I said it !

When Chris Gayle mentioned that the dance moves he essayed evertytime he celebrated throughout this tournament was inspired by the current Youtube rage ‘Gangnam Style’, I logged in for a dekko. I must say I rather prefer Gayle’s all-grin version to the original. There’s something contagious about calypso celebration and one can’t help bu join in. 

The world T20 final is but a few hours away. The best two teams, Sri Lanka & West Indies, have made it to the finals and none of them are from the “Group of Death” where the pundits believed the favourites of the tournament were all-locked up. They plan an endearing brand of cricket that may be described as naturally aggressive or aggressively natural. Their captains have shown immense maturity and restrain in dealing with their talented men. Yet, it’s Sammy that one is rooting for today. May Gayle, Samuels, Bravo and Pollard drench the stadium with sixes and fours. May Narine and Badree bind the Lankan batsmen and may their fielders delight their spectators with their natural abilities. 

It’s not that I like Gayle or Samuels more than I like Mahela or Sanga. In fact, just the opposite.  In this day and age and for this version when England prefer axe-wielders like Luke Wright and Eoin Morgan over purists like Trott and Bell, Sri Lanka are blessed that they don’t need to make any drastic changes to their line-up in any form of the game. Where others go crass with their cross-batted hoicks or tangle themselves in scoops, Mahela continues to persuade the ball to all parts of the ground without ever appearing to actually apply power. He does try the odd hoick or a scoop but when he does try them, they appear, mysteriously, elegant. Exactly the same for Sangakkara although one has not seen him at his best in this tournament. Ajanta Mendis will surely baffle the Caribbean line-up, for most of them don’t bother watching his fingers at the point of release and will try to pick him off the pitch. That will be difficult. Malinga, may well continue to bowl his 4 overs at less than 24 no matter who the opposition. That will leave Gayle & Co., little choice, but to go after the others.  

Cut to the other camp. When they do well, there can be no team as entertaining or as effervescent as West Indies. Sri Lanka play spin very well, so Narine, Badree and the rollers like Samuels and Gayle, won’t have it easy against them. West Indies quicks these days are not as quick though Rampaul is very well capable of surprising everyone. But it’s their batting that is cause for joy. Johnson can hit them clean; Samuels has been consistent over the last year or so. When Bravo archs his back to drive or pull, you involuntarily feel for your own. Pollard can destroy effortlessly but tends to ration his brilliance. But it’s Gayle – if he goes well as he seems determined to, West Indies can rest assured that they will get atleast 160 if they bat first and chase whatever target if they bat last. 

There are pundits in every walk of life - Guys who bless themselves. You hear ‘I told you so’ everyday of your life – from stock market analysts, from the political arena, from teachers, from children, from your colleagues, even your maid servant. I stake no such claim. However, I did write a piece a few months ago hoping that Windies will win the world cup. When I hit my bed tonight, I hope to be able to quietly say to myself, triumphantly, ‘I said it’!

Life begins at…

There’s more to come…

 More responsibility,

More stress,

More concerns,

More to deliver,

More men to lead,

More to grind,

More long term, more work on strategy

More finesse required

More grey hair (& less hair),

More health concerns

More walks than runs

More sprouts, lesser potatoes

More candles to count,

More fluids, less solids

More aches, more pains

More pulls, more expectations

 
More books to read

More music, movies to enjoy

More landscape, less portrait

More to meditate,

More money to manage

More investments,

More candles to count,

More to conserve, less to spend

 

