The Doctor Operates...

Tag, I'm it.

2006-09-11T02:53:00.000+05:30

Er.

Hello all.

It took me some time to figure out that I've been tagged.

Which was so graciously done by Chamique.

And then BB from Dilettante reminded me that I was being remiss.

So.

Here it is.

I'm not always so frowny.

TATA SKY

2006-08-27T11:15:00.000+05:30

As the Bawa behemoth continues acquiring thriving businesses abroad, BB draws my attention to its Satellite Television initiative.

Just as elsewhere, you can now view all your favourite channels (and PPV movies) directly from home without worrying about your Cable Guy. The cost is 4k for the installation of the box and its activation.

Their introductory offer is a monthly charge of 200 bucks per month. But that's only for the first 4 months, after which you will be charged on usage - payment for which can be made by buying top-up cards. Like so.

CAUTION: It is of course moot as to what your monthly costs are after that inaugural period.

The channels that they offer are here.

Anyway, its an option worth exploring, what?

Anything to declare, Sir?

2006-08-26T00:06:00.000+05:30

The recent paranoia prevailing at airports across the world has brought a flood of reactions. BB directed me to the one I like best. This is what Ryanair believes security checks will be like in the near future.

Something to look forward to, eh? Remember the rule, though - ONLY ONE LAPTOP allowed.

It is good to know that at least a sense of humour survives. Notwithstanding attempts to make it a casualty.

LV (ii)

2006-08-25T13:05:00.000+05:30

This week's 55 - in response to Chamique and BB. Am pasting them all here in order so you don't have to go to and fro.

========
I’m healed, an old man proclaimed to the curious cameras.

She elbowed her way through the crowd and stepped gingerly into the murky water.
Maybe it would go away. Maybe what medicine couldn’t cure, a miracle would.
She pushed stray polythene aside and closed her eyes, praying softly as she sipped at the fleeting sweetness.

========
Neptune was tired of these hairy biped mammals invading his world, raping his children and pillaging his garden. And now this; they’d found the source of his everlasting youth and of Amphitrite’s beauty.

“No more!” he thundered.

As he sent Carcharodon onwards and upwards to do his bidding; she gently lowered herself into the water…

========
As the mammoth carnivore eased through the depths, she had something on her mind.

The well had sprung a leak three thousand miles away, off the Indian coast.

It was all very well for Neptune to set her to the task, as he sat frolicking with dolphins and damsels.

She should have brought a book.

========

LV

2006-08-19T01:00:00.000+05:30

For a while now, BB and Chamique have been indulging in very imaginative 55 word stories that they post on their respective blogs every Friday. One of them begins by posting a 55 word narrative, to which the other responds with an equally worded effort taking the thread forward. A few weeks ago, the latter chose to abandon her legions of readers by callously not responding to BB's weekly initiative. At this point, armed with a degree in altruism and half a dozen exercisable fingers, I leaped in the breach to carry the baton for that week.

Other 55s have followed (all with Chamique back at her post), but I have found myself haplessly drawn towards adding my own modest efforts to that of the pioneers. Earlier today, BB suggested that instead of hiding my contributions away in the Comments on his blog, I should post them here. As a result, here is my response to the Fifty.Five. by BB and the Fifty five by Chamique (to be read in that order).

----------

A bit of the viscid mixture was still on her fingers as she opened the door. She quickly massaged it into her full, round lips. Salty.

A kafir watched her and smiled appreciatively.

Bastard.

-----------

Somewhere, Akram sat staring at the bottle in his hand.

Fuck.

He'd given her the cyanide paste instead of the vaseline.

-----------

Update: Dibyo carries it on from here. Anybody else?

-----------

Update 2: Its good to see that there are others. Dhoomketu and The Invisible Man have taken it forward. Taking a leaf out of the former's book, the story as it stands is below:

************
The airplane had been airborne an hour when she entered the toilet. She looked into the mirror and hated the girl of twenty going on sixty that she saw. The horrors she had seen and the family she had lost….

She mixed lip-gloss with Vaseline, stuck her mobile in the goo and walked out.

Slowly…

*****

Between the clothes, she tucked in small surprises. Moisturising lotion for her grandmother. Seaweed hair gel for her grandfather. The cologne her brother had been hinting at...

Later, she realised her lip-gloss had been checked in as well.Maybe she’d ask the girl next to her for some when she got back from the toilet.

*****

A bit of the viscid mixture was still on her fingers as she opened the door. She quickly massaged it into her full, round lips. Salty.

A kafir watched her and smiled appreciatively.

Bastard.

