The Wandering Elephant

Nightfix

2006-07-17T12:45:00.000+05:30

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Recently I found myself walking up and down a section of the one road that circles Car Nicobar trying to find some beer. You know, busy day out in the sun, stifling humidity so a nice cold beer should fix it. Well, alcohol is unavailable on the island. The bloody puritanical administration does not want to corrupt the Nicobarese tribals who are anyway getting smashed on toddy, fermented drink made from the sap of the coconut palm. Little does the government realise that they've already ordered away the traditional culture.

But in one of the 10 shops on the island, I came across Beck's non-alcoholic beer. After much pondering and "hmmm...ing" and under the debilitating burden of the realisation that no walking and talking would find me a beer, I settled for Becks. Remarkably, Beck's non-alcoholic "ale" tastes just like beer. Not like gourmet ale but exactly like a usual six pack of whatever beer that you might find in the store. So one gets tricked into thinking and knowing that you're drinking something that tastes exactly like beer but its not. It's not, but it is, is not. Pull your hair out or enjoy the moment, standing in the balcony, sipping a charlatan "beer" and trying to find music in the loud drone of the coast gaurd helicopter on night patrol.

The beer having slaked my thirst and after having psyched myself into thinking that I was indeed drinking beer, I turned the can around only to find all the instructions were in Arabic. So, this trickster is probably made for Islamic countries, where alcohol is not legally permitted. I'm sure Beck's is tapping into a massive market but after providing temporary relief ( I actually had 5 more over the course of the next 4 days), it did leave me feeling a bit duped. But as they say, if you dont have the real stuff, the closest to it must do. Close? Not really but a dressed up as such definitely. Damn! this is getting unnerving. Run, run, run....

$@&! The Police

2006-06-29T22:07:00.000+05:30

The most bizarre thing happened to me this morning.

My workplace is a 10 minute walk from home but I took the car. As I exited the neighbourhood onto the straigth stretch to work, an Police car whizzed by only just about missing me. It wasnt a patrol vehicle but one of those transport vehicles reserved for officers. Ahead it ran two red lights, narrowly missing a scooterist with a little girl riding pillion and a few cars until I chased it down to the main intersection, where the car had stopped only because of traffic. I rolled down my window and asked the driver why was he driving like a madman and how could he so easily jump lights thus imperiling the lives of people and that too in a Police car. The driver muttered something and waived me off saying that it was none of my business and i had no right to demand an answer from him. Strange I thought. Ofcourse, it was my business since at first, he had narrowly missed my car and I wasnt just going to sit there as he displayed his murderous driving ability on the road. I just gave him a dirty look.
The senior officer sitting in the front seat next to the driver, suddenly put his head out of the window, pointed his finger at me and barked in Hindi, "Listen, you fool- just get on with it. Who are you? You're driving your car aren't you? So just stick to that and piss off." All this with his finger in my face. This really got me going. I'd spoken to these assholes very politely, not wanting to get into a confrontation and this insolent fool on a power trip was getting aggressive for no reason. Thankfully the light turned green, and it was time to move on but I wanted to have the last word and shouted across "You're sitting in a Police car, have some shame." He glared back, "You shameless asshole!"

This longish anecdote isnt about me or the fucking IPS officer and his poodle, the driver, but a sketch of where we stand as individuals and society, if that really means anything that is. We've become islands. No one can talk to anyone unless you're complimenting or applauding them. Criticism has become unfathomable because we've become so intolerant and after all who are you to comment on them, even if their actions are inimical to society. Citizenship has come to mean and limited to acquiring a passport, a drivers license or other documents- so you can "legally" pillage the state at will while the latter tries its level best to mete out worse treatment to you. We've become one of the two evils, which one is lesser- you decide.

