. But I dont understand the use of it as everyone ends up getting a 9(so much for Mohana's attempts to be a perfect 10 this sem! haa.ha).

Computer class. Easily the biggest joke of the semester. Our first teacher was okay, she minded her business, we minded ours and she never poked her nose in our matters. She went on record telling guitar-waale uncleji "Anees why you even come to class? You know C right? I'll give you attendance". And Kamin tried to flirt around with her in order to get good grades, but Roy was there to mark him down. Her mid-sem exam was a bigger joke, which everyone finished in 10min. Yet KD, Toma, GShah(those who knew C!) failed to score full. Shame on them, 'coz I did(muhuhahahahahaa). She left after the mid-sem exam.

The best was yet to come. Post mid-sem comes the replacement(it was rumored that she escaped from Japan) : Reshma D'Souza. She was damn strict in the first class when we made our usual racket in class "You people know that the department is going to set the paper right?" in a very stern, japanese-type english voice. KJ later on admitted that he got scared.

There was one class soon after when only 11 people showed up and we begged her to give a surprise test or grace marks coz we took the trouble of walking in the hot, humid afternoon at 1 just for that damn class. She didn't budge. Seeing her scant respect for attendance, I never bothered to attend those classes unless I had nothing better to do.

She learnt everyone's names and roll numbers within a week(save me, i was the boy in the red tshirt). And there was a huge transformation within a week. Comp class had become a circus with everyone having a blast. She used to punish people in class by asking them to stand up on the bench. We used to make paper rockets chucked it around class(no one was innocent). There was a chance to behave like unruly 3rd standard kids, and we grabbed it with both hands.

One thing about her: she was a huge flirt. First choice was Chetan(she so had a crush on him. ..poor guy). Then was Deep(this guy has sworn revenge on me for irritating the crap outta him, but in his first attempt, he ended up screwing himself more by indulging in dastardly deeds). "Why Chetan didn't come to class?"; "Understood class? Understood Chetan?" and what not. I remember waiting for half an hour in the lab so that i could leave class: but she was busy with Deep wondering whether he knew Konkani or not. Then there were others later on: Chintan, KD, Anees etc, but Chetan ruled the roost.

One of the most memorable comp class had to be the one where Anees entered in shorts. For 50 bucks he was dared to go and sit on the teacher's chair, count till 5 and come back whilst wearing shorts. Being Anees Rao, he did it. Mid-way through the class he changed into pants. 50 more bucks to him. For another 50 Patro was dared to wear the shorts over the pant(a la superman) and walk upto the teacher and seek permission to go to the loo like a first standard kid(you know by closing your right fist and just showing your little finger). He chickened out. KJ did it. Will try and acquire the videos of these stunts soon. What a day it was! Memorable. (Lined up in II year: dare to go to classes in main building wearing lungis/dhothi-panche!!!)

Our end-sem exam was a completely different story. In the lab, I confused her so much in my viva by speaking damn fast, got the answer outta her and then gave the answer to a question which i had no clue about. My output never came for a program, but I somehow managed to convince her that there is a problem with the compiler(not my program, which apparently was perfectly alright!). Well I think I managed to score full.

Coming to the theory, she had already leaked quite a bit of the paper. And during the exam, she actually helped us copy. Lahoti's paper was a complete carbon copy of Simon's. She never did anything, but helped him instead. We directly asked her answers, she told us(technically, this aint cheating!). Worse, she told KD to tell the class the answers: "Why dont you help him Aditya? "; "Tell loudly so that everyone can hear". All of us stood to gain substantially as the paper was much tougher than anticipated. Those who missed out were those whose roll numbers were after 25. They had to answer questions which were not even mentioned in class and the poor chaps knew nothing. You should have seen the anger in Toma, Girish and KJ's faces. Apparently they were promised lenient correction. Wonder how the grading will be done as there barely will be a handful below 95!

Note: Will try and get someone to write a complete post on the comp class. Someone who has attended the classes. Leave a comment if interested and mail the post/link to me.

Mechanical Engineering Science was a decent subject. Mohan Kumar took the first part. He sometimes missed his classes as he was busy eating idlis at Sadanand in Surathkal. His voice had the perfect tonic to put everyone to sleep. Sriram of final year took the other part-the more fun part: IC Engines, Refrigeration and Fluid stats. His first paper was damn screwing(only Kamin and Basu had the knack of solving it), while post mid-sem we never got portions for his tests--we directly got questions! We didn't get all the questions in the end-sem, probably coz Anish(taught the other class, also a final year mech topper and a fellow Gooner n quizzer!) asked him not to . We asked sriram his gpa, he said"don't ask, its not good!". On further pestering he said "9.6"! Modesty? Hunger for more? Btw, he walked away with most awards this year(four or five), including the one for the best gpa in all 4 years for all branches. And he had said"Its not good!"

Finally I'm done with the teachers of first year. Managed to get a fan for this site actually who actually looked forward to the next post(thanks a million dude!!!i owe you a treat at kanti!). Off for a trek to the himalayas now, will come back n right about the people there. Until next time, cheers! have a blast! Happy holidays :)

Thanks to Toma and Chaitu for the pics...will add more as and when i get them...

NITK Chronicles 2

2008-02-23T19:51:00.007+05:30

As baldie wanted to know about the teachers he's missing, i'll come back to my buddies later.

1. "Two truck drivers were arrested in Bihar. Their well-wishers didn't know what to do, so they decided to ask Alex. Alex then called up his good friend Lalu Prasadji and requested him from the bottom of my heart. Lalu Prasadji heard Alex's plea and released the driveres."

2. "There was a snake pit, and some local villagers wanted to remove it but the snakes we were not leaving it. They did all pujas, yet they the snake did not come out. One of them suggested that they go and ask Alex for help. Alex initially refused, but they pleaded him to come, and finally Alex agreed to come. Alex just stood in front of the snake pit and using his psychic powers told the snake to leave the pit. And believe it or not, the snake left the pit."

Fact or fiction? But it surely is entertaining. Meet Alexander Francis Simon D'Souza, or simply Alex, the great man who makes the workshop course in fitting one to remember. He claims to have contacts ranging from Advaniji to Sonia Gandhiji, from Laluji to Murali Manohar Joshiji. He claims credit for the Bosch sponsorship for renovation in his workshop. He claims to have fore-told a girl that she would bee in MIT(turned out to be true apparently) because she asked him why does the drilling machine have threading in that particular shape. But he is one hell of a joy to work under. His quirky tales make the workshop course extremely enjoyable. I doff my cap in his honor, thank you sir for making fitting a truly memorable course.

During the course of the first semester we had to face the prospect of studying chemistry(shit!) for the last time ever(:D). According to Dr. Satish, xplanations in chemistry could be decreed by opinion polls within the class. The structure of BrF3 was determined by us through an opinion poll--not by those idiots in IUPAC.

The other teacher(Dr. R.C.Bhat) was a Hitler. If anyone came a second after him, he would be asked to get out of class by a simple hand gesture of Hitler. Even the always-on-time KD had to face the ignominy for he thought class was at 9 and landed at about 8.57(class began at 8.55). I argued with him over half-an-hour only to increase half a mark in my paper!(though later on I did improve: 5 minutes for 1 mark).

Prof. Nityananda Shetty took over after Satish left and his lectures were really good, but we usually fell asleep during the classes. He was hell-bent on taking class and even took when there were hardly a handful in class. Chem lab was okay, doing titrations everytime, trying to crack the correct sequence of concordant readings according to roll numbers in order to get 20(I think it was every 7th person who got the same). I'm so glad we have no more chemistry.

"Read Euler, read Euler--he is the master of us all!"

"Read books like Kreyzig, not some cheap local bazaar guides like DSC or KSC"

In the first semester, Dr.Shankar's class was one I looked forward to the most. His approach to math was completely different, and we enjoyed that. He just didnt write the formulae on the board and write some solved examples(as our 2nd sem teacher Pratibha did); he would tell us the story behind every curve that he taught or that of the great mathematician who derived a particular formula (simultaneously suggesting some great books on them), or talking to us about the 7 million dollar qustions in mathematics(out of which only 6 remain unanswered today, hoping that one of us would solve one of them): hoping that we would get inspired to do actually learn math(not mug up DSC!). We barely did any problems("Anyone can do problems. Before using a formula it is important to find out the inspiration behind it").

