World Cup Cricket 2011: The Glitter

As he stared in the distance, the whole country stared with him. He kept looking at it till it disappeared above the horizon and then all hell broke loose. He didn't know what to do and neither did any of the others who were staring with him. The deed was done, the task accomplished...what next? How does one start believing that what had been elusive for so long is finally within reach, in the hands. His hands...hands of all others...hands of the chaiwallah chotu who had been given a day off that for once, he was not spending nursing his jagged palms. In fact, he was beating them together to join the cacophony all around him.

His eyes seemed dreamy and his smile was so unsure...quite a contrast with what was the situation a moment ago. Grit and concentration had given way to a sheepish grin. Even the teeth were showing through as his partner jumped on to him...elated, overjoyed, as incredulous with it all as he was...he didn't know how to react. The others were celebrating too, jumping on to each other, opening champagne bottles at some places, exchanging the few leftover drops off some soft drink bottle recovered from the trash at others. They were all united though, in their celebrations. He had won, his partner had won, his team and his nation had all achieved one of the biggest wins of their lives.

India...champions of World Cup Cricket 2011. Doesn't it sound surreal...even now? The celebrations are still going on, parties are giving way to other parties and blue tees, though replaced by formal striped shirts, have made sure that the color blue is retained at least in the stripes. Every new day brings with itself a new realization of what it means to be the world champions and not just for the people who made it happen, the 15 crorepati team members of the Indian cricket squad, but for millions of others who took it upon themselves to make sure the country won. They performed pujas, skipped offices, reduced their social lives to nothings, faced the brunt at home as they made others skip episode after episode of the popular soap opera...all to watch 11 people running after a small little ball.

The celebrations, though they still continue in one way or the other, were the loudest that night. Loudest and the most emphatic. The rich paraded the cities in their cars, moving downtown in bumper-to-bumper traffic, sticking their heads out of the sun roofs or just sticking out of the windows for the not-so-flashy-car-owning variety. They were carrying flags, playing loud music streaming out of the radio stations, all party songs...shouts of Indiaaaa Indiaaaaaaaaa were everywhere.

The others were shouting too. If not through the stylish cars that they could never dream to own, they had their own ways of feeling a part of the joy that had spread out to them too for once. They could not wave the tricolor (would rather afford clothes that they could wear to protect their modesty) but would still smile at all passers-by and encourage them to fly the flag high up in the air if they were just holding it in their hands. Their eyes were their means of celebration, eyes that were gleaming with pride...eyes that seemed to say that it was not eleven men on the field who had defeated some serious odds to emerge victorious...eyes that were claiming their own share of the spoils...eyes that were smiling, participating, goading on.

As I turned to sleep that night, the image that stood with me was not the one in which Dhoni stood imperiously, having hit the winning shot...not even the one where the master was lifted on to his team-mates' shoulders and paraded around the stadium with the tricolor...not the one in which the Boys in Blue lifted the big one...The World Cup. The image that I had in my eyes as they said a silent prayer to appreciate the joy this night had brought with it...was that of three kids standing in front of a road-side restaurant.

They had probably just finished their routine of serving customers, washing utensils, cooking rotis, etc...or perhaps they were still doing it and had taken a quick break to come out for a minute. They were standing there hand-in-hand, happiness written in capital letters across their faces. They couldn't have seen it on TV, there was none around but would definitely have heard it...on radio, from people who would be bothered enough to tell them the score. They knew for sure that India had done it...that they had done it. As they saw cars flash past, luxury celebrating amidst their misery, their faces were hopeful...hopeful that now that India has won the world cup, they stood a chance as well. Their misery can also end if India's wait for the world cup can end...what if it took 28 years...it will be faster now. The world moves faster now, their lives shall move even faster and they will win again...this time their own personal cups.

The Colors of Holi

When it is time for Holi, I have never been one of those early starters, delaying the inevitable every time. This happens partly on account of the inertia that is behind my procrastinating self, and partly due to the looming fear of having to work hard for getting the color off my skin. Even when I was a little kid, whereas normal little kids revelled in the concept of dirtying themselves and others and getting lost in the world of colors, I had no such, at least not as clearly established, inclinations.

Now that many springs have passed since I used to be a little kid, the scenario is, if anything, even more so directed against the getting-wild-on-Holi tendencies. Not that I have anything against the festival or people who celebrate it whole-heartedly...in fact, I love all the revelry, the fun, and songs and dances that make Holi as special a festival as it is. But all the same, I can not get myself to shout with the same gusto, to forcibly bring out the shy ones from wherever they are hidden out to the maddeningly vibrant colors, to end up in a state where not even my closest and dearest would recognize me if not for a bucketful of water splashed on my face.