A lot more to give than to be given,

A lot more to learn,

A lot more to understand and be understood,

A whole lot more to look forward to… 

Beginning tomorrow…

Suresh Saraiya R.I.P

“Bob Willis is on top of his mark now at the far end. He’s got 3 slips, a gully, a cover, an extra cover, 6 on the off as he turns and runs in to bowl to Gavaskar, right arm with the ball, swaying back and forth, past umpire Swarup Kishen now and he bowls to Gavaskar and that one is pitched up and coming in, oh and what a lovely shot that is by Gavaskar. He leans in and drives it away elegantly between cover and extra cover, Gower and Lamb are after it, they’ve taken one, Gower gets to it first, just inside the deep cover boundary and he turns and flings it back to Bob Taylor at the top of the stumps, but not before Gavaskar and Vengsarkar, have completed two runs. There was not much power behind that stroke, just pure timing and placement. Gavaskar knew exactly where the gap, was as only he can, and he played that drive dissecting the two fielders and timed it just well enough and far enough for him to be able to come back for the second and take the strike again. And those two runs take Sunil Manohar Gavaskar onto to 30 and the score is 52 for the loss of one wicket. Baavan ek wicket ke nuksan Par.”

From a plain reading of the above, one would never be able to match the emotions that one would have felt had one heard these words from Suresh Saraiya over the radio in the early 80s. Listening to this live was as if Willis and Gavaskar were playing before our very eyes. I became a Sunil Gavaskar fan long before I saw him in action, thanks to Suresh Saraiya’s running commentary. Even if the batsman did not play a single stroke and left each ball outside the off-stump alone through to the wicket keeper for a maiden over, Suresh Saraiya had a different description of each delivery and the batsman’s technique each time. I imagined myself playing like each batsman or bowler that he had described to us over the radio. The radio would be turned on long before the match started; just to hear Suresh Saraiya seeking expert comments before the match from past players like Pataudi or Jaisimha. The disturbance in the signal would create a feeling that the spectators were making noise in the background. At home, we didn’t have a particularly good radio; that meant that one had to sit right next to the in-built amplifier with an ear strained to its cover to catch the commentary. Every now and then the radio required a little tap or a shift in position to get a clearer reception. Not only for the Test Matches, you could hear Suresh Saraiya’s commentary for all major Ranji Trophy matches and you built an opinion about a player’s technique and whether he could eventually break into the Test side. One such player was Mohinder Amarnath and when you heard Suresh Saraiya describe his batting, you could not but get angry at the selectors for leaving him out. That, Lala Amarnath, Mohinder’s father, was one of the expert commentators for radio, had nothing to do with Suresh Saraiya’s comments. Those days, it was fun taking notes and keeping the score and checking R.Mohan’s report in The Hindu the following day.

As I grew up and we made progress to television, we saw for ourselves what Suresh Saraiya was earlier describing for us. From him and Bapu Nadkarni, we progressed to Narottam Puri and Sushil Doshi and then further to the Tony Greigs and Richie Benauds and we never returned. Although Suresh Saraiya continued his ball-to-ball commentary over the radio, we could hardly ever listen to him for a full session – except when one was travelling and the transistor was the only source of catching up with the cricket.

The era of professional commentators is over what with retired cricketers progressing seamlessly into a career in the media. But Suresh Saraiya will remain etched in memory; it was he who inspired a generation of youngsters to love the sport. Mr. Saraiya, R.I.P.

Resurgent Windies

I haven’t written a post on sports for quite a while. Sports had gotten a bit boring for a while.  Although I watched IPL every night this season, the purist in me wasn’t exactly exhilarated about even last-ball finishes. Rafa won the French Open, but one can watch only so much of the baseline oriented game without getting tired. But last month, there were lots of action and plenty of excitement.  

Spain absolutely drubbed Italy into submission in the Euro Finals, Serena came back from near-retirement to win the Women’s Singles and King Fed was back to his regal best at Wimbledon. Sri Lankans proved to be a better all-round side and put it past an assembled Pakistan side. Just when we thought Lee-Hesh had finally made up, they made another public hash of their relationship. England once again proved why they are a fine professional side by beating both Windies and Aussies fairly comfortably. But then, not everything was along expected lines and therein lays the beauty of sport. 