Unfortunately he didnt teach us in the next semester. Some female called Pratibha replaced him and she was horrible. Apart from the afore-mentioned facts, people would walk in half-an-hour late and walk away with attendance(the record I think is 40minutes, got to check up on that). No one could hear what she was trying to say(not even in the first bench) even when there was pin-drop silence. We used to mind our own business--sleep, play bingo/battleship, talk, write records and she never used to do anything. She caught Anees doing his record and this is what followed:

Pratibha: "Are u interested in math? if u are not u can walk out"
Anees(with the comp record open right in front of her):
"yes ma'am i m interested"
(still figuring out the next line in the record)!
Pratibha(no reply, wondering what to say...)

and she just walked away...

We attended class only to meet the minimum attendance requirement. If Shankar was the best math teacher I've ever had, Pratibha was comparable to the worst.

One person who managed to out-do Pratibha in hopelessness was our Electronics teacher Rifat Ara. If teachers ever had an attendance requirement as us students(75%), she would fall short big time. It was rumoured that she always ran off to her native Jammu and Kashmir everytime. Quite possible. She used to bark absolute nonsense in class:

If we ask her where us the circuit she replies "it is hair". She used to teach us something she calls "flip floss"and she tells the guys in our class that their "freakency is very low". She complains abt "people calling her at 1130 in the middle of the night on her personal mobile which is supposed to be used for personal use only". KJ once just asked her what frequency she was talking about and he got blasted. KJ didn't budge and belted her back. One entire period of great entertainment.

Professional communication was taught by one Mrs. Ambika Mallya and Mr.Subramanium(thatha). I DO NOT AGREE with having this course. It was supposed to be a fun class, but i found it to be really really boring. In this course we learnt about the theory of the "7 roadbocks to communication" and all that sorts of shit. She used to teach us by flicking PJs from some text book, claiming that she nicked it off the net. Even her "personal-life anecdotes" were flicked from there. And she expected the same bookish answers from all. If anyone wreote a word different, he stood to lose marks. And if she found out that the student is from Bangalore, she never gave any marks to him and had different barometers to correct papers("If someone else had writtent that answer, I would have given marks. But since you're well-versed in English, i can't give you marks"!)

In this class we began the I DO NOT AGREE CLUB. The members had to wear a kurta when decided by a certain member. The club has only 3 members(Anees, KJ and yours truly) plus Chaitanya. Anees set the ball rolling by refusing to agree to some explanation given by her(the fact that he was busy paying attention in class baffles me). I refused to agree to some method of correction in my paper and argued with her for the entire period(I think I was claiming the poetic interpretation of the english language). KJ picked up an argument about why we all wear good clothes and come to class or something(the final statement of the argument was delivered by KJ: "The reason we wear good clothes, is so that boys want to impress girls and girls want to impress boys. Whether you like it or not, this is a fact and you know it!"). And the common thing about all these incidents is that we were all wearing kurtas when we were arguing.

NITK Chronicles 1

2008-02-05T21:19:00.002+05:30

First of all, got to owe the following posts to two people: Prithvi and Arvind. Spitface, coz his blog is amazing and a delight to read...and baldie (well not coz he is an alien from mars who threatened the ndtv people that he would terrorize them and bite them and make them bald like him, if they didn't give him an opportunity to terrorize the firangs(I’m racist, so?)) coz he wanted to know about what’s going on in the college he was in for 3 days...he wanted me to chronicle the happenings as good old gauribidnor sudhakar acharya prithvi(hope I got that right) had done...

College?? Watching about colleges in India from the movies one gets the impression that in college there are pretty girls and you will get ragged...that was the sort of impression I had about my college life when I was at the fag end of my exams..then when it was more or less certain that I would join this place, I spoke a little bit to seniors I knew in this place--kau and mv...they assured me that I would not get ragged and this eased my tension a bit...when I asked about girls, they told me "don't expect much" and "you were in VNS, hope you enjoyed then"....you know how I felt...

Please note: The following comments have been made only for entertainment sake...if any1 find's any of the blog inappropriate for some reasons, let me know

My first experience with NITK was the day of counseling. As I had been to IIT Madras prior to this, and this campus with its old buildings was a big letdown. At least it had to look a tenth as good as IIT, but one must never judge a book by its cover.

At the orientation day I was assured that the "mess food is very healthy and nutritious" and "one must not take the feedback of the seniors". The chief warden even went to the extent of issuing an open challenge to the parents to try out the mess food. MV had warned me "enjoy the home food when you can still have it" and Kau had said "at least you get a variety". The mess food wasn't bad--it was pathetic. And still is. The rice is uncooked. The chapattis are burnt and black and are more difficult to tear than rubber. The sambhar and rasam are the same and are basically colored water(sambhar has got the mangalore sautekai). We get red alu at least once a day. The once-upon-a-time delicacy palak paneer is just green water with grass picked from behind the hostel block as palak and rubber cubes(bits of an eraser?? we'll never know) as paneer. Boiled curds are frequent. You get the picture. Breakfast is supposed to be the most important meal of one's day, but puris dripping in oil and stronger-than-steel chapattis on certain days don’t help matters.

No matter how many times we complain, our pleas fall to deaf ears and the food just gets worse by the day. The only thing good about the mess is the twice-a-week ice cream, for which people go to such lows to get hold of an ice cream. I remember changing my appearance a few times(removed my glasses and customary cap) to get hold of one more coupon. My roommate has managed to get hold of 7 once(he generally stops at 5). The so-called grand dinner is good only coz it’s a change from the standard menu--we get soggy Manchurian and oily puris along with pink raitha.

My hostel room is old. Very old. I got a few peers whose fathers studied here and tell their kids when they come to visit--"look at that chair, that was where I sat when I was your age". Yea the furniture is that old. The fan in my room is older. Probably no one bothered to change anything but the capacitor in it since 1960(the year this college started). We got Indian style toilets(yea, we got to squat and shit) at the end of the corridor. They may be hygienic, but when people don’t flush, it isn't a pretty sight.

I'm certainly blessed to have such decent roommates. Mahesh is from Chattisgarh, and this guy is very quiet and hard working. The other guy Badrinarayanan Balasubramaniam Jamadarkhana(half muslim, half hindu; half telugu, half Tamil...his ancestors were muslim ministers in the some telugu king's court....when their kingdom was attacked they flicked gold from the treasury and landed up in Tamil Nadu, where they converted and became Hindu Brahmins). Sleeps all the time yet gets unbelievable marks. I think he studies when Mahesh and I sleep and when we're about to get up goes to sleep.

Poor guy gets his ass kicked every time: "badri GPL" is folklore and an event which brings good luck to all...as vathul puts it, GPL="birthday bums"...it started when he accepted a dare to say Pakistan zindabad during the T20 world cup, got kicked for that, and guess what--India won. This success rate is maintained. It was some dude called Badri arvind's birthday, and though it’s customary for the birthday boy to get the GPL, Badrinarayan got one. People who didn't know who he was or how he looked said in front of him: " woh badri hai naa, usko GPL dena chahiye, fir hi India jeetegi"...poor guy was helpless. The situation is now like we don’t need a reason to effect it.

At counseling I saw this "guitar waale uncleji".. I saw this dude at the ace crash program, and I distinctly remember him crossing the road--air guitaring, completely into it with eyes closed, and not giving a damn about the traffic that zoomed in front and behind him...saw him at the CET centre too, and believe it or not, was doing the same thing(fortunately not in the middle of Hosur road!!!). Meet Anees Rao, the crazy tall kid. Initially learnt that he too had a passion for trekking and that’s where the common interests end. Later found out that he was into theatre, and yearned for good food. He has the guts to use colorful language luxuriously in front of his parents. Why crazy?? Well who in the world in their wildest dreams would climb an almirah at 1 in the morning and sing Phil Collins at the top of his voice? Being drunk is no excuse for singing Phil Collins, that too across the corridor.

