A decade of two Martina Hingises

Martina Hingis, according to the image transfixed in my mind from her heady days in the late 90s, is the brazen, cocksure schoolgirl whom you love to loathe but just can't ignore. Someone with the supreme confidence and arrogance to say what she wants about herself and everyone else, the attitude to carry it off, AND be good enough to get away with it.

Four years after I muttered "good riddance" to myself as she was forced into a state of semi-retirement after a series of injuries, it appears that her solid comeback has been stopped in its tracks following the cocaine accusations. She claims she does not have the heart or drive to fight them off, and has permanently retired. Which leaves me a bit devastated because much as I hate the old Hingis, a part of me wanted her comeback to be a shot in the arm for the old school, and even out an era dominated by a power game. Not only to inject some feminine grace back into the sport, but also have a survivor and a distinct personality from the 90s (a decade that appeals more to me) still holding fort.

Tennis, being a one-on-one sport, provides more room for predjudice and mindless anti-fandom than cricket or football. Back in the day, when Pete Sampras cried for his coach and then proceeded to beat Jim Courier in an epic five setter, I was at best grudging in my praise for him. This Courier fan was convinced his man was robbed of victory by fate, and all this additional on-court drama only turned the tide of sympathy in favour of nice-guy-Pete even more. I found it revolting, at the time. (No offence Pete, you're the best). Though Pete and Martina are poles apart as personalities, in a similar way I was turned against the Swiss miss during her meteoric rise to number 1 in 1997. With Steffi Graf on the wane, I was hoping one of Mary Pierce, Concita Martinez, Jana Novotna and Sanchez-Vicario would attain the top spot they had been denied during Graf's reign (I would add the Goddess herself, Gabriela Sabatini to that list had she not prematurely retired). Instead we had the bratty 16 year old, complete with the suffocating presence of her mom-coach Melanie "Monitor" taking the world by storm and having a big mouth to boot. Unbearable, it was. In hindsight, and to be fair to her, early success was drilled into her by a tennis loving family who had the audacity to name her after a champion from yesteryear.

Our mutual dislike, as I like to call it, developed further over the next two years. Martina continually mocked me by winning a string of titles and spending about 200 plus weeks at the top, while I celebrated her occasional defeats as the next best thing to a New Zealand victory. She took it one step too far by dismissing Steffi Graf's comeback, and I had the last laugh when Graf outplayed her at Roland Garros in '99. That was when it all started to go downhill for her. She had ironically said of Graf's comeback "it's a faster, more athletic game now than when she played. She is old now. Her time has passed." Little did we know that the same "faster, athletic game" she spoke of would be taken to new degrees by the Williams sisters, and Martina just couldn't compete. I somehow just couldn't enjoy the rise of the Williamses (complete with the suffocating presence of dad-coach Richard), great athletes but all power and little subtlety. It seemed to have an indelible impact on the game until the advent of Justine Henin. My stand on Hingis had softened considerably by this stage. A while after she called it quits the first time in 2003, in a typical case of not knowing what you have till it's gone, I suddenly longed for her game; deft placements, changes of pace and overall variety, the antithesis of the 21st century game, it needed to return to supremacy. Not to mention her undeniable charisma and visual appeal.

Post 25, you're a senior citizen in women's tennis terms. So it was a little hard to reconcile with the image of the new Hingis when she returned from her two year absence in 2005. Gone was the brash teenager and a solid and mature twentysomething had taken her place. Her comeback was creditable for most part without setting the world on fire (though she did reach as high as number 6 in the WTA rankings). In a perverse sort of way, I wished she could be the obnoxious kid of yesteryear, but she was already on the wrong side of her 20s. As I type this, it serves as another reminder of how time flies. (Martina Hingis is 27? Getting old, aren't we all)

Surprisingly for a person who loved and devoured his weekly Sportstar, I've never been big on posters. However I will concede that in any dream poster collection of mine, Martina Hingis will occupy pride of place alongside Sabatini, Graf, Henin and Sharapova in the women's tennis category. That is my grudging tribute.

