R.I.P Leon Ireland

Putting up two posts in three days about some concerts I attended many moons ago makes the blog feel jaded. The moment I heard about the death of Leon Ireland, lead vocalist of the Chennai rock band Moksha, I knew I just had to put up this post anyway. In similar vein to the Deep Purple post, Moksha's performance at St.John's Medical College, Bangalore on the 10th of November 2001 was the first ever college rock show I attended. I had a blast and no rock show I've attended since has ever come close (Friends of mine from RV EEE might point to the Imbalance show at the end of Vidyut 2004. A good show but it paled in comparison to the one I'm describing in this post). In spite of myself, I want this post to be unpretentious and humble like Moksha and Leon were; just a simple thank you to Leon for putting on an awesome concert that night and letting me have the time of my life.

No major build up, no great expectations this time. Guys in the first phase of college life these days are remarkably well informed about local bands and nuggets of info like who plays which covers best, who plays the best pure death/thrash, who DJs at which pub, etc. By comparison, for an avid (rock) music listener, I was an innocent little ignoramous when I joined college. Fests and rock shows didn't mean anything to me but I was more than happy to tag along with 'the herd' on Saturday, 10/11/2001 for the Autumn Muse rock show featuring Threnody and Moksha. There was a goodish crowd with the usual suspects - black t-shirts, couples, wannabe death-metallers etc. We arrived just in time to see Threnody finish their bit with Metallica's Whiplash. That had the crowd moving a bit. Then Moksha arrived. Hope they're good, I said to myself. What do they play? They warmed up with an own-comp. I don't quite remember but I think it was Dine with the Devil. Then came a blistering succession of songs delivered with such tightness and energy which literally blew me off my feet. It's passe for most Indian rock/college rock bands to play covers of 80s hard rock bands these days, and even more passe for the (self-respcting) 'rock' crowd to like that kind of music. That wasn't the case with Moksha and it rocked. When they went ahead with a full-throttle take on Motley Crue's 'Kickstart My Heart', I was in the seventh heaven of delight. I jumped and crashed my head around without a hint of self-consciousness, screaming out the lyrics for all I was worth. I've no idea what the rest of the crowd was doing. The people immediately surrounding us (the herd) must've eyed me with the disdain reserved for posers. (Motley Crue? Who the hell listens to a lame-ass band from the glam era whose locks of hair had ten times more depth than their music? With a few reservations, my general policy is, 'If it rocks hard and true with a neat melody, bring it on! ). This was followed by Whitesnake's 'Slide it in' and Extreme's 'Suzy'. Such a track list was a big 'huh?' for the purist and newbie alike. I loved it. 'Do you guys like Van Halen?' yelled Leon. 'I think I heard someone scream "Eruption" said Christy, "Nah, I couldn't pull off that one. Sorry Eddie. It'll have to be PANAMAA!" More frenzy from me, as I continued to revel in the innocence of my first rock show. I was as excited as a fox let loose in a hen-house. Next came "....And this song's from a group that calls itself 'icy daicy'" and he started off "You shook me all night long." Then came the powerful Maiden medley, which included Wrathchild, Be Quick or Be dead and Can I Play with madness, as far as I can remember. I have never, ever heard better Maiden covers in my life. (Moksha's trademark sound is very Maiden-ish indeed, but they sure know what they're good at, and play it amazingly well!) What followed was the most memorable moment of that show , which'll always remain etched in my memory. The crowd yelled for a Sabbath cover, then a Dream Theater cover, and finally the chants of 'Floyd! Floyd' came about.The rest of the herd, who don't share my liking for hard rock, joined in eagerly. "You guys have just cost me a big dinner!" quipped Leon, "I had a bet with Christy here that the audience wouldn't ask for Floyd. I hate you guys!" And they started off with that inexplicably haunting, dreamy, overplayed yet overpowering college rock show staple, 'Comfortably Numb'. It felt really...er, numb (for genuine lack of a better word). Seven of us, singing at the tops of our voices. That was the heady moment for the day! After some Dio, Metallica and Judas Priest covers, my friends had enough of this noisy overload of unfamiliar compositions, and decided it was time to go. I reluctantly went along, neck almost broken and throat absolutely worn out from screaming myself silly. The herd said they'd never see me go wild ever before. They needed to take me to a rock concert every month now, for the apparent novelty of seeing me go wild.

Regrettably, that would be the only time I saw Moksha in concert. There was a show in PESIT sometime during May 2002, which i couldn't attend due to some stupid internal or the other. Then in May 2004, there was a show in palace Grounds featuring Pentagram, Zebediah Plush and Moksha for which I showed up with major expectations. Plush were solid that night. Then, the rain came and washed away the possibility of Moksha performing. Later I heard Willy, drummer boy and senior in College who shifted to Chennai, had joined the band so i had faint hopes of seeing them again. With the unfortunate new sof Leon's is death, and the fact that I'm in the states, the John's show and its associated nostalgia is all I'm left with.

I can't claim to be a Moksha fanatic, though I've listened to and enjoyed some of their stuff, especially 'Dine with the devil' and 'Chasing my life'. However, that show five years ago at St.John's remains one of my fondest memories of college life, a night of pure uncomplicated genuine fun and, the most enjoyable rock show I've been to (not theat I've been to a great many). And I really repsect the band for whatever little they've done for the rock scene in India, for appearing on the Maiden Tribute Album and all that. And of course, for transforming the scene in Chennai, my birthplace and a city otherwise not especially renowned its contribution to Rock Music. No doubt Leon will receive more fitting tributes than this one from people who attended more than just one of Moksha's shows. Nevertheless, I've posted mine as an appreciation for the time I had at that concert. Here's hoping the show goes on yet.

The Unwritten Diaries: Deep Purple Revisited

Well, Deep Purple made their second visit to Bangalore in the last five years on Sunday. I heard it was a good concert and all that, and really wished I was there. Of special mention, my sister was at the show and at around nine in the night (which would be 9:30 am US central time) she gave me a call from her mobile when they were in the middle of "Highway Star" so that I would get to hear it, as she had promised. But of course, I was sleeping like a log at the time. I was conscious of the call for a second, then the next moment I ignored the phone and effortlessly returned to my sleep. However, her efforts were not wasted after all. In all the din around her all she could do was shout "Can you hear me?" a couple of times. She obviously thought I was on the line, as it appeared that way on her cell. So, when I finally dragged myself out of bed and checked my phone, I found a new voice message. I played it, heard her voice and then the familiar Jon Lord keyboard run followed by "Nobody gonna take my car...". It came out pretty clearly, and cost my sister quite a bit of currency on her cell in process. At the same time, it brought the memories back to me all at once. Love you Kets!

As a Bangalore resident I have been fortunate enough to attend quite a few concerts over the last few years, including Roger Waters, Joe Satriani and AR Rahman (for a really good account of our Rahman experience, check out my friend Akar's blog, entry dated October 27th 2005 http://tastepeatka.spaces.live.com/?_c11_blogpart_blogpart=blogview&_c=blogpart&partqs=
amonth%3d10%26ayear%3d2005). However, the Deep Purple concert of 2001 will always have a special place in my memory bank. It wasn't the first live show I attended - that was actually a Michael Learns to Rock show in 1996 (which was admittedly good, but that's a different story). By 2001 I was a more conscious music lover so this was for all practical purposes my first real concert experience. This seems like a good time to consult the unwritten diary in my head, and rewind to April Fools' day, 2001: Deep Purple's show in Bangalore, and the events that preceded it.

The first time I heard Deep Purple was in Class XI. Mohan and Suhas Noronha used to bring a lot of their stuff (ie. cassettes) to school, and the Anthems compilation tape I borrowed from had Purple's "Smoke on the Water" on it. Sometime after this, I heard Highway Star, identified it instantly as a tune from an old Philips ad which ends with "Why did you turn it off?It was so nice.." Later, in Class XII, Noronha recorded a copy of 30:The Best of Deep Purple for himself. I borrowed it on a couple of occasions and remember being hooked on "Strange Kind of Woman", partly because Channel V was playing a contrived video of it as the soundtrack to the Om Puri Film "East is East". I liked the stuff I heard a lot, but was simultaneously discovering so many artists so I was in no way a huge fan or devotee of the band as yet. Enter 2001 and the class XII boards were fast approaching. On January 31st, in a comfortable little break between the end of the prelims and the start of my study hols, I took out the 125 bucks I had saved up with great difficulty, and headed for a music store down the road. On a whim, I decided to buy the 30: Best of Deep Purple tape as a study break companion for the next few weeks. By now I had grown to appreciate these guys and the music they made. Little did I know I would be seeing them very soon!

The schedule for the ISC Boards, which began on march 1st, was quite crazy. I had taken up Computer Science as my fifth subject in the science stream. While the Biology guys were done by the 19th of March, there was a week's gap between that day (the day of the Physics exam) and the day Comp paper. This would be followed by the Comp Pracs paper - on the 30th of March. So we were having to deal with a critical set of exams for an entire month, which was pretty exhausting mentally. In the middle of this period of the longest days of our lives came a real bolt from the blue. Bangalore Times, the notorious supplement, carried a small feature about Deep Purple coming to Bangalore on the first of April. Their show would raise funds for the victims of the quake that had occured in Gujarat early in the year. Schoolboys we still were, but the cynicism had already crept in. We initially dismissed it as an April Fool joke, noting that it was so characteristic of BT to try and pull a fast one on the readers. Deep Purple? The Band? The guys who wrote Smoke on the Water? It couldn't be. Then, joy arrived as the low profile coverage of this event-to-be soon gave way to some space in the papers and on TV. BPL was to sponsor it, and they put on an ad for the event, with a suitably purpled background claming "The Gods of Rock are coming....Be there, get blessed."It was too good to be true. Finally we had a legendary band coming to Bangalore and the timing couldn't have been better - 2 days after the boards ended. I chatted non stop with it about Mohan, Suhas Noronha and Kary, none of use were missing out on it. We each had separate plans though. I would be going along with my sister, cousins Kartoon, Chitz, Bharat and Anant. Chitz had come down from Hyd along with a friend of hers, Vini and was providing the transport. Kartoon had purchased the now seemingly mandatory copy of 30: Best of Deep Purple (which was hurriedly reissued at 150 bucks with a lyrics booklet and selling like crazy once the announcement had been made). I, by now the knowledgeable music fan, was happy to play mentor and guide him through the track list. These days, he plays mentor and tries to guide me through his favourite Death and Black Metal bands, but finds an unappreciative ear. Anyway, the event was now upon us and high excitement was in the air. April fools' day had arrived. The tickets were a mere 250 bucks. There were still lingering doubts whether we were bakras or not for an April fool joke. Until I saw the band onstage, I vowed, I would not believe...