Indian media and we can't get enough of the rise of India. You read the Economic Times, and it's as if we're living in a utopian state. India this and India that. It's fantastic and makes me really proud. The country is chugging along like a well oiled machine. 9.3% growth in the last quarter, agricultural, service and manufacturing sectors booming but moral sector plummeting. Who cares? Does it even matter. I guess not, since the growth rate doesnt take into account thuggery, shallowness and impunity. And by the looks of it, we're happy with it. We're happy being islands, increasingly wealthy islands, distancing ourselves from our own responsibilites as citizens- raising our voices when the matter has the potential to affects us personally but prefunctarily condoning wrongdoing because it might not affect us right then or simply because of the traditional Indian passivity- So many people break rules, how many people will you call out? or You aren't perfect so what right do you have to tell the other? Unfortunately, we've become so inured to the failings of a creaky system, imposed from the top and perpetuated by our own inaction.

Sure, in view of the Commonwealth Games in Delhi in 2010, surely the infrastructure will be spruced up- new stadia, roads, hotels, cleaner and greener city and all the works because we are surely great at hospitality but will our own character change? Or, will we just keep ambling around like zombies? Will the garbage keep lying around creating a stink and becoming a health hazard, or are we going to act and get the municipality to do what they should be doing in the first place.

The police officer is a cop yes, but he is also you and me.

Summer's here, time for a swim

2006-05-23T12:04:00.000+05:30

"Zizou, Zizou, Zizou"

2006-05-09T11:00:00.000+05:30

One of the greatest footballers to have ever graced the turf, Zinedanie Zidane played his last game for Real Madrid on May 7. You can read a brillantly written write-up on his last game for Real Madrid here. His swansong will be the World Cup in Germany, which starts in exactly a month from today and where the French team will definitely be an emotional favorite to win. Above is a compilation of his wonderous bag of tricks, that have mesmerized football fans the world over for the last 8 years. More importantly, his heart of gold and humble nature have won the respect of opposition players, coaches and fans, the latter being a brutal lot. People find the nastiest of things to say about the most genuine and well meaning human beings, but "Zizou" has been above and beyond it all.

I never had the opportunity to watch him play, even though I spent an entire 6 months in Madrid in 2002. The real buzz at that time was the impending arrival of Ronaldo at Real Madrid. Zidane had been bought by the extravagant football club in the previous season I think and he'd gone about his work in typical Zidane manner- playing efficiently, making crowds roar in approval at his tricks and keeping away from the limelight and an intrusive Spanish press. It was almost as if in spite of his credentials and being at the richest club in football, he didn't exist. But he did, in every roar of approval which left the mouth of Real Madrid supporter when Zizou touched the ball and in every look of awe and jealousy on the face of the rival fans.

An anecodte- My host family in Madrid were fanatical supporters of Athletico Madrid, city rivals to Real Madrid and the team of the working class while Real finds most of its support in the elite and business class. The two teams hate each other with a passion and brawls and arson is a regular occurence when rival supporters get together in the moshpit. Much like Boca Juniors vs. River Plate in Argentina. When Athletico played, all of us would sit glued to the TV set and even the little girl Claudia, then all of 2 years old, would hum along to the Athletico hymn which would be played in the stadium at the beginning of the match. Every move of Athletico was applauded and real time opinion and analysis was delivered sitting in the house. But when, Real played Athletico and Zidane opened his dizzying bag of tricks, the father in the house would say to me in a didactic manner, "Look at the man, he's got them in a trance. Their feet are in cement and he's left them to watch him play around with the ball." Every touch was gold. Zizou was "El Mago," (The Magician), he was "El Dios," (The God).

A lot has been written about his humble origins, as a son of Algerian immigrants growing up in Marsellis, a bustling city of hardknocks. I have seen a few interviews of his and he never forgets to mention the contribution and sacrifices of his parents during his growing up years. His family and upbringing have contributed significantly to his humble and altruistic nature. During the last leg of his illustrious career, he regularly gets asked about his plans for the future and a recurring theme has been his intention to start special programmes for children- broadly aimed at providing children the safety net and support so they can dare to dream and persist to achieve.

