Playing a little too Straight : Sachin's Playing It My Way : A Book Review

Mathew Hayden’s unforgettable comment springs to mind, “I’ve seen God and He bats at Number Four for India”. If such a Divine intervention was possible and Indian cricket fans had their way, my date of birth would have been exactly 9 months BT.

I have to separate Sachin and the book and I will get back to why at a later stage. I was in Class XI when I first heard of Sachin. He had been picked for the Indian Test squad for the Pakistan series and I read his date of birth with disbelief. When the First Test began and Sachin got out for just 15, I actually felt relieved. How can someone who is 9 months younger play Test Cricket and succeed while so many cricket-crazy boys of the same age were expected to focus on academics and make men out of themselves?  I saw him in action in the Second Test and suffice to say that thereafter I paid more attention to his career than my own.

It was in the Fourth Test in that series ; when Waqar bowled that bouncer and Sachin was hit on his nose, my friend’s mother who was watching it along with us on TV, suddenly clenched her fist and exclaimed ‘kadankara pasangala’ (you lumpen elements !). Obviously it was directed at the Pakistani fast bowling quartet of Wasim Akram, Waqar Younis, Imran Khan and Aaquib Javed who made no allowance for a greenhorn playing his first series. Sachin evoked that kind of motherly feeling in women, who started praying for his success and as he grew and we started reading more about his background, he became one from our own households. The game itself transformed from being a boring sport watched by lazy boys and men over weekends, to one which rekindled the interest of everyone everywhere – the family, the school, the office, the community, the marketplace, the transport depot, the airport… If Sachin got out, it was because the ball was unplayable or they cheated.

I remember a double-wicket exhibition tournament called “MRF Pace Challenge” that was held in 1990 in which Sachin & Kambli were partners. The bowlers included some of the fastest bowlers of that time, most of them from West Indies. Sachin simply carted them all over the place so effortlessly that it felt as if they were bowling loose balls so that Sachin could entertain the crowd, which was certainly not the case.

My Board exams for Class XII were a few days after Sachin missed out narrowly on becoming the youngest player ever to score a Test century. Graduation exams came and went as we watched him get recognition as a world class player in the series against Australia and subsequently the 1992 World Cup. I couldn’t get back to studies for several days after India lost the World Cup Semi Final to Sri Lanka in 1996 despite Sachin’s heroics; notwithstanding that the Final professional exams that would determine my career were only weeks away. My dad once asked me jocularly (he himself was an ardent cricket lover and Sachin fan) “will Tendulkar come and write your exams?” . Obviously not, but if he did well, I felt he inspired us to do well too. The passion in his chosen career, the commitment to the teams’ cause, the pursuit of excellence, temperament, the head in the right place, the ultimate family man… Sachin was every youngster’s role model in many more ways than we openly acknowledged.

Sachin Tendulkar dominated the bowling like no one else could in the period between 1993 and 1998. I think those were his best years.  The World Cup of ’96 had quite a few stars, but he upstaged them all. In He would take risks and they would mostly come off.  Technically sound, belligerent when he wanted to be at his attacking best, with the temperament that only the blessed few have, Sachin was the most comprehensive player of that era, although Brian Lara was possibly the World’s best player and Mark Waugh was more stylish in execution.

The nation was smitten. Every foreign player, both past and current, would be asked by reporters leading questions: wasn’t Sachin the best player they’d ever seen? They couldn’t but agree and we would lap up every word written about him.

Let’s go over to the book now – his autobiography “Playing It My Way”. For all of us, Sachin has always been a morally correct person, dutiful to his parents and family, modest, self-effacing, brilliant player, multiple world-record buster, astute thinker, great trier with a never-say-die attitude. His book further reinforces that image. That’s about it. Unfortunately.

