I'm writing this note just a few hours before the big match, the WC finals. India and Srilanka, Ramayana v2.0 - who would've thought! The behemoths, Australia and South Africa lie fallen like warriors with broken swords along the long, winding path to the glorious cup. The excitement and impatience on the street below is palpable! The honking is a tad louder, the walking a step faster, the smiles on the faces of Mumbaikars are a few millimetres wider. On the trains too, the talk is about cricket and cricket alone according to a friend of mine who's on his way to the stadium. For the last week, 90% of all the posts on my facebook wall have been about cricket! Post match analysis, Sachin's 100th ton, speculations about match fixing, Sachin's 100th ton, articles by former cricketers, Sachin's 100th ton, vintage videos of India's wins, Sachin's 100th ton are doing the rounds on any portal that's connected to the cloud. I think the question "Will he, won't he" has been posed more times in the last few days than all the women in the world, through all the ages have pondered plucking at rose petals. And if cricket has not been on the front page of all the leading dailies everyday for the last 40 days, then I'll give up watching the sport! National news, inflation worries, terror threats, GDP growth and its woes, everything lies forgotten for cricket. Sab chalta hai Bhai, it's cricket after all. And this crazy nation goes impossibly berserk when our men in Blue are on the field.
My association with this game goes as far as I can remember. Having an athletic father who worshipped the game, having played it at district level and a grandmother whose razor sharp memory could hold statistics and numbers better than databases, ensured that I received copious doses of the beauty of cricket right from the age of 6 or 7. I saw cricket transition from the classy whites with a red ball to a splash a colours (92 was it?) played with a white ball and I was hooked. So much so that, plumb in front of the wicket, silly mid on, silly point, cover drive, long off, yorker were a significant part of my early english vocabulary. I loved the cracking sound that was made when the wooden willow hitting the ball for a boundary, the slight knick of the bat before a caught behind and the sound of the crowds roaring on television. I read about the history of the game in the school kid's version of Wisden, spent hours neatly cutting out colour pictures of favourite cricketers from the newspapers and tacking them over a cricket scrap book and read anything I could lay my hands upon about Steve Waugh, Shaun Pollock, Hansie Cronje, Anil Kumble and the new kid on the block - Sachin Tendulkar.
Over the years, several days were spent in front of a rickety old television with my father and sometimes a few of his friends, my grandmother, my sister and I at the edge of our seats, cheering for Team India, cussing them for dropped catches and misfields, screaming "what a beauty" at every classy ball at the top of our voices and celebrating every success with loud screaming, jumping and dancing. My mother, not so much an ardent fan of India mainly because of the insanity it invoked in the rest of her mad household, would hover in the background reminding us when wickets fell that "cricket is the ultimate winner" only to be met by blank stares from all us devastated souls. As the years progressed, my love for the game just increased. From 1996, where India crashed out to Srilanka in the semis (and for which we are seeking revenge today!) to the infamous 1999 world cup where I was smitten by the beautiful English cricket grounds with even more beautiful names (Oval, Old Trafford, Lord's, Edgebaston, Trent Bridge), I watched every series whether India played in it or not. Rahul Dravid with his fresh, sharp look, his heartwarming smile and "by the rule book" batting was my newest crush. Having always hated Australia for no reason whatsoever, I cried unstoppably during the Semi Finals of the 1999 World Cup when South Africa crashed out when Father Time stood still, turned around and threw his hands up at Allan Donald. The match fixing scandals that rocked the cricketing world soon after followed by Hansie Cronje plane crash rocked my world and I hoped that the game would come out clean again. The Indian final crash to Australia in the 2003 World Cup was the hilt where I spent the day watching the match and then stayed up all night in a blend of severe depression over India's loss, fear that I would flunk my Chemistry final exam the next day and palpitations that I may sleep through the paper! Which sadist keeps an examination the day after the world cup finals?!