Somewhere, Akram sat staring at the bottle in his hand.

Fuck.

He'd given her the cyanide paste instead of the vaseline.

*****

She looked sort of hot (in an Asian way), though not friendly. That made him think. In the end he decided to give it a go, anyhow.

"May I borrow your vaseline, please? It's dry in here"

He added a friendly but restrained smile for effect. She looked around uncomfortably. He tried to look cool.

*****

She handed him the empty tube."It's not mine, it's available in the restroom. Go get one for yourself."

It was the friendliest she could be with kafirs.

She licked her lips again while sitting down. Salty.

Somewhere in her bag, the vaseline bottle had leaked open. Akram didn’t know that and pulled the trigger.

*****
First, cyanide for Vaseline, and now, a jammed trigger. Akram wasn’t having a great day.

-----------

Empty tube in hand, Grober made a beeline for the restroom. I should have killed the bitch. Oh well, there’s still an hour to go before we land. He smiled cruelly. And saw the phone. The phone of his dreams.

Aw.

2006-08-12T02:24:00.000+05:30

Thanks to Dilettante, I now know why the Hutch network signal has been weak for the last few days -

P.S We're praying for Shah Rukh to be careful.

Poached.

2006-08-11T11:37:00.000+05:30

On 9th August,2006 the Times of India on its front page said this:

"Imbali Jose is the new Veerappan. The forest police are now seeking him in the Nilgiris, where his predecessor had made a name killing tuskers and men."

On 11th August, 2006, the Times of India on its front page says he's dead. Here:

"Forest officials said Jose was suffering from kidney failure apart from a few other ailments. He was cremated on Thursday at his village, Pulpally, in Waynad district of Kerala."

That is funny.

Welcome to the Jihad

2006-08-10T19:28:00.000+05:30

Yes. Another terror plot. This time with liquids.
Funky, arent they?

Question is, if they are so cutting edge with everything, where are they getting the money from? How is it being routed? Through whom? Where? Obviously there are legitimate means being adopted for illegitimate ends.

When will political correctness stop - at both a national and community level? And when will our leaders realize that if somebody just came out and called a spade a Pakistani Muslim, then we might actually be on our way towards combatting this. I'm not saying that all Pakistani Muslims are guilty mind you, but we need to acknowledge that if we are going to trace terror, we can't start looking under a rock in the Amazon. We have to start in Pakistan. Not Iran. Not Iraq. Not North Korea. And no, not with the Shiv Sena or the RSS.

We have to start with our neighbour. Our undemocratic neighbour. Our theocratic neighbour.

There are only one of two situations now prevailing in Pakistan:

1. The Government finds that the terror groups are too formidable to break. That they have control over large portions of Pakistan's territory that the Government cannot recover, despite its recent weapons purchases. If this is so, we must help our neighbours. And so must the US, the UK and the other sanctimonious souls who run to each others aid when WMDs are feared.

2. The Government controls, finances and accommodates the terror groups. Which makes Pakistan a terrorist state. It wont do to depose Musharraf by force and put a farcical democratic system in place - Afghanistan and Iraq are still bleeding examples of why that does not work.

It is high time the international community took Pakistan to task and asked the simple question - "Will you handle it, or shall we?".

It wont be long before one of those new fangled weapons makes it through a security check somewhere and rips apart the insides of a modern aircraft. As pieces of machinery, flesh and equipment come plummeting out of the sky onto our front pages, we might still be waiting for the answer to that question.

P.S. The Beeb says there are Pakistani links to what happened earlier today in the UK.

For all Bachelors!!!

2006-08-05T16:09:00.000+05:30

A few weeks ago, I received a mail from a friend. She was actually writing to her brother who had left the city recently to advise him on how to set himself up in his new environs. The brother and I share initials, and so she wound up allowing autocomplete to make an error on the addressee. (Technology, I tell you.)

Happily, I ran my eye through the elaborate epistle, full of admiration for the sibling affection that could give birth to such painstaking effort.

I think it a crime to deprive all males (particularly South Indian ones) the knowledge of how to prepare oneself in strange lands (which includes Delhi).

So, here goes:

hi g.....* -

Looooong list – exhaustive and exhausting – chapters one to gazillion of 'how to move to d....* for dummies' . mummy seems to think you have the IQ of a slow camel .
These are the things you have to buy for the kitchen – beginning with food things , going on to kitchen aids , then things for the house .