To be continued..

Movie review: The Italian Job(2003)

2008-02-04T22:26:00.001+05:30

This is not a DVD review of the Arsenal v Internazionale game at the Guiseppe Meazza of the same title which finished 5-1 in Arsenal's favour.
Director: Gary Gray
Cast: Mark Wahlberg, Charlize Theron, Edward Norton, Mos Def, Seth Green, Jason Statham, Donald Sutherland

Stealing $35 million worth of gold without firing a single bullet--too good to be true aint it? A heavily guarded palazzo in Venice, Italy was the setting, and the plan devised by mastermind thief Charlie Croker(Mark Wahlberg) was flawless. The job was executed by his team (inside man Steve(Edward Norton), computer genius Lyle(Seth Green), wheelman handsome Rob(Jason Statham) , explosives expert Left-Ear(Mos Def) and veteran safecracker John Bridgerwith(Donald Sutherland)) to perfection. The escape was clean. Their age-old dreams could finally be realized.

But what they didn't count was one of their own men back-stabbing them, having "made plans of his own" and bumping off the rest of them. His plan was even better, and was executed to more or less perfectly, with all the gold in his possession....or so he thought.

Four of the other five actually survive and a year later, devise a plan their act of vengeance. This job wasn't going to be easy as the guy they were trying to con, knew had all their old tricks up his sleeve. They had to outsmart him in order to be successful. They rope in Stella(Charlize Theron), a beautiful nerves-of-steel safecracker, on the way when as they track the double-crosser to LA. "Now the job isn't the payoff, it's about payback."

Mark Wahlberg of "The Departed" and "The Perfect Storm" fame, puts in a pretty neat performance. The character of a calm-under-pressure conman suits him fine, and it would have been interesting to see him don the Linus Caldwell role in Oceans 11 as originally cast, but the role went to Daemon.

Charlize Theron puts in a stella performance. She looks damn hot, and her acting and driving skills match that in the movie. Gotta admit that after the movie, I'm a big fan of hers.

Edward Norton was okay in his small role and so were the others.

Rating: Must watch!!!

Championships Review: Week 1

2007-07-02T15:09:00.000+05:30

So here we are, one week done and dusted at the championships and into the second monday we are yet to complete 3rd round action. Most of the first week went down the drain, and so did the cash flow outta the coffers of the organisers in reimbursing the fans, but as we are told "there was no need for arction on sunday as we are well on schedule". Yea right, 90 matches behind, and in my view the People's Sunday was avoided to ensure more matches would be played on the days where the fans pay for tickets(People's Sunday is free).

So lets begin with 2nd round action, shall we? Tim Henman's challenge was ended just when he had the support of the entire nation, when he went down 7-6 (7-3), 7-6 (7-5), 3-6, 2-6, 6-1 to lefty Spaniard who likes to play on grass, Feliciano Lopez. Tim did rally outta his skins to square the match at two sets each, but once it reached a fifth set, the Brit’s speed of leg and thought seemed to desert him. One might argue age has has caught up with the Briton, but again he succumbed when the whole nation had hope in him. He has said he'd be back next year, so until next Wimbledon, he'll go into oblivion("Tim who?").

Elsewhere, the usual suspects were hardly troubled. Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal looked ominous in their emphatic victories. There were also victories for Andy Roddick, Novak Djokovic, Nikolay Davydenko, James Blake, Ivan Ljubicic and Lleyton Hewitt. As expected, the clay-courters Tommy Robredo, David Ferrer, Juan Ignacio Chela and Agustin Calleri perished in the 2nd round. Aisam-ul-Haq Quereshi's dream run was terminated by Marat Safin, who set up a meeting with Roger in the 3rd round.

It was a similar story in the ladies' event, with seeds also a protected species. Amelie Mauresmo, Maria Sharapova, Venus Williams, Elena Dementieva, Nicole Vaidisova, Katarina Srebotnik, Alano Bondarenko, and Anna Chakvetadze all looked untroubled, losing fewer than half-a-dozen games on the way to easy victories.

The case was similar for Nadia Petrova who made a mockery of Sania Mirza. One match she looked supreme dispatching Bangalore Open Champion Yaroslava Shvedova, and then the hype began, as she had beaten Petrova in 2005. But her returns were terrible and serves were worse. But like all Indian sportspersons, she fails to deliver when it matters the most--when you sit down and see the first few games of her match, the result is inevitable aint it? She can't go on blaming injuries for her losses time and time again, if shez really injured she oughtta take a good long break from the game, and return when shez fit. Otherwise accept her as a B-class player who cant surge above the top-30 rankings. You don't hear Maria Sharapova make a huge hue and cry about her shoulder injury, she takes it in her stride even though its evident to one and all. And its not only the serves, the returns--the forehand, usually her strength, looked the main culprit as she mishit them. And ever since she took help from Tony Roche, her serve has got worse.

So is she a one-hit wonder? Like the Bangladesh cricket team, so full of potential and yet the odd-victory over a big opponent defines their career. Grass aint her favorite surface, neither is clay; so i guess lets just reserve judgement until the end of the season. Lets hope I'm proved wrong. Lets hope she gets consistent and wins the Sunfeast Open. Anyways theres doubles with Peer, and mixed with Bhupati for her.

Anyways, now to Round 3 action(whatever is complete). Unfortunately for Tim conquerer Lopez, French wildcard Jo-Wilfred Tsonga had his number in the third round, and the latter will go on to play my favourite Frenchman Richard Gasquet in the last 16. This dude looks good on grass, reminds me a little of Grosjean at his prime, but much better. There were no such worries for top seed Roger Federer, who was rarely troubled in his match against the mercurial Marat Safin. The big Russian took an hour to find his range, but by then, the four-time defending Swiss champion was two sets to the good. The third went to a tie-break, which Roger sailed through with his customary grass-court aplomb, dropping only one point. Federer is in the quarters now as Tommy Haas got so scared of getting ripped in the match that he got himself injured in the stomach.

Third seed Andy Roddick also went through in straight sets after he beat Fernando Verdasco. He will next play Paul-Henri Mathieu in the last 16, after the Frenchman caused one of the upsets of the day in defeating Croatian 15th seed Ivan Ljubicic.

Juan Carlos Ferrero and Janko Tipsarevic will be the surprise match-up of the fourth round men's singles after Ferrero beat James Blake in four sets while Tipsy overcame 2007 Australian Open finalist Fernando Gonzalez in a five-set epic out on Centre Court. The Serb is now the darling of the Centre-court fans, with a ring on his eyebrow and with tattoos on both his hands.

Justine Henin and Serena Williams stayed on course for a mouth-watering quarter-final tie by despatching Elena Vesnina and Milagros Sequera respectively. Marion Bartoli also made light work of Shahar Peer, while an out-of-sorts Martina Hingis - who won the tournament here 10 years ago - crashed out tamely in a little over an hour to unseeded American Laura Granville. Hingis’ performance, out on Court 2 (often known as the “Graveyard of Champions”), was a catalogue of errors, with her lack of match practice evident.

At the other end of the scale, Jelena Jankovic was made to fight every step of the way to justify her number three billing against Lucie Safarova in a thrilling match. The Czech won the opening set and was a break up in the second, but Janvokic battled back to take the second set to a tie-break before winning the third.

Elsewhere, Daniela Hantuchova also came back from a set down to beat Katarina Srebotnik; Patty Schnyder edged Alona Bondarenko 6-4, 3-6, 8-6 and Michaella Krajicek and Anna Chakvetadze engaged in a ding-dong battle, before Krajicek ran out the eventual winner.

Day 6 was nearly a wash-out, with Maria Sharapova's 6-3, 6-3 victory over Ai Sugiyama having to be finished in light rain. The only other player to enjoy that winning feeling on Saturday was ladies’ defending champion Amelie Mauresmo, who made short work of Italy’s Mara Santangelo in two sets.

The Championships are here!