We drove up to Palace Grounds and reached the place at 5:30. I recall being intimidated by the sheer mass of people there, for a relatively small venue. We made a wise decision to come early, the lines were long and slow moving. For all the time it took to reach the concert area, it was an amazing experience, just taking in the atmosphere around me. Having never been to a concert of this scale before, despite supposedly being a rock fan now, I got a look at the weird mixture of people you see at your typical rock show for the first time. Apart from familiar faces (Fittingly I met Noronha there; he too was with cousins), they were all there: The college crowd with black Maiden and Metallica tshirts, flashier guys with dark glasses accompanied by their damsels, the hip party set who were suitably (under) dressed for the April heat, some seasoned veterans in old faded Deep purple shirts, and also some pseudo-porki types who thought they were at some kind of dance show. I even remember a character who had painted the band member's names with the DP symbol on his plain white tshirt. All the while, we were slowly marching to the promised land (the concert area) and it felt wild. It felt like a pilgrimage of sorts. That was a short taste of what woodstock must've been like.

Finally we made it in. Stalls were all around selling rolls , pepsi and some souvenirs, bandanas and the like. No booze/cigarettes were officially allowed but most people managed to smuggle them in anyway. I remember a promotional flier handed out there, talking about Deep Purple and the arguments between fans over Purple vs Sabbath vs Zeppelin. I have a lot to say on that, but not in this post. As the sun slowly gave way, we had the opening act Thermal and a quarter on stage. Bruce Lee Mani and the boys did a pretty good job actually - I still remember them delivering "Brigade Street" with panache. Mani then prefaced the next song with "That was the upside of the city...now for the downside of the city" and waded into a dragging composition. TAAQ were in fine form, but they had clearly overstayed their welcome for the day, and the crowd was getting restless. As TAAQ meandered towards their finish, the doubts remained. Were Purple actually in town?

Then, it happened. A quick rearranging of instruments, a small soundcheck and the Gods surfaced. Murmurs from crowd all around. Then, i the most matter of fact way possible, without saying a word, the band launched into the opening riff which I (and, no doubt a good proportion of the crowd) recognised as "Woman from tokyo". Deafening roars followed - I shall never forget the screams of approval from the crowd. The next thing I knew me and Kartoon were 8 miles high in the air, hand raised, screaming in unison "Maaa Woman from Tok-ee-yow....!!!" It was as exhilarating as it could get.

For such an old band, they were in top form and ably assisted by the knowledgeable crowd. Some blistering moments followed with "Speed King", "Hush", and "Black Night". Ian Gillian was at his operatic best, and Jon Lord's keyboard runs were simply divine. The shoes of Ritchie Blackmore must have been tough to fill, but Steve Morse showed us he's a fine guitarist in his own right when he spat out a five minute medley comprising of ACDC's Back in Black and a couple of other tunes I couldn't identify. Meanwhile I was reveling in the innocence of my first show. All around me were couples on the ground making out (some of them right by my feet), and there was plenty of dope being passed around. It was a minor culture shock, I guess. But these sights and sounds have simply become part of the overall concert experience and the memories. So the junta had made it their woodstock after all.

When the instantly recognisable opening riff of "Smoke on the water" was sounded, the crowd fairly erupted. A while later, the band decided to call it quits, wished us a good night and told us what a tremendous audience we had been. Wait a second, we thought, wasn't this a bit premature? No 'Strange Kind of Woman'? No 'Child in Time'? And, no HIGHWAY STAR! Then, the chant came forth. Highway Star! Highway Star! The Gods obliged, and they duly came back for the encore. For one last time that night, we screamed our lungs out "I'm a Highway Staaaarrr...!" And the show ended as abruptly as it had begun. The stage was cleared in no time. As we trudged back, each of us individually sandwiched somewhere in the middle of the delirious crowd, we felt like we were in some kind of Zombie March. With great difficulty we got the car out and left palace grounds, tired out but totally satisfied. The Gods had indeed come, and we had been blessed.

A few somethings in a day of nothings: Dec 14th

MOMENT OF THE DAY: Stepping out. To a gust of wind whose force I have never felt the likes of before. The first time I've experienced sub-zero temperatures in 11 years and the wind made me feel all the more numb. So this is what the Black Caps deal with in Wellington all the time?

ADVICE FOR THE DAY: "Stock yourself with movies, it'll be a long cold winter." - Nitin

BITCH OF THE DAY: Exams, and my apparent inability to come to terms with them.

WOTLA MOMENT OF THE DAY: Actually following cricinfo's online commentary, rather their ball-by-ball description of the Ashes play. It's a mixed bag, but you get to hear gems like "Boony wants a beer (crowd roar)." A nice throwback to the radio commentary days.

MOOD OF THE DAY: Anger. The unaccountable kind. This is what studying sometimes does to you, making you angry for no reason. Anger at what? At not making the most of the last year at home? At looking at the book and going blank? At not finding a suitable retort when most needed? For wishing I was anything but what I am? I need an outlet for this, but there's none in sight. If I had my way, everyone around me would turn into imps, I'd be armed with a Plasma Rifle and BFG 9000 and switch to ultra violence mode. IDKFA forever! But the laws of conservation prevail, and it's back to the books.

SONG OF THE DAY: Burning For You - Blue Oyster Cult. Really haunting song, this one. Might as well be "Burning for Bangalore", in my current situation.

Paint it, Black:

Paint it, Black: Sinclair Returns

(PREFACE: My entries on the blog so far fall into two definite categories: Some rather uninspired write-ups on University Life or something like it at Austin, and some slightly more inspired stuff on the Black Caps. I'm tempted to put them in separate blogs. For the time being, PAINT IT, BLACK will be my column dedicated to the goings-on in New Zealand Cricket.)

The naming of the squad for the first test against the Lankans saw the much anticipated return of Mathew Sinclair. It's hard to imagine that he made his debut seven years ago, double hundred and all, but has played only 24 tests since. His recall will be met with predictable reactions from the sceptics, who feel he isn't good enough for international cricket, but this could be a new lease of cricketing life for him. Will he be able to put his chequered past behind him, though?

His career has been a roller coaster ride since the 214, to put it mildly. Kiwi cricket's been starved of classy prolific batsmen for a long time now, so that innings invited huge celebration and the hope that he would be the next Martin Crowe. It was an innings of fearless strokeplay, especially his cutting and pulling, against the admittedly dispirited Windies. Disaster immediately followed, in the Trans-Tasman series at home. Australia were at their unstoppable best, he was cut down to size, and the limitations in his technique cruelly exposed. It's fair to say Lee and McGrath did to him exactly what Ambrose and Walsh did to Graeme Hick in his first series. The scars seemed to surface in every subsequent clash with the Aussies. The next season suggested he had come out of the Australian series a stronger player: the highlights being a gritty 150 in a low scoring test at Port Elizabeth, and his second double century against the Pakistanis at home. All this while, he was in and out of the one day squad, but capped the season with two hundreds in a tri nation tournament at Sharjah which earned praise from no less than Sunil Gavaskar. He had apparently established himself as Nathan Astle's opening partner, secured his test and ODI places, and demonstrated his class. That was as good as it got. The following season was the start of the slide for him.

The rematch series with the Aussies in Australia was a memorable one for the side given they came so close to pulling off an upset, but it wasn't a happy one for Sinclair. He was again undone by McGrath and co. despite getting off to starts, and lost his test place soon after. Ironically at the time, he seemed to have been typecast as a tests-only player and was not really considered for one-dayers, though he did play as a wicketkeeper batsmen for a couple of games in Sharjah when the think-tank was trying out available options following the retirement of Adam Parore. While the critics questioned his ability and temperament at the top level, the selectors clarified that he had NOT been discarded, but simply forced out of the playing XI since the competition for middle order spots was heavy. In the lead up to the 2003 World cup, he was a fringe selection for test match sides - always in the squad but never able to break in - yet he appeared to have cemented his place in the ODI squad as a number three, with some semi-consistent performances. During the 2003 World Cup, he was again a victim of bizarre selection policies. The New Zealand top order was largely out of sorts, and inexplicably the selectors preferred Lou Vincent and Craig McMillan ahead of him, wrongly in hindsight. A series of failures followed in Sri Lanka, when he returned to the test side. He was duly axed once more, and spent the next year and a half on the sidelines.

His last run with the National side pretty much sums up his career. He was asked to open alongside Mark Richardson in Bangladesh (as a replacement for the injured Michael Papps) at the start of the 2004-05 season and made a decent fist of it, adding two half centuries in the ODIs to go with his test return. Despite the weak opposition, that was a creditable return as most of the top order struggled on the slow wickets against the home spinners. Then, in completely opposite conditions, he was asked to contine as an opener - against the Aussies. Scores of 69,0,0,2 showed that makeshift openers simply do not work, least of all against Australia. I personally feel had he been given an opportunity in the middle order, he might have put his perceived Aussie-phobia straight. He seemed to be performing reasonably well in ODIs, but when Australia returned in February 2005 he made scores of 0 and 15 and was released by the selectors once again. The test team was plagued by injuries, yet the selectors ignored his claims. Now, on the basis of irresistable domestic performances (and a generally insipid NZ batting lineup), he gets his latest chance to do justice to his undoubted potential.

To put it all in perspective, for someone with his talent he's been treated unfairly by the last couple of selection panels. When set, he's a delight to watch and he's got an appetite for big scores all too rare among his peers. I'd like to think his best cricketing years have been mostly wasted away on the sidelines. At 31, his technical faults are unlikely to be improved upon and will keep the bowlers interested. However, given that players of lesser ability have been persevered with for longer, it must hurt that he hasn't been given an extended run in the side. He was not handled well during what should have been his best years, and must take it upon himself to establish himself in the side once and for all. Whether his return will be a damp squib or a triumphant one remains to be seen. With McMillan and Vincent out of favour, and Marshall and Fulton failing to deliver in the recent past, the door remains open.