Food chain –

- 1 kg rice – I say high fibre brown , but remember , needs about an hour extra soaking before cooking in order to cook well .
- 2 kg atta – should look slightly brown , that tells you it hasn't been too refined .
- 1 kg sugar – I say brown demerar , but whatever .
- 1 ltr refined vegetable oil – remember cholesterol runs in the family – so go in for something low in trans-fat , low HDL , high LDL . read the labels if none of that made sense . never use peanut oil , coconut oil . if you like , some extra virgin olive oil for dressings .
- Arhar dal ½ kg – apparently it is yellow in colour .
- Masoor dal ¼ kg – apparently orange when raw .
- Chilli powder – red – 100 gms .
- Dhania powder 100 gms .
- Haldi 50 gms .
- Mustard seeds whole / Rai – 50 gms .
- Jeera seeds 50 gms.
- Salt – to taste – ha ha ha!
- Pepper – whole black peppercorns 50 gms , powder I pkt . I say also get a pepper mill to get fresh ground pepper , and a salt 'n 'pepper set for the dining table .
- Chaat masala – don't worry , contains black salt , so will be able to stink up whole apartment complex .
- Aamchur , Tamarind paste packet – to add 'khatta' to select dishes .
- Ginger paste packet
- Garlic paste packet
- Tomato puree – look for one without additives and preservatives .

- 25 gms cloves
- 25 gms cinnamon
- 25 gms cardamom
- 'masala cubes' – I think means those lumps of artificial flavours and salt and ajinomoto that are powdered over food to mask blandness . wish had magic cubes for people . would sprinkle over many .
- Garam masala powder

- Veggies and almost food – potatoes , tomatoes , onions , eggs , bread , cheese (hard , low fat) , butter ( I say table margarine low fat) , green chillies ( ruuuuuun foooooor yooouuuuur liiiives ) , fresh green coriander , any two green veggies, e.g bhindi or beans , or leafy green veg like palak ( but need to know how to cook the leafy ones ) .
- Milk cartons – don't boil the damn things everytime like the way they do it here – BREAK FREE !

- Cornflakes – not sugared , try to get vitamin fortified ones without added flavourings , maybe buy drinking chocolate ( powder ) separately .
- Sooji rava
- Noodles – the plain ones . some ramen for emergencies .
- Peanuts ( plain ones , for chutney )
- Ready to use idli / dosa mix – if available , otherwise kidnap a passing mallu and get it made .
- Fruit

For the house :

- 1 ltr rice cooker
- 1 iron
- bath mat
- water bottles to keep in fridge and use on table , maybe unbreakable jug
- aluminium foil
- roll of kitchen wipes (looks like large tissue roll) only if you have a holder in kitchen .

Am very tired with all the typing - why not email the list to Choithrams and have them deliver all this ? will tell you all the super bizarre goings on here later when hand is no longer vulture like claw .
me

--------
* Changed to protect identity.

Adventurous Scribe (6)

2006-08-03T14:50:00.000+05:30

I happened to read the entire Tintin collection all over again last month courtesy my 7 year old Nephew's collection. As an adult, having learnt a little more than when I was 7, I was drawn once more into the beautiful worlds that Herge had made his own. The waterfalls in Latin America, the snows of Tibet and the sands of the Middle East came to life in his hands, but within historical and cultural contexts of which I had hitherto remained ignorant.

The sight of the Delhi street (with cow) and the carefully distinguished portrayals of the Japanese and Chinese characters display an attention to detail that imbibed the nuances of each foreign land. That such magic could be conjured for readers across the globe by a little known Belgian is a credit to the far-sighted publishers of the time.

It is thus only appropriate that Micheal Farr's painstakingly researched work "Tintin: The Complete Companion" should have made its way to our shores. Reviewer Dinoj Surendran notes another interesting facet of Herge's bilingual efforts:
"I also used to think that translating the books into different languages was just a matter of changing the stuff written in the balloons. Hell, no! For example, in the original French version of Tintin in Africa, a rhino gets blown up. In a Scandinavian edition, the Scand editors refused to print such gratuitous violence to animals and several frames had to be changed so the rhino runs away, terrified but alive."

The book contextualises every Tintin story with historical backgrounds, photographs (many of which formed the basis for Herge's panels), trivia and even a narrative on how Herge's life and work progressed with each work. A 205 page hardcover edition priced at between Rs.700 and Rs.895, this is a coffee table book which might be dog-eared in a week. Available here.
The front cover (below) is a delicate confluence of photograph and drawing.

# 2 - The Proposition

2006-08-01T19:43:00.000+05:30

Re: Guide to the Delhi house-hunt

2006-07-29T21:19:00.000+05:30

The following response was posted by a certain Vox Populi to this post of mine.