May the Force leave you be

During a conversation with a friend of mine, the kind who smashes quizzes all over the countryside in his sleep and accumulates a fortune in cash/bikes/accolades/whatever, I casually asked him if he ever considered making it (quizzing) a career. You know, conduct quizzes and quiz based events for a living, a la Avinash Mudaliar or Derek O'Brien. The Indian Corporate and academic world being what it is, you would never be out of business and there's good money in it too. "No", he replied, "The moment it stops being a hobby and becomes work, there's no fun in it."

This sentiment seems to agree with one of my (hardly original) pet theories that as soon as you are under compulsion to do something, or if you have someone pressing you to do a piece of work (and enjoy it), it becomes a chore and out goes the enjoyment. When it involves something that should be a leisurely activity, things get especially bewildering. Fine, if you're a helpless creature like me who's incapable of surviving alone in the jungle, you do need to seek advice and instructions quite often. However, a hobby is what it is because you don't have people telling you what to do. For example, I renewed my interest in books halfway through college primarily because I discovered a lot of good stuff on my own or by accident. Hitherto I was being told by everyone to cultivate a 'reading habit'(what a disgusting term!), and it was a bit of a turn off from printed matter which I'm happy to say is well behind me.

Rules, however are a part of life so you have to live with them right from the start. Call me a cynic, but I still think loving your school, studies or work is overrated. In one Calvin and Hobbes strip, Calvin is shown dreaming about blowing up his school on the way to it, then he snaps out of it with a sigh when he reaches there. Bill Watterson adds a footnote saying he got a lot of flack for that cartoon, and those readers (who apparently took him very seriously) had obviously never been to school before! If you're like Suzie Derkins, oh so excited about the first day of school and looking at it as a chance to meet new people and teachers and learn new stuff, all I can say is you better watch out for that snowball heading your way. I think a lot of us got along better with Faculty in college than in school, probably because our opinions and expectations of each other were much more transparent. Once they accepted that we turned up for class just for the attendance and our aspirations leaned more towards clearing exams than enriching our knowledge with the finer points they had to offer, whatever tension there was in the air gradually vanished and both parties could slip into a comfort zone. We, in turn, understood their point of view and difficulties with the system and were on largely good terms with them. School with its blind protocol was a different story, and I still find the notion that school should be fun quite amusing. On the subject of studies, everyone loves talking about their 'academic interests'. Who are they kidding? The term is an oxymoron.

'Job satisfaction' is another overrated term. Liking your job and office is one thing, but can you really be crazy about whatever it is you're doing? This is work after all. Like studies, it's not something that's meant to be enjoyed. It's all very well to proudly declare that your dream job may be that of a reviewer of DVDs or a cricket commentator, but would you be able to live your passion on your own terms?

Since I don't use 'labels' on this blog, or categorise my posts, I should probably insert the word RANT (using oversized capitals) in the title. I have three assignments thrust upon me, so go figure. Maybe it's time I outgrew these pet theories and turn to one of my hobbies on the side for immediate relief. I've gotten hooked to Scott Adams' Dilbert books of late. The next book in the series I plan to purchase is called The Joy of Work.

An ice cream man's guide to a happy life

It must be a decade since I've read an Archie comic book (or 'digest', as they call it) in its entirety. Along with Disney Today, Amar Chitra Katha and Tinkle, the Archie digest was a source of generous timepass laced with mostly juvenile humour back in the day. One particular strip remains stuck in my head because it pretty much sums up the uncomplicated nature of the characters, in this case Jughead Jones.

The story begins thus: Jughead's mom has cut off his allowance, and he whines to Archie and Reggie about it, "Now how do I pay for all the food I want to eat?". He tries his hand at a variety of odd jobs to raise the money, right from lawn-mowing to dog-walking, but he screws up things and gets the boot each time around. He is in a desperate position.

Next, Archie and Reggie see Jughead driving an ice cream van, complete with the ding-a-ling bell, and slurping on a cone. "So Jughead's an ice cream man now!" comments Archie. "Yeah, and it looks like he's his own best customer!" observes Reggie. "I love this job!" says Jughead, "All the ice cream I can eat! And other guys are willing to trade all kinds of stuff with me! How about that!". The immediate scene shows him exchanging his cones for a popsicle and a sundae with another vendor.

"But doesn't it get boring eating ice cream all the time?" questions Reggie. "That's why I trade off some ice cream for other stuff when I wan't something else" comes Jughead's reply, and he's shown giving off a cone in exchange for a pizza pie. "Thanks man!" says the pizza boy, wiping the sweat from his brow, "Phew! It's hot." "See?" says Jughead, "It'a long summer. Everyone's only too happy to give me all kinds of food in return for my ice cream."

