Martina Hingis, according to the image transfixed in my mind from her heady days in the late 90s, is the brazen, cocksure schoolgirl whom you love to loathe but just can't ignore. Someone with the supreme confidence and arrogance to say what she wants about herself and everyone else, the attitude to carry it off, AND be good enough to get away with it.
Four years after I muttered "good riddance" to myself as she was forced into a state of semi-retirement after a series of injuries, it appears that her solid comeback has been stopped in its tracks following the cocaine accusations. She claims she does not have the heart or drive to fight them off, and has permanently retired. Which leaves me a bit devastated because much as I hate the old Hingis, a part of me wanted her comeback to be a shot in the arm for the old school, and even out an era dominated by a power game. Not only to inject some feminine grace back into the sport, but also have a survivor and a distinct personality from the 90s (a decade that appeals more to me) still holding fort.
Tennis, being a one-on-one sport, provides more room for predjudice and mindless anti-fandom than cricket or football. Back in the day, when Pete Sampras cried for his coach and then proceeded to beat Jim Courier in an epic five setter, I was at best grudging in my praise for him. This Courier fan was convinced his man was robbed of victory by fate, and all this additional on-court drama only turned the tide of sympathy in favour of nice-guy-Pete even more. I found it revolting, at the time. (No offence Pete, you're the best). Though Pete and Martina are poles apart as personalities, in a similar way I was turned against the Swiss miss during her meteoric rise to number 1 in 1997. With Steffi Graf on the wane, I was hoping one of Mary Pierce, Concita Martinez, Jana Novotna and Sanchez-Vicario would attain the top spot they had been denied during Graf's reign (I would add the Goddess herself, Gabriela Sabatini to that list had she not prematurely retired). Instead we had the bratty 16 year old, complete with the suffocating presence of her mom-coach Melanie "Monitor" taking the world by storm and having a big mouth to boot. Unbearable, it was. In hindsight, and to be fair to her, early success was drilled into her by a tennis loving family who had the audacity to name her after a champion from yesteryear.
Our mutual dislike, as I like to call it, developed further over the next two years. Martina continually mocked me by winning a string of titles and spending about 200 plus weeks at the top, while I celebrated her occasional defeats as the next best thing to a New Zealand victory. She took it one step too far by dismissing Steffi Graf's comeback, and I had the last laugh when Graf outplayed her at Roland Garros in '99. That was when it all started to go downhill for her. She had ironically said of Graf's comeback "it's a faster, more athletic game now than when she played. She is old now. Her time has passed." Little did we know that the same "faster, athletic game" she spoke of would be taken to new degrees by the Williams sisters, and Martina just couldn't compete. I somehow just couldn't enjoy the rise of the Williamses (complete with the suffocating presence of dad-coach Richard), great athletes but all power and little subtlety. It seemed to have an indelible impact on the game until the advent of Justine Henin. My stand on Hingis had softened considerably by this stage. A while after she called it quits the first time in 2003, in a typical case of not knowing what you have till it's gone, I suddenly longed for her game; deft placements, changes of pace and overall variety, the antithesis of the 21st century game, it needed to return to supremacy. Not to mention her undeniable charisma and visual appeal.
Post 25, you're a senior citizen in women's tennis terms. So it was a little hard to reconcile with the image of the new Hingis when she returned from her two year absence in 2005. Gone was the brash teenager and a solid and mature twentysomething had taken her place. Her comeback was creditable for most part without setting the world on fire (though she did reach as high as number 6 in the WTA rankings). In a perverse sort of way, I wished she could be the obnoxious kid of yesteryear, but she was already on the wrong side of her 20s. As I type this, it serves as another reminder of how time flies. (Martina Hingis is 27? Getting old, aren't we all)
Surprisingly for a person who loved and devoured his weekly Sportstar, I've never been big on posters. However I will concede that in any dream poster collection of mine, Martina Hingis will occupy pride of place alongside Sabatini, Graf, Henin and Sharapova in the women's tennis category. That is my grudging tribute.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Saturday, September 8, 2007
May the Force leave you be
During a conversation with a friend of mine, the kind who smashes quizzes all over the countryside in his sleep and accumulates a fortune in cash/bikes/accolades/whatever, I casually asked him if he ever considered making it (quizzing) a career. You know, conduct quizzes and quiz based events for a living, a la Avinash Mudaliar or Derek O'Brien. The Indian Corporate and academic world being what it is, you would never be out of business and there's good money in it too. "No", he replied, "The moment it stops being a hobby and becomes work, there's no fun in it."
This sentiment seems to agree with one of my (hardly original) pet theories that as soon as you are under compulsion to do something, or if you have someone pressing you to do a piece of work (and enjoy it), it becomes a chore and out goes the enjoyment. When it involves something that should be a leisurely activity, things get especially bewildering. Fine, if you're a helpless creature like me who's incapable of surviving alone in the jungle, you do need to seek advice and instructions quite often. However, a hobby is what it is because you don't have people telling you what to do. For example, I renewed my interest in books halfway through college primarily because I discovered a lot of good stuff on my own or by accident. Hitherto I was being told by everyone to cultivate a 'reading habit'(what a disgusting term!), and it was a bit of a turn off from printed matter which I'm happy to say is well behind me.
Rules, however are a part of life so you have to live with them right from the start. Call me a cynic, but I still think loving your school, studies or work is overrated. In one Calvin and Hobbes strip, Calvin is shown dreaming about blowing up his school on the way to it, then he snaps out of it with a sigh when he reaches there. Bill Watterson adds a footnote saying he got a lot of flack for that cartoon, and those readers (who apparently took him very seriously) had obviously never been to school before! If you're like Suzie Derkins, oh so excited about the first day of school and looking at it as a chance to meet new people and teachers and learn new stuff, all I can say is you better watch out for that snowball heading your way. I think a lot of us got along better with Faculty in college than in school, probably because our opinions and expectations of each other were much more transparent. Once they accepted that we turned up for class just for the attendance and our aspirations leaned more towards clearing exams than enriching our knowledge with the finer points they had to offer, whatever tension there was in the air gradually vanished and both parties could slip into a comfort zone. We, in turn, understood their point of view and difficulties with the system and were on largely good terms with them. School with its blind protocol was a different story, and I still find the notion that school should be fun quite amusing. On the subject of studies, everyone loves talking about their 'academic interests'. Who are they kidding? The term is an oxymoron.
'Job satisfaction' is another overrated term. Liking your job and office is one thing, but can you really be crazy about whatever it is you're doing? This is work after all. Like studies, it's not something that's meant to be enjoyed. It's all very well to proudly declare that your dream job may be that of a reviewer of DVDs or a cricket commentator, but would you be able to live your passion on your own terms?
Since I don't use 'labels' on this blog, or categorise my posts, I should probably insert the word RANT (using oversized capitals) in the title. I have three assignments thrust upon me, so go figure. Maybe it's time I outgrew these pet theories and turn to one of my hobbies on the side for immediate relief. I've gotten hooked to Scott Adams' Dilbert books of late. The next book in the series I plan to purchase is called The Joy of Work.
This sentiment seems to agree with one of my (hardly original) pet theories that as soon as you are under compulsion to do something, or if you have someone pressing you to do a piece of work (and enjoy it), it becomes a chore and out goes the enjoyment. When it involves something that should be a leisurely activity, things get especially bewildering. Fine, if you're a helpless creature like me who's incapable of surviving alone in the jungle, you do need to seek advice and instructions quite often. However, a hobby is what it is because you don't have people telling you what to do. For example, I renewed my interest in books halfway through college primarily because I discovered a lot of good stuff on my own or by accident. Hitherto I was being told by everyone to cultivate a 'reading habit'(what a disgusting term!), and it was a bit of a turn off from printed matter which I'm happy to say is well behind me.
Rules, however are a part of life so you have to live with them right from the start. Call me a cynic, but I still think loving your school, studies or work is overrated. In one Calvin and Hobbes strip, Calvin is shown dreaming about blowing up his school on the way to it, then he snaps out of it with a sigh when he reaches there. Bill Watterson adds a footnote saying he got a lot of flack for that cartoon, and those readers (who apparently took him very seriously) had obviously never been to school before! If you're like Suzie Derkins, oh so excited about the first day of school and looking at it as a chance to meet new people and teachers and learn new stuff, all I can say is you better watch out for that snowball heading your way. I think a lot of us got along better with Faculty in college than in school, probably because our opinions and expectations of each other were much more transparent. Once they accepted that we turned up for class just for the attendance and our aspirations leaned more towards clearing exams than enriching our knowledge with the finer points they had to offer, whatever tension there was in the air gradually vanished and both parties could slip into a comfort zone. We, in turn, understood their point of view and difficulties with the system and were on largely good terms with them. School with its blind protocol was a different story, and I still find the notion that school should be fun quite amusing. On the subject of studies, everyone loves talking about their 'academic interests'. Who are they kidding? The term is an oxymoron.
'Job satisfaction' is another overrated term. Liking your job and office is one thing, but can you really be crazy about whatever it is you're doing? This is work after all. Like studies, it's not something that's meant to be enjoyed. It's all very well to proudly declare that your dream job may be that of a reviewer of DVDs or a cricket commentator, but would you be able to live your passion on your own terms?
Since I don't use 'labels' on this blog, or categorise my posts, I should probably insert the word RANT (using oversized capitals) in the title. I have three assignments thrust upon me, so go figure. Maybe it's time I outgrew these pet theories and turn to one of my hobbies on the side for immediate relief. I've gotten hooked to Scott Adams' Dilbert books of late. The next book in the series I plan to purchase is called The Joy of Work.
Friday, July 20, 2007
An ice cream man's guide to a happy life
It must be a decade since I've read an Archie comic book (or 'digest', as they call it) in its entirety. Along with Disney Today, Amar Chitra Katha and Tinkle, the Archie digest was a source of generous timepass laced with mostly juvenile humour back in the day. One particular strip remains stuck in my head because it pretty much sums up the uncomplicated nature of the characters, in this case Jughead Jones.