Cheap Times, Cheap Thrills

Exam time looms near. Just when I should be stepping up a gear, I find the urge to blog more than usual and post something other than New Zealand match reports. My overall handling of the work ethic here reminds me of a blurb from an Archie comic:

ARCHIE's MOM: My Archie's like a car...always on the go.
JUGHEAD's MOM: My Juggie's like a car too....only he's always in neutral.

My latest musing is that life is quite trite and unnecessarily expensive at the moment, compared to my undergrad days. You, the college goer, must have looked back on school days and thought "Shit...there was a whole lot you could do with 2/5/10 bucks back then...those were such fun filled days." Think on those lines and you'll get my drift. Now I spend about 10 to 15 dollars a day on food and other things (as well as unmentionable amounts on textbooks, etc), which feels like wasteful extravagance when I look back at the RV phase (the 'tax free' days as I'd like to call them). Trouble is, I'm not sure whether that phase has completely passed and I'm supposed to move on, or I'm stuck in some state of flux between that phase and the next one, whatever it is. So it's time for nostalgia once more, a list of random things I miss about college life back then. Since very few things are free, I shall preface the list by saying the best things in life are cheap. Beneath these layers of assumed sophistication, I'm still a cheap guy.

1. BIRDWATCHING
THEN: I think we were really lucky to be in the Electrical Department. Not because it attracted an exceptionally interesting crowd, but it had some architectural significance. We would position oursleves conveniently atop the parapet adjacent to that classroom (103 was it?) and survey the expanse below for potential eye-candy. The forerunners of this mostly fulfilling exercise were two good friends, whom I shall call Bajaj Chaurasia and Sincerely Darker (the major characters in my soon-to-be released fiction series, "The Chronicles of Bajaj: Misadventures of a Simple Mind"). October, it was acknowledged, was the season. That was when the junies came in. Bajaj was the database: his in-depth expertise and knowledge of any details concerning the individual specimens we sighted was peerless. Darker was the able spy, and I chipped in with useful strategic advice and imaginative inputs of my own. All this ensured reasonable ROI without ever having to reach into our own wallets. Unambitious, we were. Anything beyond? Never struggled for it, never achieved it.

NOW: The endless mass of distant white faces + lack of well-informed peers + the unwillingness to move my ass means it becomes a tiring exercise in UT Austin.

2. THE CANTEEN
THEN: Our RV Canteen was low on variety but high on dependablilty. Idli-dosa-vada, however, is something my stomach is fine with any time of the day - breakfast, lunch or post-lunch. The real bonus was when the sambar would be steaming hot - you could feel the satisfactory effects in your bloodstream. No fuss at all, and for a price range of 3 to 20 rupees you could feed yourself well enough. We graduated to DL as the years went by and our craving for variety took over. The ability to extract treats was something of a sport...a battle of wits and a means for one-upmanship. Having been on the receiving end a few times, it felt a bit like having the rug pulled from under your feet and landing you flat on your face (minus the physical injury of course). As a couple of classmates would have it, "All in the game".

NOW: Spending five bucks (dollars) per meal on a sandwich/burger with a zillion toppings to choose from somehow doesn't cut it. Extra for a drink is a bigger turn off, fortunately the water is universally good. Treats? The last I remember I gave one to some kids who came knocking at the door on Halloween night.

3. XEROX
THEN: The lifeline of every aspiring engineer. I must've spent a good chunk of time whiling away in xerox shops while some material (which would ensure I cleared the internal the next day) was being duplicated. I find the act of lounging about in the cheap, dingy atmosphere of xerox shops mildly stimulating in the same way some non-smokers feel oddly at home in a smoking zone. Xeroxing in bulk was pretty expensive, but it was always a vital investment. Besides all xerox shops in the vicinity were well mapped so you were spoiled for choice: 30p, 60p or Re1 xerox - take your pick. Add to this the cost-cutting 'mini' xerox (2 pages on a sheet), and the nefarious, last-resort 'micro' xerox, and you had quite a few options to work with as the situation demanded. On the subject of xerox, I think a shop that calls itself 'Krishna Xerox' in Malleswaram deserves a mention. I'm sure most modern Bangalore engineers would agree.

NOW: In an entire semester, I've done one bit of xeroxing. I had to purchase a card for that, credit it with a certain amount, insert the card and what not before I could use the 'copier'. A fine way to take the piss out of one of life's simple pleasures.

4. THE COLLEGE BUS
THEN: This entry is the odd one out in the list because the bus fees for a semester was expensive to the point of being a ripoff, something like two grand or more. They say the RV bus 'never gets full' and there seemed to be some truth in it - the bus would be overcrowded with people packed like sardines in a tin, and yet there was always room for a few more at the next stop. The drivers (probably taking a cue from us jobless college goers) decided bring some fun into their exceedingly mundane lives and travel at breakneck speeds, not giving two hoots (pun intended) for the rest of the traffic. Schumi deserves honourable mention here. In later sems, Schumi and co. had the added luxury of the radio at their disposal, subjecting us to 100 plus dB of acoustic torture . These travelling conditions as well as the long distance to college and back seemed to bring out the character in everybody. If it got too much, I found myself reaching for my walkman and playing a tape at full blast. Those cassettes helped pass by many a tiresome hour, and I miss them like crazy.

NOW: At least something's free these days. Being a UT student, I don' t have to pay any fare for the shuttle service and the metro buses all over the city. Given that my place is five minutes away from campus by bus, it doesn't really count.


5. QUIZZING
THEN: Sometimes the college routine got to you. If, like me, you had no life and your classmates weren't big on the idea of cutting class for a movie, you needed other excuses to get away. Back then, quizzes used to take place quite regularly in the IEM audi and provided a much needed diversion from the monotony of the classroom. Quizzes and fests in other colleges were even better: you could actually claim attendance on the basis of 'representing the college'. Quizzing apart, i really miss the concept of those fests. Travelling all the way to a rival college, comparing the crowd, canteen and everything else there to what we had in RV. These events were chronicled in some detail by me in a log I called 'Joyrneys of a quizcorper'.

NOW: Quizzing, I found, takes on a whole new meaning here. I enrolled for an Antenna theory course numbered 325K, missed the first class and trudged in for the second. I found everyone silently scribbling on sheets of paper which i learned was the weekly 'quiz', held during the first ten minutes of every Thursday's class. After three failed attempts at scoring even a point on these quizzes I duly dropped the course.

'Tis the season to be hungry

The frequency of national holidays back in India was a source of much comfort and mirth. It afforded some balance to our crazily structured way of life as students and junior employees. There are few sights as understated yet pleasing to the senses as looking through a calendar or diary, and seeing more red dates than there should be. For me, it's a moot point that the last five years seem like one long vacation in hindsight. The lack of national/public holidays here is palpable, so it's no wonder that the Thanksgiving break is probably the high point of this Semester. Plans are chalked up well in advance, with friends and family as the case may be.

The picture of thanksgiving in my head has been built from scenes in the movies with families getting together at a dinner table and carving out a turkey. Sitting at my Aunt's place in Dallas, I finally remember thay I have no idea what the concept of Thanksgiving is all about and decide to look up wikipedia. Not that I was overly bothered about the significance of major festivals in India, but I tried to make it a point to be aware, somewhat. Wikipedia has become a sort of convenience store where you window shop for any odd details which prick your curiosity for no apparent reason. It says, "Thanksgiving, or Thanksgiving Day, is an annual one-day holiday to give thanks, for the things one has at the close of the harvest season. In the United States, Thanksgiving is celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November". It's essentially the story of how White settlers were able to survive in the new world, helped by native Indians in Virginia in the early 17th century. The encounters between the two groups were apparently comemmorated through Feast Days.

This holiday break means more wasting around for me although I will be seeing family. Best of all, I get to pig out a bit since Kalu mami is actually preparing some turkey. One of the rare family members who cooks meat at home, she explains that cooking turkey is an art - it must be marinated overnight, injected with cajun sauce (yes, a syringe is actually used!) and roasted for three hours the next day. At around 175 degrees, it's done. I take a look Not only is this a novelty, but the timing couldn't have been better as I was eating sporadically over the last week in Austin, largely subsisting on junk food and starchy rice dinners. I take a look at the oven and and the sight of the turkey immediately stirs up juices inside - hence the title of this post. The turkey, as Jim Carrey would have it, seems to say "I'll juice you up!" (My lifelong diet of stupid Jim Carrey movies has led me to believe he has a line for every occasion). In the meantime, the Thanksgiving football game, which is an annual tradition, is on TV. My uncle and aunt, who have turned ardent Dallas Cowboys fans in the last 20 years, urge me to grab a beer and learn a bit about the finer points of the game. I successfully grab a beer. The NFL and all 'football' seems another typically American concept, with a lots of action, lots of cheerleading, media involement and elaborate strategy over seemingly nothing. It'll take more than a while to get used to this, although I've comfortably got used to the taste of Heineken which I tried for the first time in Austin. You have to admire the way they keep up tradition though. Maybe it's time the BCCI went back to staging the Chennai test match during Pongal or the Eden Garden's test on New Year's day, as was the norm apparently during the 60s. But sentiment appears to have no place in the overly commercial and money driven world of Indian cricket. But that'll have to be the subject of another post.


Not much else to say, except the greyhound ride from Austin to Dallas was a bit more eventful than usual. With about half an hour to go, there was some confusion over the line I was standing in and I moved over to the correct one. Now, there are different lines for different buses and they seemed to be intersecting in a crazy way, so I had to ask around a bit before I could feel satisfied I was in the right one. With two minutes to go, a man standing a couple of feet behind me was ranting away to a couple of guys behind him and he suddenly went "...waiting here for too damn long. And who's this guy in front of me? Where did he come from? Came outta nowhere.." He then addressed me in a distinctive local drawl, "Hey you..where did you come from? Looks like you've taken my place...you better get your ass right to the end of the line there." I explained, quite clearly I thought, that there was some confusion as to which line was for which bus, I was directed to where I was, and if he had a problem he should have told me at that moment, not half an hour later when we were all ready to board the bus. He replied, in a smug voice, "Don't gimme your Arabic or whatever it is, you better get right back there. I know a Muslim when I see 'em" I was determined not to move, considering it was boarding time and doubly so because this guy was clearly not worth replying to. There was no way I was giving up my place in the line. As he continued making abrasive remarks, I said something to the effect of "That was English, not Arabic..too bad if you couldn't understand, and I'm not a Muslim so you obviously have no idea what you're talking about". Desparate to win this encounter, he retorted "I hope you get to sit next to me. A good three hours, I'll terrorize your Muslim ass so bad...give you a proper Christian terrorizing you'll never forget." "Whatever" I looked him int he eye and said, which caused a few laughs in the line. On he went, saying something about getting a seat next to me. We didn't end up sitting next to each other, which left me wondering whether I had escaped being subjected to the torturing rants of a fanatic, or had actually missed a chance to put this guy in his place since he had no apparent grounds for complaining, and thus asserting myself for once. The nonchalant reaction of the crowd was enough to convince me that I handled things well enough though. And he didn't say a word on the bus.

