“Sorry I don’t have one”, “sorry I don’t carry one”. How often I utter these are anybody’s guess. O.K. I’ll tell you what I’m talking about for it is no whodunit to build up any suspense. But before that let me make an effort in listing the countless expressions on people’s faces as they listen to me in utter disbelief: arching eyebrows, shrinking brow, gape, widening eyes, efforts to conceal shock…an endless list of course.
It all generated from a single query and my answer to it; “what’s your mobile number”? Yup, I’m yet to go mobile. Nope, I don’t have any plans to go mobile unless it becomes a matter of life and death. But people just won’t buy it normally. They just start to stare at me as if I have said something unparliamentarily. Am I a nerd or a bohemian? Nay, at least I don’t think so. Of course I always have problems to adapt myself to the changing times, especially in technical matters. Though reluctantly I made myself familiar with computers. Years back I created a hotmail account for me. Then indiatimes. Then I hopped into yahoo messenger, gmail, gtalk, orkut and here stands me the blogger. I used to spend my midnights wading through the likes of Nikos Kazantsakis, Franz Kafka, Immanuel Kant or Anand, but nowadays I glide through cyberspace, like the kid who has a magical carpet. It’s an enormous trip from trivial jokes to mind-boggling puzzles. From Philosophy to Fantasy. From Antarctica to Erotica. Old friends often turn up in orkut with those customary greetings of the halcyon days; “aliayaaaa...”, “machooo…”, or just “daaa…” or “koooooy”. I’m not the one to say whether bonds are getting stronger or not. But the sudden surfacing of ‘long-lost’ friends and the tide of emotions it brings in, Oh what surprises life have for you. By the pace friends anchor in orkut it may even possible to locate one’s ‘girlfriend’ of yore, possibly settled in some exotic land with a couple of kids and the money minting machine of a husband. Oops, I just forgot what I was talking about.
So it’s become a matter of concern, not for me, but for the people around. Acquaint with some one or visit an old friend. Once pleasantries are exchanged, he would take his ‘cell’ and without even looking at me he would ask for my ‘number’. The moment I reveal it, all hell broke lose, “what?”, “you said you don’t have a mobile”. The next thing I would be forced to bear is a detailed description of different ‘plans’ and a torrent of jargons: ‘talk time’, ‘free incoming’, ‘lifelong subscription’, ‘postpaid’ ‘pre-paid’. “Hey man ---------- offers 6oo minutes of free talk time yaar?” So what? “Am I supposed to call the vegetable vendor and asks his opinion on the fluctuation in vegetable prices during the Cauvery crisis? A recent report says that Kerala pays more than 2000 crores annually to telecom companies for going mobile. How much amount of these might’ve generated from matters of ‘serious’ concern?
Is ‘cell’ an ‘unavoidable’ accessory? I know people who show uncontrollable symptoms of panic if they have to part with their cell phones for a few hours, let alone days. The matter here is a sense of ‘losing connectivity’ a ‘born-loner’ like me never understands. Then there’s the young generation who flash their latest version mobile phones at just about everywhere. Let me confess, even I enjoy ‘Ghulam Ali’ or ‘Enigma’ flowing out of cell phones while hustling, bustling and elbowing each other on a packed train. But it’s no music to ears when “‘aabhi jaa aabhi jaa…” being belted out when you are at a place where people lament the loss of a near / dear one.
No one denies that cell phone helps you connect with friends, family etc. But does it help to enhance bonds is a bone of contention. Watch a cell phone user from the moment onwards when they get a call. All of a sudden they became engaged and being led to certain directions. This ‘being led’ is a unique feature of cell phone users, even if it’s a crowded or narrow place most of them can be seen to make spaces of their own and pacing up and down. People who fell to death from rooftops with out parapets while talking in cell phones made news though rarely. Besides the ‘mobility’ element what makes people ‘shun’ their surroundings and move to an exclusive territory as soon as they get a call? I think the nature of relation ship has a key role here. No more a boyfriend needs to worry the baritone of ‘her-dad-the-retired-major’ at the other end since she has a mobile and he has direct access to her. Mobile’s sure pave for new relationships ie new age relationships. It’s very hard to find people who do not use mobile phones either at one stage or the other in life. At my office I alone fall to this category. And the reasons I cite for not going mobile vary from ‘radiation’ to ‘can’t-learn-using-it-yaar’.