2007-06-27T12:53:00.000+05:30

Its time for grass, strawberry and cream and of course the rains. Which means only one thing--Wimbledon 2007 is underway

I'll begin with some 'home' action. The first day's play was nearly washed out, a mood described in an article as a response to the withdrawal of British No.1 Andy Murray who is yet ot recover from the wrist injury he sustained at the Hamburg Masters. The mood in London was down, as their "only decent hope" was out of the tournament. Even on Monday, if you asked anyone if they knew a person called Tim, the answer, most probably would be, "Tim, who?" Alas that is the situation of the erstwhile crowd favourite, and on Monday no one even bothered to report that he was in a very thrilling match with clay-court master Carlos Moya. 2 sets apiece and the 5th locked at 2-2(6-3 1-6 5-7 6-3 to the Brits favor), when rain halted play.

But on Monday people suddenly realised, "yea man, OUR Tim is still in the draw". So the Union Jacks were out in centre court, people wore anything related to English teams--Newcastle mufflers, English cricket team caps, and what not; some people even had "Cmon Tim" scarves. "So what if he is 33, hez gonna win". Henman Hill too was packed. Its rare to see a partisan British crowd in tennis, but they were there to support Henman, in what could be his last title shot. This was Henmania at its peak.

But Moya was not going to relent. The solid baseliner from Mallorca, despises grass, but wanted to change his dismal showing in this grand-slam. Match this against the serve-and-volley finesse of Tim, and match went down to the wire. The match had resumed at 5-5 in the final set and, after a night of rest, neither player looked prepared to concede anything - to the extent that there were no break points in the first 12 games. There was no let-up in the intensity of the match, no lack of ambition, and in the end it came down to a few critical points between two players who could only respect what their opponent was trying to do.

Then Henman became the first player to come under real pressure as he went two break points down and dramatically saved them both with aces to squeeze his way through to a 12-11 lead. Tim followed that up with unbelievable tennis to gain two match-points. He saved them both with winners and then conceded a third with a loose forehand over the baseline. Finally, sadly, a double fault from Moya ended the match and Tim Henman was through to play another Spaniard, the left hander Feliciano Lopez. This was only his 3rd win on tour this year, but at Wimbledon against Tim, these things dont matter.

Lets move on. Roger Federer beat some Russian in three, and looks en route to equalling Borg's record of 5 straight Wimbledon titles. One player who really did well was Pakistan's Aisam-ul-Haq Quereshi. He is the first person from his country to qualify for the championships and in his first round he dispatched Lee Childs of Britain in straight sets. He faces Marat Safin next, who won in straight sets. All the best to him.

12th seed Richard Gasquet, Michael Llodra, Fabrice Santoro, wildcard Jo-Wilfried Tsonga (who beat Hewitt at the recent Artois championship) and Nicolas Mahut flew the French flag successfully on Tuesday. Second seed and last year's finalist Rafael Nadal of Spain combined power with a wonderfully deft touch on occasion to ease past the valiant Mardy Fish. Other notable players to win included Novak Djokovic, James Blake, Tomas Berdych, Jonas Bjorkman, David Nalbandian, Marcos Baghdatis and Nikolay Davydenko.

Much in the fashion of top seed Justine Henin the previous day, defending ladies’ champion Amelie Mauresmo made short work of her opponent, overcoming Jamea Jackson for the loss of only four games. 2004 Champion Maria Sharapova , Serena Williams and Jelena Jankovic also progressed in straight sets.

Venus Williams was far from her best, making 34 unforced errors in a two-hour match against Alla Kudraytseva in which she won the decider 7-5. Svetlana Kuznetsova also lost the opening set and found herself a break down in the second to Ukraine Julia Vakulenko, but upped her game to triumph in three.

There you go, Federer looks set to be crowned king (again) and in the women's draw it appears to be a three horse race between Sharapova, Henin and Mauresmo. Game on!

Wisden Trophy: Review

2007-06-20T23:56:00.000+05:30

Well what happened had to happen. Windies got thrashed black and blue by an English side which honestly wasnt very clinical in its display. But Windies of the last decade or so have had the tendency to press the self-destruct button, with a lone wolf standing amidst the ruins. Well after Brian Lara retired, and Sarwan back home after sustaining an injury, the result was inevitable. So the English press going ga-ga over a 3-0 test series win is pretty futile.

To begin with, the series would never have taken place: had Australia committed to the ICC Schedule, the Windies would be entertaining them at home(and probably suffering a worse state). But the Aussies said the WC was too demanding and that they feared to lose to a Windies side without a Lara due to "fatigue"(why the hell are they paid Aussie $1000000 for winning the WC??). So the Windies were jobless n instad of sittin g and rotting at home playing they're Windward Island vs Wayward Island sorta league matches they decide to come to England to enjoy the beauty of the English summer. Well they ended up getting humiliated and helped propel the English players' rankings.

The first test at Lord's was batting practice for the English. With Powell, taylor, Colleymore and Bravo they had a 4-pronged right-arm pace attack with no variations. Once the batsmen got adjusted to the bowling style, it was only a matter of when he was going to lose his concentration. Vaughan was injured, so was Freddie so Strauss was captain with this ODI reject called Owais Shah in the team. Alastair Cooked up a ton, Collingwood being Collingwood made one too, so did Bell n Matt Prior on debut at Lord's(I wuda picked Nixon) as England made 553. The Windies replied with 437. Hang on--it wasnt so one sided after all. England piled on 284-8 in the second, with KP comnig to the party. Being laid back, the Windies decided to play out a draw. MoM- Cook. The only problem was Hoggard screwing himself up and was ruled out for the enxt two games.

The second test was played at Headingley with Vaughan back to lead the team in his home test. That fella, who is yet to score a one-day ton(yea, thats true!). But Michael brought out his best and decided to give the 4-pronged attack some thrashing. Teaming up with KP, he scored 103. KP broke his 158 score hoodoo and made 226 as the English piled up 570-7dec. Watching the Windies' body language on the field, one knew that they were gonna get whipped. And whipped they did, not by Harmison, not even Plunkett but by the discarded joker who replaced Hoggy--Ryan Sidebottom. And having captain Sarwan injured during the game and didnt help either as Shivnarine was already ruled out, with Morton coming in his place. They crumbled to 146 with Ryan taking 4. Following on they made 141, with only Dwayne Bravo making a decent 56. Ryan took 4 more as England won by a staggering innings and 283 runs. England were now 1-0 up and with Sarwan ruled out for the rest of the series, Ganga came to the helm, but what was gonna happen, everyone knew. MoM Kevin Pietersen.

The third test at Old Trafford saw an improvements of sorts from the Windies. Fidel edwards came in and showed some spark in the attack, as they bowled out England for 370 with Bell topscoring with 97. Darren Sammy was impressive too with figures of 17-7-32-1. The Windies in reply were 216-4 at one stage with Bravo looking good on a 50 and one thought Windies are fighting, which is good. But then Monty got turn, got lucky and they crumbled for 229. 6-13, a collapse only the Windies can fall into. And they were not against Warne n McGrath, but Monty and Sidebottom. England seized the opportunity and cook smashed another brilliant ton. More about him in a minute. With KP and Vaughan he helped the English reach 265-6. Then came debutant Darren Sammy. Within minutes he wiped out England with figures of 7-66. He has definitely been the find of the season for the Windies.

West Indies, chasing 454 for an improbable victory got off to a poor start with Gayle failing to deliver the start they deserve. He has looked outta sorts lately putting his team in a precarius situation when he oughtta hav given them flying starts. Morton made up for lost time with a 54. Chanderpaul at the other end was like a rock which wouldnt seem to relent as put on a fantastic 116. He found able allies in Morton and Bravo, but these two threw their wickets away and Chanderpaul was the lone ranger fighting in the battle. Day 4 ended with Windies at 301-5 with Ramdin and Shiv at the crease. A victory was still possible. But West Indies batsmen meekly surrendered before Monty who ended up bagging his first ever 10-for with a 6wkt hauls as England completed a 60 run victory and gained an unassailable 2-0 lead in the series. MoM Monty Panesar.