Where have all the hippies gone?

To B or not to B? That’d probably be what your average Grad Student at the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering at UT Austin would say, if you asked him (or her) what his greatest fear was at the moment. Getting a ‘B’ Grade in a course isn’t merely a bad thing; it’s taboo. The general rule being, if a course offers any potential of landing you up with a B, avoid it at all costs. The B will stick out like a sore thumb on your marksheet. Just to exaggerate the point, I can almost imagine the partly hypothetical situation where I land up with a B (which isn’t the hypothetical part), and the reaction of the general public (the students) would be a curious mix of sympathy and a ‘how the hell did you disgrace yourself?’ sort of thing. If I sit and survey my academic scene right now, I’m well on the way to a couple of Bs. I’m on a Highway to Hell. The whole B phobia is making me sick. Couple this fear with relative grading et al, and you may understand what a bloody battleground this place is.

In my sudden burst of inspiration and wisdom, I’ve decided that what the world needs is more love and less grades. (duh) The army of long haired people armed with guitars and marijuana sure fought for the right cause (and created some great music too), whatever their lifestyle may have been. Ah Woodstock! Where did you go? Where have all the hippies gone? Don’t tell me they confine themselves to full moon raves at Israel or Goa? To those that exist: Bring your message of love, peace and all that happy shit to a seminar in the Department, for God’s sake, and let them know B Grade is an OK concept; or more to the point, there ain’t no Grade. I’m sitting here by the laptop, telling Bulla that this is our Vietnam. We’re soon to be POWs. Just like the 60s veterans of that lost war have been scarred to the point of being able to do nothing but recount their brushes with Viet Cong, I jokingly wonder, in a parody of this situation, whether all we’ll be able to do in the long run is recall our academic struggles through this degree. If Pete Seeger was writing ‘Where have all the flowers gone’ with my rant in mind, he would probably condense the song into one stanza, something like:

Where have all the hippies gone?

Long time passing,

Where have all the hippies gone?

Long time ago.

Where have all the hippies gone?

Anjuna calling them, everyone

When will they ever learn?

PS: The penultimate line was simply keyed in. I've no idea whether Anjuna is still a hippie rendezvous.

Back to the Drawing Board?: NZ vs Australia

Another belated post, another belated match review. By this time the Aussies have wrapped things up as far as the Champions Trophy is concerned, reminding everyone that they're streets ahead of the rest of the pack. An amazing bench strength is central to their success, and it was one thing the kiwis simply didn't have at the Champions Trophy. A lot has been read into the collapse of the top order last Wednesday, but again it was a 'performance' rather than 'personnel' issue.

In future clashes, the Aussies will no doubt point to their 16 wins in the last 18 encounters between the two sides, but the fact was the kiwis played with enough intensity to have the Aussies on the hop for most of the game. I'd like to believe the defeat was a case of repeating some stupid mistakes. The bowlers gave the side more than a decent chance by restricting the Aussies to 240, including just 52 of the last 10 overs - something unheard of for NZ in recent years. Kyle Mills turned giant-killer overnight, finally taking some load off Shane Bond's already sore back. However, as in World Cup 2003, the batsmen froze when the had a real opportunity. To their credit, the lower-middle order - Oram and Daniel Luca Vettori (what a legend, mate) refused to die and gave the Aussies a scare. But it muts be a bit embarrasing when your chase has to be led by your allrounder and your primary spin bowler. Fleming fell to a somewhat obvious trap, Astle (who looks out of sorts at number 3) was cleaned up before he could get his feet moving while Marshall, Vincent and Fulton were sitting ducks. The dismissals of the last three (especially Vincent and Marshall) were the culmination of a series of largely brainless cricket on their part. Despite the repeated failures of Marshall and Vincent, I still believe they must be persisted with because they have much to offer to the side if they play their natural game. For the moment, Marshall seems obsessed with horizontal-nothing shots as opposed to proper cricketing ones, and Vincent is paying the price for forcing himself to think like a pinch hitter. Much has been made of Peter Fulton's ability, or lack of it, at the top level. On the evidence of his form early in the year, he is good enough and should receive more chances. I don't buy the fact that Ross Taylor is a permanent solution to the middle order, but in those circumstances with both Marshall and Fulton struggling, it would've made sense to bring him in. Overall, the series was a good one for Fleming, in terms of personal performance and handling the side. But, not for the first time, John Bracwell's line of thinking was exposed. Does anyone remember the name Mark Gillespie? I guess not.

There was no disgrace in defeat for the kiwis, especially considering Australia pretty much rolled over everyone else after a false start. But the lack of grit in the top order remains a worry, especially with the World Cup a few months away. Given that New Zealand are part of the VB series in January, Fleming will have plenty of opportunities to get back at the Aussies, in the knowledge that his side can compete. But unless the squad leaves the injury blues behind, and Bracewell gets some sense knocked into his head, those clashes could well demoralise the side in the lead up to the big tournament.

Aussies, here we come: NZ vs Pakistan

A belated post, this should have been written a week back when the kiwis hearteningly came good in the crunch game and beat Pakistan by 51 runs. The semi final game against the Aussies is close on the heels of this entry, and I'm strapped for time and energy at the moment, so this'll be a short post.

The win against Pakistan served to illustrate just how reliant New Zealand are on a group of core (and unfortunately, injury-prone) players, namely Bond, Styris, Oram and Vettori. Of course, Stephen Fleming marked his record breaking 194th game as skipper with a vital 80, but the side was totally transformed thanks to the contributions of Styris (86) , the allround efforts of Oram and Shane Bond's comeback spell. Bond was wayward to begin with, but the fact that he returned to snare Yousuf Youhana and Abdul razzaq showed he is indispensible. Genuine pace is a great commodity which is why he'll have to hit his straps against the Aussies once more, for NZ to come through.

Recent history indicates that Australia remain the dominant neighbour in Trans-Tasman clashes. But the main difference between the two sides is the bench strength: while Australia are spoiled for choice going into the game, NZ have to sweat on the fitness of the core group of players I mentioned. Indeed, it looks like Styris isn't going to make the cut after all which leaves the middle order vulnerable. Whether or not Ross Taylor is allowed to play, I doubt he'll be selected, leaving Marshall and Fulton the enviable task of finding form against the Aussies. On a good day, New Zealand's best XI will prove a match for the Aussies so I'll still hold my breath. NZ just don't have the replacements ready once the key players are unfit though, which seems to tilt the balance in favour of Australia.

Fleming & co have seen an awful lot of Australia in recent years, so he might just be able to work on their predictability. As always, the kiwis' best chance lies in attacking from the word go, as they did back in 2002. I'd say their defeats were more a mental thing than anything else. They seem to be playing good cricket at the moment, so it's a case of striking while the iron is hot. Here's hoping the Champions Trophy Aussie Jinx lives on.

Batting woes resurface: NZ vs Sri Lanka

The result of the clash may not have been that surprising in itself, given that Sri Lanka are an in form team and New Zealand are returning after a long layoff. But two sub par totals batting first, whatever the pitches may be, will give Fleming and Bracewell plenty to think about before the sink-or-swim game against Pakistan.

By giving more credit than was required to the pitch, and Murali, NZ almost ensured they started on the backfoot before the game began. Fleming's comment that 'occupying the crease and grinding' would be the way to go was certainly a curious one, and not the most positive approach. Murali, we know: he was in his element, but according to reports the batsmen appeared to play him on reputation and thus right into his hands. On reading the scorecard and reports, the NZ innings appeared to be a recurring theme. The top/middle order couldn't hold fort once Fleming was dismissed early, although Astle at least attempted to slug it out, in an effort to emulate Fleming's innings in the South Africa game. His dismissal for 42 probably illustrates why, despite being one of the premier ODI batsmen over the last decade, he will never be mentioned in the same breath as Inzamam or Ponting, let alone Lara and Tendulkar.

For a lineup with a reputation for resilience, the rest of the batting caved in too easily. Lou Vincent was again predictably dismissed heaving across the line (Mike has a lot to say on the subject), while Brendon McCullum's penchant for innovation seems to be getting the better of him too often as he fell this time to a reverse sweep. Having kept the faith in Hamish Marshall for so long during his run drought, Bracewell will probably give him a final chance to put things right next Wednesday. Marshall, though, continues to walk on thin ice and at the very least should be shunted down to number 6 where he's more likely to make a run at the moment. All things considered, Fleming would do well to drop himself to the middle order to add some stability to it, allowing Astle to return to the opening slot. With practically everyone looking out of sorts, the thought cannot have escaped him.

The batting woes overshadow the bowling worries for the moment, and New Zealand go into the Pakistan clash knowing they have to raise their game tremendously, though they will secretly be relieved at the absence of Shoaib and Asif. Sri lanka meanwhile, also have a do or die clash to look forward to and, on recent form, should start out overwhelming favourites against the South Africans.

Round three to Fleming as the Proteas roll over

Mike apparently got it right when he said (in mikeoncricket.blogspot.com) that the toss would be crucial - and the seamers would play a huge role under lights. Graeme Smith would have done well to have read Mike's preview of the game, but keeping in mind his team's run of success chasing totals (as well as the Sri Lanka-West Indies clash), it wasn't a difficult decision for him. Fleming (tounge firmly in cheek, I imagine) said it was a "good toss to lose". The kiwi top order doesn't look really inspiring at the moment, with some familiar dismissals (Vincent trying one shot too many - to Pollock, and Marshall playing on with an angled bat). However, thanks to the bowlers, they live to fight another day.