Too good to pass up, I thought I must allow it to crawl onto the masthead.

--------------------------------------

Being not a landlord (nor landlady. Nor lord or lady for that matter), and merely 50 godforsaken percent Punjabi, I wonder why one feels called upon to present Both Sides Of The Story.

Nevertheless, one does.

Your average Punjabi landlady, well past the age when she would adventurously shoot 2 pints of campa-cola and rock to Mohd. Rafi & his Merry Pranksters, may not understand our generation's deep need to wax cynical about the Human Condition and generally hang around feeling misunderstood...but she does have what historians refer to as a heart. She may not understand your angrezi (English, for all you angrezi's), but she understands the value of home-cooked daal-chawal. She may not appreciate 1500 PMPO's of Rammstein, but she does appreciate that your ridiculous hours may require a separate entrance. She may not be anything like your mother...but hey, isn't that a good thing?! And poke fun at your peril, but Bad Things DO Happen To Young Girls In ANY BIG CITY...that someone gives a damn is a blessing.

You want trees, parking space, wide roads, not tooo hot, not tooo cold, marble flooring, high-ceilings, ya-da ya-da ya-da...you go to Geneva and walk the streets. Bangalore hates you if you can't write code in Cobal or whatever, Bombay has bathroom sinks in the hall and Cal has, well, Bengalis.

Come to New Delhi.

Our Motto: Eat, Drink and Scratch. Favourite Bird: Butter Chicken. We await your arrival with open arms.

------------------------

Piggy Five

2006-07-28T22:24:00.000+05:30

Raghavendra looked furtively around.

Would any of the others know that it was only his finger that hadnt done its job?

Did they smell the traitor in their midst, or was it just the stench of death?

Only he knew of the rest.

And about where they hid amidst wet clay and brushland.

-------------------------------------------

In response to this by BB. And only for this week as Chamique is away.

Guide to the Delhi house-hunt

2006-07-27T11:19:00.000+05:30

As New Delhi beckons me back, I embarked on my quest for a pad.

Its been nearly four years since I last did something like this, but I was optimistic. Which was my mistake.

The thing is, one must always keep a few facts in mind when looking for a place to stay in the Capital:
a. Virtually every piece of property is owned by the Punjabi community.
b. Aforementioned community has shown little signs of having mentally moved on from the 50s (Yes, even for the gelled brat behind the wheel).
c. Brokers crawl out of sewers everywhere. Apparently its a derivation of what they do to your financial status. They also call themselves agents. Those who can handle more than 2 syllables opt for 'consultant'.
d. The latter are usually clad in tight jeans (and I mean tight), striped party shirts and a helmet. I approve of the helmet. Sound plan to keep the face covered.
e. If you dont know better, this is how the first transaction goes (all translated from Hindi - for people like BB and other fortunate souls):

Joe: I want a flat.
Br: Where? How many bedrooms?
Joe: Er...maybe Hauz Khas Enclave? Or Niti Bagh? I want somewhere with trees.....and wide roads so parking wont be a problem. 2 Bedrooms. And first floor, yes definitely first floor.
Br: That's good sir, very nearby only. We'll just go. And whats your budget, sir?
Joe: Between about 14,000 and 18,000.
Br: Sir, you dont worry! I know just the place - you come with me. You'll love it.

The "you come with me" crack is a little inaccurate - it is he who piles into Joe's little jalopy as they set off.

Forty-five minutes later, Joe is standing with one foot on either side of an open drain in Hasmukh Colony, craning his neck to see the fourth floor window of a dry, grey apartment block.
The broker masterfully aima a gobful of paan into the drain and misses. "20,000 they are saying. Not to worry. I bring down to 19,000" he says through red stained teeth.

Breeding in sewers does this to people.

The thing is, all brokers have a small roster of about 20 places to show tucked away in a small diary. The worst of these places they want to dispose off first, and so, while turning a deaf ear to all your requirements, they try to swindle you.

If you do get over this hurdle by heaping the choicest epithets on your 'consultant', you still have to meet the Punjabi landlord.

Who has a problem with non-vegetarian food. (What?!! A Punjabi?!!!)
Who has a problem with you having friends over. In fact, probably has a problem with you having friends.
Who has a problem with loud music. (What?!! A Punjabi?!!!)
Who has a problem if you are not an MNC/Company/NRI.
Who has a problem if you are not a South Indian (I tell you - we're too mild).
Who has a HUGE problem if you're a lawyer.

Of course, the Punjabi landlady is nothing like this.

Think of your mother?

Thought?

She's nothing like your mother.