The fourth test at Chester-Le-Street began Hoggy back in the English squad. Windies batted first and crumbled again, with Shiv, again, being the stand-out performer making 136. Sidebottom took a 5-88. England replied with 400, with Collingwood making 128. Strauss looked good with a 77 and helped keep his place on the side. Prior continued to impress and made another 50. The result now seemed a mere formality. In their second essay, they Caribbean's didnt imporve and terminated at 222, with Shiv, again top scoring 77. Monty was fantastic as he snapped up 5-46. England breached the target of 111 within no time but stupidly lost 3wkts. As a mark of consolation, Shiv was given MoM and MoSeies with Monty.

West Indies review:

One man can't make a team, but it can stop them from being humiliated. Shivanrine Chanderpaul's concentration and application was unbelievable against, at times, some very testing bowling and on lively surfaces. Brian Lara has gone, but it could be the best thing to happen to Chanderpaul. He can come out of the shadows and be acclaimed as the wonderful batsman he is.

Darren Sammy was very impressive and his enthusiasm to lift a side deep in the doldrums was a colossal effort. If only he could have been a part of the last test would Windies break their dubious record of not winning a single test in the last 20 attempts.

Dwayne Bravo batted really out of his skins during the tournament and the way he played against Monty's guile was superb. His bowling was not as good as it usually is.

Fidel Edwards bowled well when he got the chance, Ramdin continues to improve and impress. Gayle, Ganga and Samuels were really huge let downs. Gayle and Marlon have looked out of sorts since the World Cup began and hopefully after being enthrusted the captaincy of the ODI team, Chris can improve. Ganga, on the other hand, was poor--batting as well as captaincy. They did miss Sarwan and Lara too(who has hinted he might be back).

England review:

The kingpin of England's batting, Kevin Pietersen just keeps getting better and better and better. His 226 at Headingley was the highest score by an England batsman since Graham Gooch's 333 in 1990, and was the product of a subtle but effective change to his gameplan. He's a calmer, more measured cricketer these days.
Twenty-three wickets in four Tests, including ten in a match for the first time, and three five-wicket hauls. Yea, thats Monty Panesar we're talking about. The West Indies' batsmaen, it has to be said, were clueless against his wiles, forever swishing wildly or padding-up guilelessly.

Alastair Cook was a class act at the top of the order. Laying the firm foundations for the rest of the exploits of the team, his batting was quint-essential in the English's success. No wonder Trescothick is still in wilderness and no one gives a damn about him.

Michael Vaughan was in sublime touch throughout the series and his captaincy was one to be admired. His cuts and drives are one of the best in the business. I wonder if he'll ever make his way back into the ODI team after relinquishing captaincy and being immediately dropped.

Ryan Sidebottom was impressive but has to still prove that he's not just another flash in the pan.

Matt Prior has been the find of the series for England, his batting being a big bonus to the side.

Paul Collingwood continues to work as hard, but can improve his bowling a bit. With the ODI captaincy on his shoulders it'll be interesting to see his tactics now.

Ian Bell, Matthew Hoggard were okay, but Steve Harmison and Andrew Strauss were huge let-downs.

So, England won the 4 match series 3-0 and one can't wait for the Indian series to begin.

The Maestroes of clay reign supreme!

2007-06-14T13:10:00.000+05:30

The French Open was a really dull affair, well almost till the men's final, which was a treat to watch. The tournament more or less went as per predictions made earlier. The only uncertainty was who was gonna face Henin in the women's final. But what a damp squib it turned out to be.

Ana Ivanovic, all of 20 and making her maiden appearance in the final of a Grand Slam, looked an able challenger to the might of Henin--who displayed her credentials of being one of the best, if not the best, clay courter in the history of women's tennis. Well Ana, who had hammered Sharapova with such aplomb (6-2 6-1) in the semis, began really well breaking Henin in the very first game. Memories of Sharapova at Wimbledon 2004 surfaced, who had then confidently dispatched Serena Williams being just 17 then.

But Henin, being Henin, never gave up. Henin amped up her game and completely suffocated the 19-year-old Serbian, attacking her second serves, launching huge forehands and scurrying about the court retrieving any and all huge shots that Ivanovic threw at her. Ana crumbled under pressure and allowed Henin to break back the very next game--all square at 1-1. But Henin was given an inch, but she took a mile. Henin then took control and served big and intelligently to specific areas, moved her high variety backhand around the court and stayed keenly focused during the entire match, ultimately winning 6-1 6-2.

Ivanovic, on the other hand, fell apart mentally in her first Grand Slam final, playing a nervous, error-strewn match that belied her tremendous talent. The Serbian served terribly, failed to read Henin's serve and lost all control of her ground-strokes. Ivanovic finished the match with 26 unforced errors to only 13 from Henin, and only manage to win 45 percent of her service points.

The result was a foregone conclusion to many before the tournament began. It was rumoured that Henin's name was already engraved on the trophy before the tournament began. Her third straight tile at Roland Garros, fourth overall, and sixth grandslam title, without dropping a set. As for Ana, she will get her time--afterall Kim and Mauresmo did not win grand slams on their first attempts--they had to work for it.

Those disheartened at the tennis over two weeks would have certainly thanked God because the best was saved for the last. Everyone knew it was gonna be Roger v Rafa, the only thing that mattered was who was gonna win. Nadal was the favourite with a 7-4 head-to-head record v Roger and 20-0 on Parisian clay before the game started.

Roger began well and his one-handed sublime backhand was a delight to watch. That was winning him points easily, but Rafa hung on. It went to serve in the first set until the 7th game when Rafa was serving. Roger brought creativity and class to the fore to go 0-40 up on Rafa's serve. But then Rafa began playing deep and relentless shots, pounding into Federer's backhand and waiting patiently for his openings. Roger had no ideas and even made umpteen unforced errors with his usually always reliable forehand. The tables had turned and in the very next game Rafa broke Roger. Rafa grabbed the only opportunity he had and broke Roger again to win the first set 6-3.

Fed X was down but not out. After going down in a grinding first set, Federer's high variety attack showed through in the second set, as he began to mix in low backhand slices, net rushes and rapid-fire forehands. Nadal continued to push the Swiss hard, though, forcing him to use five set points to grab the set, which Federer won on a forehand error by the Spanish No.2 seed.

The Swiss had to work so hard to win the second that he looked mentally tired coming out in the third set, where he was immediately broken. With a break in hand, Nadal upped his level, yanking the Swiss all over the court until he took his legs out from under him. Nadal did not serve spectacularly well, but he adeptly mixed up his serves and consequently saw enough mid-court balls to be able to seize control of the points. The muscular lefty won the set when he crushed a forehand crosscourt winner.

Federer again got himself in trouble at the opening of the fourth set when pressing on his forehand side, finding it impossible to penetrate the Spaniard. He dumped a forehand into the net and was broken to 1-2, at which point Nadal never looked back, throwing huge body blows at the Swiss. In typical Nadal fashion, he held at love to win the title when Federer flew a forehand long. Nadal eventually winning 6-3 4-6 6-3 6-4.

The quality of tennis was fantastic. Roger was beaten but by no means disgraced. The 10-time Grand Slam champion often wowed the crowd with brilliant shot-making, but point in, point out, Nadal was much more solid. Rafael Nadal became the first man since the great Bjorn Borg to win three straight crowns, taking his record at Roland Garros to 21-0.

If Rafa thought he was the greatest player on clay of his generation, there was a bit of news for him. Three-time champion Gustavo Kuerten, who won his first crown in Paris in 1997 has vowed to return next year. We'll see whose the best then! But Justine is just too good.

Heres to the champions...Allez! and Vamos!

Dada, the King of India; Pollock, the batsman

2007-06-07T20:01:00.000+05:30

An international game at Chinnaswamy after nearly one-and-a-half years and wasn't it great. There was also a Twenty20 game but that game was so lop-sided, Asia literally hammered Africa though Morn'e Morkel bowled well there and Booze-mman played well for his 52. All unknown dudes played for Africa(Tanmay Mishra of Kenya was captain) and it was boring. The crowd had come to see Afridi whack but he never came out to bat as Dilshan and Malik took care of the target. I was sitting in a stand where the lady cricketers were also there(if you wanna know Asia won there too). On an otherwise uneventful day, it started raining just after tha game got over and I managed to meet Pat Symcox and Pommie Mbangwa who were really nice to us. I also saw Ravi Shastri, the great Gundappa Vishwanath and got autographs of Justin Kemp, Shaun Pollock, Steve Tikolo and Johan Botha.