University and MBA came and my love for the game dwindled. My dad being an ardent Sampras fan had already given me a substitute - Tennis, to fall back upon, and Federer with his ballet-like grace and his classy forehand caught my eye and grabbed a significant portion of my mindshare. Interest for cricket picked up only during the World Cup 2007 (and crashed after India's disastrous early exit), India Pakistan matches and the occasional interesting tri-nation series. Twenty-20 never really sparked my old fire for the game and IPL (and my hatred for it and the fact that it's just not cricket!) is a topic for a future post! However, before this world cup, something just sparked my interest again. I don't know if it was just the fact that the Cup was being played in the sub-continent, or that India had a good chance this time of lifting the trophy again, but my old fire is raging again. I resolved to watch atleast one match at the ground, and when I did, the insanity and passion that the game once invoked in me was reborn! I screamed, shouted, cursed, laughed, jumped, sang and cheered like I used to 15 years ago and all I can say now is that this love is here to stay! I don't know what magic is there about this game that brings a nation of 1.2 billion people to a grinding halt and unites them like nothing else! After all, as a friend puts it, "It's a game where 13 blokes play with a piece of wood and a ball to a random set of rules, but something about the game makes it so endearing."
So here's to an old love that's come back in full force, a life-long alliance with the game, to good sportsmanship and the true spirit of cricket! I don't care who wins the game today as long as it's India! :D
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
A year flies by, yet memories live on...
I still can't believe a year's gone by since that memorable spring day in a sleepy town called Ahmedabad when 280 black cloaked, bright eyed youngsters took the short walk up the stage to collect a piece of parchment that would "brand them for life"! I wonder what emotions might've effervesced in the majestic grass covered quadrangle enclosed by the massive red brick walls that day. Pride, joy, happiness, relief, ambition, hope... if those walls could talk, I'm sure they would be bursting to sing out too. And Louis Kahn, wherever in heaven or hell will sure be proud to have been a part of the making of this wonderful place that was my home for two years and will forever hold a special place in my heart.
As I stepped off the dias, I could think of only one person, the promise that I had made and kept, and the dream that I would continue to strive towards. While walking down the aisle holding the coveted parchment in hand, my eyes sought out my mother and there she was in the distance, her eyes sparkling with tears of pride, shining out like a single daffodil in a field of heather. Wordlessly, I handed over the degree to her and hugged her. The victory was as much hers and dad's as mine. The journey from being a fresh, naive engineer out of college to a strong and more mature "manager" ready to take on the world was a long, winding and hard trail. This was the befitting end - too short maybe, but heart warming. Two years spent there flashed before my eyes as I went around taking pictures with all my family members who had come there to celebrate my success and my dear friends who were setting out on their own paths in life... Words failed me once again. Time seemed to have stopped and yet seemed to be flying... Probably, the best lessons learnt in those grey cement and red brick classrooms were not of Accounting, Finance, Strategy or Marketing, but of those in life - dealing with different kinds of people, learning when to step forward and take a challenge and when to back off, knowing the right time to strike the iron, doing things and more importantly, getting things done...
I have cursed and loved this place in equal measure, but as I left I could feel only one thing - nostalgia. I called this place a torture chamber, a concentration camp, a boiler room, a prison and every other synonym possible during all those sleepless nights in the first year spent feverishly completing assignments, while getting "cold-called" when dozing off in class, after seeing a quiz notice on a totally random subject at 1.30 PM outside the mess and while getting screwed up grades in subjects where I felt like a champ. However, the same brick walls felt like heaven when I lay down on the wet grass all alone, in the wee hours of the morning at the LKP gazing at the stars and feeling the serenity of the place. Time would stand still at those moments and sigh...
Those countless coffees, late nights reading case materials while knowing that I wouldn't remember a thing the next morning, the long discussions at the CT eating maggi and drinking "chai", those countless movie sessions, nights spent playing card games, frisbee evenings, case discussions, forming competition teams and giving up just a few days before the submission, the "WAC runs", the countless treats (many a time, for no reason), the birthday parties, CCCFs, Section tempo shouts, dorm dunking nights... they're all just memories now. Memories that remain fresh in my mind a year since that wonderful day, memories that will always hold a special place in my heart, memories that may fade but will always remain in a small corner of my mind, to materialize on some days like dusty old and yellowed childhood photographs...