It is not that there have not been instances over the years when I have been one of the most vociferous on the battle field of color, actively involved and deeply ingrained. I can distinctly remember times when I was in different hostels (higher secondary, graduation, and even at post graduation levels) and as much a part of the fun as everyone else. But as I said in the beginning, I was never amongst early starters in this aspect, always the one who would follow the lead and that too after reasonable amount of either cajoling or coercion, depending upon the degree of inertia I would be under at the time.

This Holi was not too different. As India and Indians all over the world looked away from the daily routine and worries and trepidations and put on the mask of color, I was mostly unmoved and unimpressed. With Bharti Didi (my first cousin who stays in Vashi) having invited us for Holi, I was thankful that at least I will be amongst people on the festival and not closeted within the walls of my home with nobody but Priya for company.

I had thought that there will be quite a lot of action at Bharti Didi's place, what with Jijaji being of an effervescent nature himself, and his brother and sister-in-law also being there to enliven the atmosphere. I was surprised, however, to discover that the inertia I have is shared. In retrospect, I think that this may have been more because of the age group that the party belonged to. Although not really coming from entirely different generations, Priya and I were relatively the younger lot and the others had seen more of life and Holi festivities than either of us. And then there was the media, generally sermonizing on how festivals have been increasingly losing their sheen and zeal over the last few years, more so in the recent recessionary times.

So it was that apart from the traditional tilak, this Holi was rather colorless and limited in its impact. Till the next time, hope that the symbolism that color represents is not limited at all and all of you have an extremely colorful and joyous year ahead.

What a Diwali!

It is that time of the year again when the streets are lighted and the mood festive, children out in the courtyards gleefully bursting firecrackers (the milder ones nowadays, of course), and people all decked up in their ethnic best. Diwali has always been one of the festivals I have looked forward to and it brings to my mind so many joyous memories of togetherness, with family and friends. This is one day in the year that I absolutely hate being by myself because it makes me feel really sad and grumpy listening to other people enjoy the festivities while I long for the company of my loved ones.

Luckily, Diwali this year was different from any of the sort and I was blessed with the company of my parents and more importantly, my Grandfather. While Papa was here about two weeks ahead of Diwali, Maa landed about a week later and in the middle (more towards the end, actually) of the Bihar-Maharashtra brouhaha, Baba accompanied with Bua came to town just a day before Diwali. In fact, I was so very worried that the plans of Baba to come visiting after so many requests from me and my sister may actually come to nought because of all this tamasha but thankfully better sense and peace prevailed and he was able to make the journey.

The love, affection, and blessings in the eyes of my family members is enough to make any day special for me and this Diwali was no exception. With a bhara-poora ghar, it was a completely amazing experience this Diwali and even though there was not much of firecracker bursting or diya lighting but even the bit that there was seemed blissful. After the traditional Lakshmi Puja and lighting of diyas, we started on a tour of Mumbai to experience the famous Mumbai style of celebrating this festival. It was an anticlimax, however, as we saw a deserted Juhu beach and negligible lighting even in the posh localities of Bandra, Juhu, et al. The only saving grace was Nariman Point and Marine Drive which, if you didn't mind the traffic, made you enjoy the proceedings with people out in the open, slowdown and markets be damned.

Baba's stay was just for about a week and what a packed week it was! From meeting relatives to planning outings to Lonavala, Khandala, movies, beaches, it was one roller coaster and the best part about it all was that Baba loved it. Except for a day when he was tired and slept through the day (after the Lonanavala trip), Baba's health also kept up with him by God's grace. In his own words, it was a very satisfying trip. No amount of material benefits of any sort could have had me in a happier state than the one I was in on hearing these words as I saw Baba and Bua off last night at the railway station.

Happy New Year!

Bombay, or Amchi Mumbai, as the locals call it lovingly and often with an awe-struck catch in their voice, is one of the cities that has its own memories for me. Not that I have been to this place many times, but despite the one time that I have been to Mumbai, the city haunts me whenever I am thinking of something fast and big, both at the same time. Having decided not to spend the new year in the train from home to IIMK, we (that is Aditya and me) had planned to make Mumbai the stopover for the night of the 31st and most of the day of the 1st. Aditya, of course, had his own plans of dumping me somewhere for the new year's but unfortunately, could not devise a suitable plan for the same in time.

The train journey from Varanasi to Mumbai CST, aboard the Mahanagri Express was mostly uneventful, and if you discount the time that we spent sleeping, there was hardly anything left. So it was that I and Aditya landed up in Mumbai and met up with Mitali. The three of us had a new year to celebrate and not much to choose from, in terms of venue or party or whatever else people engage in to announce the arrival of the new year.

