Jab I met a few good men- Part 1

It’s been a while since I have been ‘blog’ically active. I have been too lazy to do anything useful or creative, and I can’t blame anyone else, but myself for it. On second thoughts, there is someone I can-The hot and humid weather of Amritsar. I admit I am one of the most indolent creatures on Planet Earth, and the sultry conditions in Amritsar have just allowed me to remain so. Add to it, the frequent and lengthy periods of power-cuts these days, and I have a valid reason. So, the last few weeks have been devoted to the dining table and my beloved bed, besides a short trip to Patna (about which I wish to write a blog in near future). However, boredom has forced me out of the hibernation and here I am writing my new blog.

I recently saw Jab we met. Again. I rate it as one of the best romantic movies I have ever seen. Although the film seems to have drawn inspiration from the mother- of- all love stories, DDLJ, Jab we… has its own charm, and the conversations between Shahid and Kareena just make you fall in love with them(It's a different story that the two of them have fallen out of love in real life!). The concept of two absolute strangers falling in love with each other during a journey has been explored in so many movies, including the mentioned ones, and it still remains a successful formula. Hey, I do not intend to write a synopsis on romantic cinema; I just wonder whether such pleasant adventures happen only on the silver screen, since I have never met any Simran or Geet, or anyone even remotely close to them! Yet, while travelling one does get to meet ‘strange’ strangers, and I had the privilege of meeting a few such men some time back. I can't say if it was an enjoyable experience, but certainly a memorable one.

I was on my way from Chennai to Amritsar, an awfully long journey. I often joke, and it’s not entirely untrue, that I have travelled from Sri Lanka to Pakistan, minus a few kilometers! On the 17th of May, I boarded the Grand Trunk Express at Chennai Central, my destination being New Delhi, from where I had to board another train to Amritsar. My cousin sister and my close friend Aswin had come to see me off at the railway station. At 19:15 hours, I bade goodbye to them as the train started its 36-hour long (scheduled) journey to New Delhi.

I was all alone. It wasn’t the first time that I was travelling alone, nor was it my first trip to the city of the Golden Temple. Yet, something was different. It was perhaps the last time I was following this route, since my college life was now over, and with it possibly, my association with the city of Chennai. All the beautiful moments I had spent during my four years in VITU suddenly started coming back to me. I am an emotional being, and when I saw a group of youngsters playing 29, a game of cards, which I used to play so fondly back in hostel with my friends, I almost felt like crying. That’s when I was brought back to reality by my co-passenger and the first of the few good men during the trip. From now on, he’ll be referred to as Mr.A, and I‘ll be, well, as I. Mr. A: Where are you going? I: New Delhi Mr. A: Oh so, you are also going to New Delhi. Good. You speak Hindi? Hindi aati hai? I: Ji haan. Mr. A: Kya naam hai tumhara? I: Dhruv. Mr. A: Kya karte ho? I: Maine abhi B.Tech complete kia hai VIT, Vellore se. Mr. A: Acha, Bangalore. I: Nai, Vellore (It was not the first time I was explaining to someone that Vellore and Bangalore are two entirely different places. It irritated me initially, but I have got used to this question now). Mr. A: Woh kahaan hai? I: Chennai aur Bangalore ke raaste mein padta hai. Mr. A: Acha, CMC Hospital waala Vellore to nai? I: Ji haan. Mr. A: Wahaan Engg. Bhi hoti hai? I: Nai…

I heard my phone ring. It was my dad. As I answered in my mother-tongue Bengali, I could see a look of surprise on Mr. A’s face, and a new set of questions. And my inference was not wrong.

Mr. A: You are a Bengali? I: Yes. Mr. A: Par tum Delhi jaa rahe ho? I: Actually, I am going to Amritsar. Meri family aajkal wahin hai. Mr. A: Tumhari hindi toh kaafi achi hai. Badi saaf hai. I: Thank You (I have received many compliments for my fluent Hindi, but even today, when someone says so, I feel elated, even proud to a certain extent. I don’t know why, but it does make me feel very happy). Actually, main Patna mein pala-bada hoon. Shayad islie. Mr. A: Patna mein kahaan rehte they? It was just the beginning of the ‘Kab,Kyun, Kahaan, Kaise’ session. I didn’t have a stopwatch; hence I can’t say how long he kept asking me questions. And answering questions I didn’t ask him. His name was Chandan, he was a dealer of medical equipment, who had come to Chennai regarding his work, he was a Bihari, born and brought up in Kolkata, and now settled in New Delhi, he was still a bachelor and had no girl friends, he didn’t like south indian food, Delhi Daredevils were going to win the IPL (which they didn’t), and so on and so forth. All the escape routes seemed out of reach and just when I had almost given up, the Pantry boy came as a savior.