When any big name exists a stage, it is perhaps easy to wax eloquent on them. And as always, other stalwarts or superstars emerge, new arrivals are extolled and obituaries are written. Us humans, in possession of awfully fickle memories and burdened by a self-imposed marketing machinery which creates superstars one day and drops them the next, forget the greatness of being and move on. This too will happen with Zidane. For the moment however, let us all applaud the alchemist.

WE Pitstop: Q'BA

2006-04-23T02:19:00.000+05:30

WE Pitstop (Wandering Elephant Pitstop) is a new section where I will give my impressions of the restaurants, pubs, clubs- joints visited by me. I'm not an expert, nearly not good enough to write wasteful columns in the newspaper, but like this blog, this will be MY take.

Q'BA
Location: E 42/43, Cannaught Place (inner circle), New Delhi-110001, India
For reservations call: 011-51512888
Lunch: Noon- 3pm, Dinner: 7pm- Midnight, Lounge: Open Noon to Midnight

Went to Q'BA tonight. Some of my friends have been talking about it so my girlfriend and I decided to pay a visit. The joint's received a lot of good press- well spread out, a good bar menu and a terrace area for cuddling and just enjoying the late night breeze. Lot of potted plants have been put out and there is also a creeper on the wall, which gives a very fresh and alive feel to the terrace. Although, the views arent great but just being out in the open, away from cigarette smoke and noise while still being able to hear the music in the background is quite a nice and calming feeling.

Mauve, puprple and black ofcourse predominate and I have to admit I was quite impressed by the decor- lots of mirrors and the place has a clean look. Not the usual hodge-podge and kitch interiors. The staff is friendly, the lady who waited on us was fantastic-she had a lovely smile and she even managed to get us onto the bar whilst a private party was going on there. Big points for that.

As one would expect, the drinks were expensive. We split a "Highway to Hell" amongst us. For the toddlers, this drink is a shake of Gin, Tequila, Rum, Vodka and Blue Curacao. Explosive to say the least and that too in a tall glass. I'm somehow a big fan of the quart of Old Monk rum and drinking at home, so splurging on a cocktail at a bar is an aberration but something I can manage every now and then. Did not order any food but took a look at the menu and on offer was the usual Italian and Continental fare with some Thai thrown in to keep one interested. Just that I probably ate better Thai food 2 months ago in Thailand, at 1/10th of the price.

Q'BA recently hosted the Kingfisher Model Contest, or something of that sort even if it was called differently. One of those ridiculous Page 3 type events which no one really cares about but wants to be seen it. But after having visited Q'BA I can definitely vouch for the place. Won't say classy because that word does not exist in the lexicon of a Delhi-ite but it's got a good vibe. The DJ played a mix of good beats with some lame ass Delhi music but it left me humming and bopping.

Moral of the story: Q'BA has an energy. It's nice and spacious and gives you the option to dine in quiet or having a rocking time at the bar next to the dancefloor. Good lounge space and not dingy or shady. Worth a dekko. Worth a spend.

Choose your ODB

2006-04-21T16:06:00.000+05:30

ODB= Ol' Dirty Bastard

The Wandering Elephant is providing its readers (who are you? Never heard from you!) a unique opportunity to pick their very own ODB. The internet is up to the brim with all kinds of face offs, mostly to do with beautiful face, round and tight ass, full breasts, curvaceous body and a lot more that I can't possibly mention here. But, how about your very own ODB!! So, here we go...may the best ODB win.

Suspect 1

This man is ODB in name for he is Ol' Dirty Bastard of the Wu-Tang Clan. Born Russell Tyrone Jones and known to be one of the most eccentric personalities in hip-hop, ODB died in November 2004. He was 35. Peace be on him.

ODB was recognizable with his garbled and nonsensical style of singing. He half rapped and half sang. He also fathered about a dozen children from different companions. After having lost out to less singer-more empresario P Diddy at an Awards Ceremony, ODB stormed onto stage shouting exam "Wu-Tang are for the children!" With a half a dozen progenies, he surely was for the children!!