If I was a Ladbroke regular, I’d bet on Windies to win the next World Cup. While fanatics are everywhere and many fellow countrymen will be aghast at this blasphemy, let me try to submit logic to my tall claim.  

In my recent logic notes in the Corporate World, I’ve often begun with a ‘Background’. So, here it is : Windies ruled the cricketing world for the best part of a decade and a half between the mid-70s to the late 80s. During this time, under the able leadership of Big Cat, Clive Lloyd, they had such gifted batsmen, destroyers of all kinds of bowling, and masters of all they surveyed. If the bowling side was lucky to get Greenidge or Haynes early and open up one end, they’d have to survive rampaging ‘Smoking Joe’ King Viv, graceful Larry Gomes, Lloyd himself, silky Jeff Dujon, and at different times a stubborn Kallicharan or a gutsy Gus Logie to get to the tail. Seldom did bowling sides look forward to facing them twice for fear of being humiliated. When it came to facing their bowling, Big Bird ‘Joel Garner, ‘Rolls Royce’ Mike Holding, lethal Malcolm Marshall, the fearsome Roberts, with Colin Croft or Winston Davis or Wayne Daniel for company, ensured that batsmen became truly religious.  

Since then they’d fallen apart – true there has been the occasional belligerence of a Richie Richardson or the greatest of all batsmen who never became great, Carl Hooper, or the fighting spirit of Shivnarine Chanderpaul, but calypso cricket had lost its glory. Their bowling sides had Ambrose and Walsh, and very little thereafter. What’s worse, their fielding standards fell too. Amidst all this, they had their administrators who hastened their fall from grace. 

Cut to the present. Gayle is back (and how!), and he had Simmons and Dwayne Smith for company in the top 3 in the recent one-dayers against Kiwis. Darren Bravo is truly gifted, but he couldn’t get a look-in to their one-day side. His bits-and-pieces brother Dwayne, big-hitting Pollard, the always talented now dependable Marlon Samuels and the all-rounders Russell, Sammy, Ramdin all have the ability to destroy any opposing attack (if it doesn’t swing, that is). Tino Best, Fidel Edwards, Ravi Rampaul, Andre Russell, Sammy, Sunil Narine, Samuels, Bravo and Pollard can all bowl economically and effectively.  

Caribbean cricket is a heady mix, constituting their rhythm, their beats, their music, and their unique style. Their batsmen are loved for the way they twirl their bats or chew their gum or arch their backs when they essay their shots; their bowlers for their athleticism and skill; their fielders for their swoop on the run; their crowd for their unbridled enthusiasm. When they get it right, no cricket fan can stay seated. My word! it looks like the time that they get it more often right than wrong is coming again.

The new reality show - Poriborton

I’d written this in response to an article in the Hindu a couple of weeks ago - Arghya Sengupta's article "How a city lost when it won".

In the good old times they used to say ‘What Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow’. Despite this ostensible lack of speed in execution, the rest of India has moved ahead and one might well add ‘what India does today, Bengal may think of doing some years later’. The culture of ‘cholbe na, cholbe na’ and ‘inquilab zindabad zindabad’ has permeated so deeply into its rank and file, that the investing community is reduced to owner-driven self-run businesses rather than large-scale industries. I probably shouldn’t use the word ‘file’ – files are confronted with severe lethargy in the Government offices and find difficulty moving.

The letter I wrote was not published. By then, there had already been a week of Mamata-bashing in the papers and the Editor probably had had enough. Perhaps, I was needlessly cynical. But amongst my friends are several bhadralok from Kolkata who had really hoped that Mamata di will bring in ‘Poriborton’. Their disappointment, angst, anger and disgust at her way of functioning is almost palpable.

The unpublished letter…

Congrats to the KKR club team which won the IPL-5 edition fair and square. That's that and let's get on with life. But 'Wait, our State would like to celebrate this victory', is what Mamata di seems to have felt.