Pantry Boy: Raat ka khana? Mr. A: Kya-kya milega? Pantry Boy: Only biryanis Sir. Veg, Egg or Chicken? I ordered an Egg Biryani. Mr. A: Khana nai milega? Roti, sabzi wagairah? Pantry Boy: Woh kal milega. Aaj biryani. Mr. A: Garam milega na?

I realized it was my best chance. I took out my walkman mobile and stuffed the earphones asap. I can’t recall the song right now, but at that moment, it sounded like the best piece of music ever composed. Mr. A, meanwhile, continued the conversation with the Pantry boy, who now looked eager to run away from the bogie.

My eyes moved back to the boys, who were still playing cards. And my mind wandered back to my college days. The realization that I had now spent the best four years of my life, and they were never going to come back again, hit me sharply again. I was missing my college, my hostel, and my friends very badly. I suddenly realized that the conversation with Mr. A, though irritating, had actually helped me stay away from these thoughts, had helped me remain normal. I silently thanked him for it .Rather instinctively, I typed the following message to my card-playing buddies:

There is a group of people playing 29. Just adding salt to injury.

The Pantry boy had left. Mr. A was now jobless. He tried to initiate a conversation with the boys, but it didn’t last long. They were too busy playing cards. He decided to rest his vocal cords for a while. Meanwhile, I received the following reply from my ex-roomie and one of my partners in card-crime, Nishant.

Don’t be sad coz it’s over. Smile coz it happened.

A simple message, yet it made sense. I smiled.

As I looked up, I could see Mr. A glancing at me. And then he said something. I reluctantly removed the earphones. Mr. A: Kaun sa phone hai? I: Sony Ericsson W810-i Mr. A: Kitne ka pada?

He was back! As I was gearing up for his onslaught, God intervened again. This time through a phone call. It was Shubham, another of my card-mates whom I had sent the message. We had a pretty lengthy chat and by the time we finished the call, I had normalized completely.

After the phone call, Mr. A and I resumed our dialogue till dinner was served. Mr. A wasn’t entirely satisfied by the quality of the biryani and the Pantry boy was confronted by some nagging questions, when he came to collect the money. Thankfully, Mr. A was now tired and felt it was time to go to bed. I couldn’t have agreed any more! Even before I could realize, I was in the world of my dreams.

End of day one. The story continues….

Remember the Royals

On 1st of June, 2008, the world witnessed the culmination of the 44-day cricketing extravaganza named IPL. After two unexpectedly dull and one-sided semi finals, the law of averages promised a tighter finish in the final. And so it was! Being a Chennai Super Kings supporter (more appropriately, a Dhoni fan), I was desperately hoping for a verdict in favour of the men in yellow. The absence of Graeme Smith, their experienced, influential and in-form opener, had raised expectations. Yet, as Sohail Tanvir pushed the ball into the gap and took the deciding single of the last ball to trigger huge celebrations in the Rajasthan Royals camp, I could not stop myself from applauding for the deservingly victorious team.

As Shane Warne and his men received the glittering trophy, for a moment, I felt as if I was watching a movie. Have we not seen it all before on the silver screen? A team rated as “under-dog”, triumphs against all odds, and becomes the champion- doesn’t this script sound very familiar? Let me site a few examples: a determined ‘black’ coach called Herman Boone inspires his young team to get rid of racism issues and win the American football championship-Remember the titans(based on true events ); a tainted player Kabir Khan (read Mir Ranjan Negi) redeems himself as he manages a bunch of hockey wielding ladies to a World Cup triumph-Chak de India; and above all, the story of a group of peasants, led by some “Bhuwan”, playing a game of cricket against the british to relieve themselves from the burden of “Lagaan”. The list is certainly not exhaustive and one may suggest many more such instances, both fictional and true, which narrate and celebrate the success of the underdog. The story of the rise and rise of Rajasthan Royals has been no different from the mentioned tales of success and glory. The characters and the events might have been different, but the script has invariably been the same.

The happy ending is always preceded by a set of challenges that one must overcome to be the winner. To start off, the players need to come together as a team. It is perhaps the most difficult task as regional, racist and personal issues can split the team into individual camps. Someone needs to be the guardian, the ‘gunda’ of the team, and it is usually the responsibility of the captain and the coach. In case of Mr. Warne, he was the captain/coach/player/mentor - the onus of nurturing the team was entirely on his shoulders. I am sure the presence of an international captain in Graeme Smith would have certainly helped him. Nevertheless, he deserves all the credit for moulding a group of eager individuals into a unit, and extracting the best out of them.