The Fleming-Smith rivalry seems to overshadow the contests between these sides at the moment, and today's outcome was a reporter's delight, though it was certainly great to see Smith put in his place. I have my own objections with Fleming and Vincent opening, and Astle at three but Bracewell & co are pretty inflexible and this looks to be the kiwis' preferred batting order right through till the World Cup. Kyle Mills for once stepped up to be counted and actually ran through a formidable South African top order. Crossing my fingers the kiwis perform with equal discipline in the field against the Lankans, who can do no wrong at the moment. Wit conditions like these, Friday's clash should see Sri lanka in their element and New Zealand's series win over them earlier in the year won't be of much consequence. Not much New Zealand can do differently against them, I guess, except stick to the basics. And get those feet moving early against Chaminda Vaas.

South Africa aren't out of the picture yet though the playing conditions appear to be distinctly against them. And I guess Herschelle Gibbs could have done without the revisiting the past here - his duck will not have gone unnoticed. Looks like the happenings off the field seem more engaging on it, what with Shoaib and Asif flunking a dope test a while back. Oh well, it's the Pakistanis anyway.

The Black Caps: Champions Trophy Preview

You could consider Shane Bond a good outside bet to be named man of the series in this edition of the Champion's trophy, for when he's on song he's destructive. Of course, two things are likely to stand in the way of that: his recurring fitness and health problems, and the tendency of the ever-reliable New Zealand top order to capitulate and undo any good work on his part. The 2003 World Cup clash with the Aussies, where he took 6-23 but still ended up on the losing side, is the best example.

There's little you can say that's incisive in a preview of the Champion's Trophy, especially for the Kiwis. First of all, thanks to the existence of the longhorn Cricket Club and its screenings, I hope I'll get to watch at least one game (even in the knowledge that it won't involve the kiwis) . The equation laid out for them is simple enough - win at least two of three games against South Africa, Pakistan, and the qualifier from the intitial stages (Sri Lanka or the West Indies, if things go according to script).

Except for Mark Gillespie, of whom i have no idea about, the Kiwi squad is predictable. While it's probably the best pool of players we've got (and I say 'we' as a pseudo-member of the Beige Brigade), I maintain there should have been room for Ross Taylor. He would have brought in the surprise element, but i guess the selectors feel they have all holes covered in the top order which includes an under-pressure Hamish Marshall. There's really only one currency in the subcontinent, and that's quick runs, which is why Taylor should have been there. Opposition bowlers have seen enough of Fleming, Astle, Vincent, Marshall and Styris though if at least two of them strike a sudden rich vein of form it really won't matter. Peter Fulton provides the promise element for the moment, and in an effort to sound optimistic he should be able to replicate his great form earlier in the year once more. The bowling looks less convinving, and needs to stay injury free. Daniel Vettori remains central to Fleming's plans, but I'd like to see Fleming use him differently. Perhaps as first change, and then a spell at the death? Gillespie was supposedly drafted in with a view to solve New Zealand's problems bowling at the death. However, my view on bowling at the death is that if your bowlers are good enough they'll manage. To put it another way, the best 'death' bowlers you have are most often simply your best bowlers - Glenn McGrath and Shane Warne, as used by Mark Taylor for example. I'd say Bond and Vettori are still the best men for the job, even if they've not been particularly good at it. Bringing in a rookie and expecting him to address this task straightaway is a tough ask. The rest of the bowlers have their own (injury) problems, apart from being none too penetrative. Even so, we might be going in with one medium pacer too many. To put my finger on it, the selection of James Franklin, in these conditions at least, is somewhat redundant but I could still be wrong. However, if I was in Fleming's shoes I'd still be tempted to play two spinners (Dan and Jeetan Patel) for all three games.

The fact that it's not a knockout scenario means that the Black Caps will get second chances unlike the previous two editions where they were creamed by the Aussies. I actually feel the South African game will present an easier challenge than the other two. Personally, I think this is the most boring South African side ever assembled since 1992 so it's a little hard to digest that we lost 4-0 to them last year. I suppose Fleming has his plans right this time for Graeme Smith, Justin Kemp & co. though i can safely imagine it won't include verbal barrage. Sri Lanka and West Indies were both overcome easily at home last summer, but this time the conditions are definitely on their side. As for the Pakistanis, they'd like to think playing in the subcontinent would make it that much easier for them in this group and I'd put them as favourites to top the pool, actually. The point of interest for me is whether the kiwis have finally figured out a way to stifle their big hitters, Razzaq in particular. Knowling the extensive use of previous knowledge that goes into kiwi preparations, Fleming will be wary, but he'll also be looking at exploiting their ability to self-destruct.

It's a tough ask on paper but if collective experience has any value New Zealand should progress to the semis at least. From then on anything can happen, but for once the format of the Champios trophy makes it a valuable build off to the World Cup. In the meantime it's quite exasparating not to have live coverage of the Kiwi's Games.

Searching for that "study" mood

I've noticed yet another interesting thing in the course of my first month of grad school in Austin: here, it's not uncool to study. More accurately, it's not uncool to be seen with your head buried in a textbook. I see it all around me, every day. The guy with the Nowitzki Jersey and the chiseled physique (who'd rather be on the basketball court at that moment) is wrestling with Real Analysis sums . The babe in the next table, whom on appearance you'd associate more with sixth street hopping than an engineering department, cuts her call because she has to complete her homework. This kind of observation seems pretty pointless (a bit like looking on in disbelief at your Tamil Brahmin friend who's helping himself to the meat) but anyone who's familiar with the engineering college scene in India knows the stereotypes and cliches. "Last Minute Study" and "Dress Code", to name a couple. So what am I getting at? The cynic would probably say I don't have a life, I've got nothing better to do than study all day, and now I can actually justify it! Wrong. (Well at least the first part's right - I don't have a life). It's just made me conscious that four years of engineering back home, with its 'beating the system' mentality, has just about finished off my capacity to study seriously. Hard work and organised studying are unfortunately a way of life in gradschool. However hard I try, I just can't recapture the study mood (which i probably last felt back in class XII). I've tried all the stuff that worked back home: coffee (the lousy black variety), ice cream breaks, acronym shortcuts (and other laughable strategies that helped me get through some scary subjects), and have given up. It'll work itself out somehow. It's a throwback to school days, 10th and 12th especially, when aspiring to get a shining report card, if not top the class, was almost fashionable (in a perverse sort of way). Of course, in grad school, your marks are way more significant: they pretty much decide your career. It's still amusing to look back at school when, underneath all the tax-free comments like "What a punter...ready to smash this test are you.." or "Shut up man...you've been belting...you'll tho bloody max this exam..", there was this undercurrent of serious, cut-throat competition. Driven by the enthusiasm you'd only find in highschoolers, it even went to the extent of who could solve sums quicker in class, thus clamouring for the math teacher's attention. The class was an academic battleground. (As an aside, it's pretty scary to think that all this was more than six years back) I had a pretty passive attitude to all this. This was mostly because of my prediliction for subjects like English, Geography and History which were deemed unfashionable by the 'science types'. After all, I was more fascinated by the origin of places with exotic names like Tierra Del Fuego or the Rift Valley than applying Pythogoras' theorem. My passive attitude changed just a little bit towards the end of high school when I realised I was totally at sea in dealing with some of the subjects. From an exam point of view, everything I touched turned to ashes. The irony of it all is that most of the "science types" have got themselves out of the academic rut and are in sales or consulting, while I've just begun my MS in Electrical and Computer Engineering. I won't even bother with further contemplation. The current problem is how to get back on track. I suspect I need the presence of some brazen pricks who'll set a high precedent on scoring high marks and so on, just to stir that old "I'll show 'em" feeling in me. However, this isn't highschool and there's no time for all that. For the moment, procrastination and wotla seem to be my only constant companions.

Unnatural Act

Why am I here, and for how long? It's been exactly a month since I parted ways with Bangalore, so it seemed an apt time to key in something here. I don't feel greatly out of place here in Austin: indeed, my routine of waking up groggy, spending long hours on work and the rest of the day on wotla-ing, isn't really different from my routine in CTS a short while back (when I was on the project). I haven't had to make any major adjustments to my lifestyle which, for me, is a good thing. I still feel a little funny about being away from Bangalore, though.

Being in the states for at least two years feels like a break in the chain. Not that I'm especially homesick. I was never a conscious believer in karma, but my (subconscious) feeling about Bangalore was that I was somehow destined to be there for a very, very long time. Maybe I was there for too long and it was time to go someplace else. The chain ran something like this: after class 12, I applied to a number of colleges outside Bangalore but somehow knew I was going to remain there, and I did. When I got placed in CTS, despite the knowledge that we would probably be sent to Chennai for the training, there was the looming suspicion that I would end up in Bangalore after all, and it proved to be true. I wasn't complaining at all, though and spent a mostly relaxed year in Cognizant Bangalore. You may live in a city for many years and desparately want a change of scene, but you could also look at it another way. Every city is like a person, and you need time to get to know it better. In the last few years, I can't put my finger on it but I discovered a lot more of Banaglore and enjoyed it as well. Although I knew I most probably would be off to the states in a while, I somehow didn't shake off the karma theory. The city grew on me like old wine. (Yes, Bangalore has changed for the worse in many ways. While the rest of the population grumbles about it, you can still savour it for what it has to offer.) So, leaving for the states seemed somewhat abortive. The abortion analogy seems (crudely) apt: By killing the unborn child, you're commiting an unnatural act, impeding the course of nature. By leaving Bangalore, I broke the natural course of growing up wholly in that city (yes, I may be 22 but I'm still growing up). It's a crazy (and perhaps, needless) thought, but it feels almost like a sacrilege defying the Bangalore karma theory. A bit like killing the unborn child!

While I can't quite get over my pet belief, things are pretty good here. Austin has a bangalore-like charm, filled with pleasant people and nice weather (apart from the last part of summer which was way too hot). Settling in wasn't a problem at all, I'm getting by with a little help from my friends (read: roomies). The major adjustment has to be the academics, which are very homework-intensive. The Texans are an interesting set of people, proud of themselves and their state. I find quite a few parallels between them and the people form Punjab back home. Both are hardy warrior races, who overcame hardships and hostile conditions to turn their respective lands into prosperous states. They're both aggressive, enterprising, and lively sets of people. Every texan is said to own a gun, and every Sikh regards the Kripan as a symbol of spirituality. Texans share a common border and an overlapping culture with Mexico. The Punjab shares a definite and vital history with it's namesake across the Wagah border. And so on.