We all know what Sachin has achieved over the years. We wanted to hear him open out about matters which he held close to his chest and refused to talk about during his playing career. When I bought the book, I had already read somewhere that the book had some plain-speak, but was mostly copybook defence. I harboured the hope that I would read something that I hadn’t read before. I wasn’t disappointed.  Here are a few things that I didn’t know about Sachin : he carried his kit so close to his body on buses so that the conductors don’t abuse him for using up space; he was once awarded a special certificate by a Chef as he polished off a full-course fish meal; he drove long distances on two nights in England as a young Yorkshire recruit to fulfil his commitment in playing those games; in the pre-mobile era, he would often hang around outside Anjali’s house hoping to catch her attention and take her out during their courtship days; Virat Kohli touched his feet and sought his blessings after the World Cup Final match in 2011 that India won, etc. Make no mistake, these are wonderful to read and I read from cover to cover with unbridled joy. It was like reliving my years. Yet, the book read like a sports journalist’s account and not Sachin’s.

Here’s why :

(i)                  Vinod Kambli was once his best buddy. They were involved in a World record partnership as school kids – something that’s now part of cricketing folklore. Yet, there’s not one word about Vinod Kambli after 1996. Not even a reaction to Kambli’s much televised accusation that Sachin forgot about him.

(ii)                There was plenty of talk about how the 1991-92 Tour of Australia had many Indian players who were simply not committed enough to the team’s cause. The team lost 4-0 and there were several reports suggesting that the team partied late into the night and often did not practice together. Not a word.

(iii)               In 2000, the match-fixing controversy broke out and it threatened to disrupt the very foundations of the game. Sachin claims credit partly for bringing back the popularity of the opium of the masses, but makes not even a fleeting mention of match-fixing. He merely says he didn’t know enough, which is incredibly incredible.

(iv)              He hasn’t really described the quality of the players of his era whom he admired – bowlers whom he found difficult to handle, batsmen whom he admired for their class. I’ve read other books by great cricketers and invariably they are eloquent in their praise of the best players they’ve met. Sachin talks about his batting in some detail including some of the shots he played, his bowling with specific plans for specific players, he even goes onto describe a catch that he took detailing his thought processes (that triggers Rajini jokes in the mind), and when he describes about the performance of his fellow cricketers, he states the obvious with comments like ‘played well’, ‘played brilliantly’, etc. I would have loved to hear about his opinions on players like Carl Hooper, Graham Gooch, Steve and Mark Waugh, McGrath, Warne, Shaun Pollock, Jonty Rhodes, Inzamam-ul-Haq, Wasim & Waqar, who were all great players and some of my favourites. Perhaps he forgot that the book will be read globally. When I read autobiographies by Warne or Hayden, I first looked up the index and read what they had to say about Sachin.

(v)                The overwhelming impression that one draws about the second half of his career from the second half of his book is that it was a painful one. There were many injuries, many surgeries, involving multiple body parts. It degenerates into a saga of sacrifices that he had to make to painstakingly emerge from those injuries to contribute to the national cause. It was his chosen profession and if he was really enjoying his career, there was no need to labour over his injuries during what has been a fantastic career.

(vi)              He comes across as an extremely sentimental person. He probably is. But to say he ‘cried’ over this and that at such regular intervals throughout this journey would hardly evoke melodrama amongst his readers. In fact, to overemphasize, he goes to the extent of saying he burst into tears or even ‘cried and cried’. C’mon man…

Obviously, Sachin was the best cricketer India ever had. He entertained us like no one ever has or will. He doesn’t, unfortunately, come across as someone who, even remotely, holds any promise as an author. No one can argue though, it’s his book after all ! He has done his image no harm; the book will sell like hot cakes; and he has, one understands, already broken records for the best selling book by a sportsperson in India. But he won't get a second chance to write his first autobiography.

Wandering at Wayanad

Wandering at Wayanad

It is not very often that you get to go on a vacation. When you do, the first thought that crosses the mind is to take it easy, relax, meander about, take plenty of rest and get some quality time for yourself. I very much thought it will be that kind of a holiday when we started out for Wayanad. Eventually, it was very different and I’m very glad it was.