The story begins thus: Jughead's mom has cut off his allowance, and he whines to Archie and Reggie about it, "Now how do I pay for all the food I want to eat?". He tries his hand at a variety of odd jobs to raise the money, right from lawn-mowing to dog-walking, but he screws up things and gets the boot each time around. He is in a desperate position.
Next, Archie and Reggie see Jughead driving an ice cream van, complete with the ding-a-ling bell, and slurping on a cone. "So Jughead's an ice cream man now!" comments Archie. "Yeah, and it looks like he's his own best customer!" observes Reggie. "I love this job!" says Jughead, "All the ice cream I can eat! And other guys are willing to trade all kinds of stuff with me! How about that!". The immediate scene shows him exchanging his cones for a popsicle and a sundae with another vendor.
"But doesn't it get boring eating ice cream all the time?" questions Reggie. "That's why I trade off some ice cream for other stuff when I wan't something else" comes Jughead's reply, and he's shown giving off a cone in exchange for a pizza pie. "Thanks man!" says the pizza boy, wiping the sweat from his brow, "Phew! It's hot." "See?" says Jughead, "It'a long summer. Everyone's only too happy to give me all kinds of food in return for my ice cream."
"But don't you have to pay for all that ice cream you eat?", asks Archie. "Yeah, that's why I'm willing to sell off some of the ice cream - but just enough to break even" says Jughead. "Yeah wise guy, but it means you don't make any money, right?" counters Reggie. To which Jughead answers, "So who needs money? All I wanted was enough food to satisfy my hunger pangs!"
Reggie thinks out loud "I really wonder who's crazy....Jughead or the world". Archie replies "I have a hunch it isn't Jughead".
PS: It's often said that beer is the solution to all the world's problems. I reckon ice cream isn't far behind.
The story begins thus: Jughead's mom has cut off his allowance, and he whines to Archie and Reggie about it, "Now how do I pay for all the food I want to eat?". He tries his hand at a variety of odd jobs to raise the money, right from lawn-mowing to dog-walking, but he screws up things and gets the boot each time around. He is in a desperate position.
Next, Archie and Reggie see Jughead driving an ice cream van, complete with the ding-a-ling bell, and slurping on a cone. "So Jughead's an ice cream man now!" comments Archie. "Yeah, and it looks like he's his own best customer!" observes Reggie. "I love this job!" says Jughead, "All the ice cream I can eat! And other guys are willing to trade all kinds of stuff with me! How about that!". The immediate scene shows him exchanging his cones for a popsicle and a sundae with another vendor.
"But doesn't it get boring eating ice cream all the time?" questions Reggie. "That's why I trade off some ice cream for other stuff when I wan't something else" comes Jughead's reply, and he's shown giving off a cone in exchange for a pizza pie. "Thanks man!" says the pizza boy, wiping the sweat from his brow, "Phew! It's hot." "See?" says Jughead, "It'a long summer. Everyone's only too happy to give me all kinds of food in return for my ice cream."
"But don't you have to pay for all that ice cream you eat?", asks Archie. "Yeah, that's why I'm willing to sell off some of the ice cream - but just enough to break even" says Jughead. "Yeah wise guy, but it means you don't make any money, right?" counters Reggie. To which Jughead answers, "So who needs money? All I wanted was enough food to satisfy my hunger pangs!"
Reggie thinks out loud "I really wonder who's crazy....Jughead or the world". Archie replies "I have a hunch it isn't Jughead".
PS: It's often said that beer is the solution to all the world's problems. I reckon ice cream isn't far behind.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
We all live in an IT company
(To be sung to the tune of The Beatles' Yellow Submarine. This is my first, and probably last attempt at a spoof. Inspired by my 12th standard days when we used to see droves of techies riding to office on their bikes and chant 'There go the IT boys!'.)
In the town where i was born
Lived a man, who cracked JEE
And he told us of his job
In an IT Company.
So we slogged our asses off
Till we made it to IIT
And we finally lived our dream
Of joining an IT Company.
Chorus:
We all live in an IT Company,
IT Company, IT Company
We all live in an IT Company,
IT Company, IT Company
'Twas our first day at Infy
A speech by Narayan Murty
Then a hundred PPTs
About our IT company.
[Repeat Chorus]
And our friends are all aboard
Many more of them, on the floor below
And they type, and surf away
Ta-ta-ta-tak-ta-tak-ta-tak-tak
(Synchronised punching of keys on the keyboards)
[Repeat Chorus]
So we sit, and code all day
And enjoy the free coffee,
Nine-to-five, then five-to-three
In our IT Company
[Repeat Chorus]
Then we're sent, to the USA
An onsite visit, all for free
We get homesick every day
But what the hell, we're IT!! (Shout out loud)
[Repeat Chorus]
As we work, and earn with ease
A social life is all we need
Pay hike, fat salary
It's great to be in this Company!
[Repeat Chorus, then fade out]
In the town where i was born
Lived a man, who cracked JEE
And he told us of his job
In an IT Company.
So we slogged our asses off
Till we made it to IIT
And we finally lived our dream
Of joining an IT Company.
Chorus:
We all live in an IT Company,
IT Company, IT Company
We all live in an IT Company,
IT Company, IT Company
'Twas our first day at Infy
A speech by Narayan Murty
Then a hundred PPTs
About our IT company.
[Repeat Chorus]
And our friends are all aboard
Many more of them, on the floor below
And they type, and surf away
Ta-ta-ta-tak-ta-tak-ta-tak-tak
(Synchronised punching of keys on the keyboards)
[Repeat Chorus]
So we sit, and code all day
And enjoy the free coffee,
Nine-to-five, then five-to-three
In our IT Company
[Repeat Chorus]
Then we're sent, to the USA
An onsite visit, all for free
We get homesick every day
But what the hell, we're IT!! (Shout out loud)
[Repeat Chorus]
As we work, and earn with ease
A social life is all we need
Pay hike, fat salary
It's great to be in this Company!
[Repeat Chorus, then fade out]
Flying Fatigue
Back in middle school, I had two obsessions: wildlife and air travel. Anything beyond your reach always fills you with intrigue, which partly explains my obsession. In the early 90s, flights were prohibitively expensive, and the nearest National Park, Nagarahole was taken over by Veerappan and co. It looked a dead certainty that I would never experience the delights of boarding a plane (train travel seemed boring and commonplace) or seeing a leopard in the wild, so I celebrated them in my own imaginative capacity. I used to think the hallmark of an Indian town or city was the presence of an airport. Similarly, when I used to pore through write-ups about wild sanctuaries over the country, the first piece of info I used to look for was their proximity to the closest airport!
Thirteen years down the line, I retain my fondness for the wild, in spite of (or because of) the fact that I haven't been to a national park of any significance. But, an overkill of flying through the week preceding my arrival in Bangalore (after completing a year's study in the states) has pretty much killed my appetite for the skies. A few years back, I would have laughed at the thought. Time brings about a strange cognizance however, and I can now fully understand why regular air travellers hate flying. The clamour in airports, checking in, waiting for long hours, luggage worries, claustrophobia, erratic food.....the cons outweigh the pros. I flew from Dallas to LA, and two days later I left on a Malaysian Airlies flight which stopped for an hour in Taipei and landed in Kuala Lumpur. Next came an eight hour wait for the connecting flight from KL. When I finally landed in Bangalore it was the closest I've come to feeling like a zombie. Rough work it must be, being a businessperson or a cricketer and living out of a suitcase all the time. For the moment I'm happy being a student. The silver lining was I got to see quite a bit of LA and KL which did make the whole exercise appear worth it. Especially noteworthy was the four hour trip around KL in a hired car.
It feels great to touch base in India after nine months. That period hasn't been especially life changing or anything, but I did come to realise a couple of things: 1) Travel light and don't try to stuff too much into your luggage. It just isn't possible to pack your entire life in a suitcase. 2) Networking (aka contact-buliding), much as I detest the word, is an essential skill. Don't stay home without it.
Thirteen years down the line, I retain my fondness for the wild, in spite of (or because of) the fact that I haven't been to a national park of any significance. But, an overkill of flying through the week preceding my arrival in Bangalore (after completing a year's study in the states) has pretty much killed my appetite for the skies. A few years back, I would have laughed at the thought. Time brings about a strange cognizance however, and I can now fully understand why regular air travellers hate flying. The clamour in airports, checking in, waiting for long hours, luggage worries, claustrophobia, erratic food.....the cons outweigh the pros. I flew from Dallas to LA, and two days later I left on a Malaysian Airlies flight which stopped for an hour in Taipei and landed in Kuala Lumpur. Next came an eight hour wait for the connecting flight from KL. When I finally landed in Bangalore it was the closest I've come to feeling like a zombie. Rough work it must be, being a businessperson or a cricketer and living out of a suitcase all the time. For the moment I'm happy being a student. The silver lining was I got to see quite a bit of LA and KL which did make the whole exercise appear worth it. Especially noteworthy was the four hour trip around KL in a hired car.
It feels great to touch base in India after nine months. That period hasn't been especially life changing or anything, but I did come to realise a couple of things: 1) Travel light and don't try to stuff too much into your luggage. It just isn't possible to pack your entire life in a suitcase. 2) Networking (aka contact-buliding), much as I detest the word, is an essential skill. Don't stay home without it.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Flicker, then be blown out
The world's most livable city goes from garden to grave. The best doubles pair in tennis splits up and breaks a billion hearts. Pink Floyd cassettes are re-released at 35 bucks higher and the lyrics booklets conveniently forgotten. The ice cream place two blocks away gives in to competition decides to call it a day. A charming hotel becomes a mall so grotesque. A quality sports magazine goes tabloid and sells its soul. Music channels on the rise bite the dust in a Bhangra Sandstorm. The world's best batsman is consumed by injuries and rendered mortal. A narrative wildlife show of yesteryear is condensed to a crappy interactive educational CD. Flexi-timings in college are stamped out, year after year. A trio of memorable theaters are now abandoned wrecks. A mind-boggling music store inexplicably vanishes. The original reality show with a bald guy in a maze is succeeded by lousy American ones and their Indian counterparts. Classy cola ads give way to tripe with mudslinging being the sole motivation. A remotely interesting syllabus is deemed not 'educational' enough and changed. A cartoon channel goes new age and compromises on humour and animation. Wrestling goes from sport to soap opera. Even cheap bookstores start deciding comics are for the elite. An amazing prof feels his teaching interests lie elsewhere. Endearing folks come and go. The streets are full but I feel alone...