"But don't you have to pay for all that ice cream you eat?", asks Archie. "Yeah, that's why I'm willing to sell off some of the ice cream - but just enough to break even" says Jughead. "Yeah wise guy, but it means you don't make any money, right?" counters Reggie. To which Jughead answers, "So who needs money? All I wanted was enough food to satisfy my hunger pangs!"

Reggie thinks out loud "I really wonder who's crazy....Jughead or the world". Archie replies "I have a hunch it isn't Jughead".

PS: It's often said that beer is the solution to all the world's problems. I reckon ice cream isn't far behind.

We all live in an IT company

(To be sung to the tune of The Beatles' Yellow Submarine. This is my first, and probably last attempt at a spoof. Inspired by my 12th standard days when we used to see droves of techies riding to office on their bikes and chant 'There go the IT boys!'.)

In the town where i was born
Lived a man, who cracked JEE
And he told us of his job
In an IT Company.

So we slogged our asses off
Till we made it to IIT
And we finally lived our dream
Of joining an IT Company.

Chorus:
We all live in an IT Company,
IT Company, IT Company
We all live in an IT Company,
IT Company, IT Company

'Twas our first day at Infy
A speech by Narayan Murty
Then a hundred PPTs
About our IT company.

[Repeat Chorus]

And our friends are all aboard
Many more of them, on the floor below
And they type, and surf away
Ta-ta-ta-tak-ta-tak-ta-tak-tak
(Synchronised punching of keys on the keyboards)

[Repeat Chorus]

So we sit, and code all day
And enjoy the free coffee,
Nine-to-five, then five-to-three
In our IT Company

[Repeat Chorus]

Then we're sent, to the USA
An onsite visit, all for free
We get homesick every day
But what the hell, we're IT!! (Shout out loud)

[Repeat Chorus]

As we work, and earn with ease
A social life is all we need
Pay hike, fat salary
It's great to be in this Company!

[Repeat Chorus, then fade out]

Flying Fatigue

Back in middle school, I had two obsessions: wildlife and air travel. Anything beyond your reach always fills you with intrigue, which partly explains my obsession. In the early 90s, flights were prohibitively expensive, and the nearest National Park, Nagarahole was taken over by Veerappan and co. It looked a dead certainty that I would never experience the delights of boarding a plane (train travel seemed boring and commonplace) or seeing a leopard in the wild, so I celebrated them in my own imaginative capacity. I used to think the hallmark of an Indian town or city was the presence of an airport. Similarly, when I used to pore through write-ups about wild sanctuaries over the country, the first piece of info I used to look for was their proximity to the closest airport!

Thirteen years down the line, I retain my fondness for the wild, in spite of (or because of) the fact that I haven't been to a national park of any significance. But, an overkill of flying through the week preceding my arrival in Bangalore (after completing a year's study in the states) has pretty much killed my appetite for the skies. A few years back, I would have laughed at the thought. Time brings about a strange cognizance however, and I can now fully understand why regular air travellers hate flying. The clamour in airports, checking in, waiting for long hours, luggage worries, claustrophobia, erratic food.....the cons outweigh the pros. I flew from Dallas to LA, and two days later I left on a Malaysian Airlies flight which stopped for an hour in Taipei and landed in Kuala Lumpur. Next came an eight hour wait for the connecting flight from KL. When I finally landed in Bangalore it was the closest I've come to feeling like a zombie. Rough work it must be, being a businessperson or a cricketer and living out of a suitcase all the time. For the moment I'm happy being a student. The silver lining was I got to see quite a bit of LA and KL which did make the whole exercise appear worth it. Especially noteworthy was the four hour trip around KL in a hired car.

It feels great to touch base in India after nine months. That period hasn't been especially life changing or anything, but I did come to realise a couple of things: 1) Travel light and don't try to stuff too much into your luggage. It just isn't possible to pack your entire life in a suitcase. 2) Networking (aka contact-buliding), much as I detest the word, is an essential skill. Don't stay home without it.