Why Wayanad? I was to hear during the course of the journey that 20 years ago, people hardly visited the place. It was just a sleepy District in North Western Kerala, blessed with good weather and little known outside of Kerala. Today, thanks mostly to Kerala Tourism’s God’s Own Country campaign, you would find it difficult to find accommodation in the District during any of the holiday seasons of the year although the place is teeming with resorts of all kinds (and for all kinds of pockets).Sure enough, I had caught the bug and had wanted to visit Wayanad for 3 years and could finally make it only this year.

There are many routes to Wayanad and the most popular ones would be to drive down from Mysore via Bandipur or the Mysore-Kozhikode highway. There are also those who visit Ooty and then stretch their trip into Wayanad. I thought it would be better to take the overnight train from Bangalore to Calicut (also known as Kozhikode) and then drive up to Wayanad.

We arrived early morning at Calicut on Sunday 27^th April. En route, we could catch glimpses of some of Kerala’s picturesque backwaters and one made a mental note to return on a separate trip for that. The coastal town of Calicut is extremely (and uncomfortably) humid. Magic Mama, dad’s friend for over 40 years, had invited us to his place for a wash-and-change and even laid out a typical Kerala breakfast with Nool-puttu, Idli and fried sliced bananas. He then gave us his car with his driver and asked us to only take care of the fuel and the driver’s expenses, which we most gratefully accepted.

Calicut to Wayanad is about 90 kms.In other parts of India where you would expect to get out of the city onto highways and come across villages intermittently. Not in Kerala. Here, the road winds and takes you through one village after another and before you know you find yourself at your destination. The entire Malabar coast is blessed with greenery and although the humidity is discomfiting, it’s a feast for the eyes to see the various plantations en route – Rubber, tapioca, coffee, tea, palm, betel, et al. Wayanad would be about 6000 ft or so above sea level (Need to check the facts), so one can call it more of a plateau than a hill station. Some mountainous routes across the country can give travellers a tough time and the kids usually experience road-sickness. Here, it was actually a pleasure to count up and down the 9 hair pin bends to Wayanad.

Our first stop over was at Pookode Lake which the locals say is a natural lake. The tourism department has taken special care to keep this place environmentally friendly and does not allow any mechanised boats nor any kind of plastic. We were lucky to get a friendly boatman (after waiting for over an hour) who kept us engaged with conversation about the flora of the lakeside. The lake itself is shaped like the map of India, he said.The place also has other attractions, an aquarium and an elephant ride. That day, however, the elephant was not available. ‘Probably, dysentry’ the boatman speculated.

We had booked our accommodation at Planet Green Plantation Resorts. I had my worries about the place. I had read reviews on tripadviser.com which were pre-dominantly very good, but there were a few who voiced concerns about cleanliness, infestation and about how the place was very far from the nearest town. The last few hundred metres as we reached nearer the Resort were especially disconcerting with a bad stretch of road. The reception had nothing grandiose about it. I needn’t have worried; the ‘Premium Suite’ that we had booked, was just wonderful – it had a floor with a wooden finish, a drawing room with two single beds and a bedroom with a big Kingsize bed. The bathrooms were clean. But the highlight was the balcony which had a great view of the valley in front of us and the Chembra Peak in the background. It was a hot afternoon and after a simple meal, we decided to just take a short nap and decide later about the evening. We had barely slept when there was a sudden change in the weather – thunder and lightning, followed by a heavy downpour. It was magical watching the huge drops of rain against the background of dense clouds hovering over Chembra Peak. To enjoy Onion Pakoda with tea from that balcony watching all this – I tell you – was blissful.

The friendly staff comprising of M/s Radhakrishnan, Raghu and Jestin helped us draw up an itinerary that would enable us to see most, if not all of the places of interest, within the next 2 full days. We started early the next morning at 6 am, duly dressed, for our first halt at the Thirunelly temple. When on vacation, I believe we should tune our clocks to go with the sight-seeing requirements for us to make the most of it. Thirunelly temple is about 80kms from the Resort, situated in the dense forests of what is now the Begur Forest Reserve. The temple is over 2000 years old and enshrines Lord Maha Vishnu. The site for the temple is said to have been chosen by Lord Brahma himself and mythology has it that the adjoining Papanashini river is where Sage Parasuram washed away his sins after he had vanquished an entire generation of kshatriyas to take revenge on them over the killing of his father. As in perhaps all of Kerala’s temples, male members have to wear a dhoti around their waist and take their tops off. The serene setting was a visual treat.