If findings of a survey is to be believed more than 50% of mobile numbers appear among toilet graffiti on trains are correct. That’s numbers addressed to ‘pleasure-seekers’ are provided by gangs indulge in prostitution. When clips of school children making out or actresses taking bath spread through mobiles, queries were being raised about our very own existence as a people. ‘Do Indians are matured enough to use these gadgets?’ Fortunately, so far this query is raised by Indians only.
I don’t use a mobile phone because I don’t feel the urge to be connected always and not because I’m an antisocial. But there are more specific reasons to list.
1 I hate to be startled by the ‘treem-treem’ of a mobile while strolling alone on a Sunday evening. (I consider myself fortunate for not killing an ex-colleague for he suggested ‘instead of ‘treem-treem’ keep one song as your ring tone yaar’).
2 It’s unimaginable to get a call from home when I’m high on rum and is in the midst of ‘tinkling sound of glasses at the bar’.
3 I’m afraid my workaholic boss will trace me and wake me up at unearthly hours.
4 For the sheer pleasure of not being traced.
5 Finally, as technology advances new methods will be implemented in all spheres of life and death. Yes, death. Yama may send you a summons via internet or may call you on your mobile. In the fist case one can choose not to open the mail unless he wishes to die. But what if you get a text/vocal message on your mobile ordering an immediate summons. So folks think about that too before wielding your latest gadget in your effort to be techno-savvy.
PS: Though I have always ruled out the possibility of me using a mobile, I keep one song to use as my ring tone. I think it’s time to disclose it; ‘hello’ by Lionel Richie.
“Hello is it me you’re looking for?
Tell me how win your heart
for I haven’t got the clue
but let me start by saying I love you…”
So folks, hopeless romantics what ye think about that?
Monday, May 28, 2007
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Alas! curtains have come down for a scintillating entertainer
Cricket will never be the same again. For it has lost one of its most revered sons, one of the most gifted players ever set foot in the crease. Brian Charles Lara bid adieu to the game. He will be sure missed by the millions who adore his ‘God’s-like’ armoury of shots.
I am no cricket pundit to rate a genious like Lara. And I’ve almost stopped watching the game for the last couple of years. No, it has nothing to do with match fixing and the subsequent scandals. I just lost my interest. And what I’ve learned from the experience is that there’s nothing in this world that’s everlastingly enchanting.
But there was a time I watched each game ball by ball. It never mattered whether India was playing or not. It never mattered whether it was the longer version or the shorter one. My eyes always glued to the television whenever there was a match. Exams were viewed with contempt. “Study, study”, parental yell seemed like eternal curse. During the 1996 World cup I was doing my graduation. We had ‘Antony & Cleopatra’ for General English. One day, just before the Miss’s arrival, I scribbled on the board, “who cares Antony & Cleopatra when there’s Wills World cup?” (Wills was the official sponsor of the world cup). Now when I glance back I can see how unpardonable an act it was. But the kind-hearted lady was too friendly and jovial to make a fuss over it.
I started to watch the game of cricket when legends like Sir Vivian Richards, Sunil Gavaskar and Imran Khan were in the twilight of their career. I don’t have much in my mind about the heroics they spectacularly exhibited. But memories of the next generation are still afresh. Though most often Batsmen steel the show I’ve an unabashed admiration for the fast bowlers. I loved watching the Rolls Royce run-up of Wasim Akram or the stallion-like one of Waquar. I loved the way Craig Mc Dermott applied zinc cream on his face and eyed the batsmen in utter contempt. He seemed to be the most hostile fast bowler. His eyes were fiery and he seemed as if he was stepped out of ‘Thus Spake Zarathustra’, Ubermensch. The two Ws, Wasim and Waquar, terrorized the batsmen around the globe. They had toe-crushing Yorkers and nipping bouncers to offer. Then there was the West Indian pace battery; Courtney Walsh, Curtly Ambrose, Ian Bishop, Winston & Kenneth Benjamin. Courtney epitomized gentleness on and off the field, but he often spearheaded the pace attack to bloody culminations. Curtly’s beaming smile was like a rose placed in the barrel of an AK47. Though injuries marred the career of Bishop he too made a mark with his ‘hunting skills’. The Benjamins too breathed fire given a chance. The West Indian’s never seemed to have any hesitation to spill blood. They did it at will. Remember the Mohali Test of 1994? The century maker in the first innings Manoj Prabhakar left the crease with a bleeding nose in the second innings. He just widened the grill on his helmet after the first innings and Walsh sent the ball through with ease. The result; they managed to level the series 1-1. Steve Waugh, the gutsy Australian who proclaimed with his career, character is more important than talent, received countless blows on his body when he led the Australians to a series win in West Indies, the first ever of its kind in 38 years.
