One billion hopes

Blogging is a difficult proposition, at least,for somebody like me with a retaining capacity as infamous as that of the goldfish. That perhaps explains why i have three drafts on three different and varied topics in my blog dashboard. But today when my girlfriend was wondering aloud,( a lil too loud) on why we Indians are so big suckers when it comes to cricket and its like a huge and massive peer pressure in this country that if we don't watch cricket or cheer ourselves hoarse, we are not INDIAN enough, did this thought come into my mind and m trying my best to pen it down before another bout of amnesia tightens its grip on me.

Once as a kid watching cricket on the TV, a placard grabbed my attention . It simply read,"Cricket is my religion, Sachin is my GOD". Of course that was then when Sachin Tendulkar was the lone shining knight of Indian cricket.No body I reckon could have said it better.

Today when India is poised to take off and be soon an economic powerhouse in its own might, spare a thought for the 70's and 80's when our experiment with socialism left us bereft of any thing to look forward to. The masses knew one thing and one thing alone, toil for petty wages, just about enough to break some bread and afford a roof. Amidst all this depression Indira Gandhi introduced Television and it soon turned out to be the new opium of the masses. Call it destiny or sheer serendipity but an entire nation watched in first disbelief and then euphoria,a second rate, third rung bunch of underdogs beating the goras (as literary license, m including west indies in the gora list too) in their own den and come back victoriously with a World Cup. It seems India was waiting for this moment.

They say things were never the same again. This one win galvanized the nation into one strong cohesive entity. Millions of voices cheered as one and on some not so fortunate nights million cried in dismay but they never stopped loving cricket. Cricket became synonymous to social gatherings. Panchayats used to take place with a television occupying the cetrestage while the rich and elite in their fancy parties, while sipping scotch, were discussing the stance of Gavaskar or the bowling arm of Kapil Dev . The very fabric of society was being rewound by cricket for perhaps for the first time in India the war cry of the rich also had a tenor of the poor mingled in it.

And then came Tendulkar. Growing up in a remote sleepy town in Jharkhand, among all the memories I can possibly cherish, I figure Sachin played a part in most of them. With doordarshan sucking the way it did, Cricket was perhaps the only watchable thing on TV. And with power supply being as erratic as erratic can be, tuning the radio with five friends in a huddle, straining the hearing limits to catch every word of commentary or sneaking a radio into the classroom and trying best not to get caught are memories that look so hollow in print. Perhaps the best compliments those days used to be, "you bat like sachin" or for that matter ,"you look like sachin". It was every budding cricketer's dream
to hear something on those lines and in those days,mind you, all of us had a budding cricketer in us.

Then came the alleged lean patch for Sachin and everybody it seemed was busy predicting the number of days before the lil master hangs up his boots for they all agreed that end was near. Amidst all this din, one man was unperturbed. He adapted, was now less flamboyant and more mature. Then the self proclaimed experts went on to say, "Sachin has lost his class and his touch". Time and again the master kept on delivering the goods but people were busy penning epitaphs and obituaries for him.

And today when somebody scored his maiden century and took three vital wickets and was yet reduced to a footnote on the pages of history the lil master very subtly sent out the message that he was still very much there and was as good if not better. And when yet India lost today, millions groaned in dismay but millions still savored the master's class and only a fool dare be the naysayer for when Sachin bats the gods sit back and marvel.

So coming back to my gf's question, yes we are suckers when it comes to cricket and we would very much like to be exactly that. Cricket is not merely a game for us, its engrained into our very souls.Its not just a game because I know that my applause and my groans mingle with millions of my countrymens' into one deafening roar. Its not just a game because over the years it has given me hope when I was down. Its not just a game because I have vivid memories of me spending some of the most cherished moments of my life watching it with people I love and care about. Its not just a game because it has given me all that and much more.

Sorry Uncle, Truly am.

Ever wondered why one seemingly trivial incident gets buried so deep in your conscience that no matter how hard you try to shake it off it refuses to buzz off.Time and again and when you least expect it and are at your vulnerable best, the figments of the visions from the past come swarming by and before you know it, you are engulfed by it. By the time you forcibly extract yourself from them, you are left wondering for one possible and, so far, elusive explanation of why this incident continues to haunt you.