About 25 kms from there was our next stop, the Kuruva Island, on the banks of the Kabini River (a tributary of Cauvery River). One would have to cross a tributary on a Bamboo raft to get into a series of islands amidst other tributaries. It’s a long nature-walk here which leads to a picturesque spot where the river gushes through amidst rocks.

Lunch, especially for those given to North Indian vegetarian tastes as are my kids, is often a trying time in these parts. Wonder why Kerala Tourism hasn’t addressed this need when they seem to have taken care of several other aspects of tourism comfort. Wayanad is pleasant, but by no means ‘cool’ in summer. So, one would be best advised to wear comfortable cotton wear with good hats and a healthy dose of sunscreen. After ‘meals’ for us and some milkshakes for the kids at the only vegetarian joint ‘Mint’ at Mananthavady, we then went to Banasura Sagar Dam, our next stop. The Dam houses a hydel project of the Kerala State Electricity Board, has a nice garden, but the main attraction is speed boats across the Banasura Sagar. The place is absolutely breathtaking but by then we had spent almost all our energies. It was time to return to the Resort and call it a day. The kids, thoroughly famished, dug into the Aloo matar and Rotis that night, which were by no means authentic, but had the right ingredients.

It was action time again early next morning. We now headed for the Muthanga Wildlife Sanctuary about 60 kms away to the north-east of the District. Google maps contributed to our losing our way a bit and we could eventually make it to the Resort only by around 8 am. The Sanctuary’s jeep took us into the forests and we could see deer, elephants, peacocks in the wilderness. Muthanga is the other end of the Sanctuary that starts at Bandipur, which we had visited only a few months ago. The oft-repeated sanctuary talk that one has to be lucky to see animals at the sanctuary followed us here and we nodded in acknowledgment. From the sanctuary we stopped at Sultan Bathery, a quiet town nearby for breakfast at a Udipi Restaurant after which it was time for our next stop – Edakkal Caves.

This was an endurance test. Imagine that you get dropped off your car at 11 am on a summer day of not less than 35 degrees centigrade and humidity in the high 70s. You then need to climb steep roads for about 2 kms at a gradient of 1/2 metre per 5 sqms and then from there you need to climb about 300 steps on a steep climb amidst rocks. If it weren’t for other tourists of all ages doing the same, it would have been easy to call it off and return. Eventually, after an hour’s climb, we successfully climbed into the caves. A friendly guide there explained that humans lived in this cave before languages in the form of scripts were introduced as can be seen from the hierographics on the rocks there. ‘Edakkal’ means ‘stone in between’ and the formation of the caves was such that there was a huge rock amidst two sections of the hill. There is also an inscription in Tamil-Brahmi script suggesting that tigers lived in this cave. As one would imagine, there are wonderful views to be had of Wayanad from the top of these hills.

After stopping at a bakery nearby for some snacks and, you guessed it, milkshakes, we stopped by at the Agricultural Research Station at Ambalavayal. While the wife and kids went around, I sat and had a chat with the Officer-in-charge and more importantly got my iphone recharged during the conversation. From there, we went to Karapuzha dam, another picturesque water spot. Having already seen the Banasura Sagar Dam we figured it would be much of the same and seeing threatening clouds looming overhead, beat a hasty retreat to the safety of the Resort in the next half an hour.

We had a relatively leisurely morning the next day, leaving at 7 am for a stroll down hill from the Resort to Coffee and Tea plantations nearby. The owner of the Resort is also an author and I purchased a book ‘Ajaya’ authored by him. After breakfast, we left for Calicut. En route we shopped for spices at Kalpeta town and stopped at Lakkidi view point to capture the breathtaking views of the valley from a height of about 3000 ft. Not to leave anything undone, we even went to Calicut beach in the evening before we returned to the station to take the overnight train back to Bangalore.