However, as one has often seen, even the most successful campaigns start with a false step. So while, Kabir Khan’s ladies were thrashed 7-0 in their first match in Chak de…, Warne’s boys were convincingly beaten by 9 wickets in their first encounter. It gave the critics another opportunity to have a go at the Royals. What the team needed at that point in time was a tonic of victory, which they achieved against Kings XI Punjab in their next match. But, the turning point in my opinion was the win against Deccan Chargers, where the team successfully chased a stiff total of 214. Yusuf Pathan’s blistering knock, followed by their captain’s heroics in the last over gave them the much-needed dosage of self-belief and confidence. From there on, things started falling perfectly in place. Suddenly, a team devoid of any big names became the talk of the tournament. Swapnil Asnodkar appeared as explosive as Virender Sehwag, and Yusuf Pathan as swashbuckling as Andrew Symonds. The world saw glimpses of Andrew Flintoff in Shane Watson and the legendary Wasim Akram in Sohail Tanvir. Even the lethargic Munaf Patel seemed to have transformed under the magic of Warne. Most importantly, they all formed a lethal outfit, where every individual enjoyed each other’s success. The team, defying all predictions, made it to the final, and the rest, as the cliched line goes, is history.

That’s how the incredible story of the Rajasthan Royals unfolded. Does it not have all the ingredients of a “masaaledaar”, entertaining Bollywood (or even Hollywood, for that matter) blockbuster. I am sure someone is already contemplating the idea. But even if someone does not, it hardly matters. For we have seen it all unfold in front of us. We’ll always remember the royals, won’t we? HALLA BOL…!!!

BCCI ka 20-20: A Review

Finally, the Indian Premier League is over. Watching television during prime time had become so boring, courtesy an overdose of “saas-bahu” drama and “unrealistic” reality shows. Thanks to the IPL, the monotony was broken, even though it only lasted for 44 days. To be honest, I was not all that excited when the tournament started. I never expected the concept of different cities fighting it out against each other on the cricket field to work in India, since we are not quite used to it. But, it worked, and how! While Mr. Lalit Modi and the BCCI are busy congratulating each other and celebrating the success of the IPL, let us spare a thought for the ones who are actually responsible for its birth - the Zee group, which started the ICL, against the wishes of the BCCI. IPL was nothing but the BCCI’s way of showing its might to the “rebels”, and I dare say had there been no ICL, there would not have been any IPL either. Not that I am complaining. Watching Sachin and Sanath come out to bat together, Mcgrath teasing Gilly around the off stump, and Ganguly and Ponting plotting the downfall of the opposition together would not have been possible, but for IPL. The quality of cricket witnessed during the IPL was exceptional, and we could not have asked for more as cricket fans. While the likes of Gautam Gambhir, Rohit Sharma and Sohail Tanvir enhanced their reputation as emerging stars, cricketers like Shane Warne and Sanath Jayasuriya proved that class and greatness are not affected by age. Most importantly, the IPL has brought the Asnodkars, the Gonis and the Nayars into limelight, who could not have asked for a better platform to showcase their talent. The IPL successfully cashed in on the entertainment value associated with the shortest and the newest version of the game-the T-20. In many ways, a 20-20 game is very similar to a typical Bollywood movie- It promises to be fast paced with lots of action, several twists and turns and close finishes, lasting for 3 hours; the difference being that a T-20 game usually lives upto the expectations, while a ‘fillum’ rarely does so. The IPL witnessed packed stadiums in almost all the matches, besides enjoying very high television viewership. It was not surprising, given that ours is a cricket-crazy nation. Yet, a few points are worth noting. Firstly, the IPL matches were well-attended by family audiences at the stadiums. Secondly, the tickets for the semi-finals and the final in Mumbai were sold out, despite the absence of the local team in the last four. Cricket is a sport, which has been given the status of a religion in this country, but the IPL has perhaps given it a new identity - Cricketainment, starring celebrity owners, dancing cheerleaders and of course, the players. After a “superhit” first season, both the organizers and observers are looking forward to the next one. And that’s where Mr. Modi’s problems begin. The international cricket calendar does not have any room to accommodate another IPL for the next two years, unless the BCCI and ICC come out with some special plan. An option being considered is to have two IPL’s in the year 2011 to compensate for the loss of two years, as Lalit sa’ab has already suggested. It is however, a weird notion to organize two seasons of IPL in the world cup year, especially because India is hosting the mega event. Moreover, two months of IPL in the same year may just kill the hype, hoopla and excitement attached to it. Mr. Modi and the BCCI should be careful that they do not kill the golden goose that is laying them golden eggs. So, there may be some time before we get to see the battle of the cities once again. Hopefully, the non-performers of this season (read Deccan Chargers, Royal Challengers Bangalore and Kolkata Knight Riders) would have learnt their lessons and would give the rest of the teams stronger competition in the next season, whenever it is. We’ll be waiting.