Back to what I call good cricket--the ODI. I was there at the stadium at around 2.25, gotta great seat at P2 courtesy of Rahul Menon. The game began on time at 2.30 and the crowd was slowly filling in. Only he pavillion stand and the gallery looked to have people there,as these got packed as the game progressed. The other stands had a few people and there was a DJ next to the BEML stand(opposite the pavilion). Even though the stadium wasnt jam-packed(45000 is the capacity), the atmosphere was fantastic.

A word about the pitch. It was the most un-Indian pitch ever in India, a la Nagpur 2004. It had a lot of juice in it courtesy of the live grass and the ball carried really well to the keeper.

Asia won the toss and elected to bat. Sanath and Sehwag opened for Asia and Morn'e began with two 5wides(wides which went for fours). Sanath raced to 14 in no time when he cut Morkel only to be caught brilliantly by AB deVilliers. The South African, fielding at point, dived forward to take an exquisite catch. The catch was applauded by the sporting crowd of Bangalore, which would have ideally ceased later as a wicket fell. But it just got louder.

Striding down the pavillion with a bat in his left hand came the Prince of Kolkata. The roar by around 20000 people might have made you think that you were at a packed Eden Gardens. But this was Chinnaswamy, ironically the hometown of the man who replaced him at the helm of Indian cricket. If you thought that was loud, the decibel levels went soaring when his picture came on the giant screen--the one that comes on ESPN-Star: "Hi I'm Sourav Ganguly, Left handed batsman, Right arm medium pace bowler,"-- but no sound. The crowd went into a frenzy and were just chanting "Dada, Dada" at the top of their voices. One might hate him, love him and hate him again but he, unlike most if not all his colleagues, stirs up emotions that one didn't think you were capable of. One cannot maintain a monk-like equanimity with him. After all, he is one of the most fascinating Indian players ever.

Morn'e Morkel was the tall bowler at the other end. His logic was simple and obvious--rib-cage of Sourav and out. He put the first ball there. Ganguly shuffled across uneasily, took the bottom-hand off the handle, stabbed at the ball which kissed his gloves on the way to the fine-leg boundary. Morkel sighed. So did the crowd but in relief. Morkel pitched the next one full, around the off stump, hoping for a Sourav edge. Ganguly leaned forward fully to caress it through the cover region. The DJ picked up the public vibes and promptly played "Main hoon Don". The third ball was short and Ganguly tried to push it to backward point, but the ball raced to the third-man boundry. Three fours in three balls left the crowd went beserk chanting "dada, dada" and the don was smiling.

At the other end, Sehwag was smashing the ball to all parts of the field, strangely though, except square on the off--not even a run was scored there. He smashed a massive six over extra-cover. Sourav at the other end was driving fluently, taking special exception to Albie Morkel. Both put on a 67 run partnership and Sehwag looked set for a big one. Then the inevitable happened--Sehwag was bowled, dragging the ball back into his stumps off Chigumbura for 45. Jayawardene, the captain, came in next and played a majestic pull. Soon Sourav was out, a dismissal akin to that of Veeru, but the bowler was Morn'e for 32 with 7 4s. The crowd became partizanically silent.

Out came Yousuf. Two new batsman at the crease at Africa XI smelt blood. But the winner was obvious when experience took on inexperience. Mahela and Yousuf steadied the ship and kept the run rate ticking(which was over 7 when they came onto bat courtesy of the Indians). But it never looked like they were whacking. These two batsman are so good at ripping the opposition apart discreetly, without the opposition realizing it. Cutting and pulling so well, they added 94 together. Once Mahela was in his forties, he went after the bowling--smashing Kemp for a huge six straight down the ground and smashing Tikolo out of the attack. The latter was actually saved by some excellent fielding by the Africans. Yousuf too followed que. Both reached their fifties soon. Mahela was dismissed holing out to Pollock at mid-on for 65 and in came Yuvraj. He and Yousuf put on 54 before both were dismissed in quick succession with Yuvraj making 31 and Yousuf ending up with 66.

Dhoni was greeting by a loud cheer but he missed out as he was run-out in a mix up with Bhajji. The latter and Masrafe put on a good 30 run cameo partnership to take the score past 300. Asia finally finished with 317. In between Bhajji was treated for cramps but he was fine later.

The African innings began with AB deVilliers and Bosman taking strike. Asif had the ball. The first ball was driven for four. I was sitting next to an AB deVilliers' fan who was an Indian supporting Africa coz he liked Morn'e and AB. With that boundry, he said"Watta start man, saw that shot by AB?" But the very next ball, AB left it--only for the ball to swing in and rattle the top of off-stump. The guy next to me was taunted by all around him "Watta start man, AB played so well," boy was that great. Asif produced such a beauty and AB was clearly baffled. Boetta came next and whacked a couple of fours before Zaheer snapped him, clipping the top of his stumps. Booze-man was the next to go, nicking one off Zaheer to first slip. Tikolo and Kemp hung around for a bit before a bizzare incident took place.

Playing Asif off his back-foot, Tikolo slipped and his back leg went and hit the stumps. Dhoni appealed and the whole stadium burst into laughter. But you gotta feel for the Kenyan captain. He afterall did slip. One would have never seen a batsman more dejected than him after getting out. He did not lift his head an iota even as he entered the dressing room. Poor guy.

Kemp played forward to an Asif inswinger which rattled his stumps. Africa were 31-5 when Pollock came out to join Boucher. The result seemed a foregone conclusion. Shaun had made it clear before the tournament that he waasn't going to bowl and was playing as a batsman. With his very 2nd ball Pollock drove Asif with text-book precision. Boucher and Pollock were just hitting the bowlers, especially Masrafe, whom Pollock smacked for 3 fours in an over. Sanath was brought into the attack and he snapped Boucher with his very first delivery for 25.

The match really got boring at that time. Yuvraj and Bhajji got the gallery crowd going ga-ga as they constantly waved at them. Soon the crowd's attention shifted to Dhoni. Then Sourav(there was a chant of "Dada--captain" too!).

Chigumbura came to join him once Albie was dismissed by Sanath, and he went beserk. The total looked improbable considering that they had only 4 wickets in hand. It was a typical tail-ender smashing cricket--Elton swinging his bat like a madman. He danced down the track and smashed Bhajji straight for a huge, huge 6 which reached the third tier of the Pavilion stands. He and Shaun put on 67 for the 8th wicket before being caught by Yousuf off Sanath. The Kenyan Thomas Odoyo joined Pollock, and victory looked inevitable for the Asians. But Pollock had othe ideas.

He was at his classy best. Tenacity has been his hallmark and his relentless nature came to the fore again. He was known to be a powerful hitter(against New Zealand at Wellington back in 2003-04, Pollock nearly clinched victory with three sixes in Kyle Mills' horror of a final over). But here he played under pressure, nervelessly. What was most remarkable about Pollock's innings was that it was so beautifully simple. In these slam-bang-thank-you-ma'am times, he played good old-fashioned cricket. There was nothing fancy about his batting, no scoops or shuffles, just orthodox shots from an orthodox batsman, a la Greame Pollock his famous uncle--arguably one of the greatest left-handers to grace the game. His decision to play like a batsman seemed to pay off dividends. Pollock soon raced to his 50.

Mahela took the 3rd power-play in the 37th over. It was a really strange decision, he should have taken it earlier itself. He was scared of Boucher in the 16thh over but apparently forgot about it in when the keeper got out. Masrafe came in for a second spell, hoping for some success but to no avail. Asif too was brought on, but he was smacked by Pollock and Odoyo. 48 runs were scored in the powerplay. Peerless Pollock was driving and cutting to nearly all parts of the field. In no time he was in nineties and was on 99.