It was an action packed holiday, something that I would not have bargained for at the start of the trip. But certainly very refreshing. A few words about Wayanad in particular and Kerala in general.

·        Surprisingly clean place and beautiful roads all through.

·        People who prefer to talk in Malayalam which could be a bit of a problem for a North Indian.

·        The place certainly needs some good vegetarian joints – there is plenty of seafood and meat for non-vegetarians, but I am not qualified to comment on that option.

·        I would recommend the Resort that I stayed in – Planet Green Plantation Resort, about 6 kms to the east of Kalpeta town. There are a host of options to choose from though.

Until the next vacation...cheerio !

 

 

 

 

 

Young and impatient !

Child prodigies. Sachin test cricket @ 16, 

U Srinivas mandolin concert @ 8, a British Mensa ace @ 6, well you get the drift don't you ? We all admire child prodigies; as children we were inspired by them and as grown ups we wish our children have or acquire those unique talents that will give them their place in the sun. Not eventually, but as young as they can be.

Children based talent shows are very popular. There are thousands of entries with people queuing up before sunrise, coaxing, punishing, cajoling their wards to ace the contest. If they have to miss regular school so be it. Come summer, parents want their kids to join summer camps and acquire skills which they won't have time for during regular school days. Aero modelling ? Digital animation ? Rock climbing ? You name it, there are dozens of service providers. Every school has glossy brochures to publicise what students of their school have achieved. Just today I saw one mom admonishing her son publicly for scoring about 80 percent in a class 7 maths annual exam. 

Is this peer pressure or societal pressure or social media pressure ? What is it ? Surely children aren't expected to earn their living before they are 21 ?! Why this massive ego booster that my son or daughter has done this or that ? When families meet, parents can barely allow listening - they have so much to say about their children. Some say it positively, some compare, some lament but all come away feeling somewhat bitter and jealous. 

Watch a spelling bee contest anywhere and you could come away with a severe inferiority complex. We have never heard those words for which the children ask for the French usage. 

A class 10 student has written a book at my daughter's school and one of his classmates was marketing it. She said "if you like Harry Potter you will love his book". The price tag for a 150 page book with a liberal line spacing was rs 350. I expressed surprise - ChetanBhagat priced his 5th book sub 150. She gave me a "cool answer" - the author has no role in pricing, it was the publisher who gave the price tag. God bless the youngster ! 

Child labour under 14 is banned. Wonder if we should stipulate that children below 14 years of age should keep their talents to themselves and spare the children and the parents the anxiety of being successful at the age when they haven't been able to give time to hone their talents. It's great to be young and impatient but it's more important to grow to be mature and successful. 

To Madam, with love

The title is a dead give away. This women's day, I would like to pay my obeisance to my favourite teacher who, 24 years later, continues to be the guiding light to many students till this day. 

It was in nov 1982 that I first met her. She was our English teacher in class 5, at Visakha valley school, visakhapatnam. The school, back then, was one of the two better known schools in vizag, the other being timpany. One could sense that she was impactful right from the very beginning. Thanks to dad's transfer, I joined that school with barely 4 months remaining in that academic year. Not only did she teach English in such a way that one learnt to love the language, she also found I was struggling with my new third language, Sanskrit, and put in a good word to that teacher to help me with that subject. Poems were never taught, she'd bring them alive in the classroom. There was a poem with the title 'clothesline'. She brought in a rope, used wooden clips and asked a few of us to hang our handkerchiefs there. Then she composed a tune and we sang to that tune. 31 years later, I can still recall the lyrics although I can't remember what I ate for dinner yesterday. It went 'hand in hand, they dance in a row, hither and thither and to and fro...'