Gateway was to be our first destination. During my first visit to Bombay in 2000 around the same time, I had spent hours staring at the sea (of not just water, but more importantly, the sea of humanity) from the Gateway of India, trying to recollect the numerous movie sequences shot there and trying to pry the secrets out of the hundreds that gather there almost every other night. Looking at the oh-so-famous Taj Hotel had been another pastime and as expected, there were laughs galore as I told the limited audience that I had on the 31st of December, 2004 of my plans to occupy the Executive Suite of the Taj one fine day.

One chance meeting with Ravi (who was going to spend the new years in a private party aboard a boat in the sea) and watching camera crews going berserk over the occasion later, we were all ready to move on to our next destination...but not before I had bought for myself, a nice little contraption which will make its entry in IIMK shortly.

While going to Juhu, there was this party by the sea which did not look too expensive from the outside but when we thought of finding out the ticket prices, we were in for a shock. We couldn't even gather the courage to go to the ticket counter, having already seen the class audience dressed in strange leather skirts and pants with all sorts of makeup on their faces.

Juhu it was, finally and that was where the downslide started for me. Some snacks and the arrival of the new year were over, and the three of us were just sitting on the beach enjoying the ambience when she came. She has this uncanny habit, actually, of coming every time I stay just that little too long at a beach. The memories of our time together at the Besant Nagar beach (whatever little it had been) invariably flash before my eyes in such cases as I sit rapt, listening to her sing song after song in her unique voice.

Na jaane kyun hota hai ye zindagi ke saath...
Achaanak ye man, kisi ke jaane ke baad
phir kare uski yaad, choti choti si baat

Anyways, on my request, the other two decided to change the venue of our celebrations soon enough and we were treated to some really nice retro effect at Mocha, the cafe just outside the Juhu beach. We further decided to treat the Mocha people with a generous dose of our patronage and picked ourselves up only after we were reasonably sure of catching a local to our next destination, Bandra.

Bandstand was a lovers' paradise, and a place that was full of some ostentatious display, too. With film stars like Shahrukh Khan and others having built their 'nests' there, the glamour quotient was anyway high. This was added to, by the love-lorn couples adorning the coastline, cuddling up, walking hand in hand, and coochie-cooing as if there were no tomorrow. Having got into that mood at Juhu itself, Band stand was not very bearable either. Though I did appreciate the life of the place, perhaps that very life got to me too much to be able to really love all that went on around me.

The next day was not too momentous, with the morning spent in trying to find a suitable loo (we reched a McDee's at 8 in the morning, expecting it to be open:-)). The loo presented itself when we reached INOX, the latest theatre on the Bombay movie circuit and what a loo it was...neat and clean, it almost encouraged me to brush my teeth...but for the attendant :-)

After a really nice and cheerful movie, The Polar Express, a lot of roaming around in the Mumbai locals (including the luggage van of one of them), paying a fine for the wrong tickets, but only after explaining the naive innocence of us Allahabadis, left to fend for themselves in the big bad Bombay, an okay but expectation killing lunch at the exotically named Not Just Jazz By the Bay...we were ready to catch our train from Panvel, where we met Sundesh, Vikhyat and Jena who were also travelling with us to Calicut.

Also travelling with us were another set of passengers who were a little odd, to say the least. A group of young people, with a few middle aged ones thrown in to complete the party, occupied all other berths in our cabin apart from the two on which we were sleeping. When we opened our eyes during the night, varying scenes on the opposite berth attracted our attention every time we did open the eyes. Man and Woman, Man and Man, Woman and Woman...nothing seemed to be beyond them. The morning was even more shocking as they got closer to their destination, Kankanadi (Mangalore). With four lettered expletives making the rounds after every second spoken word, and some really explicit body-talk, there was enough entertainment for the two of us to last us for the remaining journey.

The long weekend

The long weekend of Diwali and Eid is well over and the classes scheduled for this week seem to be bringing things to a head for probably the first or second time this term. This does not, in any way however, take away from the immensely eventful weekend that the past one has been. With three free days in a row owing to some sincere efforts by the Student Council yet again, the mood was upbeat with a lot of people packing their bags Thursday evening for places like Bangalore, Goa and Kovalam.

For the people left on campus, there were plans for Diwali celebrations. Even the night preceding Diwali was very interesting. Having gone to sleep after watching a movie or two at about 3:30 in the night, I kept having dreams of a very noisy and boisterous Holi for some reason. When I woke up in the morning, I saw that the entire hostel had water and more water everywhere and the sweeper was having a hard time figuring out the reason for this downpour inside the building. It was only later that I came to know of the water fight that had broken out in IIMK on Diwali eve. Spread across hostels, the splashing extravaganza saw some interesting highs like Gagan's hydrophobia, people being woken out of their sleeps and water being poured over them, reactions of some such people to such treatment in so-early hours of the morning.