Now, I have never been a Wu-Tang fan but I do remember seeing this dude on a few videos but with teeth like that and known more for his rap sheet than rapping, he's most definitely an ODB.

Suspect 2

76 year old granpa Philip Winikoff is surely not ODB in name but finds a deserving place here after having been charged with sexually assaulting two women in Miami, Florida. Reason- he went around a Florida neighbourhood claiming to be a doctor and offering free breast exams. Two women accepted the offer and the rest as they say is history...

According to reports, one woman grew suspicious after the ol' wanker asked her to remove all her clothes and began conducting a purported genital without wearing rubber gloves!

This ODB definitely had a well thought out plan, have to give him props for that. But what a moron!! The 76 year old shuttle driver for a auto dealership now is a definite "Viejo Verde"

Indian cricket: Humpty Dumpty sitting on The Wall

2006-03-22T15:50:00.000+05:30

When I started this blog, I promised myself that I would never post on Indian cricket simply because there is just so much information and so many views floating all over the place. After all, there's so much more happening around me and beyond, to witness, absorb and write about. But being an Indian and an avid supporter of the national team, I can't escape cricket. You can take me away from cricket but you can't take cricket away from me. The sport is there in my blood, though I dont play it well enough. The sport is a part and parcel of my life, all over the newspapers, the TV, the internet and all over the street. Run as hard as you can and as far as you can, you could perhaps outrun it but not outlast it.

However today, I break that promise and write on Indian cricket after watching in absolute disgust the spineless capitulation of the Indian cricket team at the hands of a surprisingly effervescent and combative English team. In the days to come, as is the wont of Indian media and cricket followers alike, a lot of webspace and page-space is going to go into analysing and dissecting the performance (or non-performance) of the Indian team. But amidst all this over-analysis and chest beating the one thing that once again will be forgotten albeit after token mention will be the gutless-ness of the Indian performance and that too, yet again.

Did I expect India to win? Frankly, no. Did I expect them to draw the game? No. What I wanted and was looking forward to was Indian batsmen showing some real attitude and fighting spirit that one would associate with sportspersons playing for their country at the international level. Is that too much to expect? Anyway, I found none. India quit today. We have the greast number of superstars in the team and time and time again, the Indian batting order is termed as the best in the world. But when did it actually fire or compete when the chips were down and in a war of attrition? For every two examples you'll throw at me from the distant past I can hit back at you with twice as many examples from the recent past when the team has disgraced itself and the millions who follow them and waste plenty of money and time on them. Indians for whatever reason are drunk on past glories and find solace in them. In the ultra-competitive world we live in and especially that of a sport (or a circus) like cricket, you're only good as your last performance. And putting up a such a show as the team has today, asks for the greatest shellacking of all time.

But this will never come. A few months ago, former Indian cricketer and eloquent commentator said after yet another horrid capitualtion by India against Pakistan in the Karachi Test match, and I para phrase him here, "... My real fear is that India might do very well in the upcoming one-dayers and all the inadequacies of the Test team might be forgotten..." Soon enough the one day series will come by and a youthful and powerful Indian one day team will probably get the better of a quizically poor English one day team. All that ails Indian cricket will be forgotten and the cricket team will get drunk on adulation and new heroes will be anointed by the media and the public. Such is the nature of the game and so fickle is the public's memory. Including mine.

Team India carries the hopes of a nation on the move, one bubbling with energy and potential. Once upon a time, the team used to be dominated by players from the metros but today it is full of players from small towns and yet unheard of towns and villages. This and the youthfulness, aggro, effervescence, freshness, style and combativeness of players coming from different religions, regions and socio-economic backgrounds mirrors the advances of the much talked about Indian economy. These players represent the new India, one that all of us are a part off and very much proud off. But amidst this deserved praise, hype, spin and hyperbole could we please know where are the guts? Where are the guts so this team cannot just win when the game is nicely set up but create a game by clenching its teeth and getting its hands dirty? Where is that India? Where is that new India?