Few months later, All India radio wanted to bring together students from all over vizag to sing patriotic songs to be aired on children's day. All 3 of us, my elder brother, younger sister and I got selected for the school choir, a group of about 20 students. This teacher introduced a Marathi folk song to us. She was herself a tamilian, the group was cosmopolitan with hardly one or two maharashtrians, but in 15 days time, that song was learnt.  It was for the competitive section of that program and our school ended up winning it. What's more, the 3 of us, have sung that song at various fora, and have collected a smattering of prizes at different schools (thanks, in no small measure, to dad's frequent transfers). She told us mythological stories during free periods when other teachers would bunk their classes. At other times, she would break us up into teams and hold inpromptu general knowledge quizzes. Until then, I would only read the sports page; she kindled interest in the others. 

We moved to Hyderabad in 1985 and teacher herself followed her husband who was transferred to Vijayawada. We kept in touch sparsely over inland letters but eventually lost touch. The school she joined in Vijayawada won a national level televised school quiz and it wasn't difficult to guess who was behind it.

In 1988, dad was transferred again, this time to New Delhi. We joined a govt aided school as we were told that school not only produced good results but also focussed on instilling good values. I chose the commerce stream. Imagine my surprise when the same teacher walks in to my Class 11 as subject teacher for economics ! 

Once again, she stood out. The average score of the class in statistics and economics was much higher than all other subjects. She continued to engage the students across the school in music, quiz and added dramatics to her repertoire. She wrote a satirical piece on elections, with the theme being that Sage Narad became curious to find out why there was sudden frenzy in India and discovered that elections were round the corner. His observations were backed by content juxtaposed with popular Hindi film songs. With no make up, except a hurriedly wrapped dhoti below my school white shirt, I played Narad. It was an instant hit and there were encore performances over the next year or so. Content was king. I didn't need to slog it out in economics in higher studies thereafter as she always taught us to learn with graphs and write in our own words. 

I'm sure there are many who would have experienced great teachers. But I can't imagine so many qualities in one teacher. 

She had her quirks too - if she found the class boisterous, she would simply put up a glum face and walk back to the staff room and refuse to come out until we all apologized. Can you imagine doing that in high school ? But we did and she'd come back and give us a long lecture. She was also not shy of using the long handle when it was absolutely necessary. 

I met her in 2010 after 20 years but have again lost touch with her. She's retired now but is influencing much younger kids through teaching them music and bhajans. 

Salute, nay, shastrang pranams, to Nalini Padmanabhan madam, fondly known as Nalini teacher to generations of students at DTEA janakpuri school. And to all those selfless women who put careers of youngsters ahead of their own lives and speak proudly of their wards even today. 

The 'Om Namah Sivaya' weekend

There comes a time when you want to try  something you have never done before, when self-doubts arise along the way, and happy with the result, you wonder what took you so long ? Well, people do it all the time, I've often scoffed at relatives who did; now I realise there's nothing to lose and much to gain.

I decided this last Friday would be an ideal time to take a day off from work. Thursday was Mahasivarathri day, a day custom prescribes that you fast through the day, engage in prayers through the night and break fast only the following day after daybreak. 

I shopped for fruits and juices and decided to try it out. I also decided to use  multimedia to support the attempt at staying up all night.

Through the working day on Thursday, I survived on fruits and liquids. May not sound like much to most readers but consider this. If I get delayed on any of my meals by more than an hour, I get a splitting headache. I never really liked fruits - the odd apple or banana here and there are fine but I never believed I could eat fruits for breakfast or lunch. I usually have my breakfast around 815 am, lunch around 2 pm and dinner around 8 pm. I don't indulge in snacks in the interim except a few cups of tea here and there. By 7 in the evening, I'm usually hungry, 745 the stomach starts growling and by 8, it starts to sound the bell for dinner. Not the ordinary bells, more the fire engine type - the hunger better be extinguished immediately or else Siva-thandavam happens. If stuck in office, I can devour a full pack of cream biscuits in no time ! 

Not only did I survive on fruits, I never really felt hunger pangs. What's more, I had absolutely nothing after sunset except water.  