The crowd were chanting his name for a change, egging him on to get to a ton. The first ball was flicked straight to a fielder and the crowd went on to sigh "oooooooooooooohhhhh". Then again they began :"Pollock, Pollock, Pollock". It was great to see an Indian crowd, thought to be very partisan support an African. He drove the next ball straight to a fielder and again the crowd sighed. Pollock was not to be denied the third time as he cut the short ball. He was absolutely delighted. Who wouldn't be on getting their maiden ODI hundred--even Michael vaughan doesn't have one. There was a huge round of applause from the crowd and Pollock saluted them all. It was easily one of the best innings played on this ground.

The Africans had got a hint of victory. 80 off 60 with the way Pollock was playing, Mahela was running out of ideas. Luckily for him, in the bid to maintain the required run rate Odoyo was dismissed by Bhajji. The 103 run partnership was broken to Mahela's relief. Morn'e came out to join Pollock. Pollock continued to smack all bowlers to the fence.

38 runs were required off 13 when Pollock holed out to Yousuf off Mortaza. The Asian XI heaved a sigh of relief. The crowd gave Shaun a well deserved standing ovation. Africa had lost, but Pollock nearly won it for them--almost! The brave Pollock won the heart of many a bangalorean at the stadium and aptly received the MoM. It was a delight to be there, and I can proudly say that I went see an Asia v Africa match, which had no sponsors, but came back more than satisfied having seen one of the best one-day knocks in recent history.

Scorecard.

French Open update

2007-06-05T16:56:00.000+05:30

Well I screwed my hand after the Aerosmith concert and am typing this post with my left hand only. Anyways back to the action at Roland Garros.

I'll begin with arguably the game of the tournament thus far: Davydenko v Nalbandian. There was a high calibre of action, emotions and scintillating tennis on display. Th first set belonged to Davydenko, and Nalbandian cam into the match only in the second, which went to a tie-break, only for Nikolai to triumph 7-1(David gave up after it was 4-1). Being two-sets down generally spurs David to greater heights but things, and this time too was no different. He demolished Nikolai in the 3rd.The fourth set was a real humdinger. David made an early break and was 5-4 up in the 4th serving for the set. Fate had other ideas as Nikolai unleashed some fantastic tennis and was emotionally charged up--a stark difference from his real sedate self. Nikolai has had a habit of screwing up when it matters the most, but this time he was determined not to let that happen. He broke back and literally decimated David in the tie-break. Before the French Open, a Federer v Nadal would have been a foregone conclusion; ut Nikolai has other ideas.

Djokovic v Verdasco was a good match, but a lucky point that Novak won when it clipped the net n felt so cruelly in Fernando's court sealed the spaniard's fate. Novak will next play Russian, Igor Andreev who reached the quarter-finals defeating Baghdatis 2-6, 6-1, 6-3, 6-4. Ranked 125th in the world, Andreev's win made him the lowest-ranked player to reach the last eight in Paris since Marcelo Filippini in 1999. Wouldnt it be great to see a Nikolai v Igor final, I know i'm dreaming, coz all Russian finals happen only in the women's draw.

In other "news" Nadal thrashed Hewitt in straigh sets. It was a damp squib complared to what happened in Hamburg, but as I said, Rafa was tired there, now hes running on Amaron! Carlos Moya beat Jonas Bjorkman to set up a quarter-final meeting with Rafa. Hats off to both the golden oldies, but Moya is still my favorite clay-court player!Speaking of Jonas, at 35 winning two 5 setters and reaching the 4th round is Herculean, or rather an Agassian feat. Mikhael Youzhny was beaten but went down with his head held high despite being bundled by Roger in straight sets. Roger now has a 10-0 record against the Russian. He might end up facing his arch enemy who has defeated him twice this year, Guillermo Canas, who saw off fellow Argentinian Juan Monaco to reach his third Roland Garros quarter-finals where he will face Nikolay Davydenko. Federer will play clay-moghul-wannabe Tommy Robredo in the quarters.

The women's draw was not shorn of any drama as Maria Sharapova took on Patty Schnyder, the Swiss who is very adept on clay. A set a piece and Schnyder raced to a break up in the decider. But luck and Maria go hand-in-hand: Maria saved 3 match points and when it was 7-7 in the third, 30-love, when a fan shouted. Trouble is, the ball was already well into Schnyder's court and the umpire upheld the point despite claims by the Swiss that she wasn't ready. The Russian youngster didn't offer to replay the point either and the way the fans on Court Suzanne Lenglen subsequently booed, you would think Sharapova was the devil in a blue dress. She went on to win 9-7, and after the match she said:

"It's tough playing tennis and being Mother Teresa at the same time and making everyone happy."

You can say theres a million dollars at stake, but I have to go against Maria here. Just look at the men's draw and you have this chap called Roger who dominates but yet everybody supports him, unlike that bloody Spaniard zooming around in a Renault for the last two years and then ditching them to join McLaren--nobody likes him. Nobody liked Chelsea when they dominated, but when Arsenal went 49 unbeaten, even rival club's fans would stand up and salute the Gooners. So Maria, just quit wearing blue coz ur getting those characteristics of hated champions. Its okay to be nice.

At present Maria's playing Anna Chakvatadze(she aint Mauresmo even though her name sounds like that. Amelie incidentally lost to Lucie Sarfarova, who also lost to the afore-mentioned Anna in the rouynd of 16). In the match of the tournament, Henin is leading Serena 2-0 in the first, more on it later.

In completed quarters, Ana Ivanovic beat Federer's favourite, Svetlana Kuznetsova, in 3 and Jelena Jankovic thrashed Nicole Vaidisova in straight sets.

Theres an interesting article about tennis players titled Maria's bananas and Anna's bras, worth reading(don't get the wrong ideas!).

More updates some other time, take care!

French Open: the game has begun

2007-05-31T21:57:00.000+05:30

The French Open has begun and even rain cant seem to stop the tournament, with the organisers being so adament to finish the games, no matter how dark it is. But, finally we get to see some top notch five setters making us yearn for more:

Hewitt v Gaudio was a great five setter, the Aussie's tenacity bearing fruit once again as he came from two sets down to register a 4-6, 3-6, 6-2, 6-4, 6-2 in the second round on Thursday. Gaudio's flair took him by surprise initially, but once Lleyton got the hang of it in the 3rd set, his creativity, running after balls which others might not do and his highly effective double handed backhand saved his day.He can be a really good player on clay, and showed his class by giving Rafa a run for his money in the Hamburg semis this year. Sportstar once gave a poster with the subtitle:Tenacity his hallmark, and this very quality can make him do wonders on clay.

Speaking of bad light, Roger was furious that he had to finish his game v Thierry Ascione in the dark, winning 6-1, 6-2, 7-6 (8). They had assumed that Roger would finish the game in three sets and that's why it was scheduled late in the evening. The light was fading and the third set looked like the Frenchman's but to the relief of the tournament organizers, Federer won. Roger wasn't happy at all . Heres what he said after the game:

"What I don't like is if they think ... I'm the favorite, I should win this in straight sets," added Federer, who came off court at 9:15 p.m. "What about if it doesn't turn out this way?". "Conditions were shocking," Federer said. "I hate playing into (dusk). I can hardly see the ball. When I shook hands with Ascione at the net, I told him I could hardly see him anymore. It was so dark. (But) I managed to find his hand. We were able to shake hands. "

Very good point, but honestly he's not playing Rafa so 3 sets would be enough. Smart thinking!

Safin fell to Janko Tipsarevic 6-4, 6-4, 7-5 in a second-round effort. He said:"I'm 27 years old and already downhill on my career, it would be sad to live with being a struggling player." Seriously no tournament wins since Aussie Open 2005 and no consecutive wins since March, Marat, give it time.

Robredo, Ferrero and Davydenko advanced too, but Berdych fell in the way side. Also through were Nalbandian, Ljubicic(superb tennis v Wawrinka), Mikhael Youzhny, Novak Djokovic, Rafael Nadal, Marcos Baghdatis, Moya and Jarkko Nieminen. But, Radek Stepanek could not build on his solid beginning of beating Gonzales as he lost to Edouard Roger Vasselin (whoever in the world he is) in 5. Frenchman continued to disappoint, but Monfils is the only hope(beating Chela impressively) after Gasquet and grosjean sucked. And so did 2003 finalist Martin verkerk, now ranked 717.