Test cricket is great. You stay glued to the TV following your team and building up hope of a last day gritty performance and you get roundly get slapped in the face, for expecting just that. A gritty performance.

Boyfriend for a day, all expenses paid

2006-03-03T12:31:00.000+05:30

Here's a picture with me and my nieces, from the wedding I recently attended in Bikaner. That's Pragya (middle left), Vaidehi (right), Aditi (lower right) and Soumya (left). They're all cuties and more than capable of creating quite a racket when put together, especially the two little ones. Also, they wore the same outfits because they like to have the same things. Wonderful!

My brother sent me this link yesterday. http://www.thatsbj.com/index.php?a=2&b=59262

If the link doesnt work, take a read here because I very much doubt, you'd have read something as funny as this ever.

"27 old girl needs to hire a boyfriend during 4th of March to 5th of March. Required to fly with her to another city, meeting her parents and having dinner together. Return flight tickets and living cost are provided. This person need to be a Chinese, single,30-40 years old, from north China, no smoking, high educated, well behaved, 175cm high or over, charming, overseas experiences are more welcome. If you think you are the one, please send your CV and photo to this e-mail address: wb619@sina.com. The ad will be expired after 2nd of March. Thank you."

I'm sure she got a lot of responses and hopefully it all worked out for her. Hilarious!

"For the pillars of the temple stand apart"

2006-02-23T11:49:00.000+05:30

Err..umm...yeah. Enough said.
______________________
Went to Bikaner to attend my sister's wedding. Two day trip, out of which, one day was spent coming and going. The wedding itself went of well. A happy occasion for all.

I got blitzed by invitations for weddings and engagement ceremonies in November and December. Never had it so bad but i also havent been in India during wedding season for a long time. Nonetheless, its good to partake in such special occasions even if by the end of it all, you're left with an extra inch or two or three around the waist. While in the US, i've already spent enough time going into lengthy discussions, fueled by coffee or alcohol, on marriages and the social aspects and the carnival like atmosphere ( Monsoon Wedding!) so here I wont go down that road again. Its a conscious decision.

With so many weddings to attend and so much food to eat and beverages to drink, we sometimes loose sense of what the wedding day means to the bride and the groom and what they're "signing" up for. I for one don't go to weddings thinking about the deeper meaning of the day. And i'm sure, i'm not the only one. One of my friends sent this on a mass email this morning and it moved me into giving it wider publicity here (not that anyone reads my blogs anyway!!) Touching yes, profound more.

From Kalil Gibran's The Prophet:
On Marriage
Then Almitra spoke again and said, "And what of Marriage, master?"

And he answered saying:

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

I'm back

2006-02-15T12:04:00.000+05:30

baby elephant
Originally uploaded by jiggybaba.

It's been an exhilirating two months since I last posted. I spent New Years in the hedonistic bubble that is Goa (more on that when i back post) and then trundled onto Thailand, Laos and Cambodia (will back-post as well). Had a fantastic time. Did the tourity thing but also took out time to get off the beaten path a little bit. I'll probably want to re-visit Goa, but in the monsoons, when i've heard its at its prettiest. SE Asia will see me again. I absolutely loved it. Happy and helpful people, great food and drink and enriching history and culture. A region on the move and most definitely at peace with itself.

I'll get back to posting regularly soon. This year is going to be very exciting. Lots to do and ways to go. It's been a great start and I just want to keep the energy and momentum going. Interested in coming along?

"Thanks be to Allah"

2005-12-22T16:58:00.000+05:30

Read a quite interesting article just now on the renaissance of Islam in the Pakistani cricket team and how this has disciplined the bunch and crucially better results.

But what really set me thinking was when I read in this same piece that the rotund Pakistani cricket captain Inzamam ul-Haq (foundly but to his annoyance called "Aalu" or Potato in Hindi)says "Thanks be to Allah" these days even when his side has lost the match. I find this is a little hard to digest. Why would you thank your god after losing a game? Well, people might say that thanking ones maker should not just be limited to success but cmon you cant be thanking the guy for failure, can you? I can't think of one such situation.