Flicker, then be blown out

The world's most livable city goes from garden to grave. The best doubles pair in tennis splits up and breaks a billion hearts. Pink Floyd cassettes are re-released at 35 bucks higher and the lyrics booklets conveniently forgotten. The ice cream place two blocks away gives in to competition decides to call it a day. A charming hotel becomes a mall so grotesque. A quality sports magazine goes tabloid and sells its soul. Music channels on the rise bite the dust in a Bhangra Sandstorm. The world's best batsman is consumed by injuries and rendered mortal. A narrative wildlife show of yesteryear is condensed to a crappy interactive educational CD. Flexi-timings in college are stamped out, year after year. A trio of memorable theaters are now abandoned wrecks. A mind-boggling music store inexplicably vanishes. The original reality show with a bald guy in a maze is succeeded by lousy American ones and their Indian counterparts. Classy cola ads give way to tripe with mudslinging being the sole motivation. A remotely interesting syllabus is deemed not 'educational' enough and changed. A cartoon channel goes new age and compromises on humour and animation. Wrestling goes from sport to soap opera. Even cheap bookstores start deciding comics are for the elite. An amazing prof feels his teaching interests lie elsewhere. Endearing folks come and go. The streets are full but I feel alone...

Reality bites. The good shall die young and the not-so-good shall inherit the earth. The above is a random list of gripes I've had to live with, watching a part of me disappear all the time. Part contemplation, part resignation. Maybe it has the trappings of a shamelessly negative mind wallowing in the past, conveniently leaving out the rest of the story, the bright spots. But all this has spanned more than a decade of decadence. And that's long enough, isn't it? Extinction is forever.

IIT revisited...again??

First we had Chetan Bhagat with his endearing but admittedly lightweight story about what not to do at IIT, through the eyes of three misfits within the 'fucked-up system'. Then came Abhijeet Bhaduri with his b-school version, the cleverly titled 'Mediocre But Arrogant' (an acronym for MBA). And now we have a third book that looks similar on the surface: Amitabha Bagchi's "Above Average", the life of an IITan and his quest to become the drummer of a rock band. The novel was apparently released on the 12th of February.
http://www.aboveaveragebook.com/

The title itself is quite telling ("Five point someone.....Medicore but Arrogant...Above Average", do we detect a trend here?), but after reading this excerpt from an interview with Bagchi posted on the website, maybe he deserves the benefit of the doubt: " I was near the end of the first draft of Above Average when a friend called me one day and said that Chetan has written a book. At that point I had already been working on Above Average for three and a half years. So it's not as if I saw all these books get successful and then decided I wanted a piece of the pie. I guess I just got scooped by Chetan Bhagat." He also goes on to say that the book is intrinsically different from FPS, the latter being about life in IIT while his book is more about the growing up of a middle class student. The author, like Bhagat, is an alumnous of IIT Delhi but the interesting thing is he is employed as an Assistant Professor there at the moment. Wonder if that detail changes the reader's perspective, somewhat?

One thing's for sure, the book will sell very well initially, in the wake of FPS' popularity and for the same reasons will attract cynicsm from a lot of potential readers. The synopisis may leave a lot of us pursing our lips saying, "Not again!", but on reading some of the excerpts on the site, I must say the prose seems solid if unspectacular. Maybe the book does deserve to be viewed on its own terms. The shadow of its two 'predecessors' (Bagchi would definitely not appreciate my using that word, but I will reserve my judgement) will be very hard to escape, though. I will probably pick it up out of curiosity, when I next make a visit to India. If any of you happen to read it, I'd be interested in hearing your feedback.

One book on the IIT theme I would definitely recommend, however, is the non-fiction "The IITans", by Sandipan Deb, editor of the Outlook. I read about half the book a couple of years ago and it has since remained on my long list of incompletes. It was certainly well written, though. From what i remember, the author takes a look at how the IITs were formed, foreign collaboration and all, and how they have evolved over the years. He talks to IITans past and present, in all corners of the world, about what life was like in the IITs. Deb reserves special mention for those who left their cushy jobs in the states and elsewhere, and returned to work in the public sector as a path to personal fulfillment. There's even a chapter where female alumni recall what it meant being a girl in an overwhelmingly male-dominated institution, and so on. My memory of this book is pretty hazy, and I plan to re-read it from start to finish sometime. I'm sure you would enjoy it as well.