Notwithstanding the heroic performance of the fast bowlers, batsmen too hogged the limelight. With their gritty performances they too brought laurels to their team. A certain Mr. Houghton of Zimbabwe courageously fought a battle against the menacing Wasim and Waquar. His toe crushed, his finger bones shattered, still, like a true hero he managed to score a double. Steve Waugh did it against Curtly & co. Mike Artherton did it so as a number of gutsy batsmen across the continents. I watched the hero cup matches. I watched the day-night match India played against Australia at ‘Chinnaswamy’ with bated breath. When Srinath and Kumble led India to victory an elated cry came out of my throat. Vow, who could forget the expression on their mothers’ faces who were on the stands watching the game. Can anyone ever forget the India-Pak encounter in the 1996 (or 1999?) World Cup again at ‘Chinnaswamy’ under lights? Aamir Sohails’s gesture when he hit a boundary and the fitting reply to it by Venkatesh Prasad in the very next ball made the pacer an instant hero. Then there was the Dhaka cup, chasing 314, boundary by Hrishikesh Kanitkar. Sachin’s heroics at Sharjah. Lakshman’s fine combination of technique and aesthetics against Pakistan at Eden Gardens. Dravid, the wall’s stunning performances. Oh boy, as Brian Adams crooned, “those were the best days of my life”.
What makes a batsman great? His ability to shoulder responsibility? The range of shots he plays? His ability to score under pressure? His combination of style and technique? Perhaps all these and more. And when it comes to southpaws they are a treat to watch. Think of Sourav Ganguly and the next thing that comes to your mind will be his cover drive. With that he often made us believe that it’s the easiest shot to play. For him it may be. And think of short-pitched deliveries. If Sourav plays the cover drive like an emperor, against bouncers he is a poor beggar (One who doesn’t have options rather than receiving body blows). What he is against short-pitched stuff is aptly summed up by Geoffrey Boycott; “a cat on the hot tin roof”. Almost all left-handers play the game with characteristic ease that is unique to them. But when it comes to Brian Lara he was not just way ahead, he was aeons ahead of his contemporaries if not predecessors for I’m not sure how Alwyn Kaleecharan or Sir Garry Sobers might’ve played.
Ours is an era in which everything comes in the form of capsules. We remix and shorten everything. And the reason often heard is “life is moving at a terrific pace, no one has the time”. But do we really need to rush to our graves? Naturally this ‘lack of time’ has affected one day cricket too. Though it’s already a shortened version, it’s going to be more compact. So the new version, 20:20, has already begun. When cricket gets shorter, a batsman is supposed to send the ball to the fence each time he faces one. And the crowd cheers for and with every boundary. But for a true connoisseur of the game it’s nauseating to watch batsmen playing straight drive with a horizontal bat. (Rather than calling it a ‘drive’, isn’t it better to call it a ‘straight pull’?) A true connoisseur knows that it requires extra ordinary talent to stay in the crease on bouncy tracks. There the batsman is a loner surrounded by hawk-like fieldsmen and facing merciless fast bowlers. Here stands Brian Lara like a monument of oozing talent and confidence. I did watch him batting in tests as well as in one day matches. I’m sure I can watch him for days even if he is playing it defensively, for he made even defenses spectacular. The rapid movement of the feet, eye-hand coordination and the unique back-lift, can’t help using the aged and worn-out cliché, ‘he was sheer poetry tin the crease’. And when he untied his uncanny ability to play shots he did it like God. Fired up in all cylinders, Brian Lara played the best bowlers across the globe with élan. He was talent personified. When he was on full swing it never mattered who was the bowler. From Shane Warne to Muthiah Muraleedharan and Wasim Akram to Glen Mc Grath faced the sheer brilliance of Lara. He pulled them, hooked them, cut them, drove them…all in copybook style. There was an aura of charm around his movements in the crease and there was a lazy arrogance around him; characteristics of a genious. I had fond memories of a rare gesture by him in a World Cup match. Was it against the Kenyans or the Banglas? I’m not sure about that. As soon as he faced the first ball he picked a sunglass from his hip and wore it. Only a man who has immense faith in himself and an unabashed attitude can display such a gesture.