So now, I just tell the broker first up that I dont want to see places with Punju landlords/ladies. And that is why I now stand on the Rajasthan border staring at a piece of dry land.

"You can make it with red brick, Sir" says the agent with a grin.

Raja (in)Sen

2006-07-20T13:16:00.000+05:30

It has long surprised me that Rediff has Raja Sen as part of its film review crew. A clown if ever there was one, his latest offering is this slideshow on the characters in Dead Man's Chest, the second Depp offering under the Jolly Roger.

I smelt a fish when I just saw the link. Raja Sen thinking of a slideshow for a film which actually has the perfect cast for one? Come on. Give him an egg. Surely the lad must have filched it. So. I did some nosing, and came up with the Guardian and Orange.

Okay, so once he stole the concept and the photographs (obviously without acknowledgement), he would at least be original with his text, no?

No.

Robber Sen refers to Depp's Jack Sparrow as "this irrepressible Keith Richards protege".

Orange lauds Depp's genius in "creating Jack Sparrow in the mould of his rock ‘n’ roll friend and idol, Keith Richards".
The Guardian calls him "Captain Jack, unofficial scion of Kiff Richards".

Ahem. Kof. Kof.

---------------------------

And about why I think Robber Sen is actually Robber Insane?

Just look at the following:

On Bride and Prejudice, he gushed inter alia -
"Bride And Prejudice, works, and works with great flair."

On who he thought was the most promising young actress -
"Ayesha Takia. She's a bright, attractive and talented girl, and the directors signing her up are rather thrilled

On Mangal Pandey:
"Just cleavage and cliche." [The readers have got back at him for this]

On Paheli:
"Paheli is a breathtaking dream"

On Superman:
"Oh my God, the film, the film.I saw it today and I've been walking around with an embarrassingly massive grin all day, with John Williams' Superman Theme looping incessantly in my head. :)"

It seems almost everybody who has read his reviews wants him thrown out. See here. But is rediff listening? Or is it that King Khan has given him his backing and Rediff doesnt want to mess with that?

The Legal Option

2006-07-18T02:07:00.000+05:30

As the blogging community goes into hyperdrive, we know that two things are likely tomorrow:
1.All the rumours, Kafka comparisons and democracy bemoaning may be meaningless if the ISPs lift the ban.
2.The ban will stay (for only a week at the most) and we'll have to use these circumventing tactics to access them until they return to normal.

In the meanwhile, here is my response to a call for volunteers against the ban:

I have checked the pages of NDTV, Indian Express, Indiatimes, CNN-IBN, The Hindu, Times Now and the Hindustan Times and have found no news on the ban at all [At 2 a.m on July 18]. Only rediff carries a story here.

In the rediff story, it suggests that a Right to Information application will be made by the Bloggers Collective. I strongly discourage this, because the RTI Act allows the Government a period of 30 days to respond to your application.

The relevant part of Section 7 of the Act is as follows: "....the Central Public Information Officer or State Public Information Officer, as the case may be, on receipt of a request undersection 6 shall, as expeditiously as possible, and in any case within thirty days of the receipt of the request, either provide the information on payment of such fee as may be prescribed or reject the request for any of the reasons specified in sections 8 and 9."

THIRTY DAYS is way too long for bloggers to wait for the ban to be lifted. If we do get a copy of the Government directive/order to the ISPs, then this would be the basis for us to file a Writ Petition in any High Court or even the Supreme Court. This is a much better option. Any suggestions?

Ever felt this way?

2006-07-17T13:38:00.000+05:30

Bing sent me this. From Cannes 2005.

Never heard of the drink - then again, its Japanese.

Block the blog.

2006-07-17T13:29:00.000+05:30

Gaurav and a few others have discussed the fact that blogspot, blogger and other blog sites are being blocked by some ISPs. I spoke to a few people in Bombay and discover that Reliance and Spectranet users seem unable to access these pages.

What about you guys? Any experiences?

Neha Viswanathan seems to be tracking developments at her blog. Is there a Government hand in this? There must be some use of having a Right to Information Act.

The Top 20 Songs for the Road

2006-07-16T23:59:00.000+05:30

This is actually a list I made a long time ago - I remember going on a long drive and realizing that I'd brought all the godawful wrong stuff with me. I mean, you dont wanna be pushing the needle beyond the legal limit (is there one?) on the highway with Fur Elise in the background.

Not that I want to be Nicholson's perfectly organized Melvin Udall, but I do believe that one must have a tape full of the perfect driving songs when out on the road. This must be one that you can just play continously for 500 miles (no, its not included) and never get tired of. A big ask, you say? True, but arent there those rollicking numbers you've heard which you say you could hear a 1000 times and it still wont be enough? Something that goes perfectly well with the sense of adventure and the limitless possibilities of the open road?