Sleep is another aspect that I've had difficulty controlling. When most people are preparing for dinner, atleast my north and East Indian friends, I'm usually done for the day. It takes a compelling event, something like a live cricket match, to make me stay awake. On Sundays and holidays, I like to have a heavy lunch and then take a snooze. 

It must be some divine intervention that I never really felt sleepy that night. I had prayer scripts to read and some peace chants to do, but would it last me the whole night ? It didn't, but there's plenty of religious material on YouTube that can keep you company during the wee hours. 

What happened the following morning was an anti climax. The plan was to take an early bath, have a sumptuous breakfast and then switch off for the rest of the morning. Didn't happen. Despite being tired, I simply couldn't drop off to sleep. 2 days later I still feel somewhat jet-lagged !

I know that the deeply religious fast quite regularly - Hindus, Muslims, Jewish, et al.  I don't feel deeply religious - atleast not yet - but I liked this experience and I'm inclined to try more often. 

Being Ishant..

Ishant sharma has today become the best Indian bowler on New Zealand soil in terms of figures for one test match. That's a huge record considering that there have been many big names representing India in that country over a long period of time.

If you looked at ishant's one day record over the last 10 one dayers or so, he easily has the worst economy rate. When someone gets stuck into him, Ishant loses control completely, runs in harder, starts spraying around and when the ball disappears over the ropes, breaks into a sorry smile and looks to Dhoni seeking to be forgiven.

Tests, especially on bowler friendly overseas soil has been another matter. You can't say he's all class, but you can't fault him on effort. He runs in hard, all day and keeps trying his best. When he lands it right, the best in the business are tested. One does feel that if he were to trim his hair a little, he might be able to see what he should be aiming at, but we'll keep that for later. He has become Indian bowling unit's favourite whipping boy and we need to rein it in a little today. 

Well done Ishant, stay fit, and hopefully we can soon see you spearheading the Indian new ball attack soon with success.   When that happens, I'm sure you'll find a hairstylist who can cure your fear of looking less menacing if you trimmed your hair.

A Bibliophile’s Tribute

 

It’s been a year since I enrolled myself as a member at justbooks.com. The experience has been rewarding at many levels. I have a considerable collection of books, accumulated over the best part of the last 3 decades. My first real passion was (perhaps, is?) for cricket and I read a lot of cricket autobiographies and biographies through my teens. Secunderabad Club, of which my dad was a member for a few years, had a fantastic collection of cricket books and I read books by Neville Cardus, Don Bradman, Dennis Lillee, Clive Lloyd, Fred Trueman, Richie Benaud and whatever else I could lay my hands on those days. After that phase, I lapsed into classic whodunits – books by Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, Erle Stanley Gardner, a bit of Alistair Maclean. I tried sundry fiction written closer to modern era, but apart from Frederick Forsyth, did not really like much else. Into college, and I only read Wodehouse. A great stress-reliever, you have to place a heavy piece of fabric like a towel, between your clenched teeth if you happen to read Wodehouse while on a train or aircraft, lest people question your sanity levels. When I began my working career, I decided I better get a bit more serious now, and started reading management and business books. Every now and then, I would get back to some light reading and that’s when I started collecting RK Narayan’s books. I have almost the entire collection and if you like your books to relate to the middle-class Indian life, there’s no one better than RK Narayan. I happened to move to Singapore a few years later. One of the best parts of the Singaporean life is their public library. You get to become a library member for a song, are allowed to borrow 4 books at a time, have the entire world’s literature at your disposal, can pick up and drop your books at any of their completely digitally tagged, almost unmanned libraries across the country - luxuries that you can’t find anywhere in the world. There, my favourite section was world history : books of the world wars and characters from that era like Churchill, Hitler, Anne Frank etc., biographies of world leaders such as Che Guevara, Charlie Chaplin, Kennedy and so on… Back home, I developed a renewed passion for Indian history and started accumulating books on Indian leaders, especially those by foreign authors and their perspectives of India’s struggle for freedom. By now, the shelves had started splitting and furniture acquisition to accommodate books became necessary. I never tried Kindle as I always liked to hold books in my hands and often fall asleep with them by my pillow. It was by chance that I dropped into a justbooks.com outlet, got hooked and have read rather vigorously over the last year to derive best value out of the annual membership fee and the allowance of reading 2 books at a time. They have a system similar to Singapore, albeit at a smaller scale; just pick up your books from any of their libraries and you can return them anywhere else. You don’t have to speak to anyone – it’s ‘e-nabled’. I must have read atleast 26 books, this last year, drawing from all of my favourite subjects. Short stories, which I must have read fleetingly earlier, now form a central part. But this piece isn’t about my favourite books or justbooks.com.