As I mentioned earlier ours is a time in which everyone complains of ‘lack of time’. So we have to listen to the remix and super-paced version of “neele neele ambar par…” by Nithin Bali, an assault on the original by the mellifluous Kishore Kumar. It’s the same in cricket too. The leg glances or silken drives of an Azharuddin or Lakshman have been replaced by ‘unorthodox shots’ by Afridis and the like. The fine art of batting perfected by players like Lara is on the verge of extinction. Who is to blame to?
Long back I happened to go through a piece written about the batting skills of Gavaskar.
India was playing against Pakistan in Lahore. Imran Khan and Sarfraz Nawas, the pace duo who terrified even the best of batsmen with reverse swing, w ere at their best. When Imran bowled a super quick delivery, Mohinder Amaranth, who was Gavaskar’s partner defended it and the ball rolled to Imran. In the next delivery he snatched a single. When Imran delivered a similar one to Gavaskar he defended it to his own toe, that was the technique he possessed. But unlike Gavaskar, Lara was good at both defense and offense. He could be a blazing marauder or a pacified dancer at will irrespective of pitches and bowlers. On the field, he often reminded one of a Russian ballet artist. That famous back-lift that came down at lightning speed as the ball reached him would no more enthrall the millions. But Brian Charles Lara will sure illuminate their memories.
It’s often told that statistics don’t do justice when it comes to gauge the real talent of a batsman. It may be true of an old era when players got fewer chances to display their talent. But in our times statistics matter as they play more and more games. Look at Brian Lara’s statistics and others’, among whom some of them are rated along with him. Simply he stands apart. 1 quadruple century, 1 triple century, 8 double centuries, the 153 not out which was hailed by ‘wisden’ as the second best ever test innings. When Mathew Hayden surpassed his 375, I felt some sort of an injustice in it. Of course Hayden plays well, but there’s a mechanical element in his batting whereas Lara’s batting was as natural as the blooming of a flower. And to my relief, like a true emperor, Lara regained his throne in style.
As the Caribbean legend stepped down in a way quite uncharacteristic of a champion, receiving more brickbats than bouquets, one thing is sure, Brian Charles Lara ultimately
was an entertainer to the core. And the connoisseurs of cricket will miss him forever because players like Lara bless the game once in centuries.
I am no cricket pundit to rate a genious like Lara. And I’ve almost stopped watching the game for the last couple of years. No, it has nothing to do with match fixing and the subsequent scandals. I just lost my interest. And what I’ve learned from the experience is that there’s nothing in this world that’s everlastingly enchanting.
But there was a time I watched each game ball by ball. It never mattered whether India was playing or not. It never mattered whether it was the longer version or the shorter one. My eyes always glued to the television whenever there was a match. Exams were viewed with contempt. “Study, study”, parental yell seemed like eternal curse. During the 1996 World cup I was doing my graduation. We had ‘Antony & Cleopatra’ for General English. One day, just before the Miss’s arrival, I scribbled on the board, “who cares Antony & Cleopatra when there’s Wills World cup?” (Wills was the official sponsor of the world cup). Now when I glance back I can see how unpardonable an act it was. But the kind-hearted lady was too friendly and jovial to make a fuss over it.