Not for me those readymade Driving Songs collections. Come rain or shine, sleet or snow, these are the 20 I'd take with me. There might be some I'm forgetting, and to them I apologise.

Passenger – Iggy Pop
Have you ever seen the rain? – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Brown Eyed Girl – Van Morrison
Dreams – Cranberries
Life is a highway – Tom Cochrane
I’ll remember – Madonna
You're the one that I want – Olivia Newton John & John Travolta
Bette Davis Eyes – Kim Carnes
I'm gonna be (500 Miles) – The Proclaimers
Oliver’s Army – Elvis Costello
She drives me crazy – Fine Young Cannibals
Rotterdam – The Beautiful South
End of the line – Travellin Wilburys
Got my mind set on you – George Harrison
Breakfast at Tiffanys – Deep Blue Something
Buddy Holly – Wheezer
Don’t play your rock and roll to me – Smokie
Fourteen years – Guns n Roses
Daydream believer – The Monkees
Truckin' – The Grateful Dead

*The links are to pages where you can hear the samples.

Ch(e)at

2006-07-16T18:50:00.000+05:30

Google video does have some interesting stuff, once you sift through the reams of handycam junkies, rookie filmmakers and what have you.

The one that caught my eye though, was this. Hilarious. Makes you think about the dangers of chatting.

I give Nicole a 6.

Back in the Future

2006-07-16T02:27:00.000+05:30

My apologies to all my legions of readers for this extended break.

Yes, I mean the two of you.

I could toddle on at this point and ignore giving an explanation for my extended absence, but that would rob the masses of a genuine read.

It was in March that we met last, on the vernal cusp. Around then, just as I had gotten this little enterprise up and running (well, crawling really), I was the subject of urgent summons. In a sealed manila envelope, I received a single sheet of cream paper which carried the following:

The President of the Republic of India
Rashtrapati Bhawan
New Delhi.

Dear Sir,

A matter of grave importance was recently brought to my notice, which has impelled me to call upon your resources. I was given to understand from highly placed sources in North Block (or was it South?) that an event of magnificent proportions is to take place on the continent in the months of June and July. Unfortunately, an enthusiastic Press Note dated 12 March 1942 prevents any Government authority (including me, even if I dont have much) from referring to the country in which this event is to be held. A further Press Note dated 14 May 1973 has clarified that it may be referred to as That Which Shall Not Be Named.

I digress.

I apologize.

Actually, I'm the President. I dont apologise.

Unless you have a lollipop.

Anyway, as matters stand, there are 32 participants in this global gala. I also want to play, but my dear friend Mr.Putin told me that only nations are allowed to boot a ball around. He then supplied me with a small training manual about the game and a DVD of his favourite performers (including Peter North). Oh yes, I nearly forgot - he also gave me a photograph of his wife Lyudmila with dog Koni. She is cute. Not Lyudmila. Koni.

It was as I was leafing through the manual that I came across the rankings of a body called FIFA. Which also sounds like a dog. You can understand my dismay as a true Indian to discover that India was ranked a lowly 118 in their list. 118!!! This is unacceptable. To quote Mickey Rooney, "I protest".

As the Number One citizen of the country....[Kalam, can I have a word with you - Manmohan]......er....As the Number Two citizen of the country....[Spiacente interromperli, Il Presidente - Anonymous].....kof....ahem....
Being the Number Three citizen of the country.....[Dekho na, vaat Presdent vaunt, Presdent get - Railway Ministry]......gulp.

Lowly President that I am, I feel it unfortunate that we are no longer a shadow of the team that played without shoes. As a result, it is your duty to come to the service of the nation when the nation needs you most. We are not a nation of quitters. We fight. I am asking you to lead that fight and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom.

Your credentials are impeccable, and your referees say you are the perfect man for the job. You have three months to rehaul the Indian football team and make them world beaters. Your time starts now.

Satyamev Jayate.
Jai Hind.
Jai Mata di.
Jairaj.

Sincerely.
A.P.J.A.K

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you can imagine, I was shaken. I had no clue what the old man was going on about. Why was I being recruited to cleanse our football team? True, I'm quite a stud and all that, but still, Football?

I have kicked a ball I will admit, but it was usually between somebody's legs. Whether this qualified me to overhaul the national team, I was unsure. Still, not one to demur from a challenging task, I devoted the next four weeks to studying the sport.