Let's view this from her point of view. A year and a bit after her party won the elections on the 'Poriborton' platform, nothing much seems to have changed in the State. Investors have continued to stay away, hospitals have gone up in flames, infants have died in huge numbers, violence has escalated, especially against women, - in other words, it's business as usual for the State of West Bengal. From her own point of view, in the last one year, she blamed all and sundry for deteriorating law and order, found fault with fellow countrymen who speak 'good english' and tarnished her image, arrested freelance cartoonists, contributed to change in railway ministry and walked out of an interview session with students because they asked 'CPM' questions. She hardly had any occasion to celebrate. About the only citizen who fanned her claims of ladyship (in Bengali they'd say 'gave her pattha') was Shah Rukh Khan. So, she really had a cause to publicly celebrate a victory by Shah Rukh's KKR team. Some State funds got used up in this process, but big deal. There are other State Governments in India who have consigned warehouses of currency notes to flames, in comparison.

Arghya should realise that this kind of public voicing of opinion could be seriously injurious to his health. He could be banished or could 'vanish' from the scene. He'd be well advised to take these events for what they are - 'good entertainment value'.

Musings over a moustache

I'm sure some scholarly research on life cycle of a moustache is available - must google for it someday. We do see a lot of men worry about the hair on their head and how to keep their hair from premature baldness or greying. I’m reasonably endowed in that respect and it’s only the last year or so that I’ve noticed some greying alongside the ears. However, it’s my moustache that I have a grievance with.

 Several of my schoolmates had their first moustache around the age of 13. I waited, hoping that I’ll get mine by the time I get to 15. I went to senior school, passed through, still no signs of a moustache, and I waited. Into college and several friends of that age group were already looking like my uncles – still my moustache hardly broke through although there were some first signs. Post-graduation, as I enrolled for my CA into a well-known firm for my articleship and had to visit large corporates who were their clients, I desperately wanted one; still no development. At social events, people would exclaim 'Innum meesai molakkalai...' (no translation would do justice).  It wasn’t until I was well past 23 that the moustache actually developed into its own and I felt really great buying my first shaving cream and razor and the first harvest was almost a festival. It was almost as though I'd conquered a stigma.

A few years later, I chanced upon a photograph of myself taken when I was in high school and felt I looked really good without the moustache back then.  One fine morning, the razor went over the moustache and I came out nice and clean. The wife and kids looked askance, but didn’t volunteer an opinion. I carried onto office as though nothing had happened. When I got there and took my seat, a female colleague rushed in worried and exclaimed, “Hey, what happened?” (In traditional circles, it’s customary to remove the moustache when some one’s mourning). I hastened to assure her that it’s just my new look. “Not good, lah”, she labored, “your face demands a moustache !”  Bowing to economics, I quickly worked on getting the moustache back on and have retained it ever since.

Once a week, I try and make sure that the moustache is trimmed and even. I’ve noticed dad does that everyday, but for me, once a week was good enough. Imagine the horror, when I discovered a single strand of grey hair amongst the thick black crop over the upper lip, not so long ago. I pulled out the scissors and clipped it out. When things begin to go wrong, they have a tendency to go the whole hog and the moustache is no exception. The greying of the moustache quickly doubled and multiplied and now the weekly clipping of the grey strands is threatening to leave large gaps in the upper lip. It certainly looks ungainly if you leave it unattended. The ultimate insult was when the hairdresser offered to dye the moustache first (in precedence to the greying hair on the head)claiming that I otherwise still looked reasonably young. It’s not that bad, I assured him; concerned that dyeing the moustache would actually accelerate the degenerative process.

How could the active life of my moustache last only 15 years; it arrived late, threatens to wear off early? How unfair ! Yes, I consoled myself, my face demands a moustache. But it’s the supply side that’s disconcerting.  At this rate, I may have to opt for a nice and clean do, for all my life. Alas, economic theory can help very little in keeping up with this demand even at an incremental price !

I'm sure many of my facebook friends would pitch in with their woes on this subject...