I started to watch the game of cricket when legends like Sir Vivian Richards, Sunil Gavaskar and Imran Khan were in the twilight of their career. I don’t have much in my mind about the heroics they spectacularly exhibited. But memories of the next generation are still afresh. Though most often Batsmen steel the show I’ve an unabashed admiration for the fast bowlers. I loved watching the Rolls Royce run-up of Wasim Akram or the stallion-like one of Waquar. I loved the way Craig Mc Dermott applied zinc cream on his face and eyed the batsmen in utter contempt. He seemed to be the most hostile fast bowler. His eyes were fiery and he seemed as if he was stepped out of ‘Thus Spake Zarathustra’, Ubermensch. The two Ws, Wasim and Waquar, terrorized the batsmen around the globe. They had toe-crushing Yorkers and nipping bouncers to offer. Then there was the West Indian pace battery; Courtney Walsh, Curtly Ambrose, Ian Bishop, Winston & Kenneth Benjamin. Courtney epitomized gentleness on and off the field, but he often spearheaded the pace attack to bloody culminations. Curtly’s beaming smile was like a rose placed in the barrel of an AK47. Though injuries marred the career of Bishop he too made a mark with his ‘hunting skills’. The Benjamins too breathed fire given a chance. The West Indian’s never seemed to have any hesitation to spill blood. They did it at will. Remember the Mohali Test of 1994? The century maker in the first innings Manoj Prabhakar left the crease with a bleeding nose in the second innings. He just widened the grill on his helmet after the first innings and Walsh sent the ball through with ease. The result; they managed to level the series 1-1. Steve Waugh, the gutsy Australian who proclaimed with his career, character is more important than talent, received countless blows on his body when he led the Australians to a series win in West Indies, the first ever of its kind in 38 years.
Notwithstanding the heroic performance of the fast bowlers, batsmen too hogged the limelight. With their gritty performances they too brought laurels to their team. A certain Mr. Houghton of Zimbabwe courageously fought a battle against the menacing Wasim and Waquar. His toe crushed, his finger bones shattered, still, like a true hero he managed to score a double. Steve Waugh did it against Curtly & co. Mike Artherton did it so as a number of gutsy batsmen across the continents. I watched the hero cup matches. I watched the day-night match India played against Australia at ‘Chinnaswamy’ with bated breath. When Srinath and Kumble led India to victory an elated cry came out of my throat. Vow, who could forget the expression on their mothers’ faces who were on the stands watching the game. Can anyone ever forget the India-Pak encounter in the 1996 (or 1999?) World Cup again at ‘Chinnaswamy’ under lights? Aamir Sohails’s gesture when he hit a boundary and the fitting reply to it by Venkatesh Prasad in the very next ball made the pacer an instant hero. Then there was the Dhaka cup, chasing 314, boundary by Hrishikesh Kanitkar. Sachin’s heroics at Sharjah. Lakshman’s fine combination of technique and aesthetics against Pakistan at Eden Gardens. Dravid, the wall’s stunning performances. Oh boy, as Brian Adams crooned, “those were the best days of my life”.
What makes a batsman great? His ability to shoulder responsibility? The range of shots he plays? His ability to score under pressure? His combination of style and technique? Perhaps all these and more. And when it comes to southpaws they are a treat to watch. Think of Sourav Ganguly and the next thing that comes to your mind will be his cover drive. With that he often made us believe that it’s the easiest shot to play. For him it may be. And think of short-pitched deliveries. If Sourav plays the cover drive like an emperor, against bouncers he is a poor beggar (One who doesn’t have options rather than receiving body blows). What he is against short-pitched stuff is aptly summed up by Geoffrey Boycott; “a cat on the hot tin roof”. Almost all left-handers play the game with characteristic ease that is unique to them. But when it comes to Brian Lara he was not just way ahead, he was aeons ahead of his contemporaries if not predecessors for I’m not sure how Alwyn Kaleecharan or Sir Garry Sobers might’ve played.