These memories may jade over time, but I know that the friendships I have forged during those two years will remain with me for a life time and only get stronger. Irrespective of the forum through or frequency with which we choose to remain in touch - be it random twice-a-year calls made on birthdays, facebook updates, regular gtalk chats, once-in-a-while meet ups, weekly or daily calls, I know these are friends I can bank on to get me out of a sticky situation, to pull me through in times of need, to give me fundae when I need them and when I don't, to join me in all my successes, to stand in 5 hour long queues in the hot sun to get cricket match tickets for me, to provide shelter to me after randomly turning up at their door and to take my calls at 3 AM in the morning.
Guys, it's been a year since that unforgettable day, but the journey will only get better. Here's to friendship, love and luck. And always remember - not one of us is "just a brick in the wall"
As I stepped off the dias, I could think of only one person, the promise that I had made and kept, and the dream that I would continue to strive towards. While walking down the aisle holding the coveted parchment in hand, my eyes sought out my mother and there she was in the distance, her eyes sparkling with tears of pride, shining out like a single daffodil in a field of heather. Wordlessly, I handed over the degree to her and hugged her. The victory was as much hers and dad's as mine. The journey from being a fresh, naive engineer out of college to a strong and more mature "manager" ready to take on the world was a long, winding and hard trail. This was the befitting end - too short maybe, but heart warming. Two years spent there flashed before my eyes as I went around taking pictures with all my family members who had come there to celebrate my success and my dear friends who were setting out on their own paths in life... Words failed me once again. Time seemed to have stopped and yet seemed to be flying... Probably, the best lessons learnt in those grey cement and red brick classrooms were not of Accounting, Finance, Strategy or Marketing, but of those in life - dealing with different kinds of people, learning when to step forward and take a challenge and when to back off, knowing the right time to strike the iron, doing things and more importantly, getting things done...
I have cursed and loved this place in equal measure, but as I left I could feel only one thing - nostalgia. I called this place a torture chamber, a concentration camp, a boiler room, a prison and every other synonym possible during all those sleepless nights in the first year spent feverishly completing assignments, while getting "cold-called" when dozing off in class, after seeing a quiz notice on a totally random subject at 1.30 PM outside the mess and while getting screwed up grades in subjects where I felt like a champ. However, the same brick walls felt like heaven when I lay down on the wet grass all alone, in the wee hours of the morning at the LKP gazing at the stars and feeling the serenity of the place. Time would stand still at those moments and sigh...
Those countless coffees, late nights reading case materials while knowing that I wouldn't remember a thing the next morning, the long discussions at the CT eating maggi and drinking "chai", those countless movie sessions, nights spent playing card games, frisbee evenings, case discussions, forming competition teams and giving up just a few days before the submission, the "WAC runs", the countless treats (many a time, for no reason), the birthday parties, CCCFs, Section tempo shouts, dorm dunking nights... they're all just memories now. Memories that remain fresh in my mind a year since that wonderful day, memories that will always hold a special place in my heart, memories that may fade but will always remain in a small corner of my mind, to materialize on some days like dusty old and yellowed childhood photographs...
These memories may jade over time, but I know that the friendships I have forged during those two years will remain with me for a life time and only get stronger. Irrespective of the forum through or frequency with which we choose to remain in touch - be it random twice-a-year calls made on birthdays, facebook updates, regular gtalk chats, once-in-a-while meet ups, weekly or daily calls, I know these are friends I can bank on to get me out of a sticky situation, to pull me through in times of need, to give me fundae when I need them and when I don't, to join me in all my successes, to stand in 5 hour long queues in the hot sun to get cricket match tickets for me, to provide shelter to me after randomly turning up at their door and to take my calls at 3 AM in the morning.
Guys, it's been a year since that unforgettable day, but the journey will only get better. Here's to friendship, love and luck. And always remember - not one of us is "just a brick in the wall"
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