On an entirely different note, Prof Pearce comes up with these weird digressions to break the monotony of his field theory lecture. he consideres partial differential equations to be as vital to engineering as Shakespeare is to Literature. He brings up the humanities vs sciences debate thus: "These guys discuss Shakespeare over a cup of coffee when the day is done. How does Green's theorem sound over coffee, huh? And those guys have the nerve to say our field is narrow. After all, the average engineering student knows more about arts than the average humanities student knows about science and engineering! You might want to keep that in mind if you get invited to one of those parties, where the humanities people say "we" don't belong. When that happens, you might wanna shoot back 'When was the last time you solved a partial differential equation?!!' " A real Revenge of the Nerds moment, indeed.

In the hope of a black summer

On the Saturday before my departure to the states, Red Devil and Twisted Jean dropped in for lunch and also dropped off one of the best gifts I've received in a long while. To my surprise, the two had paid more than a cursory visit to the BeigeBrigade website http://www.beigebrigade.co.nz/gallery/ which I had talked about in some memoirs long ago, actually written to Paul Ford and Mike Lane and ordered the goshawful brown and tan shirt which was the original uniform of the Kiwi oneday side in the early 80s. So finally, I'm the proud owner of one of those disgustingly brilliant figure hugging, nipple gripping shirts and a memeber of the Beige Brigade! With it, however, comes the knowledge that I won't be able to catch up with most New Zealand games over the next couple of seasons. That is, unless the ICAs here in Austindecide to screen a few token games. This post is basically to wish the Kiwis all the best for the coming season, for which I, their biggest fan, won't be around. I'm also trying to grab some perspective from the previous season. Some musings, more from a one-day point of view:

OVERALL:From a fans' prerspective, last season was disappointing because it seemed to suggest the same problems which have plagued Kiwi cricket repeatedly are here to stay. By this I also mean a refusal to learn from experience and past mistakes (especially on the part of the batsmen). As always, the main batsmen seem to freeze in a crisis, the attack depends too heavily on Shane Bond's fitness for penetration, and bowling at the death remains a nightmare or an issue. The bowling problems of course haven't been helped by the injuries to key players. In this regard, it's worth pondering Adam Parore's view that Bond is perhaps better off saving himself for one dayers alone, just as Geoff Allott did in the last year of his short career. It's all very well for a fan like me to say "If only we had Shane Bond", but Bond's absence has become the norm, rather than the exception, so the team and John Bracewell should have figured out a way to deal with it. I've never been a great admirer of Bracewell's center-stage methods, and would prefer Stephen Fleming to have a greater say in selection and strategy. How Bracwell shapes the team for the World Cup will surely be interesting, whatever he comes up with.

THE BATTING:One thing that emerged from the roller coaster ride last season is the realisation that the guard is changing. Most of the players who were regulars in the side at the turn of the century are finding that time is not on their side any more. Despite being a reasonably successful outfit, the selectors have come to understand that the senior pros are just not tough enough or reliable in a crisis as they should be and thus the makeup of the side is evolving. The side did reach some spectacular highs over the last five years (such as the VB series in 2002), but another period of transition is here. Chris Cairns was surprisingly dropped, then brought back, and he finally decided to retire after the Sri Lanka series (though I felt he was still good for the World Cup). Chris Harris has been deemed surplus and looks unlikely to return, while Craig McMillan was shown the door after repeated failures. The form of Nathan Astle and Scott Styris is closely monitored to the extent that neither is assured of being a certainty in the lineup. The sheer competition for places in the middle order means that Harris and McMillan probably won't figure in the World Cup, while Styris will keep his place by virtue of being one of the better one day bowlers in the country (fitness permitting). Astle was dropped for a couple of games and it seemed to bring out the best in him. But, despite his past record, he will know that time isn't on his side anymore and he must reaffirm himself against strong bowling attacks before the World Cup. The suspicion that he's been found out by opposition bowlers still lingers.

On the other hand, the selectors introduced a number of new faces in the top and middle order. Peter Fulton, Jamie How, Ross Taylor, a reborn Lou Vincent and the hitherto uncapped Jesse Ryder provide the stiff competition for middle order spots in the coming season, which previous regulars like Matthew Sinclair and Hamish Marshall will also be eyeing. These guys acheived varying degrees of success last season. While the first three are untried abroad, they offer hope that some explosive quality may yet be brought to the side given the eternal inconsistency of the side's batting. In this respect, the coming season promises to be an exciting one. What the middle order does need is a rock, a firm stable player which New Zealand haven't found since the exit of Roger Twose. Hamish Marshall was on the way to cementing that spot when the horrors of the last season caught up with him. Despite his poor form, I was happy that Bracewell decided to stick with him. Marshall is potentially of great value to the side and has a decent record behind him. He needs to repay the selector's faith sooner rather than later. Perseverance is the key, but the crowded middle order means he won't be an automatic starter any more.

THE BOWLING: On the whole, the bowling remains a bigger worry. Unless Fleming, Bracewell and co come up with a well planned strategy and place enough confidence in the bowlers to execute it, we'll see New Zealand continuing to lose tight games. And of course there's the worry of finding a strike bowler to partner (or replace) Bond as the case may be. For now, Kyle Mills, Chris Martin, James Franklin, Michael Mason and Jacob Oram (plus a certain DL Vettori) make up the list. Not the most penetrative lineup, but Fleming is good at working his resources around. No doubt, like Martin Crowe earlier, he has some plan in mind which will be unfolded at the World Cup. What about Daryl Tuffey, who was the premier strike bowler a while ago, before the Aussies and injuries laid him low? Not to forget Ian Butler, the one bowler who seemed to be nearly as quick as Bond but generally ignored by the selectors who seem to prefer a wholly medium pace attack. The inclusion of another spinner, Jeetan Patel may yet give Fleming more options to work with. The hope is for a largely injury-free season, come what may.

THE MEN IN CHARGE: His batting heroics in South Africa apart, Fleming was largely off the spotlight, a sea change from the Dennis Aberhart era where he was in complete control. Here, John Bracwell made it clear who the boss really is and he continues in his bizzare vein, infuriating us supporters at times. If Bracewell's man management skills shone in the case of Marshall, then they positively fizzled out in the case of McMillan. While Macca was largely responsible for his own downfall, he was shunted up and down the order, and labelled a "floating hitter" by the coach. That's a pretty damning indictment of a batsman with more than 170 games under his belt. If, after nine years of international cricket, Macca isn't sure of what his role in the side is, there is something seriously wrong. I personally believe he is best suited to number six, where class bowlers don't have an early go at his shaky technique. The smaller grounds of the Caribbean are ideal for a destructive boundary hitter like him. The reality is, however, he has fallen down the list and his experience counts for squat in the current setup. The latest story in this episode sees Macca left out of the champion's trophy probables squad, with Bracewell citing "poor fitness". Jesse Ryder also comes in for criticism but keeps his place in the list. Bracewell, like most eccentric coaches, probably has his own squad in mind well before the World Cup. He certainly doesn't give in to public pressure, and at times, logic. Perhaps it's time for Flem to re-assert himself as the real leader and put the team back on track as we know he can. Seeing Dan Vettori captain a few games was pretty interesting for the fans, and there's no doubt he's being groomed as the future captain.

I won't be able to catch most of the Kiwis' games unless there's some coverage of the Champions Trophy here in Austin. As always, my wishes are with the Black Caps and for a change of fortunes. Sad not to be where the action is, but I sure hope the caps will give me a black season to remember.

Sunday, bloody Sunday

Sunday's a lifeline for us all. The day off from work, school, or college. A day for home, family, rest and peace. Catch up with whatever you can't do during the week. Make the most of it before another grinding week starts. Enjoy yourself, basically. We all experience Monday blues, but for me Sunday has always had this uncomfortable undertone to it. While it's a relief to have time off, it tends to give you this 'going nowhere', purposeless sort of feeling.

Sunday to me has always been like the neighbour we tolerate, but can never quite trust. We simply have to coexist with her because we have no choice; we can't do without her, we appreciate what she has to offer, but the unnamed feeling persists. It's a mystery because everyone else around you celebrates her; you nod your head but can never fully agree. Just as you lie waiting in resignation for what bombshells your neighbour may drop on you, Sunday is the perfect metaphor for the lull before (and after) the storm.

I guess my weird relationship with Sunday started by associating her with homework, or likening it to 'homework day'. Homework was usually the matter of spnding an hour or so in concentration. Try as I did, work would never get done the way I liked it. And it only served as a reminder Monday was coming up. Over the years, my attitude to Sunday has evolved from being a love-hate kind of thing to "well alright, her she comes again".

The 'lazy' aspect of Sunday which people really enjoy is overrated. I too love the idea of being able to wake up at10:30 in the morning just for once in the week. However, i do that on Saturdays as well (apart from the time we have work or college then) and I either get the feeling of freshness, or a desire to return to my comfortable sleep. With Sunday, you feel like getting up but can't drag yourself out of bed. You wrestle with this so much, that by the time you're up you've given yourself a headache. For the rest of the day, it's either depressingly hot or depressingly cold, as if to neutralize the pleasing effects of Saturday's weather. Whatever you feel like catching up on simply won't happen. Everything gets postponed. Life seems to come to a standstill - but only for you. Everyone around you seems to be enjoying a holiday for what it is. Sunday afternoons seem to give you an inexplicable rumble in the stomach. The 'long dark tea times of the soul' as Douglas Adams said.

Sunday isn't all that bad. For example, it's the all sports day of the week. However, when I saw my favourite teams and players sinking to defeat on Sundays, it turned me against her yet again. It's a bit like how in the mid nineties, Indian cricket fans would dread watching those matches with Pakistan at sharjah on Fridays (the local holiday). However much they tried, azzu bhai's team could never win on a Friday. The moment a second match was held on a Monday, they won.

All said and done, a holiday's a holiday, so i can't live without Sunday. I guess it's a question of pushing yourself do do something, to take your mind off the emptiness, as you would do on a Monday or Tuesday. That's why I'm blogging on a Sunday without any apparent thoughts in my head.