It was February 2009, the place , Bangalore. I was with a couple of friends in a shopping complex. Somehow there was excitement in the air and everyone around us, it seemed was buying gifts for someone else. As is wont with shopping malls, We perhaps did more that our fair share of shopping and by the time we were done the four of us in between them had close to six big polythene shopping bags. The scene on the corridor of the complex was similar to what all of us, have all our lives, seen in all the shopping complexes we have ever been to. WITH ONE BIG ANOMALY.

Right in the middle of the corridor was a middle aged, well dressed, bespectacled man holding a small placard that read , "SAY NO TO POLYTHENE" . He was so strategically placed in the complex that everyone exiting the mall had to cross him. And when people exit malls their hands are invariably full of bags.

Over the years, I had seen many hands holding that placard and many faces behind it but this one was different. The people I had earlier seen were 10 something kids doing something noble as part of a school drive or 20 something punks honestly thinking Armageddon is just round the corner only to get disillusioned couple of weeks later. But this man, this face and this hand was different.

He must have been well off. Had plain decent clothes on him. The watch seemed decently expensive. He could be a retired school teacher or a college professor. he could also be a doctor or an architect. Bottom-line he could be in any of the jobs that we normally associate with the middle class. He looked like someone, all his life people looked up to. And yet here he was , all alone , standing for hours with that placard.

While my friends were window shopping I spent some minutes observing this man and the effect he had on the crowd. All around him was a flurry of polythene and everyone seemed oblivious of him. For some moments it seemed that he was invisible to the crowd. But then I observed closely and an interesting pattern began to emerge. When people were about to cross him they would avert their eyes, look somewhere else, pretend to be lost in thought or start talking to someone else. And as soon as they crossed him they seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. There was perceptible change in their gait as if they were now more relaxed. And it was like an endless chain for it kept happening again and again and then again and then some more.

And then another thought struck me. Why would anyone wake up in the morning , get dressed , pick up a placard , come to a shopping mall and stand there for hours at a stretch? This thought defied me. All of us know that polythene is bad for mother nature. And we use it not by choice but out of compulsion which brings me back to this man. He was definitely not out of his mind. He was not one of those punks who are ready to lend their voice to any cause but can't stay with any cause for more than some days. He was a dignified and thoughtful man not someone who could be impulsive. He wouldn't be here unless he was totally sure that this is what he wanted to do.

And as I crossed him , I was so intrigued by him that I perhaps did what no one did before. I looked into his eyes. And he looked back. And those eyes continued to haunt me thence. For the eyes didn't chastised me, they didn't castrate me, they didn't even mock me. They smiled, not at me but for me. They weren't sad because I had polythene with me, they celebrated that I UNDERSTOOD the message. They were happy because I wasn't a lost cause. They were joyous because there was still some soul left in me to salvage. I could change, after all, they seemed to say.

I was never a big fan of Gandhi but that instant I understood the essence of his core philosophy. This man should have been angry with everyone for we were defying his cause. He could have shouted himself hoarse like some angry politician on an electoral campaign. Or he could be immensely sad that we were all so arrogantly foolish that we didn't see something that was staring right into our faces. But, nay, he chose to smile at us. He shamed us into thinking about his cause by invoking our own conscience and all he had to do for it was SMILE.

I would be lying if I said that I stopped using polythene all together. But whenever I know I don't need it , I don't take it. And time and again I think of that man, think of his smile and remember the look in his eyes and can't help but murmur a quiet thank you.

Bharat Bhagya VIDHATA

Back in 1947 when the country was searing under the scalding heat of partition and Indians felt that the British were using it as a pretext of extending their stay for some more years, Gandhi famously remarked,"Leave India to the Gods".61 years on, I can't help but wonder if Gandhi was inadvertently prophesising the future of India.

Countries are made by men, not god. Americans gloat over the fact that from a naught three centuries back, they transformed their nation into the sole superpower of the world. The future of a nation is determined by its determined people.Gods seldom have time to tread the world.

What is it about us that sets us apart. That we are a lazy, carefree people.That we wage so many battles with life that we develop an immunity towards even the gravest of problems. Post 9/11, though America got its act together the people there are still a traumatized lot. Every bearded guy is a threat so what if he cries himself hoarse shouting that he is a sikh and not muslim.

Takes three cases as examples of glaring contrasts between them and us.
1> A blast in a crowded lane in Chandni Chowk, Delhi on the day of Diwali. Two hours later people were strolling through the same lane as if nothing ever happened there.