I gathered from extensive research that our team comprised of ten men and one Mr.Bhutia. It was considered trendy by the unnamed souls to pass the ball to Mr.Bhutia and expect him to live up to his name. This simple strategy unfortunately did not seem to work, and it was here that things got tough.

I realized from viewing mind numbing hours of international games that our problems did not lie on the field. England, Brazil, That Which Shall Not Be Named, Argentina and Italy seemed to play just as we did. In some cases we were better.
1. They had 11 players with boots. We had 11 players with Bhutia.
2. They tripped and fell when they were touched. We did it without any help.
3. They spent hours tiresomely passing the ball before shooting at the goal. We just shot straight without all the nonsensical build up.

As you can understand, I was confused.

If it had not been for Pandu's e-mail link to the News of the World, I would have been defeated.

For there, I discovered David Beckham. Legend in England and its captain, his life was an open book that I pored over relentlessly. It was then that it struck me that his off-field life was the key.

Three days later, I had arranged singing lessons for Bhutia's wife, Madhuri. As for the great man himself, a parlour visit and a tub of gel had him seducing audiences from the box for weeks thereafter. ESPN's guest spot didn't hurt, and we had it in the bag.

My task completed, I am back now in my nest. Your love and affection has never left me, I know, and soon when wealth and fame come knocking at my door, I shall remember you all. In the meanwhile, if you wish to see evidence of my successful involvement with our national cause, click here.

# 1 - Yeti

2006-03-12T01:00:00.000+05:30

The Layering of the Game

2006-03-11T17:50:00.000+05:30

While I am anyway on the theme, I decided to link to this wonderful nugget by Lahar - for those who came in late, the aforementioned is a quizzer, lawyer, Dhoni-type batsman, writer and general freak about town. If you want erudite entertainment at any social gathering be sure to pick up the phone and punch a few buttons - can't tell you which, though (remember, he's a lawyer). I wish Lahar would post more often - his writing is always a delicious read. If you don't like cricket or crosswords, you will still like his turn of phrase.
http://cultureczar.blogspot.com/2005/12/twinge-for-alien-game-7.html#links

Where have all the bowlers gone?

2006-03-11T15:08:00.000+05:30

For years, we have bemoaned the lack of quality fast bowlers in the country. Every season, promises are made of young tearaways who are going to make the opposition shake in their boots as they thunder in, and every season, willow-wielders like Roger Twose (who was living up to his name till then) erase our illusions. Also, for some reason, we make a big deal about this entire pace issue - if in almost a century of cricket, we haven't had a genuine fast bowler, then why the sudden cry for it now? Look at the greats of the recent era - Lillee, Thomson, Willis, Garner, Holding, Marshall, Roberts, Hadlee, Imran, Botham, Kapil, Akram, Waqar, Donald, Walsh and Ambrose - did any of them have to push the needle close to the magic 100 mph mark for them to be considered truly great? It is the gimmick now to subject Lee, Akhtar and Jones to this ridiculous trial, not counting the cost to be borne by both the team as well as the individual. Discipline is sacrificed and injuries are invited by feeding the notion that to be a great bowler you need just one prerequisite. Zaheer, Irfan, Sreesanth and now Munaf Patel are bowlers of promise, but let's make them concentrate on discipline rather than flamboyance. A good off stump line (or any line that ensures that they bowl to their field), an ability to move the ball and mix up deliveries, and the production of bounce of the seam are imperatives.

It is this last point that causes some concern, at least as far as the crop of Indian bowlers are concerned. It is no secret that unlike the brilliant talent scouts from Pakistan who pick up boys they see playing in gullies and streets, we in India require a 'fairly' democratic scheme of things. As a result, you play your inter-school games, under-15 District and State sides, graduate to college, and if you are lucky , break into the State and Zone squads. What remains consistent and true for a majority of these is the fact that their first sight of a true turf wicket occurs only when they are 16 or 17. By this time, unfortunately, they have well and truly cut their teeth over the last 7 or 8 years on matting wickets, and find it nigh impossible to meet the exacting requirements of the turf pitches on which a majority of First Class and all International games are played. For a batsman, the matting wicket has always been a bit of a challenge, because, although there isn't much shift in line, the ball does tend to kick up off the surface. As a result, they become more adept at using their feet quickly and anticipating the change in height of the delivery. For them, the shift to a turf pitch ensures that unless the bowler is really bending his back, they can dominate whatever is flung at them.