These days you look at the Pakistani cricket team and everyone is sporting beards, not mullah beards but beards all the same, and Islam seems to have taken a central place in their cricket regimen. Practice and Prayer have been interchangable. Not saying that this is necessarily wrong or bad but it is a sea change from when Imran Khan was a womaniser par excellence and Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis, the two who give the Poms nightmares along with "Baaawling Shaaayne" Warne, followed quite closely. The tenants of Islam were hit for a six then as Imran used his propa English and Wasim and Waqar used their heady Punjabi-British English concoction to swoon the women. The women fell for them like the middle stump fell for their delicious yorkers, not because they could walk the talk and talk the walk but because they were flush with funds. But just look at the Paki team now...

No more women, nightclubs and booze. The Paki team is still has its contenders for the poster boy prize. None better that Shahid Afridi and self proclaimed Mr. Hollywood Shoaib Akhtar. Shahid "Boom Boom" Afridi- Pathan by heritage, Karachi by upbringing and the nation's favorite player bar none- is the poster boy of today. He is married but his wife has never been seen in public, even in Pakistan. Apparently because he is from a pretty conservative family. But that has to an extent, helped him retain his groupie clan. Women are crazy about him and crowds rise from their slumber and erupt into a defeaning roar as he steps into the arena. The Gladiator has entered. Rome shall rise.

Much has been and will be written about Shoaib Akhtar. He talks of himself being a Ferrari sometime and Tarzan on others. On taking a wicket with balls bowled (or chucked) at 95miles/hr, he stretches his arms and keeps running on like an airplane is taking off. He's ripped as Hulk Hogan and charges into bowl as the crowd claps and the anticipation builds, his hair flapping and his muscles pumping. There is no better sight in cricket. And in half a second, the batsman is walking back and the crowd voice is at its zenith, asking for more, baying for blood. Shoaib too talks in the Punjabi-British English accent but is known to take on accents. When in Australia, he talks as an Aussie. Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do, right? He has women stashed away in all corners of the globe, one in every area code. He likes to party, enjoys his drink, likes the high life yet portrays himself as a decent cow at home. Mr. Hollywood.

Not too long ago, I used to detest the Pakistani team. Not only were we supposed to dislike them and also that they beat up on India regularly, there was something very slimy about them. They played cricket with a thug mentality, which I found very disconcerting. Slowly, the personnel in the team changed, new faces to which I could not possibly attach any vile. Now, they've become a strong unit built around the rock of Gibralter that is Inzamam and dashers such as Afridi and Akhtar but also some good capable and hungry youngsters.

Is it a mere coincidence that this change in the character of the team has come about at the time when there has been a revival of Islam in the team? They were always Muslim but were they always good Muslims? Is resigning to one's fate as is thanking god when you loose a match, a sign of stability and discipline? Did the cricket Yousuf Youhana convert to Islam because being a Christian, he would have never been made captain of the Pak team? Is Mohammad Yousuf the muslim a better person and a better cricket than Yousuf Youhanna the christian?

Pakistan is a good team to watch. "Thanks be to Allah"

AIDS, etc

2005-12-02T16:31:00.000+05:30

To commemorate World AIDS Day, the Obelisk of Buenos Aires was covered with a giant condom. Unique. Argentinians or "Gauchos" ("Ranchers") as they are known in South America have a good sense of style. They are brash and like to do things differently. I kid you not, you will not see anything like this in any of the other South American countries for it will cause great uproar in the masses. Most of South America is devout Catholic. But in Buenos Aires, people will look at it, smile, shrug and carry on their frantic conversations, the style of which is an intoxicating mix of animated Italian gesticulating and sing-song highs and lows in speech with the fanatic devotion for football and Maradona, tango and salsa and last but not the leasts shapely breasts and round asses. All said and done, I'm sure this Obelisk was the cynosure of all eyes.