Paying the penalty, and a strange exit

There's not much I can really say about the world Cup final that hasn't been said. I'm still not convinced on the issue of using penalty kicks to settle a drawn final, though. Surely there must be a better way to resolve a game as big as the WC final? My mind goes back to what the Sportstar said after the 1994 final which also saw a penalty shoot out "Not the perfect solution, but the best we have". And I tend to agree, in a resigned sort of way. It would certainly be unfair to make them play another game. The toss of a coin, as suggested by one paper, is ridiculous. In the 1950 world cup, I noticed, they pitted the final four times against each other in a round- robin group, meaning instead of semifinals and a final, each team played each other once and the team which finished on the highest number of points at the end, won. As it turned out, the last game between Brazil and Uruguay was effectively a final match as the team which won would finsih on top, and thus get the title. I don't think such a method would go down with the fans too well today, though. Penalties are here to stay.

These days, the penalty shootout has become serious business. Arguably, it's a test of skill as much as nerves although most of us like to believe it's pure luck. Strategies have actually evolved to the point where we see Sven-Goran-Errikson bringing on Jamie Carragher late in the game specifically for the shootout. Likewise in the final, when Frank Ribery was substituted for for poor David Trezeguet. All the talk in the closing moments was about how "France are without their best penalty takers" namely Zidane and Henry. In the quarterfinals, Portugal's Ricardo produced a superhuman effort to block three England penalty kicks and the commentators went on about how he "revels in these situations". Goes to show that the shootout has not become merely an accepted, but a necessary part of strategy. To digress a bit, there was once an ICC experiment to decide abandoned ODI cricket matches on a 'shoot-out' meaning five bowlers on each side try to knock over the stumps with one delivery each, and the winner is the side which is able to hit the stumps more often. Seems an unthinkable, just as the penalty shootout was ages ago, but ten or twenty years down the line who knows?

In the last post I commented about Zidane and an otherwise unmemorable World Cup. After all that, it looks like the Cup will be well remembered after all, though not in a way that would please fans and critics alike. The headbutting issue has been done to death in the papers so I won't get into it. I'd just like to say I think Zidane was destined to go out in an unpredictable manner, yet another way of keeping his fans guessing. He tantalized football fans in general and his followers in particular with that audacious penalty kick. He kept them hopeful with his midfield runs and deft passing. He almost brought them all to his feet with that header. He had them asking "Why, oh why" with his inglorious exit. Like all flawed geniuses, you never knew quite what you would get, nothing would be neat and tidy or according to a perfect script. 'Script' is actually an appropriate word....his role in the final played like a movie. But truth is always stranger than fiction, as we (and Zidane) found out. It wasn't an altogether unhappy ending, he did win the golden ball. But, in a world that increasingly loves to paint in black and white, there was to be no ordinary or straightfoward exit for him. Simply haunting, this final was.

Absorbing, but few standouts

I've really had to battle with sleep over the last couple of weeks. Given most of the crucial World Cup Games have taken place past midnight local time, I convinced myself that it's worth sacrificing several hours of sleep over it, a not-so-easy task considering I've had to work late for most part. As always, the Cup never fails to keep you glued. But, as the competition draws to a close (only the third palce playoff and final remain), I get the feeling it's not been an entirely satisfying viewing experience. Absorbing? Definitely. Exciting? Yes. Entertaining? Often. Memorable? Hmmmm....

Among the people here who've been following the proceedings, two kinds readily come to mind. The first is an ardent supporter of one or maybe two or more teams, and for him, of course, supporting 'his' team makes it all the more intense. The second kind doesn't care so much about taking sides as whether the game's good or not. I'm not sure whether I actually fall under any of these categories (though I do have a soft corner for a few teams; including the Dutch, who made a second-round exit), but the point is, apart from Ukraine, the final eight was made up largely of the Big Guns and that should have kept both those types of people happy. The first kind, because I haven't met too many Serbia or Ghana or USA supporters, and the second kind because it presented a mouth watering lineup of unpredictable games to savour. The elimination rounds of this WC edition were the most competitive ones in a long time. Yet, at the end of the semis, I feel there was something missing. For all the big matchups, there were few sparks to remember.

It's probably not fair to turn back the clock and run a comparison with previous WorldCups, but then this is (arguably) the biggest sporting tournament in the world. at the end of it, you'd have to ask: What will this world cup be remembered for? So many parallels have been drawn in the press with the 1982 edition in spain, so that seems an appropriate place to rewind and start the run-thru. In 1982 there was the coming of age of Paolo Rossi as a striker, single handedly snuffing out Brazil. In 1986 it was the brilliance of Maradona, left-foot and right-hand (was it his right? would like a clarification). In 1990 it was the battle of the two skippers, Matthaus and Maradona,even if the final was miserable, and an enterprising Italian side not able to drive 'home' the advantage. In 1994, attacking play returned and we celebrated the skills of some deadly strikers (Romario, stoichkov, Klinsmann and the unfortunate Roberto Baggio)....the mascot for that one had been fittingly named 'Striker'. In 1998 it was the coming of age of a superb French side, and the contrasting fortunes of zidane and Ronaldo. In 2002, Ronaldo set the record straight, as Brazillian magic was at its best since the days of Pele. It was also worth rememebring for unfancied but resourceful teams like Senegal, South Korea and Turkey making it to the quarters and beyond.

So what about 2006? It's down to the clash between rejuvenated French and the Italians who seem to be peaking at the right time. Whatever happens in that final, the reality is that the tournament has lacked the sort of spectacular moments which would be remembered for a long time to come. So far, the World Cup (to me) has largely been about two things. 1) The rebirth of Zizou, whose career could have been over in the first round itself. 2) The diappointing title-defence of holders Brazil. Most of the big games have been fairly scrappy, decided by the odd set-piece or a one-off breakaway goal. The Holland-Portugal match was a bar-room brawl which will not be easily forgotten, but it wasn't a gime you'd really like to recall either. Teams have seemed overawed and managers have been cautious, most notably when Jose Pekerman refused to bring on Lionel messi in the clash with Germany. There's been no shortage of high drama, and deserving winners and losers. But the overall quality of football was hasn't been as good as it could be. There hasn't been the sort of greatness, or feeling of higher moments, that you'd normally associate with the WC.

The elimination rounds were contesed by a motley bunch of teams and players often battling their own self-doubt. Spain, who had a marvelllous first round, made their customary early exit as they were tactically found out by the French in a dramatic shift of momentum. Holland perhaps paid the price for over-reliance on young blood, but they could just as easily have made it to the semis. Brazil appeared disinterested in the quarters - you'd have thought a rematch of the 98 final would be motivation enough - and deserved to be sent packing. The decision to play Ronaldinho up front with the lethargic Ronaldo seemed to deny them a trump card. The rest were either too old or not committed enough to the cause. Germany have had a fine world cup and were heroic in defeat against Italy. The Klose-Podolski combination worked wonders and their defence was typically resiliant when it amttered most, against Argentina. Hopefully, they'll provide some fireworks in the third place game. Portugal won few admirers for the manner in which they contested their last 3 games, full of diving and theatrics. Despite having such a talented lineup, they never looked like scoring frequently and simply did not play well enough against France and England. Both games were typically scrappy affairs. The less said about England, the better. Much has been made of rooney's sending off, and perhaps rightly so, but I looked at their quarterfinal exit as a case of being put out of their misery. They perhaps deserved a better fate than going out yet again on penalties, after valiantly keeping afloat with ten men on the field against portugal.

Argentina were probably the team which looked to have the sheer talent and (perhaps)greatness we like to remember World Cup winners by. Their 6-0 demolition job against serbia in the frst round was probably the high point of the World Cup, and Maxi Rodriguez's goal against Mexico left us with great expectations. In the quarters, however, they discovered the never say-die spirit of the Germans, which along with some questionable tactis from the coach was enough to send them packing.

Whether Italy deserved to be past the second round after the game against australia is a moot point. Superbly organised as always in defence, they've found a refreshingly attacking approach which Marcello Lippi had promised before the sart of the WC. They scored when it matted most, especially against czech Republic in the first round and that final fling in the semis (great to see Del piero come on and score). Cannavaro and Gattuso have just got better as the tournament has progressed. Francesco Totti appears to have made amends for his poor World Cup in 2002, which ended in him being sent off against the South Koreans. At the moments, they looks on top of their game and are surely favourites for the title. However, they too seem to be short of the class and the magic touch which world cup winning teams in the past have had. Unless Totti scores a hat-trick or something, their victory will be praised but not considered particularly impressive.

That leaves us with France, and for me, the one bright spark in this competition. While Zinedine Zidane has not been back to his best, he's turned the corner sufficiently enough to inspire his initially insipid teammates to lift their game. France were quite pathetic in the first round, and even in the victory against Togo, (for which zizou was suspended; it could have been his last game), both Henry and Trezeguet looked incapabl of finishing well. Since then, things have fallen into place. In the midfield, Patrick Vieira has proved a real asset, as has the speed and freshness of frank Ribery. Claude Makalele continues to perform game after game making him an indispensable part of this unit. France were also tactically ahead of Brazil and Spain, teams who were supposed to roll over them on current form.

If France were to win, it would be the perfect send off for one of the few remaining all-time greats in the game. It would also be fitting in a sense, that a team which started so poorly managed to regroup and fight their way through to the title, including a triumphant rematch with Brazil (Zidnane again proved to be a thorn in the brazilian's flesh). The magic of Zizou refuses to die at the moment, and I'll be extremely happy if he can recreate it one last time. So, while Italy look the stronger side, it's France I'll be rooting for all the way. Allez les bleus!

Five Moments in Time - Part II

Putting down the remaining three moments posed a bit of a challenge. Why not expand it to six or seven, I asked myself, if it's so difficult to choose. But five will be five, no more, no less. As I've been spending late nights on germany 2006 over the last week or so, it seems appropriate to resume with one of my earlier football memories.

3. Stoichkov breaking the German Wall - USA 94

Now this is an odd one. Since USA '94 was my first taste of football on TV, I guess I'll always recall it with more fondness than usual. Again for reasons possibly similar to new Zealand 92, Bulgaria was the team which captured my imagination. Allied to this was an inexplicable desire to see the Germans (then the defending champions) knocked out. And so it happened. After the Germans took the lead early in the second half through a Matthaus penalty, the Bulgarians earn a vital free kick. That entire legion of German stars, Bremhe Moller Kohler Hassler Voller et al, make up a pretty formidable wall. In a few haunting seconds, that lethal left foot of Hristo Stoichkov sends the ball curling above the great wall, and beats Bodo Illgner for the equaliser. The balding Letchkov heads Bulgaria home later in the match. However at the time, the free kick equaliser to me seemed about as earth shattering as the breaking down of the Berlin Wall would have been.