Reality bites. The good shall die young and the not-so-good shall inherit the earth. The above is a random list of gripes I've had to live with, watching a part of me disappear all the time. Part contemplation, part resignation. Maybe it has the trappings of a shamelessly negative mind wallowing in the past, conveniently leaving out the rest of the story, the bright spots. But all this has spanned more than a decade of decadence. And that's long enough, isn't it? Extinction is forever.
Reality bites. The good shall die young and the not-so-good shall inherit the earth. The above is a random list of gripes I've had to live with, watching a part of me disappear all the time. Part contemplation, part resignation. Maybe it has the trappings of a shamelessly negative mind wallowing in the past, conveniently leaving out the rest of the story, the bright spots. But all this has spanned more than a decade of decadence. And that's long enough, isn't it? Extinction is forever.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
IIT revisited...again??
First we had Chetan Bhagat with his endearing but admittedly lightweight story about what not to do at IIT, through the eyes of three misfits within the 'fucked-up system'. Then came Abhijeet Bhaduri with his b-school version, the cleverly titled 'Mediocre But Arrogant' (an acronym for MBA). And now we have a third book that looks similar on the surface: Amitabha Bagchi's "Above Average", the life of an IITan and his quest to become the drummer of a rock band. The novel was apparently released on the 12th of February.
http://www.aboveaveragebook.com/
The title itself is quite telling ("Five point someone.....Medicore but Arrogant...Above Average", do we detect a trend here?), but after reading this excerpt from an interview with Bagchi posted on the website, maybe he deserves the benefit of the doubt: " I was near the end of the first draft of Above Average when a friend called me one day and said that Chetan has written a book. At that point I had already been working on Above Average for three and a half years. So it's not as if I saw all these books get successful and then decided I wanted a piece of the pie. I guess I just got scooped by Chetan Bhagat." He also goes on to say that the book is intrinsically different from FPS, the latter being about life in IIT while his book is more about the growing up of a middle class student. The author, like Bhagat, is an alumnous of IIT Delhi but the interesting thing is he is employed as an Assistant Professor there at the moment. Wonder if that detail changes the reader's perspective, somewhat?
One thing's for sure, the book will sell very well initially, in the wake of FPS' popularity and for the same reasons will attract cynicsm from a lot of potential readers. The synopisis may leave a lot of us pursing our lips saying, "Not again!", but on reading some of the excerpts on the site, I must say the prose seems solid if unspectacular. Maybe the book does deserve to be viewed on its own terms. The shadow of its two 'predecessors' (Bagchi would definitely not appreciate my using that word, but I will reserve my judgement) will be very hard to escape, though. I will probably pick it up out of curiosity, when I next make a visit to India. If any of you happen to read it, I'd be interested in hearing your feedback.
One book on the IIT theme I would definitely recommend, however, is the non-fiction "The IITans", by Sandipan Deb, editor of the Outlook. I read about half the book a couple of years ago and it has since remained on my long list of incompletes. It was certainly well written, though. From what i remember, the author takes a look at how the IITs were formed, foreign collaboration and all, and how they have evolved over the years. He talks to IITans past and present, in all corners of the world, about what life was like in the IITs. Deb reserves special mention for those who left their cushy jobs in the states and elsewhere, and returned to work in the public sector as a path to personal fulfillment. There's even a chapter where female alumni recall what it meant being a girl in an overwhelmingly male-dominated institution, and so on. My memory of this book is pretty hazy, and I plan to re-read it from start to finish sometime. I'm sure you would enjoy it as well.
http://www.aboveaveragebook.com/
The title itself is quite telling ("Five point someone.....Medicore but Arrogant...Above Average", do we detect a trend here?), but after reading this excerpt from an interview with Bagchi posted on the website, maybe he deserves the benefit of the doubt: " I was near the end of the first draft of Above Average when a friend called me one day and said that Chetan has written a book. At that point I had already been working on Above Average for three and a half years. So it's not as if I saw all these books get successful and then decided I wanted a piece of the pie. I guess I just got scooped by Chetan Bhagat." He also goes on to say that the book is intrinsically different from FPS, the latter being about life in IIT while his book is more about the growing up of a middle class student. The author, like Bhagat, is an alumnous of IIT Delhi but the interesting thing is he is employed as an Assistant Professor there at the moment. Wonder if that detail changes the reader's perspective, somewhat?
One thing's for sure, the book will sell very well initially, in the wake of FPS' popularity and for the same reasons will attract cynicsm from a lot of potential readers. The synopisis may leave a lot of us pursing our lips saying, "Not again!", but on reading some of the excerpts on the site, I must say the prose seems solid if unspectacular. Maybe the book does deserve to be viewed on its own terms. The shadow of its two 'predecessors' (Bagchi would definitely not appreciate my using that word, but I will reserve my judgement) will be very hard to escape, though. I will probably pick it up out of curiosity, when I next make a visit to India. If any of you happen to read it, I'd be interested in hearing your feedback.
One book on the IIT theme I would definitely recommend, however, is the non-fiction "The IITans", by Sandipan Deb, editor of the Outlook. I read about half the book a couple of years ago and it has since remained on my long list of incompletes. It was certainly well written, though. From what i remember, the author takes a look at how the IITs were formed, foreign collaboration and all, and how they have evolved over the years. He talks to IITans past and present, in all corners of the world, about what life was like in the IITs. Deb reserves special mention for those who left their cushy jobs in the states and elsewhere, and returned to work in the public sector as a path to personal fulfillment. There's even a chapter where female alumni recall what it meant being a girl in an overwhelmingly male-dominated institution, and so on. My memory of this book is pretty hazy, and I plan to re-read it from start to finish sometime. I'm sure you would enjoy it as well.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
A Random Song List
Sometimes you look back on your music catalog and decide to compile lists for the heck of it, which is great timepass on a gloomy Sunday. A lot of people have asked me what my favourite romantic song would be, and this list is a partial answer to that I guess. This isn't a list of love songs in the strict sense, but more a 'songs about love' list, so my choices are common yet not-so-obvious at the same time. Here are four of them, in no particular order.
1. BLACK - PEARL JAM
Most people know Pearl Jam's album TEN for the song 'Jeremy' which was their statement for the whole teen-angst thing (and therefore made the group more marketable). However, 'Black' is a much more haunting song. Of course, it makes this list because it is (the) song about a lost love. But what makes it resonate more than Jeremy is the fact that the protagonist (or is it antagonist) is not merelytormented, he shows himself to be extremely vulnerable. It starts off rather innocuously, a gradual bulid up. With "All I taught her was everything..", Eddie Vedder brings in the 'loss' element. The clincher of course is the amazing set of lines "I know someday you'll have a beautiful life, I know you'll be a sun in somebody else's sky, but why, why can't it be, why can't it be mine...", Vedder might have spoken for every single one of us there. By the end, Vedder has plunged the song into despair and actually sounds like he is weeping uncontrollably. I have never heard a vocalist paint a picture of helplessness as effectively.
2. BABY I LOVE YOUR WAY - PETER FRAMPTON
I like this song because it gives me a feel of Goa for some reason. I've been to Goa only twice in my life, last in 2002, so that's saying something. If you haven't heard it, I suggest you get hold of the live version on FRAMPTON COMES ALIVE, which is one of the more enjoyable live albums I've heard. In contrast to Black, this acoustic gem isn't an intense song at all; it's pleasant and mildly upbeat. My interest in the song was renewed when I read Nick Hornby's Hi-Fidelity last October. The young singer's rendition of 'Baby i love your way' captivates Rob, and I often associate the book with the song. "Shadows grow so long before my eyes...And they're moving across the page...Suddenly the day turns into night" might give you a clue about why I picture Goa, or a peaceful moonlit beach, everytime I hear the song.
3. SOMEBODY TO LOVE - JEFFERSON AIRPLANE
This is the classic 'not a love song, but a song about love'. Grace Slick's vocals give the impression of her being a worldly-wise but willing-to-lend-a-helping-hand sort of character. To me the song seems somewhat situational and atmospheric; it gives the impression of a rather naive person going through a day-to-day routine in an unforgiving environment, trying to take her (or his) worries in her stride and putting up with the inconsistencies of people around her. Eventually, the bitter undercurrent, the taunts, and the scores of people taking her for a ride all get to to her and she breaks down. She feels trampled and out of place in this atmosphere, and needs somebody to love. ("Tears are running down your breast and your friends baby they treat you like a guest..") Again, my interest in the song was renewed when it appeared elsewhere. This time, it was the Jim Carrey movie 'The Cable Guy'. The film has often been dismissed as one in which Carrey's lunacy goes overboard, but I like it's disturbing element. When Jim Carrey sings it at the Karaoke session in the movie, it seems to fit in very well in the scheme of things. His Friend, Steven, is in the midst of a troubled relationship and he, the Cable Guy, needs a friend. It's strange but also sometimes a given that I need to find book or movie references to truly appreciate a song for what it is. Amen to that, anyway!
4. NEVER TEAR US APART - INXS
Out-and-out love songs are not really my thing ( I absolutely hate Aerosmith's 'I don't wanna miss a thing', for example). This one, however, is a class apart because it somehow manages to sound both melancholy and sugary at the same time. There's the lovely violin intro which builds up a bittersweet mood, and then Michael Hutchence takes over. The song really belongs to him, his smooth vocals sound as reassuring as Eddie Vedder's are vulnerable. In hindsight, it's hard to believe this is a song from the 80s when overdone power ballads were the in thing. The lyrics are simple rather than brilliant, but "If I hurt you, I'd make wine from your tears" is an interesting line. The last minute sees the saxophone suddenly kick in, a great finishing touch which leads the song to a dreamy end. Ultimately, it's the small details which make this song a moving one.