Apart from the usual song and dance HIV/AIDS specials (yes, MTV India) and heart wrenching TV stories on the myriad TV channels, India rang in World AIDS Day with the Government declaring that homosexuality was unacceptable and public morality is supreme. To read this shocking and absurd story go here. The Government took this stance keeping in mind "public opinion". That the general population is homophobic is known but that the Government, which day in and day out spews garbage about achieving 10% growth and what not is also willing to take that stance instead of a progressive and accepting posture is very disturbing. Most big cities in India have a vibrant gay culture but even a nominal level of acceptance in missing, especially in North India, which is intellectually and socially castrated. So, the gay dude you see on TV will the effeminate fashion designer or gesticulating weirdo in a TV series. Those are the stereotypes which have been perpetuated by the media and also by the frustrating homogeneity of society.

Let's admit it, the vast majority of us are racist homophobes suffering from tunnel vision, our professions of choice and esteem are limited to medicine and engineering so we can have a big house with a white picket fence with two or three gas guzzling SUVs parked in the driveway. Our minds cannot open beyond that, for we shall not allow them to. We will not and shall not know the fate that befalls the world, for it leaves us unscathed. And we are happy with that.

We Indians, we are repressed people. By our own religions and social norms and customs. Sold our souls to them. Go on, feed the beast.

15-0

2005-11-25T01:05:00.000+05:30

I graduated from college about one and a half years ago. I played college tennis for 3 of the 4 years I was there. Those 4 years were the best days of my life. As much as I grumbled about running sprints after a 2 hour practice in 5 degree C weather and as much my legs shouted out loud for rest, now I realize that my best times in college were not spent with a bevy of curvacious beauties or full yet soon to be empty beer bottles but with balls and a racket. When I was on court, those were hours of liberation. The coach chewed his fingernails and my friends shouted encouragements and I hit winners. I was your counterpuncher. Puny Indian fella.

I was never your ideal tennis player. My service motion is all wrong, and I once rolled my ankle over 3 times in the span of 2 weeks. Yet, when i put myself on court I forgot all troubles. I was the irritant. I ran down every ball, I dinked my serve over, I hit a drop shot and then a lob over the on rushing player. He cursed me in English and I cursed him in Hindi. He never understood a word of what i said. All that filth. That anger with my coach goading me on from the sidelines "C'mon G-man, lets see you smile" and I'd flash a smile, hit a winner and then pump my fist in my opponents face and shot "C'mon!". After I came back from Spain, I started saying "Vamos!". Sounded cool.

Whenever I think of Whitman, i think of tennis. It's an automatic connection. I'm an ordinary guy but tennis brought out everything in me. I dont know how. So, whenever I want to jog those memories, I just visit my college website to see old match scores and read up on wins and losses. Tennis has given me friends and it gave me that outlet. I never had that jock type body and I never practiced long hours but put me on court and you will get the absolute best out of me.

I dont know if my coach will read this but last year after graduation I wrote an email note to him thanking him. I thanked him for trying the hardest with me, having patience and being a solid leader. I also learned that whatever you might do, do it happily because you want to be there. The stage belongs to you and you belong there. Hit that approach shot, move into the net and put the volley away because you have to make things happen. Those moments are priceless to me. I think of those matchpoints often and I remember some moments vividly. To my wonderful team-mates coach, thanks for all those memories. Thanks for the tennis.

Why?

2005-11-17T12:51:00.000+05:30

So why did I (thats me in Varanasi) decide to start this blog?

For starters I enjoy travelling and in my travels the best moments have been spent talking to the person on the street who goes about their own business away from the blinding glare of the tourist industry. Talk to them. They are always willing for a chat irrespective of which country you might find yourself in. Travel isn't about going to picture postcard perfect locations because that is only a gaudy facade that hides the stark underbelly, the real story.

I am also very interested in international politics and the happenings around the world. Thankfully, my parents raised me to be politically and culturally aware, so most often than not I have a point of view on things. I also make a lot of effort to keep myself well-informed. So, this my friends, is my easel on which I shall paint my hues.

Critique, argue, debate yet respect. Welcome.