In the women's draw, Sharapova won! She looks so hot!!! She beat Jill Crybas 6-2 6-1. Just hope she reaches the semis atleast and sustain my deep interest in the women's draw! lol. Lucie Sarfarova(Berdych's gf, one of the love struck couples at Roland Garros) hammered Nicole Pratt and so did Dinara Safina to Tzipora Obziler. Pre-tournament favourites Henin and Jankovic won in straight sets and looked very impressive in their respective demolitions. The Williams sisters advanced too, along with Patty Schnyder. So did Na Li, who loves shopping than playing on clay.

Our very own Sania Mirza was thrashed by Ana Ivanovic 6-1 6-4. The way she won her first round match(6-1 6-1) it looked as if we could expect something from her this year, but whenever it matters, she somehow succumbs. Don't believe me? Ivanovic, slammed seven aces and converted three of the five breakpoints and with 65 points won as against Sania's 43, you know who is the deserving winner. But its not like she cant play on clay. It was her back-hand which let her down today. Service looks so much better, a little more work on the back hand she can do much better at Roland Garros. The way she won the first match, was superb. Its a matter of consistency. Yes she will find excuses, but she has to improve.

The Mauresmo v Dechy match is interesting, but the quality of tennis is torrid. But tomorrow's Jankovic v Venus will be superb!

French Open: preview

2007-05-27T12:14:00.000+05:30

Aah...exams are over and done with and I have all the time in the world to see the french open, beginning in a few hours time...and also all the movies in the world, coz seriously i've been on a movie marathon seeing like 3movies in a row now..anyways back to the topic..

Men:

Its hard to look beyond a Roger v Rafa final. And a television channel rightly put it, this year its become more intruiging coz of what happened in Hamburg last week-arguably the final of the year so far.

Rafa hammered Roger in the first set and the final appeared to be heading the Monaco way(where nadal won in straight sets, hammering the 'king'). But come the second set, things looked different. Federer adopted a new strategy n Rafa had no answer to it. It surely did remind one of the memorable Wimbledon final 4yrs ago when Roger played Andy: after the first set it seemed like Andy would smash n mash his way into the final, but Roger had other ideas n played such sublime tennis leaving Andy helpless and walking off with the crown and a cow(was given in Basel for his acievement). Back to Hamburg where in the end Roger triumphed and snapped Rafa's 81 game streak. More importantly it was his first win over Nadal on clay, a surface where against Rafa he had 0-5 record prior to this match.

So Roger v Nadal is like 99% sure, though Rafa has the edge, simply because he's the king of clay. After Hamburg, he did say that he was tired--not physically but mentally; but the former was pretty evident too. I think he got bored of winning and when it comes to June 10th, Federer will be bagled out of reckoning(remember Australia before CWC 2007??).

The other challengers??I dunno which moron seeded Andy 3rd, no chance..Davydenko seeded 4th...semi-finals...Gonzalez is 5th--the best among the rest..if you bothered to put on DD Sports last week you would have seen him whooping opponents in the ARAG team championship, but Chile got ripped in the tournament: Argies won, courtesy of Calleri(quarter-finalst...not more). Among other Argies look out for Canas and Juan Monaco. Mario Ancic has to believe in himself, so does Mikhael Youzhny. Bennetau will be all fired up playing in front of his home crowd like last year when he reached the quarters. But these 3, their future is bleak. And watch out fo Moya and Hewitt, the former might have something to say. Potential quarter-finalists include young fellas like Novak Djokovic and Gael Monfils. I wanned to include Tursnov and Safin, but seriously, no chance. Ivan Ljubicic isnt playing as well as last year, and he comes up against Arnoud Clement, but both of them--no chance. Coria, Guga and Nalbandian are in wilderness and wont be taking part.

Doubles: Go Lee, Go Hesh!!! But Bjorkman and Mirnyi look favourites.

Women:

This is certainly a more open field than the men. Justine Henin is the firm favourite. She is probably the best clay court player of our generation. Definitely a finalist if not champion.

But who will challenge her? Good question. Sharapova is seeded 2, but clay isn't her favourite surface. Even semi-finals will be an achievement. Personally, I do like her but I feel someone else should be seeded 2: someone who is good on clay, like Svetlana Kuznetsova, who works so damn hard. She is a genuine contender. Then theres Jelena Jankovic, the 4th seed who is in the form of her life, and has had the better of Svetlana in Rome finals. She can seriously give Henin a run for her money. She is my personal favourite to win this year--Go Jelena!.

Local favourite, Amelie Mauresmo(all discussions regarding her gender should not be entertained, she loses half her matches against 100% women) is always a threat, but again its her habit to falter at the big stage. But didn't she prove us all wrong in 2006 when we all had written her off in the Wimbledon and Aussie Open finals against Henin? She is the dark horse. Then theres the eternal Serena Williams, in the same quarter as Justine, that game if it happens, will be a cracker-jack of a match(remember the 2005 semis??Serena was crying).

Ana Ivanovic is another one to watch out for, who could run into Sania Mirza. The latter is coming of injuries and lost to some unknown people at Fez and Istanbul in the first round. Doubles also is a very rare chance coz all the big girls play only only in the slams. And SAnia hates clay, thats no secret. Nicole Vaidisova is also a geniune contender, along with the evergreen Venus Williams; but they are so unpredictable like Marat, you never know what to expect.

So gear up for what promises to be a great french Open. And all those who dont like tennis, i got one word for you--"futrevu".

Nadal...79 unbeaten

2007-05-17T19:22:00.000+05:30

Name: Rafael Nadal
Home Town: Mallorca, Spain
Occupation: Tennis player
Job designation: Mesmerize opponents on clay
Success rate: 2 French Opens and 8 ATP Masters Series Events
Last defeat: To Igor Andreev, April 2005, Valencia Q/F
Present run: 79 victories on clay(as of 17/05/2007)

The way he's dominating the game is scary. Here's an excerpt from Rohit Brijnath's article(written before Rome Masters) :

"Seventy-two (over two years and including 12 tournament wins on clay) is not just tennis' longest surface streak, but possibly the hardest. Because on this grainy loose surface that clogs pores and elevates laundry bills, where friction with the clay de-accelerates the ball, no point comes without paying a substantial physical price.
No hurried serve-volley style will suffice here. No free-swinging winner from the baseline after two shots can consistently end a rally. No Agassi-inspired return of serve can abruptly put a full stop to a point. No, here points need construction, building, planning. This is the architect's surface. As the old joke goes, sometimes points are won twice on clay, what would be a winner elsewhere is run down and the dialogue resumes. "

And his recipe for success:

Attitude: His passion during the game is tremendous. He just mentally kills opponents. His battle-cries of "vamos" wins half the game, cornering the opponent, wracking his senses and forcing him to commit mistakes.
His strong arm: We've all seen how big those biceps are. Facilitating powerful shots and the hooked forehand which sees him through.
Desire to Improve: Thats precisely what makes him the Kaiser of clay and Fed the king of the rest. Dont believe me? A person who despises grass reached Wimbledon finals within a year.

Roger that, Federer-Rafa's coming to get you.

This is who I am...

2007-05-17T19:00:00.000+05:30

Cricket is my religion,
And Sachin is God;
The Wall is the master,
And Dada the lord.

Football comes a close second,
Arsenal's my team;
Playing with Pires and Bergkamp,
Is my perfect dream.

I like tennis,
Sharapova vs Hantuchova I'd love to watch;
But when Roger, Pete or Rafa play,
Its the perfect game, set n match!

Formula 1 is fun,
And Schumi's the greatest;
But now its time for Massa and Raikko
Coz Ferrari is simply the best.

I love the Goo Goo Dolls,
Though Switchfoot’s my favourite;
Nickelback, Fray and RHCP
Just deliver hit after hit.

Movies I don’t mind,
Cartoons and thrillers are great
Comedies are fine
But dramas: I really, really hate.

I live to eat
Ice cream just rocks
Pizzas and Pasta is yummy
But coffee: it simply sucks!