Honourable mentions:
EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE - THE POLICE
DON'T FEAR THE REAPER - BLUE OYSTER CULT
DIAMONDS AND RUST - JOAN BAEZ
WONDERWALL - OASIS
1. BLACK - PEARL JAM
Most people know Pearl Jam's album TEN for the song 'Jeremy' which was their statement for the whole teen-angst thing (and therefore made the group more marketable). However, 'Black' is a much more haunting song. Of course, it makes this list because it is (the) song about a lost love. But what makes it resonate more than Jeremy is the fact that the protagonist (or is it antagonist) is not merelytormented, he shows himself to be extremely vulnerable. It starts off rather innocuously, a gradual bulid up. With "All I taught her was everything..", Eddie Vedder brings in the 'loss' element. The clincher of course is the amazing set of lines "I know someday you'll have a beautiful life, I know you'll be a sun in somebody else's sky, but why, why can't it be, why can't it be mine...", Vedder might have spoken for every single one of us there. By the end, Vedder has plunged the song into despair and actually sounds like he is weeping uncontrollably. I have never heard a vocalist paint a picture of helplessness as effectively.
2. BABY I LOVE YOUR WAY - PETER FRAMPTON
I like this song because it gives me a feel of Goa for some reason. I've been to Goa only twice in my life, last in 2002, so that's saying something. If you haven't heard it, I suggest you get hold of the live version on FRAMPTON COMES ALIVE, which is one of the more enjoyable live albums I've heard. In contrast to Black, this acoustic gem isn't an intense song at all; it's pleasant and mildly upbeat. My interest in the song was renewed when I read Nick Hornby's Hi-Fidelity last October. The young singer's rendition of 'Baby i love your way' captivates Rob, and I often associate the book with the song. "Shadows grow so long before my eyes...And they're moving across the page...Suddenly the day turns into night" might give you a clue about why I picture Goa, or a peaceful moonlit beach, everytime I hear the song.
3. SOMEBODY TO LOVE - JEFFERSON AIRPLANE
This is the classic 'not a love song, but a song about love'. Grace Slick's vocals give the impression of her being a worldly-wise but willing-to-lend-a-helping-hand sort of character. To me the song seems somewhat situational and atmospheric; it gives the impression of a rather naive person going through a day-to-day routine in an unforgiving environment, trying to take her (or his) worries in her stride and putting up with the inconsistencies of people around her. Eventually, the bitter undercurrent, the taunts, and the scores of people taking her for a ride all get to to her and she breaks down. She feels trampled and out of place in this atmosphere, and needs somebody to love. ("Tears are running down your breast and your friends baby they treat you like a guest..") Again, my interest in the song was renewed when it appeared elsewhere. This time, it was the Jim Carrey movie 'The Cable Guy'. The film has often been dismissed as one in which Carrey's lunacy goes overboard, but I like it's disturbing element. When Jim Carrey sings it at the Karaoke session in the movie, it seems to fit in very well in the scheme of things. His Friend, Steven, is in the midst of a troubled relationship and he, the Cable Guy, needs a friend. It's strange but also sometimes a given that I need to find book or movie references to truly appreciate a song for what it is. Amen to that, anyway!
4. NEVER TEAR US APART - INXS
Out-and-out love songs are not really my thing ( I absolutely hate Aerosmith's 'I don't wanna miss a thing', for example). This one, however, is a class apart because it somehow manages to sound both melancholy and sugary at the same time. There's the lovely violin intro which builds up a bittersweet mood, and then Michael Hutchence takes over. The song really belongs to him, his smooth vocals sound as reassuring as Eddie Vedder's are vulnerable. In hindsight, it's hard to believe this is a song from the 80s when overdone power ballads were the in thing. The lyrics are simple rather than brilliant, but "If I hurt you, I'd make wine from your tears" is an interesting line. The last minute sees the saxophone suddenly kick in, a great finishing touch which leads the song to a dreamy end. Ultimately, it's the small details which make this song a moving one.
Honourable mentions:
EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE - THE POLICE
DON'T FEAR THE REAPER - BLUE OYSTER CULT
DIAMONDS AND RUST - JOAN BAEZ
WONDERWALL - OASIS
Saturday, February 3, 2007
In response to Mr.Kesavan: 'Cricket and Coolness?'
PREFACE: I must admit to the extremely narrow context of this post: it is merely a personal perspective on an issue nicely dealt with by Mukul Kesavan, on Cricinfo Blogs: Maybe you could read his post before you read mine.
Men In White: On the Strange Death of Indian Cricket
While reading the comments in response to this post by Mr.Kesavan, I think quite a few people were misled by the title of the post and proceeded to deride him about representing such a small (and admittedly elitist) sample of the Indian cricket-viewing population. But that's just the point. It was not meant to be a socio-analysis on a large scale at all - the sample under observation was chosen quite deliberately. The way I saw it, the author has noticed something of a decline in that section of the cricketing audience - urban, middle-class, English-speaking children - which may be small but is intrinsically vital to the game in this country. Being part of that elitist minority, I couldn't help reflecting further on this. I grew up in similar yet not-so-similar circumstances to the kids Mukul describes, and I found myself drawing on my associations with cricket (and football) through my school and college life. Again, this post (as was Mukul's) is of fairly narrow context so my ramblings may as well be deemed irrelevant.
First of all, Mr.Kesavan's article does beg the question, "Is the decline of the audience mentioned really of any importance?" I mean, cricket was perceived as an upper-class, exclusionist sport but the tables have turned. The focus has indeed shifted from metropolitan cities to smaller provincial areas, as reflected in the makeup of the national side. Such a shift can only be for the better, in which case if the audience in the cities is at all on the decline it shouldn't matter too much right? I don't think so, and can actually empathize with the author when he says "When our children defect, an unbroken sequence of cricketing generations is severed, a familial cricketing tradition, a silsila, becomes defunct." What the urban middle and upper class brings to Indian cricket is a sense of tradition, sentiment and knowledge of the game. Cricket is the subject of much controversy today and when I say 'controversy', I'm not talking about match-fixing, sledging and the like. People question the relevance of cricket in today's global and consumerist world - as the author puts it "international cricket sometimes seems like a tawdry, post-colonial leftover, too small and tarnished a mirror....". For such a reviled and seemingly characterless sport, cricket has a rich and varied history. Such are the nuances of the game that cricket literature is unrivalled by that of any other sport - it's a genre by itself. Surely all this is something to be celebrated? And this is where the audience in question, with the relative tastefulness it possesses, comes in. But again, is all that sentiment, romance and tradition something the urban Indian sports fan would want to associate himself with? Apparently not, if Mr.Kesavan is to be believed, and it's something that seems to be vindicated when I think back to the way my peers looked at cricket right through school and college. The masses outside the big cities, who form the overwhelming support base of Indian cricket really do capture the pulse of the game. What most of them would not care to develop is a deeper appreciation for the game, test cricket in particular. Most of them don't have the time for it - they have too much to worry about in their day to day lives. Unfortunately the BCCI doesn't seem to give a damn about the sensibilities of such fans, constantly feeding them a diet of non-stop one dayers on flat pitches and the crass commercialisation that goes with it. That may have contributed to cricket being perceived as 'uncool' among rich city boys. That seems to be exactly what Mr.kesavan is worried about - the dwindling of Indian cricket's most 'knowledgeable' fan base. And let's face it, every sport needs its knowledgeable and articulate fans.
I must confess to being exactly like Mukul's son when i was a kid (I'm talking eight or nine years old here), but in a different way. I first started following cricket seriously during the '92 World Cup. By the end of it, I was a New Zealand fan and have been so ever since. At the time, it seemed way cooler to follow a 'successful' team who had an innovative skipper who scored matchwinning fifties at will, a spinner with an Indian name who opened the bowling, and a 22 year old called Chris Harris who could run out my favourite opposition batsman (David Boon) with a direct hit from the boundary. (India, of course, were miserable in that tournament). With that as an example, I can see why high school kids prefer to be associated with Arsenal and Henry rather than the Indian team. But again, eight year olds are much more impressionable than teenagers so I'm not sure if the comparison is wholly valid. I've been casually following football for quite a while now, and still haven't found a team to support (Though I do have a soft corner for Barca and Liverpool). The World Cup means more to me than Club football, anyway. In college, however, i did notice that cricket was being upstaged by football(especially when it came down to the business of supporting one's favourite team), at least in the coolness stakes. Cricket had become the sporting equivalent of Bollywood for the so-called hep crowd - something everyone discusses but no one really wants to admit his fondness for, since it's supposedly passe.
Nouveau football fans will always be a source of puzzlement to cricket purists like me. They're all up to date with the club scene (Read: The EPL) but couldn't care as much when it comes to the World Cup. No one seems to know what a dominant force Liverpool was in the 70s and 80s, or about Geoff Hurst's goal in the '66 final. Even worse, no one's discerning enough to appreciate that the EPL is, apart from the top few teams, a hotbed for mediocre football (as opposed to La Liga for example). The EPL craze is a marketing phenomenon and an extension of the massive ground it's covered in South Asia over the last half-decade. In the school-timeline, I can trace it back to 1998 when all those French World Cup winners moved to English Clubs and ESPN began airing the games primetime. Support for the EPL at the expense of quality football elsewhere has been a by-product. As far as I'm concerned, this is dumbing down and commercialisation at its peak. City slickers of today prefer the junk food of the EPL and 300 plus one-day games as opposed to the fine cuisine of the World Cup, other leagues, and test cricket. Even worse is the trend that some people come across as fair weather fans, whose loyalty is easily subject to change.
In a moment of hubris, I reflect on my unwavering support for the New Zealand (cricket) side over fifteen years now. Not a great side, admittedly, but still I do feel a sense of 'we' as opposed to the Indian team. Yes, i do care about the Indian team - except when they play the kiwis. This may amount to small scale treason, but it's been ingrained over the years. That - loyalty - is ultimately what it's all about. If Mr.Kesavan's son remains an Arsenal fan for the next fifteen years (assuming Arsenal experiences a few big slumps in between), I'll consider him a genuine fan. But back the the larger issue which Mukul was addressing, I'll always swear by cricket and its idiosyncrasies. I hope all those other city kids the author is worried about eventually realise that cricket is the real thing, and get back to the game we love. Irrespective of how the national side performs.