2> After the London Tube Bombings took place, Britishers were too scared to use the tube for weeks yet when the deadly Mumbai train blasts took place, the next day things were normal for the daily commuters.The office goers still took the local the next day while the dabbawallahs didn't let the blasts affect their efficient system.

3> Mumbai on 26/11 was an inferno. For three gruesome days the nation watched in dismay, disbelief and horror as heart wrenching stories kept coming yet no one missed their offices or schools.Life was normal. And though this time it was assumed that the scars will remain, our leaders so benevolently assured us that that we are a tough lot and will bounce back. More than 6 months from then the police forces are still waiting for the once promised "sophisticated weapons" and protective gears , the coasts are still as unsafe while the security cover is well, non existent.And to top it all the commission report is hushed hushed under the table for fear of accusing fingers at the government.

We have so oft been told that we are resilient.So many times have we heard it that we have somehow accepted it as our second nature. Hell , we even take great pride in it. Little do we know that resilience is the word that every politician in this coutry uses to hide his own shortcomings.

And when its not resilience its "Chalta hai". In this country every thing is chalta hai. So when some neta is exposed in some corruption scandal, we say chalta hai. When some neta's kid rapes some poor gal we say chalta hai.When we go to a government office and the babu there demands hariyali we say chalta hai.When some neta's goons invade a pub and beat helpless gals we say chalta hai.

Some say that the "chalta hai" attitude is gone. Now public awareness is on the rise . Now people react. Yeah right, from some candle light marches to pink chaddi campaigns!!! What about the rest? How many candle light marches do we see when some poor tribal gets raped in broad daylight or for that matter when some neta misuses his powers routinely. How many accused of the Godhra riots being hanged yet? The government couldnt't even hang a supreme court convicted terrorist. Lets face it we are a chalta hai crowd and like a friend once told me, :"iis desh mein sab kuch chalta hai, bas desh hi nahi chalta".

No matter what spin you choose to put on it, the fact of the matter is, this is a country that is run by dogs and little wonder then, the future lies in the hands of gods. Bharat Bhagya Vidhata. As for the masses they can happily chant Jaya he, Jaya he, Jaya Jaya Jaya Jaya he.

That Gust of Wind

History, they say is a bad motorist, it rarely ever signals when it is to take turn. Not many people get a chance to watch history turn a new page. It now seems that if you look hard enough you just might catch a faint glimmer of the indicator.
Incoherent Rambling of a dead mind, the title was not not for nothing. There was a great deal of thought that went behind it. And by one sweep history changed it all. While I still ramble neither is it incoherent nor is the mind dead.
Rewind 4 months and all this was true. The mind was dead the soul tired and the brain lifeless. Life indeed seemed to be staring straight out of a dull, drab depressing portrait shouting to be rescued from the shackles of depression. And then Tesaract happened.
Little did I know one dinner could change the course of life . I went there dead and by the time I came out every ounce of my body seemed to be reverberating with unmatched rigor and passion. After ages I knew what I wanted. After ages I had re discovered myself.
The last four months were a haze or was it the previous phase of life that is hazy. They say pilots high up in the air get confused which way is the sky and which way is the ground. Am I suffering the same dilemma here? Let's say that four months i was living a life that is an ordinary daily life for all of us. Nay it would be wrong to say it was a life that was any ordinary life. But it was a life that many envied. A friend termed it a "permanent vacation". Imagine swapping the am and the pm of your biological clock , watching countless movies on a trot and playing all the computer games there were to be played and you pretty much get an idea how life was back then. There was just one little problem. Life was rudderless and i didn't know where I wanted to go or for that matter who i wanted to be.
And in a flash Tesaract happened and for once I was at the right place at the right time watching my history taking a turn and this time for the good. All it required was fighting it out. The people who mattered like, as expected, didn't back me up and the people who I knew would matter backed me upto the hilt. Living the life on your own terms can end up making you lonely but the beauty of it is you and you alone are responsible for your actions. Plus an additional adrenaline surge to prove your detractors wrong doesn't hurt your cause either.
My girlfriend once described me as a ship in the ocean tossing in the waves and to any onlooker seemingly lost but the ship is anything but it. It is waiting for that gust of wind that perks up its sails to enable it to soar ahead in the far far world. Needless to add if that ship was me Tesaract was the gust I had been waiting for all along.

Rakesh Ranjan, Welcome back.