That notwithstanding, people were all geared up for the Diwali celebrations with Puja planned at 7 in the evening. Before the Puja however, Veer-Zaara happened. I still go by my opinion that the movie will do well because of its being designed for the masses. Anyways, Diwali Puja was up next as we came back to the hostel (just in time, considering that the rains were following right behind). Lots of kurtas, saris, unspoken mantras of the priest, uninhibited and free flowing revelry in the midst of the Puja, some real hard work by the organizers, and the Swedes with their huge camera were some of the attractions of the Puja.

The dinner that followed had its own fruity flavor with two sweet dishes thrown in the Diwali bounty. I must say here that I really appreciated what Rajat did to regulate the food distribution. Such conduct is rarely seen and the only recent example that I can think of is what Priya did at the hotel in Munnar where like Rajat, she was busy carrying the puris and serving them to the rest of us.

The very first number called up in the Housie won me a prize (a shooting star) of 100 bucks but I more than made up for it by losing some 550 rupess in the late night (went on till 5 in the morning, actually) game of cards...so much for the ill-effects of gambling (and to think that at one point, I was winning around 400 bucks). The fireworks display made up for the teeny weeny little bit of home-sickness that had started creeping in and by the time the fireworks ended (though a little tragically, what with the injuries to Sandipan, Abhineet and Devroop), I was in a complete festive mood.

Saturday was pretty uneventful as I got up at about 1 in the afternoon. The only change from the typical lazy day routine was yet another movie, this one decided at the very last minute. Naach turned out to be disappointing and so did the India Pakistan cricket match that followed and resulted in yet another loss for India.

Sunday was spent lazing around and trying to read up on the case for Monday's Operations class. That I managed to do much more of the former as compared to the latter is obvious. I even managed to watch The Italian Job...had heard a lot about it...nice movie, but not as good as you would expect after the rave reviews...personally, I think that Ocean's Eleven or even Mission Impossible was much better...but then again, each one for his/her own.

Diwali night is also the ocassion when I get in touch with my family like I never do in the normal course. I make it a point to call all my relatives, cousins, friends on Diwali and despite a one day bill that normally goes beyond 500 (it even touched four figures once), it gives me a lot of satisfaction to be able to connect to the people who really matter in my life. It is not that I do not talk to them normally but Diwali is a special ocassion when people expect calls and greetings from their near and dear ones and a greeting at such times is received as being the most affectionate of all.

The Festival of Lights

Long long ago, in a land far far away, the return of a King was celebrated by his subjects with a city decked with lights and hearts overflowing with happiness.

The doors were kept open for the deity of wealth to come in the households and leave behind the eternal blessing of long-lasting happiness and wealth.

These and many more legends reflect what we know of Deepawali, The Festival of Lights. Celebrated all over the country (and even abroad, amongst Indian settlements), Deepawali is not just these legends...not just the victory of good over evil. For children, it is one time in the year when they are not scolded for making noise and having fun. For teens and semi-adults, it is the time when they meet new people over sweets and delicacies and rise over petty disputes to bridge gaps and (re)form friendships. For the middle-aged, this time of the year means a time-out from their busy schedules to re-affirm family ties and engage in some networking with neighbours, relatives and friends. For the old, it is time to sit back and enjoy the lights emanating the youth that they once felt, while wondering at the timelessness of it all.

India, a land of so many religions and cultures, seems to unite under the umbrella of this amazingly celebrated festival with Hindus, Muslims...Punjabis, Tamilians alike, none knowing any bounds to the joy and enthusiasm that Deepawali symbolises. In fact, I still remember that the biggest and most varied collection of fireworks in our mohalla used to be that of our Muslim neighbors. Not having been home for the past few Deepawalis, I don't know if somebody from down south has now occupied the frontrunner position but what I do know about and can still smell, sitting at all this distance from home, are the sweets of Deepawali, the new clothes, the view from the terrace, with the absence of stars and moon on an Amavasya more than compensated for.

As I sit here today morning writing this post n my blog, I want to reach out to everyone I know and wish them all a very happy and prosperous and joyous Deepawali. I will be calling up some of them, meeting in person, another few, but for all those I may not be able to communicate with on this auspicious day, may they all be blessed with all the happiness that Deepawali brings with it.

We do have a party tonight at IIMK to celebrate Deepawali the traditional way, with sweets and lights and fireworks...there might even be a movie lined up if some of us decide to go for it...I just hope that it is a night to remember for all of us, a night to cherish for yet another year till we come across and join together to celebrate another Deepawali.