Men In White: On the Strange Death of Indian Cricket
While reading the comments in response to this post by Mr.Kesavan, I think quite a few people were misled by the title of the post and proceeded to deride him about representing such a small (and admittedly elitist) sample of the Indian cricket-viewing population. But that's just the point. It was not meant to be a socio-analysis on a large scale at all - the sample under observation was chosen quite deliberately. The way I saw it, the author has noticed something of a decline in that section of the cricketing audience - urban, middle-class, English-speaking children - which may be small but is intrinsically vital to the game in this country. Being part of that elitist minority, I couldn't help reflecting further on this. I grew up in similar yet not-so-similar circumstances to the kids Mukul describes, and I found myself drawing on my associations with cricket (and football) through my school and college life. Again, this post (as was Mukul's) is of fairly narrow context so my ramblings may as well be deemed irrelevant.
First of all, Mr.Kesavan's article does beg the question, "Is the decline of the audience mentioned really of any importance?" I mean, cricket was perceived as an upper-class, exclusionist sport but the tables have turned. The focus has indeed shifted from metropolitan cities to smaller provincial areas, as reflected in the makeup of the national side. Such a shift can only be for the better, in which case if the audience in the cities is at all on the decline it shouldn't matter too much right? I don't think so, and can actually empathize with the author when he says "When our children defect, an unbroken sequence of cricketing generations is severed, a familial cricketing tradition, a silsila, becomes defunct." What the urban middle and upper class brings to Indian cricket is a sense of tradition, sentiment and knowledge of the game. Cricket is the subject of much controversy today and when I say 'controversy', I'm not talking about match-fixing, sledging and the like. People question the relevance of cricket in today's global and consumerist world - as the author puts it "international cricket sometimes seems like a tawdry, post-colonial leftover, too small and tarnished a mirror....". For such a reviled and seemingly characterless sport, cricket has a rich and varied history. Such are the nuances of the game that cricket literature is unrivalled by that of any other sport - it's a genre by itself. Surely all this is something to be celebrated? And this is where the audience in question, with the relative tastefulness it possesses, comes in. But again, is all that sentiment, romance and tradition something the urban Indian sports fan would want to associate himself with? Apparently not, if Mr.Kesavan is to be believed, and it's something that seems to be vindicated when I think back to the way my peers looked at cricket right through school and college. The masses outside the big cities, who form the overwhelming support base of Indian cricket really do capture the pulse of the game. What most of them would not care to develop is a deeper appreciation for the game, test cricket in particular. Most of them don't have the time for it - they have too much to worry about in their day to day lives. Unfortunately the BCCI doesn't seem to give a damn about the sensibilities of such fans, constantly feeding them a diet of non-stop one dayers on flat pitches and the crass commercialisation that goes with it. That may have contributed to cricket being perceived as 'uncool' among rich city boys. That seems to be exactly what Mr.kesavan is worried about - the dwindling of Indian cricket's most 'knowledgeable' fan base. And let's face it, every sport needs its knowledgeable and articulate fans.
I must confess to being exactly like Mukul's son when i was a kid (I'm talking eight or nine years old here), but in a different way. I first started following cricket seriously during the '92 World Cup. By the end of it, I was a New Zealand fan and have been so ever since. At the time, it seemed way cooler to follow a 'successful' team who had an innovative skipper who scored matchwinning fifties at will, a spinner with an Indian name who opened the bowling, and a 22 year old called Chris Harris who could run out my favourite opposition batsman (David Boon) with a direct hit from the boundary. (India, of course, were miserable in that tournament). With that as an example, I can see why high school kids prefer to be associated with Arsenal and Henry rather than the Indian team. But again, eight year olds are much more impressionable than teenagers so I'm not sure if the comparison is wholly valid. I've been casually following football for quite a while now, and still haven't found a team to support (Though I do have a soft corner for Barca and Liverpool). The World Cup means more to me than Club football, anyway. In college, however, i did notice that cricket was being upstaged by football(especially when it came down to the business of supporting one's favourite team), at least in the coolness stakes. Cricket had become the sporting equivalent of Bollywood for the so-called hep crowd - something everyone discusses but no one really wants to admit his fondness for, since it's supposedly passe.
Nouveau football fans will always be a source of puzzlement to cricket purists like me. They're all up to date with the club scene (Read: The EPL) but couldn't care as much when it comes to the World Cup. No one seems to know what a dominant force Liverpool was in the 70s and 80s, or about Geoff Hurst's goal in the '66 final. Even worse, no one's discerning enough to appreciate that the EPL is, apart from the top few teams, a hotbed for mediocre football (as opposed to La Liga for example). The EPL craze is a marketing phenomenon and an extension of the massive ground it's covered in South Asia over the last half-decade. In the school-timeline, I can trace it back to 1998 when all those French World Cup winners moved to English Clubs and ESPN began airing the games primetime. Support for the EPL at the expense of quality football elsewhere has been a by-product. As far as I'm concerned, this is dumbing down and commercialisation at its peak. City slickers of today prefer the junk food of the EPL and 300 plus one-day games as opposed to the fine cuisine of the World Cup, other leagues, and test cricket. Even worse is the trend that some people come across as fair weather fans, whose loyalty is easily subject to change.
In a moment of hubris, I reflect on my unwavering support for the New Zealand (cricket) side over fifteen years now. Not a great side, admittedly, but still I do feel a sense of 'we' as opposed to the Indian team. Yes, i do care about the Indian team - except when they play the kiwis. This may amount to small scale treason, but it's been ingrained over the years. That - loyalty - is ultimately what it's all about. If Mr.Kesavan's son remains an Arsenal fan for the next fifteen years (assuming Arsenal experiences a few big slumps in between), I'll consider him a genuine fan. But back the the larger issue which Mukul was addressing, I'll always swear by cricket and its idiosyncrasies. I hope all those other city kids the author is worried about eventually realise that cricket is the real thing, and get back to the game we love. Irrespective of how the national side performs.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
A Victorian Secret in Bangalore
NOTE: To anyone who objects to my not calling Bangalore by its correct name: simply adjust maadi.
One of my dad's friends is in Bangalore for a visit. There's been talk of many of them meeting up, and apparently one of the venues suggested was a pub in Bangalore Central mall. My dad was immediately drawn into refusal mode(when he heard this suggestion), and the following chain of mails resulted, letting them know why he objected to Bangalore Central:
Initial Mail from my dad:
Hi Deepak
Leave it to the other Bengaluru dakoos to choose the venue - BUT with one clear proviso: I think Bangalore Central cropped up as one option; sorry, but under no circumstances ie even to meet you, Deepak, will I step into Bangalore Central ever. Its built on the grave of my favouritest place, the old Victoria Hotel. And, Iam serious about this, so please everyone don't think Iam joking about this!
Friend's reply:
Hey Cad
No panic - its going to be an apparently sensible place called the Windsor Pub.
What is Bangalore Central exactly? A shopping mall?
Dad's reply:
Deepak,
Yeah, Bangalore Central is one of the many malls that have sprouted up all over.
The Victoria Hotel, which was razed to allow B Central to come up, was an incredible place; it started (in the late 19th Century) as some sort of club for the Brits; then became a (small)hotel, with large rooms and almost as large attached bathrooms. Plus a restaurant with stained glass windows, a verandah where you could sit on cane chairs and have beer and food; also a large garden area, where you could sit in the evenings (under massive, really massive 300 year old trees)and spend several leisurely hours over whiskies or rums, and food. The food was a mixture of Western (actually Anglo Indian, like cutlets, masala fish fries, etc) and South Indian non veg (like muton pepper fry, etc). On Sundays,they had a terrific breakfast, including spiced Goan sausages + paav. or Appams and mutton stew, and of course bacon and eggs.
I remember a time around 1992, when a close friend of mine was relocating to Hong Kong, and we decided to spend his last evening here, just the two of us, at the lawn of the Victoria, which we had haunted thru the previous 5 years. We started off on our rums around 8pm, along with snacks... and continued thru till past 11pm, when the waiter said it was time to close - BUT, that if we could tell us how many more rums we wanted, and what food we would eat after that (incl suggestions as to what would taste ok even if it was cold), he would put all that on another table next to us. We told him, he brought the stuff, we paid the bill (incl of course a hefty tip), and continued; just the two of us, just one light burning in the entire hotel, under those incredible trees, till 2.30am! Post which, we cleared the plates, left them neatly piled up and covered, woke up the watchman to have the gate opened, and he saw us off with an exhortation to drive carefully!!
Many times I asked the owner (a Malyalee who had grown up in Sri Lanka) whether he would sell his hotel to me, and to name his price (if he had, I swear I would have moved heaven and earth to raise the money); the answer was always a polite no.
And then, suddenly, the hotel closed down; the owner and my waiter friends all disappeared; the trees started being chopped off; and this horrible glitzy irrelevant monstrosity started coming up. I took an oath that I would never ever go there; my son understood perfectly, my daughter thought it was sentimental nonsense and that I would certainly go to Bangalore Central after perhaps a couple of years. Today, I think she too appreciates the strength of my conviction!!!
So, see you at Windsor Pub!!!
End of chain. Time for me to go into partial-internal-reflection mode:
I had been to the Victoria Hotel two or three times as far as I can remember. It was indeed a classy place - not 'classy' as in the garish concrete splendour of the Leela, but with a green leafy old-world charm - the sort you'd associate with a hill station retreat. It was incongruously located at that Mg Road-Residency Road Junction, a nightmare these days given the volume of traffic. While I was there, I was probably too preoccupied with other things in my head to take in every detail, but I have fond memories of the garden area my dad mentioned above. It had an earthy feel to it which felt miles away from MG road. And the food was kickass as well as unpretentious - I remember trying spicy Vindaloo and Goan sausages there for the first time, finding them too hot to handle. So too mutton pepper fry and the rest. (Of course, I wasn't allowed any beer - I suspect that would've helped!) I discovered, among other things, there's more to South Indian food than idly-vada-dosa. What would I give now, to be able to sit and have a beer there with the right company and all that spicy food, amidst all the greenery, so hard to find in the rest of Bangalore!