Bulgaria's dream ended in the semis when Roberto Baggio and a French referee snuffed them out. Since then, it's been pretty hard being a Bulgarian fan. Whom do i support now? Not the Germans certainly, but the Italians perhaps? My loyalties for Germany 2006 were with the Dutch, who were eliminated last night in a bar-room brawl of a game against Portugal. Sometimes I think it would be a lot simpler supporting a heavyweight. Not being one myself, that would actually take some effort.

4. Ayrton Senna's death - San Marino 1994

Clarifications: a) I'm not an F1 freak. Of late, I've been watching about one race per season.
b) I did not see this race.

I saw the highlights (or lowlights, rather) much later, when Senna's death was all over the news. Around that time, I knew only five drivers existed. Senna, Prost, Damon Hill, Nigel Mansell (with the David Boon moustache; legends, them both), and a pretender I knew as Michael 'Shoemaker'. Beyond driving several many miles in a loop at lightning speed, i couldn't care less what the sport was about. But hearing about the death this guy sure as hell shocked me. Seeing the Brazillian football team dedicate their title to him later in the year just added to this chapter. There's not much else I can say about it; no major details to recall. It just hit me hard at the time, that's all.

5. A tie between a) Tendulkar's Perth century in 1992
b) Hearing West Indies' one run victory over Aus, Adelaide 1993 , on radio

These two occasions really fuelled my interest in test cricket. Obviously I began following cricket with the notion that ODIs were the more attractive form of the game. Along the way, I found out I was wrong quite often. I would still maintain the best ever Sachin century, even better than the losing cause against Pakistan at calcutta '99, was his Perth effort in '92. He had already scored a century earlier in the series at Sydney; that one paled in comparison to this effort on a bouncy WACA strip, putting the likes of Craig McDermott, Merv Hughes, Mike whitney and Paul Reiffel to the sword. Like Calcutta, and several other times, it was a losing cause. Attacking sport at its best; a short eighteen year old with the blue-and-red power labelled bat belting the quicks all around the wicket. At the end of it, i can vividly recall, big Merv comes up to Sachin, the newbie about half his size and half his age, and congratulates him. He says something along the lines of, 'I tried all I could to get you out, but I just couldn't.' Let's just say Australia would, in the years to come, see a lot more ofSachin than they'd bargain for.

The Adelaide test mentioned above was the first of the few matches I've heard on radio. Archaic as it may seem, there was of course no TV coverage of the games down under, so dad and I tuned in to ABC radio for the final day which saw Australia needing 186 to win. A totally different world, listening to the voices of McGilvray, Jim Maxwell and others on the radio, giving us the ball by ball description. Of course, it was thrilling test cricket all the way: Australia, up against Ambrose and Walsh, collapse to 7-75. Then a debutant called Justin Langer leads a brave fightback, making 54 and in the process being felled by an Ian bishop bouncer. Langer is the ninth out at 144 and things look wrapped up. McDermott and May then defy the Windies, inching their way closer to the target. As the runs required is reduced to ten, we sit in the balcony, holding our breaths, chewing our nails and all that blah which is otherwise associated with the artificial excitement of a one day game. Two runs to win. Have the Aussies engineered a great escape? 184 for 9. Walsh to McDermott.... he finds the edge....Murray holds the catch...it's all over...west Indies have won by a whisker....

A thrilling experience, hearing this one live on radio. Whoever likened oneday cricket to junkfood and test cricket to a full-on, four course genuine meal (I think it was Tony Greig) was dead right.

There are several others which could've made my list. Greg Louganis claiming the diving gold at the 1988 Olympics after hitting the springboard was, well, inspirational (In spite of which, I never learnt to swim). Jana Novotna weeping after her loss to Graf at Wimbledon '93, and even Hakeem Olajuwon taking the Houston Rockets to the NBA championship in 1995 (that was the start of my brief tryst with the NBA, which I stopped following after the Spurs won in 1999). And, if only I had been around to see Muhammad Ali reclaim the world heavyweight title in the Rumble in the Jungle clash....

That was another time. That was another moment.

Five Moments In Time - Part I

"Now I'm not a fanatic about sports, but I'm no casual observer either....lemme tell ya I'm enough of a sports fan....." - George Carlin

This post is really a tribute to an RV senior of mine, Shomodipta Biswas aka Shom. Yesterday at Casa's, the topic somehow turned to 'earliest sporting memories' and he was telling us (Gowda, Ashanka and me) about his five earliest defining sporting memories, and how they..well...converted him. I've decided to put down my own reminiscences, but first a reflection of sorts on what it's all about.

It's about childhood recollections, particularly of those pre-STAR TV days. It's not really a 'those were the days' sort of thing. It's about loyalty from a young age. I mean, why do we support the teams we do, and why do we always remember the players we do? Shom gave us the gist of the answer yesterday, something like "Back then, you know nothing about the sport. But someone comes along and provides that special moment of magic, which wins you over." That moment becomes a part of you, an indelible stamp in your head. After all, it's an impressionable age, and it sticks with you forever. A bit like seeing your first Elizabeth Shue or Katy Mirza picture and being able to recognize them years down the line. I've been a supporter of the New Zealand Cricket team for fourteen years now (yes, even when they play India), and having seen umpteen lows and a few highs in that period, it sets me thinking about the whole loyalty from a young age thing. For example, thanks to the suitably aggresive marketing of ESPN STAR's telecast of the Premier League, English Football is suddenly 'in'. Enter Roman Abromovich, and Chelsea FC effectively buys rather than creates a star team (OK, they are a good side with a great manager, but..). And in the process many a football watcher suddenly discovers he's a die-hard Chelsea fan. He now can't stop defending Mourinho's comments in the press, or talking about the 4-5-1 formation. For me, however, it's never been about either the best team or the underdog. It's always been about who or what captured my imagination at some point in time. Someone to identify with.

The five I've selected are not necessarily my favourite sporting moments. They're simply a random set of five that somehow hit me hard, in a personal sort of way. They are not quite my earliest memories either, but they all go back a long way. I've decided to split them into two posts.

1. The Kiwis' dream run in the 1992 World Cup
Specific moments:The opening game at Eden Park against Aus - Martin Crowe getting his hundred, and Chris Harris' throw from the boundary to run out David Boon.
I had to put this at number one because it's made me a kiwi supporter for life. This was a tournament in which the Kiwi's could do no wrong, until Inzamam ul Haq happened. I started following cricket only a couple of months earlier, watching the Indian's getting thrashed in Oz. Here was the team that gave it back to the aussies, beating them comprehensively. As the tournament went on, Crowe pulled off some daring tactics which worked brilliantly on their irregular shaped grounds, and I was spellbound. As for this match, Crowe's hundred will always be my favourite captain's innings. Prior to the tournament, he was at war with the selectors and the media and public thought he shouldn't have been the skipper. Chris Harris is probably my most admired cricketer. I guess his quick fourteen in this match, not to mention the stunning direct hit from the boundary sums up why - a real oddball of a cricketer with a gutsy manner and a certain odd flair. An eccentric looking bowler who (at that time) sent down teasing medium paced leg cutters, he was simply one of the world's best fielders, even though that tournament is remembered more for Jonty Rhodes' fielding. He's now been told his career is practically done, but that's another story I'll blog about later. For the record, I watched only the conclusion of the NZ innings and the entire Aus innings in someone else's house since we didn't have STAR, and saw the entire highlights package in the evening.

I've stuck by New Zealand ever since. In the last decade, their numerous defeats at the hands of the Aussies have been particularly hard to swallow. However, it makes the victories taste sweeter. Following the kiwis has been a roller coaster ride, a bittersweet experience that seems to keep my loyalties even more firmly grounded.

2. Wimbledon '93 Final - Sampras beats Courier
My tennis initiation was 1991 when I saw Jim Courier taking on John McEnroe in some ATP tour match. The match, complete with McEnroe's outbursts, was won by Courier and I found myself rooting for him thereafter. It was then, a big disappointment for me when some fellow American called Pete Sampras (I just knew the name at the time) ended his Wimbledon dream with a 7-6 7-6 3-6 6-3 victory in the finals, exhibiting a perfect serve and volley game as flawless as his temperament. Now, Sampras lifting the Wimbledon trophy for the first time was essentially a defining moment as far as my tennis loyalties went, rather than the match itself. So I somewhat resented Sampras and his domination of the sport after that, and firmly put myself in the Courier-Agassi camp. But my anti-Pete stand was a bit unfair, in retrospect. Courier had been the world numero uno the previous year and his career went downhill after this. In the mid nineties, Sampras beat Courier in two epic five setters (Aus '95 and French '96), both of which had similar patterns; Sampras trails by two sets, breaks down when told "Do it for your coach", and heroically comes back to win in five. Again, it turned me against Pete. Courier had the matches all but wrapped up, and after all this courtside drama from pete, he finds the crowd cheering for his opponent and the match taken away from him. From then on, nothing that Pete Sampras achieved could ever endear me to him. I remember cheering out loud in '96 when he lost to Mark philippousis in the 3rd round of the australian, and in that Wimbledon Quarterfinal against Richard Krajicek. I was also a firm supporter of Agassi when he and Pete had their rivalry going on. But Pete could still do no wrong. To me he was like the annoying teacher's pet who stood first in class every time.

Pete was considered one of the game's 'gentlemen', the nice guy who still finished first, but I never did fully appreciate his value to the sport till the turn of the century maybe, when his apparent decline began. In 2002 when he seemed down and out, he still had enough gas in the tank for one last grand slam title (the US open). I'll remember him as the sportsman I once loved to hate, but he eventually won me over through his sheer guts and the quality of his game. I had a similar quirk against Steffi Graf at one point of time, but when spoilt brats like Martina Hingis took over, I found myself celebrating Steffi's comeback, culminating in that French open final of '99 where she beat Hingis.

(Tailpiece: Hingis has returned now, and I now find myself gunning for her. I really wonder why.)

Part II coming up soon.