On the flip side, a young bowler is wholly ignorant about factors such as reading the pitch for traces of grass and moisture. He revels in the security of the wickets in his kitty through mat-assisted bouncy pitches, and it is only when he embarks on his First Class debut that he realizes that there is more to the game. Much more. If he had been trained at age 10 or 11 to understand the variable bounce on a turf wicket; to come to terms with the deterioration and depreciation of the pitch; to see it on a dewy morning with the roller doing its job; to change his grip on the ball for an inswinging yorker and to exploit the pitch/foot marks at the other end, then he would be all set to don his new mantle as the country's spearhead. Till that happens, he gets carted around on this new surface, and eventually consigned to memory. It is only the exceptional few like Kapil, Srinath and Prabhakar who are able to overcome this challenge and keep the flag flying. The fact is you can't keep relying on this survival of the fittest random lottery method of selecting bowlers. You have to give them all an opportunity to test themselves for years before they find themselves in the international arena.

If one glances at the rules of the Second Class tournaments in the country, one is strictly informed that no spiked boots are allowed on matting wickets. Fair enough. The mats need to be protected. But what about the budding young bowler? Is he to leave these boots at the nets, and then suddenly get used to wearing them when he has a Team India shirt on his back?

The most important step towards blooding young talent in any sport is replicating international playing conditions at the first stage itself. If you have no grass courts for kids, dont expect a Wimbledon trophy. If we have astroturf only for International and PHL games, then a seventh place finish at the Olympics is very creditable for a bunch of lads who have only just learnt how to play on it. If you won't fund Mr.Rathore's training in Italy, then his silver is a bonus you dont deserve to boast of.

Maybe we have a little Malcolm Marshall somewhere - as he runs up and flings the small red plastic sphere against the three lines drawn on the compund wall, he doesn't hear his mother calling him in or his brother's taunts. He just hears a billion fans in full-throated frenzy as the off stump careens towards second slip.

Will his dream come true?

CRASH the RdB party?

2006-03-10T03:23:00.000+05:30

I know that to many it would be blasphemous to even begin to compare the two big hits of the year (at least as far as our Indian theatres would have us believe), but still, I feel there might be a thread that runs true.
Rang de Basanti opened to much anticipation just over a month ago, primarily due to the presence of the new look Aamir Khan and the directorial skills of so-called genius, Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra (there was a time when Rakesh used to be Rakesh). Collections broke records, the music was lauded, the young crop were recognized and ROM was showered with accolades. However, the one thing everybody agreed upon was that the story fell apart towards the end, and the ingestion of pathos merely ensured that the film hurtled towards an unnecessary and maudlin conclusion. It makes you think, they said. I also want to break corruption, voiced the ubiquitous fan. India will change now, resounded from the middle class drawing room. Truth be told (and a cynical truth at that), nothing changed. And nothing will, at least not because of a much-hyped movie with some great tracks. As Shobhaa De reminds us, we are a little too liberal as a nation with our praises. Every second cub mewing in the Bollywood bastion is not a formidable lion. Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra cannot be called a genius on the back of Aks and RdB. Give him time. And in the meanwhile let's not imagine that some social message has gone out to the people. True, credit to RdB for exposing the apathy towards the MIG pilots, but there it stops. Let's hope that the crude message conveyed by the movie is not taken to heart by some long-suffering urban youth who decides to bomb Rashtrapati Bhavan.

On the flip side, CRASH does what RdB hoped to do and failed - send a subtle message of tolerance without attempting to be preachy or clumsy in its treatment. Slowly, through the murky underbelly of Los Angeles, unfolds a story of love, shame, betrayal, loyalty and confusion, all against the backdrop of the racial milieu of the city. Without ignoring the difficult issues of the time, the film commendably captures the stereotypes and biases prevalent in a society with so many historical differences. Unlike in RdB where the Muslim character is abused and then saved by the Hindu nationalist in two separate avatars (incarnations) , Crash does not allow any of its protagonists to inhabit this implausible dichotomy. There are bits of black and specks of white, but what overwhelms us - what envelops us with the sheer force of reality - is the Grey. This is what draws us into the embrace of the film - even while an Indian will not - cannot - identify with the themes of the west coast drama, he/she will understand the futility of the straight and narrow, and accept the truth of the compromises we all make in our daily lives.

It is all very well to call for a better world and attempt to take our steps towards that by cleansing all the black. Fact is, the black isnt all that much. Its the grey that we must aim to reduce. And not by assassinating a Union Minister, but by merely leaving the malaise exposed, with all the causes for it. Only then will you undestand the true picture, and only then will you be in a position to exercise your own choices as to the solution. Crash leaves us discomfited - at times even helpless, but it never makes us believe in fairy tales. For its integrity and its truth, Crash convinces, while RdB fails.