Yes Bangalore has its malls, and for those of us who like to believe we want something older, there's always Pecos, Lakeview, koshy's and the like. But I have a feeling I've missed out on something here, by not being able to revisit the Victoria. Another jewel of the 'old' city brushed away in favour of the demands of commercialism. The Garden city tag may have long disappeared, but if you still want to know why, look no further than the Victoria as an example.However it feels futile and hollow, keying this in all the way from Austin (with the benefit of hindsight). Oh well...
One of my dad's friends is in Bangalore for a visit. There's been talk of many of them meeting up, and apparently one of the venues suggested was a pub in Bangalore Central mall. My dad was immediately drawn into refusal mode(when he heard this suggestion), and the following chain of mails resulted, letting them know why he objected to Bangalore Central:
Initial Mail from my dad:
Hi Deepak
Leave it to the other Bengaluru dakoos to choose the venue - BUT with one clear proviso: I think Bangalore Central cropped up as one option; sorry, but under no circumstances ie even to meet you, Deepak, will I step into Bangalore Central ever. Its built on the grave of my favouritest place, the old Victoria Hotel. And, Iam serious about this, so please everyone don't think Iam joking about this!
Friend's reply:
Hey Cad
No panic - its going to be an apparently sensible place called the Windsor Pub.
What is Bangalore Central exactly? A shopping mall?
Dad's reply:
Deepak,
Yeah, Bangalore Central is one of the many malls that have sprouted up all over.
The Victoria Hotel, which was razed to allow B Central to come up, was an incredible place; it started (in the late 19th Century) as some sort of club for the Brits; then became a (small)hotel, with large rooms and almost as large attached bathrooms. Plus a restaurant with stained glass windows, a verandah where you could sit on cane chairs and have beer and food; also a large garden area, where you could sit in the evenings (under massive, really massive 300 year old trees)and spend several leisurely hours over whiskies or rums, and food. The food was a mixture of Western (actually Anglo Indian, like cutlets, masala fish fries, etc) and South Indian non veg (like muton pepper fry, etc). On Sundays,they had a terrific breakfast, including spiced Goan sausages + paav. or Appams and mutton stew, and of course bacon and eggs.
I remember a time around 1992, when a close friend of mine was relocating to Hong Kong, and we decided to spend his last evening here, just the two of us, at the lawn of the Victoria, which we had haunted thru the previous 5 years. We started off on our rums around 8pm, along with snacks... and continued thru till past 11pm, when the waiter said it was time to close - BUT, that if we could tell us how many more rums we wanted, and what food we would eat after that (incl suggestions as to what would taste ok even if it was cold), he would put all that on another table next to us. We told him, he brought the stuff, we paid the bill (incl of course a hefty tip), and continued; just the two of us, just one light burning in the entire hotel, under those incredible trees, till 2.30am! Post which, we cleared the plates, left them neatly piled up and covered, woke up the watchman to have the gate opened, and he saw us off with an exhortation to drive carefully!!
Many times I asked the owner (a Malyalee who had grown up in Sri Lanka) whether he would sell his hotel to me, and to name his price (if he had, I swear I would have moved heaven and earth to raise the money); the answer was always a polite no.
And then, suddenly, the hotel closed down; the owner and my waiter friends all disappeared; the trees started being chopped off; and this horrible glitzy irrelevant monstrosity started coming up. I took an oath that I would never ever go there; my son understood perfectly, my daughter thought it was sentimental nonsense and that I would certainly go to Bangalore Central after perhaps a couple of years. Today, I think she too appreciates the strength of my conviction!!!
So, see you at Windsor Pub!!!
End of chain. Time for me to go into partial-internal-reflection mode:
I had been to the Victoria Hotel two or three times as far as I can remember. It was indeed a classy place - not 'classy' as in the garish concrete splendour of the Leela, but with a green leafy old-world charm - the sort you'd associate with a hill station retreat. It was incongruously located at that Mg Road-Residency Road Junction, a nightmare these days given the volume of traffic. While I was there, I was probably too preoccupied with other things in my head to take in every detail, but I have fond memories of the garden area my dad mentioned above. It had an earthy feel to it which felt miles away from MG road. And the food was kickass as well as unpretentious - I remember trying spicy Vindaloo and Goan sausages there for the first time, finding them too hot to handle. So too mutton pepper fry and the rest. (Of course, I wasn't allowed any beer - I suspect that would've helped!) I discovered, among other things, there's more to South Indian food than idly-vada-dosa. What would I give now, to be able to sit and have a beer there with the right company and all that spicy food, amidst all the greenery, so hard to find in the rest of Bangalore!
Yes Bangalore has its malls, and for those of us who like to believe we want something older, there's always Pecos, Lakeview, koshy's and the like. But I have a feeling I've missed out on something here, by not being able to revisit the Victoria. Another jewel of the 'old' city brushed away in favour of the demands of commercialism. The Garden city tag may have long disappeared, but if you still want to know why, look no further than the Victoria as an example.However it feels futile and hollow, keying this in all the way from Austin (with the benefit of hindsight). Oh well...
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Paint it, Black: Preview of the tri series
NOTE: By the time this is published, the tri-series would have got underway. Had to rush it in, nevertheless.
There are as many as eight survivors in the kiwi side for the CB series from the one that last competed in the same tournament five years ago (if Scott Styris joins the side later, that'll make it nine). While it does show the reliance of New Zealand on a core group of players, the squad will be hard pressed to emulate the class of 2002, when Fleming had studied the Aussies all season long and worked out their vulnerable areas. Inspired by the rookie Shane Bond, with support from Chris Cairns and Chris Harris, that team subjected Australia to three consecutive defeats and nearly a fourth, playing an unfamiliar brand of streetsmart cricket which caught their opponents napping. This time, the Aussies aren't likely to be off the ball and it will take much more than imaginative captaincy to beat them. Three victories over the Aussies may be a bit optimistic but a place in the finals would be the very least of the team's expectations. Bracewell and Fleming both pride themselves on having worked out a versatile one day outfit, though there must be worries at the back of their minds after the lukewarm series against Sri Lanka. The batting is quite underdone and (as usual) needs either Fleming or Astle to run into a rich vein of form. To do that straightaway in Australia is a tough ask. The bowling perhaps lacks a key ingredient in Kyle Mills, the most improved kiwi player in the last couple of years, and depends too much on Bond. It'll be interesting to see how Fleming uses and shuffles his attack. For instance, a case could be made for using Daniel Vettori in the slog overs, as the Aussies have generally been happy to play out his overs in the middle of the innings. The absence of Scott Styris and Jacob Oram seems to have affected the balance of the side, and the kiwis will be hoping for their return midway through the series. If they are to reach the final, (and I'm sure they will), attacking would be the way to go. NZ have already signaled this intent by using Brendom McCullum as opener. The likes of Ross Taylor and Peter Fulton should enjoy Australian wickets, and Mark Gillespie looks to be a reasonable foil for Bond though the Aussies will be more than happy to test his nerve under pressure. The main worry for me, though is the bench strength or lack of it. With eight games to get through, it looks like Bracewell could have chosen a later moment to unveil his rotation policy!
On to the Aussies, who've won eight out of the last nine triangular tournaments at home. While they look set to make that nine, if there's any weakness on their part it's probably their predicatbility, or so I like to believe; strong men but with a familiar approach. The kiwis have played them so many times in the last couple of years there should be no surprises, really. Yet Fleming and co have totally lost the edge over them, unable to seize vital opportunities each time. As an example, the spin duo of Brad Hogg and Cameron White shouldn't strike terror into the hearts of too many batsmen - I mean, NZ's duo of Vettori and Patel, and even Monty Panesar should really be able to outbowl them. But every time they're able to capitalize on the pressure created by the quickies and prise out a few important wickets. It usually takes outstanding individual performances (Bond in 2002, Jerome Taylor in the Champions Trophy preliminary round this year) to beat the Aussies, simply because they demand the very best of the opposition.
England are something of an unknown entity, beacuse they don't play either Australia or New Zealand regularly in One Day Cricket. Despite their woeful track record of late, this relative anonymity might suit them just fine. What they do have in their ranks which the kiwis don't is proven explosive quality in the batting - Kevin Pietersen and Flintoff, who might understand what Chris Cairns would have felt like as the allround star in an otherwise average lineup. How the kiwi bowlers deal with Pietersen is something I'd be interested to see. Their batting looks a bit more accomplished than New Zealand's at the moment. Add to this a couple of hard nuts in Jamie Dalrymple and Jon Lewis and the side looks decent on paper. I'm backing the kiwis' superior fielding and overall know-how in ODIs to give them the edge. If England do pip them for a place in the final, I may well be tearing my hair out. And if the Aussies are then displaced, I might just buy myself a wig.
There are as many as eight survivors in the kiwi side for the CB series from the one that last competed in the same tournament five years ago (if Scott Styris joins the side later, that'll make it nine). While it does show the reliance of New Zealand on a core group of players, the squad will be hard pressed to emulate the class of 2002, when Fleming had studied the Aussies all season long and worked out their vulnerable areas. Inspired by the rookie Shane Bond, with support from Chris Cairns and Chris Harris, that team subjected Australia to three consecutive defeats and nearly a fourth, playing an unfamiliar brand of streetsmart cricket which caught their opponents napping. This time, the Aussies aren't likely to be off the ball and it will take much more than imaginative captaincy to beat them. Three victories over the Aussies may be a bit optimistic but a place in the finals would be the very least of the team's expectations. Bracewell and Fleming both pride themselves on having worked out a versatile one day outfit, though there must be worries at the back of their minds after the lukewarm series against Sri Lanka. The batting is quite underdone and (as usual) needs either Fleming or Astle to run into a rich vein of form. To do that straightaway in Australia is a tough ask. The bowling perhaps lacks a key ingredient in Kyle Mills, the most improved kiwi player in the last couple of years, and depends too much on Bond. It'll be interesting to see how Fleming uses and shuffles his attack. For instance, a case could be made for using Daniel Vettori in the slog overs, as the Aussies have generally been happy to play out his overs in the middle of the innings. The absence of Scott Styris and Jacob Oram seems to have affected the balance of the side, and the kiwis will be hoping for their return midway through the series. If they are to reach the final, (and I'm sure they will), attacking would be the way to go. NZ have already signaled this intent by using Brendom McCullum as opener. The likes of Ross Taylor and Peter Fulton should enjoy Australian wickets, and Mark Gillespie looks to be a reasonable foil for Bond though the Aussies will be more than happy to test his nerve under pressure. The main worry for me, though is the bench strength or lack of it. With eight games to get through, it looks like Bracewell could have chosen a later moment to unveil his rotation policy!