 

I’ve just said I’ve started really liking short stories. Difficult to say ‘why’. Perhaps I have reached that stage of my life when I would rather read the whole story at one go, than chew it in parts. Sports biographies do interest me, but I already know the stories. Management and business books typically talk down to you and you end up feeling ‘why can’t I do that’. It causes more stress than relaxation. They need you to concentrate when all you want to do is to read for the pleasure of reading. Humour is, well, not serious enough. Short stories must be told crisply, must maintain the readers’ interest right through, and give you a ‘twist’ within that short span, usually right at the end. But this isn’t just about short stories.

 

I’ve just read, rather breezed through, a translation of short stories of Saadat Hasan Manto. Born and brought up in India, torn away to Pakistan after partition, died a miserable, lonely death at the age of 42, but in those young years wrote over 250 stories in Urdu, some of them deemed so controversial that he was tried for blasphemy and obscenity several times. His writings mostly conveyed an overhang of depression, ridden with melancholy, reflective of those turbulent times either side of partition, when the unsuspecting common man gained little and lost much from this violent, mass-uprooting from either side of what became national borders. His stories glide easily and provide you a mental landscape without attempting to paint them for you, certainly different from most other short story writers. It would seem that neither India nor Pakistan really promoted Manto’s works much; most of the attention to his work has come posthumously and that too closer to his centenary year, a couple of years ago. But this isn’t about Manto either.

 

Aatish Taseer is the author of this translated selection of works of Manto that I just finished reading in less than 2 hours. 158 pages in fewer than 2 hours is a personal best for me. Normally, I tend to read one or two stories and then take a break, but not with this one. Apparently Aatish has written a couple of novels and has also written for Wall Street, Times and other leading journals. He must have, it would be a colossal understatement to say that he writes very well. What’s really praiseworthy is that he, urban bred and brought up on a diet of Queen’s English as we all have been, learnt Urdu to really appreciate poetry of those times by literary greats, none lesser than his own grandfather Dr. MD Taseer. We would not know if the translation did justice to the Urdu original, but then there’s nothing that we can complain about, it’s an outstanding piece of work. But, this isn’t about Aatish Taseer either, atleast not entirely.

 

Aatish confesses that he learnt his Urdu from one Zafar Moradabadi and dedicates the book to him. Zafar, obviously a literary great in his own right, agreed to teach Aatish Urdu for a modest fee to keep poverty at bay. In post-partition India, when Hindi promotion became all-consuming, Urdu found few promoters, save perhaps the Bollywood dialogue-writers and lyricists. Zafar, not cast in that mould, was condemned to take up an accounting job to make ends meet. (Coming from a professional accountant that seems blasphemous ?) When computers trampled over his rather rudimentary skills, he undertook writing PhD theses for students for small fees so that they could do well in their careers. His own modest accommodation in a nondescript locality of Old Delhi had but one room where a family of 5 could hardly fit themselves in physically. This is about people like Zafar Moradabadi. And, about Manto at some level. People who get little or nothing for their talents when they are alive, but get celebrated years after their death from which their families gain little or nothing. Subramanya Bharati, the great Tamil poet is another who got similar treatment when he was alive. Zafar is still alive; Aatish has paid an enormous tribute by dedicating his book to him. This piece is an attempt at a tribute to people like Janaab Zafar Moradabadi, who’ve kept our multi-cultural traditions alive, who are victims of our times, gifted and talented, but living, unfortunately, despairingly, in the wrong era.