Ours is an era in which everything comes in the form of capsules. We remix and shorten everything. And the reason often heard is “life is moving at a terrific pace, no one has the time”. But do we really need to rush to our graves? Naturally this ‘lack of time’ has affected one day cricket too. Though it’s already a shortened version, it’s going to be more compact. So the new version, 20:20, has already begun. When cricket gets shorter, a batsman is supposed to send the ball to the fence each time he faces one. And the crowd cheers for and with every boundary. But for a true connoisseur of the game it’s nauseating to watch batsmen playing straight drive with a horizontal bat. (Rather than calling it a ‘drive’, isn’t it better to call it a ‘straight pull’?) A true connoisseur knows that it requires extra ordinary talent to stay in the crease on bouncy tracks. There the batsman is a loner surrounded by hawk-like fieldsmen and facing merciless fast bowlers. Here stands Brian Lara like a monument of oozing talent and confidence. I did watch him batting in tests as well as in one day matches. I’m sure I can watch him for days even if he is playing it defensively, for he made even defenses spectacular. The rapid movement of the feet, eye-hand coordination and the unique back-lift, can’t help using the aged and worn-out cliché, ‘he was sheer poetry tin the crease’. And when he untied his uncanny ability to play shots he did it like God. Fired up in all cylinders, Brian Lara played the best bowlers across the globe with élan. He was talent personified. When he was on full swing it never mattered who was the bowler. From Shane Warne to Muthiah Muraleedharan and Wasim Akram to Glen Mc Grath faced the sheer brilliance of Lara. He pulled them, hooked them, cut them, drove them…all in copybook style. There was an aura of charm around his movements in the crease and there was a lazy arrogance around him; characteristics of a genious. I had fond memories of a rare gesture by him in a World Cup match. Was it against the Kenyans or the Banglas? I’m not sure about that. As soon as he faced the first ball he picked a sunglass from his hip and wore it. Only a man who has immense faith in himself and an unabashed attitude can display such a gesture.
As I mentioned earlier ours is a time in which everyone complains of ‘lack of time’. So we have to listen to the remix and super-paced version of “neele neele ambar par…” by Nithin Bali, an assault on the original by the mellifluous Kishore Kumar. It’s the same in cricket too. The leg glances or silken drives of an Azharuddin or Lakshman have been replaced by ‘unorthodox shots’ by Afridis and the like. The fine art of batting perfected by players like Lara is on the verge of extinction. Who is to blame to?
Long back I happened to go through a piece written about the batting skills of Gavaskar.
India was playing against Pakistan in Lahore. Imran Khan and Sarfraz Nawas, the pace duo who terrified even the best of batsmen with reverse swing, w ere at their best. When Imran bowled a super quick delivery, Mohinder Amaranth, who was Gavaskar’s partner defended it and the ball rolled to Imran. In the next delivery he snatched a single. When Imran delivered a similar one to Gavaskar he defended it to his own toe, that was the technique he possessed. But unlike Gavaskar, Lara was good at both defense and offense. He could be a blazing marauder or a pacified dancer at will irrespective of pitches and bowlers. On the field, he often reminded one of a Russian ballet artist. That famous back-lift that came down at lightning speed as the ball reached him would no more enthrall the millions. But Brian Charles Lara will sure illuminate their memories.
It’s often told that statistics don’t do justice when it comes to gauge the real talent of a batsman. It may be true of an old era when players got fewer chances to display their talent. But in our times statistics matter as they play more and more games. Look at Brian Lara’s statistics and others’, among whom some of them are rated along with him. Simply he stands apart. 1 quadruple century, 1 triple century, 8 double centuries, the 153 not out which was hailed by ‘wisden’ as the second best ever test innings. When Mathew Hayden surpassed his 375, I felt some sort of an injustice in it. Of course Hayden plays well, but there’s a mechanical element in his batting whereas Lara’s batting was as natural as the blooming of a flower. And to my relief, like a true emperor, Lara regained his throne in style.
As the Caribbean legend stepped down in a way quite uncharacteristic of a champion, receiving more brickbats than bouquets, one thing is sure, Brian Charles Lara ultimately
was an entertainer to the core. And the connoisseurs of cricket will miss him forever because players like Lara bless the game once in centuries.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Guilt
Yes I did it;
the unforgivable.
But then, at times,
I make myself believe,
it's no big deal.
But it doesn't help.
Piranhas of guilt
gnaw me from within.
And here stands
on the barren land,
my skeleton.
Waiting for the breeze
for a crumbling submission.
the unforgivable.
But then, at times,
I make myself believe,
it's no big deal.
But it doesn't help.
Piranhas of guilt
gnaw me from within.
And here stands
on the barren land,
my skeleton.
Waiting for the breeze
for a crumbling submission.
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