On to the Aussies, who've won eight out of the last nine triangular tournaments at home. While they look set to make that nine, if there's any weakness on their part it's probably their predicatbility, or so I like to believe; strong men but with a familiar approach. The kiwis have played them so many times in the last couple of years there should be no surprises, really. Yet Fleming and co have totally lost the edge over them, unable to seize vital opportunities each time. As an example, the spin duo of Brad Hogg and Cameron White shouldn't strike terror into the hearts of too many batsmen - I mean, NZ's duo of Vettori and Patel, and even Monty Panesar should really be able to outbowl them. But every time they're able to capitalize on the pressure created by the quickies and prise out a few important wickets. It usually takes outstanding individual performances (Bond in 2002, Jerome Taylor in the Champions Trophy preliminary round this year) to beat the Aussies, simply because they demand the very best of the opposition.
England are something of an unknown entity, beacuse they don't play either Australia or New Zealand regularly in One Day Cricket. Despite their woeful track record of late, this relative anonymity might suit them just fine. What they do have in their ranks which the kiwis don't is proven explosive quality in the batting - Kevin Pietersen and Flintoff, who might understand what Chris Cairns would have felt like as the allround star in an otherwise average lineup. How the kiwi bowlers deal with Pietersen is something I'd be interested to see. Their batting looks a bit more accomplished than New Zealand's at the moment. Add to this a couple of hard nuts in Jamie Dalrymple and Jon Lewis and the side looks decent on paper. I'm backing the kiwis' superior fielding and overall know-how in ODIs to give them the edge. If England do pip them for a place in the final, I may well be tearing my hair out. And if the Aussies are then displaced, I might just buy myself a wig.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Paint it, Black: Plumbing the Depths
Every now and then comes along a game you're better off forgetting. Given the lukewarm nature of the current NZ-Sri lanka series, that shouldn't be a problem (for kiwi fans, at any rate) when you consider the kiwis' defeat in the fourth one-dayer which is their heaviest in history. It so happened I didn't catch the game on streaming online video or on cricinfo (which has become the norm these days), to my supposed good fortune. When I did eventually see the final scorecard, rather than shock me outright it seemed to confirm a couple of truths which have been lying beneath all series long. They have eventually surfaced, it appears.
Firstly, and most importantly, the tactics carried out in the name of rotation have left the top order in a mess, pretty much where it was at the end of the Champions Trophy. As I mentioned in the previous article, the Rotation Policy does seem to have brought a few positive changes - Brendon McCullum as opener, for one. However, in his apparent eagerness to juggle the batsmen around, John Bracewell seems to have only brought chaos into the ranks, when it needn't have been that way. I think he would do well to realise that the kiwis still depend largely on their most experienced pair, Fleming and Astle and to have them match-fit for the series in Australia should have been top priority. I'm sure the players themselves have no idea what the batting order for the next game will be. In Astle's case, he is much better suited to opening the innings and batting right through. The presence of McCullum and Taylor would enable him to go along at his own pace without worrying about the run-rate. Given that he was barely convincing in the tests, Fleming should have figured right from the beginning of the series. The Aussies would be extremely interested to note that he's been nailed leg-before by Chaminda Vaas quite regularly of late (as were Taylor and Marshall on Saturday); a certain Nathan Bracken might well be taking note.
Secondly, the kiwis' (or Bracewell's) refusal to field their strongest side must come as a bit of an insult to the Lankans, a better team than we sometimes give them credit for. It's all very well to use a five match series as preparation for a decidedly longer, tougher one - but when you're up against an explosive batting team and an attack which boasts Vaas, Murali and Malinga you can't expect a run of victories without your best lineup. The Lankan batsmen have blown hot and cold on this tour like most subcontinental sides, but the strong bowling unit has more often than not kept their kiwi counterparts in check. They do look a better side than New Zealand at the moment, and a 3-2 victory in this series would be a just result for the entertaining cricket they've played.
Lastly, I do think the selectors may have missed a couple of tricks as far as the squad for Australia is concerned. Michael Mason may be a stout hearted trier, but looks to be cannon fodder for Ricky Ponting and co - if Chris Martin were to join forces with Bond and Gillespie instead, the Aussies might have a bit to think about. Not too sure about Andre Adams either - the selectors might have done better to bolster the batting by adding Mathew Sinclair or Lou Vincent. Or, if they really wanted someone with allround skills, I would have gone back to Chris Harris (still performing reliably for Cantebury). In the previous article, I had talked about how 'utility' players were a constant fixture in the Australian side adopting the rotation policy. There seems to be a parallel here of packing the side with too many bowling allrounders, such as Adams, Franklin and Vettori, in the hope they may strengthen the batting. The latter two may be indispensible, but specialists are the need of the hour. Which is why Vettori should go back to being a number 8 or 9.
Firstly, and most importantly, the tactics carried out in the name of rotation have left the top order in a mess, pretty much where it was at the end of the Champions Trophy. As I mentioned in the previous article, the Rotation Policy does seem to have brought a few positive changes - Brendon McCullum as opener, for one. However, in his apparent eagerness to juggle the batsmen around, John Bracewell seems to have only brought chaos into the ranks, when it needn't have been that way. I think he would do well to realise that the kiwis still depend largely on their most experienced pair, Fleming and Astle and to have them match-fit for the series in Australia should have been top priority. I'm sure the players themselves have no idea what the batting order for the next game will be. In Astle's case, he is much better suited to opening the innings and batting right through. The presence of McCullum and Taylor would enable him to go along at his own pace without worrying about the run-rate. Given that he was barely convincing in the tests, Fleming should have figured right from the beginning of the series. The Aussies would be extremely interested to note that he's been nailed leg-before by Chaminda Vaas quite regularly of late (as were Taylor and Marshall on Saturday); a certain Nathan Bracken might well be taking note.
Secondly, the kiwis' (or Bracewell's) refusal to field their strongest side must come as a bit of an insult to the Lankans, a better team than we sometimes give them credit for. It's all very well to use a five match series as preparation for a decidedly longer, tougher one - but when you're up against an explosive batting team and an attack which boasts Vaas, Murali and Malinga you can't expect a run of victories without your best lineup. The Lankan batsmen have blown hot and cold on this tour like most subcontinental sides, but the strong bowling unit has more often than not kept their kiwi counterparts in check. They do look a better side than New Zealand at the moment, and a 3-2 victory in this series would be a just result for the entertaining cricket they've played.
Lastly, I do think the selectors may have missed a couple of tricks as far as the squad for Australia is concerned. Michael Mason may be a stout hearted trier, but looks to be cannon fodder for Ricky Ponting and co - if Chris Martin were to join forces with Bond and Gillespie instead, the Aussies might have a bit to think about. Not too sure about Andre Adams either - the selectors might have done better to bolster the batting by adding Mathew Sinclair or Lou Vincent. Or, if they really wanted someone with allround skills, I would have gone back to Chris Harris (still performing reliably for Cantebury). In the previous article, I had talked about how 'utility' players were a constant fixture in the Australian side adopting the rotation policy. There seems to be a parallel here of packing the side with too many bowling allrounders, such as Adams, Franklin and Vettori, in the hope they may strengthen the batting. The latter two may be indispensible, but specialists are the need of the hour. Which is why Vettori should go back to being a number 8 or 9.
Friday, January 5, 2007
Paint it, Black: Dissecting the Rotation Policy
The phrase "Rotation Policy" was most famously drummed about during the ODI campaigns of Steve Waugh's Australian side during their peak, in 2000 and 2001. It essentially comprised of two strategies: slotting individual players into definite roles, and resting the incumbents at various times during a series so as to give the second-choice player a chance. While Gilchrist and Mark Waugh were regular openers, Waugh was often rested to give Matthew Hayden a chance. Such tactics apparently kept the side fresh and the competition healthy, and all along Australia's success was attributed to their flexibility. Central to this policy was a middle order of 'utility' players which included Andrew Symonds, Ian Harvey, Shane Lee and Damien Martyn (yes, he was thought of as a bits and pieces player).
But, in January 2002, when New Zealand and South Africa arrived for the annual VB series, the same rotation policy was shown up for being too, yes, inflexible. As New Zealand fans will fondly remember, Australia lost three and almost a fourth game to the kiwis chasing, and failed to make the finals in their own backyard. The press criticised the complacency that had been bred as a result of Rotation, and the Waugh twins were jettisoned for good. To cite an example of how the policy failed at the time, it dictated that Mark Waugh,Gilchrist and Hayden could not play together in the playing XI because their role as openers was cleary defined; thus Australia would not field their strongest (or, shall we say, in-form) side. The same set of utility players I mentioned were shaken up and forced to reinvent themselves; Harvey as a specialist death or changeup bowler and Martyn as an authoritative no.4, while Symonds found his feet in the World Cup after a prolonged struggle. Since then, it's fair to say Australia have been practising a restrained form of rotation under Ricky Ponting. Except, it's no longer a compulsive strategy - Ricky Ponting refuses to leave anything to chance. The word 'rotation' is something you'll never hear from the Aussie Camp these days.
Now, kiwi coach John Bracwell has adopted the tactic with a view to building depth in the side before the World Cup. It may be partly justified given New Zealand's problems with injuries, and at the same time may leave players confused as to what exactly their role in the side is. At the moment, it has certainly brought in changes that look promising - Brendon McCulum as an attacking opener, Hamish Marshall down to a more comfortable number 6 and Michael Mason establishing himself at a World Cup contender. There have been a couple of perplexing moments too, such as Daniel Vettori's promotion to the middle order, which I hope will be discontinued. Before the all important tri-series in Australia, however, you would have to wonder if New Zealand's premier batsmen are better off having some time in the middle - particularly Stephen Fleming and Nathan Astle. The batting failures during the Champions Trophy were attributed to lack of match practice, so I'd much rather see a settled batting lineup for the time being. New Zealand go into the fourth game of the series with a 2-1 lead, with the additional bonus of Ross Taylor and Mark Gillespie proving their worth, at least on favourable surfaces. They could well end up winning 4-1, but I would have thought the objective of this series was to find out their best combination or unit, going into the Australia series rather than juggling the players about. You really can't afford to use elimination games against Australia and England to figure out who your best XI is, even if certain key players are missing. James Marshall scores a half-century as opener but is not required for the upcoming games, while Craig McMillan has suddenly been handed a lifeline and a ticket to Australia. Mind you, McMillan looks a better bet than Marshall, but his inclusion feels a bit unjustified. Bracewell has conveniently decided he will be slotted into Brendon McCullum's role at number7, but this again smells of the inflexibility which as I mentioned could be a side-effect of the Rotation policy. Surely there must be a better position for McMillan? It also means there is a certain sameness to the bowling. Mason has done well in conditions that suit him but I don't see him troubling the Australians - having him, Adams and Franklin in the same lineup is a bit of a worry. Jeetan Patel hasn't been given a game and it looks like Chris Martin will not figure in the selector's plans at all. All this places too much responsibility on Shane Bond, although there seems to be some cover for him at least.
New Zealand have two more games against Sri lanka to get into their stride, but they are in danger of a potential mess during the tri-series if they don't identify their best side on form. The Rotation policy may be here to stay, but Bracwell must be careful it doesn't inhibit any flexibility on his part during the all important build up to the World Cup.
But, in January 2002, when New Zealand and South Africa arrived for the annual VB series, the same rotation policy was shown up for being too, yes, inflexible. As New Zealand fans will fondly remember, Australia lost three and almost a fourth game to the kiwis chasing, and failed to make the finals in their own backyard. The press criticised the complacency that had been bred as a result of Rotation, and the Waugh twins were jettisoned for good. To cite an example of how the policy failed at the time, it dictated that Mark Waugh,Gilchrist and Hayden could not play together in the playing XI because their role as openers was cleary defined; thus Australia would not field their strongest (or, shall we say, in-form) side. The same set of utility players I mentioned were shaken up and forced to reinvent themselves; Harvey as a specialist death or changeup bowler and Martyn as an authoritative no.4, while Symonds found his feet in the World Cup after a prolonged struggle. Since then, it's fair to say Australia have been practising a restrained form of rotation under Ricky Ponting. Except, it's no longer a compulsive strategy - Ricky Ponting refuses to leave anything to chance. The word 'rotation' is something you'll never hear from the Aussie Camp these days.
Now, kiwi coach John Bracwell has adopted the tactic with a view to building depth in the side before the World Cup. It may be partly justified given New Zealand's problems with injuries, and at the same time may leave players confused as to what exactly their role in the side is. At the moment, it has certainly brought in changes that look promising - Brendon McCulum as an attacking opener, Hamish Marshall down to a more comfortable number 6 and Michael Mason establishing himself at a World Cup contender. There have been a couple of perplexing moments too, such as Daniel Vettori's promotion to the middle order, which I hope will be discontinued. Before the all important tri-series in Australia, however, you would have to wonder if New Zealand's premier batsmen are better off having some time in the middle - particularly Stephen Fleming and Nathan Astle. The batting failures during the Champions Trophy were attributed to lack of match practice, so I'd much rather see a settled batting lineup for the time being. New Zealand go into the fourth game of the series with a 2-1 lead, with the additional bonus of Ross Taylor and Mark Gillespie proving their worth, at least on favourable surfaces. They could well end up winning 4-1, but I would have thought the objective of this series was to find out their best combination or unit, going into the Australia series rather than juggling the players about. You really can't afford to use elimination games against Australia and England to figure out who your best XI is, even if certain key players are missing. James Marshall scores a half-century as opener but is not required for the upcoming games, while Craig McMillan has suddenly been handed a lifeline and a ticket to Australia. Mind you, McMillan looks a better bet than Marshall, but his inclusion feels a bit unjustified. Bracewell has conveniently decided he will be slotted into Brendon McCullum's role at number7, but this again smells of the inflexibility which as I mentioned could be a side-effect of the Rotation policy. Surely there must be a better position for McMillan? It also means there is a certain sameness to the bowling. Mason has done well in conditions that suit him but I don't see him troubling the Australians - having him, Adams and Franklin in the same lineup is a bit of a worry. Jeetan Patel hasn't been given a game and it looks like Chris Martin will not figure in the selector's plans at all. All this places too much responsibility on Shane Bond, although there seems to be some cover for him at least.
New Zealand have two more games against Sri lanka to get into their stride, but they are in danger of a potential mess during the tri-series if they don't identify their best side on form. The Rotation policy may be here to stay, but Bracwell must be careful it doesn't inhibit any flexibility on his part during the all important build up to the World Cup.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Ash to Ash: Thoughts on Smoking
The title of the post is itself a bit contradictory as I have hardly any 'thoughts' or anything to say on the subject. If I was slotted in one of those Group Discussion Rounds which have become the norm in most job or b-school selection procedures, and the topic was simply 'Smoking', chances are I'd draw a blank. What actually pricks me though, is my apparent indifference to the whole smoking thing. I guess this post was an attempt to look within and find out why I've never even slid a cigarette through my lips. But some exercises are futile, and I just don't have an answer.
Indifference is all I can recall during school and it seems to have stayed with me. I remember being selected along with a few others to present a set of essays on cancer, with a particular accent on the dangers of cigarette smoking. Seemingly, the more dramatic you made it sound the more points you got. What material we came up with would probably be enough to dissuade the biggest addict, but it certainly didn't make any deep meaningful socially-moral impression on me; nor did it bring out any curiosity and cocky scepticism. In another episode, one of my classmates was discovered to have a cigarette pack in his bag, which he claimed had been planted on him. He became a chain smoker much later on, and people remembering the incident wonder whether he had in fact started off all those years ago. I really couldn't have cared less; and still don't. Which is a little scary, if I think about it.
People often wonder why I've never tried smoking even once in my life, as if I'm missing out on a thrill (of trying something for the first time), or just being a 'good boy'. And it's quite amusing, because I don't have a rational explanation for it. To me, it's almost as if smoking doesn't exist and (to borrow a line) is like a road accident - something that seems to happen only to other people. If that was a poor analogy in arrogant bad taste, it shows how lost I am for an explanation. What could be the real reason? It could be because I wasn't in a friend circle of smokers, but then again I had enough friends in college who did smoke. Why I declined everytime I was offered a cigarette i don't know, but I have no regrets. Perhaps I had passed the impressionable age, but looking back practically everyone started off in college. I didn't consider it taboo either - I'm guessing there are more unpleasant ways to ruin one's health - and don't find the idea disgusting or anything. And I'm really not bothered by smoke and smokers around me. In my year of work at CTS, I frequently accompanied colleagues to the smoking zone (which was actually quite a nice area) and wasn't put off in the least by the haze around me. Seems like I've done a fair bit of passive smoking!
(To top it all, cigarettes have been lying all over the house since God knows when. Curiosity, far from getting the better off me, never even knocked once. It's as if we had this peaceful coexistence pact running, the cigarettes and I, so that we weren't even aware that the other was around. So I was never drawn to the pack, and the pack didn't 'call out to me' either - and a lot of sentimental smokers apparently like to believe the cigarette calls out to them.)
Since I can't arrive at any explanation, the only conclusion is indifference, as I've stated above. And that's exactly the itch I needed to scratch when keying in all this, pointless as it was. It begs the question, 'Am I better off not caring at all?' I guess it doesn't matter anymore.
Indifference is all I can recall during school and it seems to have stayed with me. I remember being selected along with a few others to present a set of essays on cancer, with a particular accent on the dangers of cigarette smoking. Seemingly, the more dramatic you made it sound the more points you got. What material we came up with would probably be enough to dissuade the biggest addict, but it certainly didn't make any deep meaningful socially-moral impression on me; nor did it bring out any curiosity and cocky scepticism. In another episode, one of my classmates was discovered to have a cigarette pack in his bag, which he claimed had been planted on him. He became a chain smoker much later on, and people remembering the incident wonder whether he had in fact started off all those years ago. I really couldn't have cared less; and still don't. Which is a little scary, if I think about it.
People often wonder why I've never tried smoking even once in my life, as if I'm missing out on a thrill (of trying something for the first time), or just being a 'good boy'. And it's quite amusing, because I don't have a rational explanation for it. To me, it's almost as if smoking doesn't exist and (to borrow a line) is like a road accident - something that seems to happen only to other people. If that was a poor analogy in arrogant bad taste, it shows how lost I am for an explanation. What could be the real reason? It could be because I wasn't in a friend circle of smokers, but then again I had enough friends in college who did smoke. Why I declined everytime I was offered a cigarette i don't know, but I have no regrets. Perhaps I had passed the impressionable age, but looking back practically everyone started off in college. I didn't consider it taboo either - I'm guessing there are more unpleasant ways to ruin one's health - and don't find the idea disgusting or anything. And I'm really not bothered by smoke and smokers around me. In my year of work at CTS, I frequently accompanied colleagues to the smoking zone (which was actually quite a nice area) and wasn't put off in the least by the haze around me. Seems like I've done a fair bit of passive smoking!
(To top it all, cigarettes have been lying all over the house since God knows when. Curiosity, far from getting the better off me, never even knocked once. It's as if we had this peaceful coexistence pact running, the cigarettes and I, so that we weren't even aware that the other was around. So I was never drawn to the pack, and the pack didn't 'call out to me' either - and a lot of sentimental smokers apparently like to believe the cigarette calls out to them.)
Since I can't arrive at any explanation, the only conclusion is indifference, as I've stated above. And that's exactly the itch I needed to scratch when keying in all this, pointless as it was. It begs the question, 'Am I better off not caring at all?' I guess it doesn't matter anymore.
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