2:44am
So what really happened?? I decided to tell a senior to 'just relax'.. What was I even thinking?? Did I even stop.. think.. and then react?? NO..
No matter that I was not wrong..
No matter that I was in the office the whole day.. Continuing into the next morning..
No matter that my brother had come to Delhi from Chennai just to spend time with me and he landed only yesterday..
No matter that I did'nt spend even an hour with him..
No matter that I got him to do the plumbing work that happened.. coincidentally(!) that very day...
No matter that I am still waiting for the only bite that I need..
No matter that I got yelled at for no reason....
Actually.....
It really doesn't matter.....
Because someone somewhere says... Great job Rupha.. Well done.. Good work.... A smile.. A look of appreciation.. admiration.. That says... You can bank on her....
And the day is made.....
Point is... I can't weidly enough.. look at myself and say that... After this... I can't.. I somehow seem to have lost that.. In simple asking someone to 'just relax'!!
Job satisfaction is a very weird term....
It makes you almost believe that you are satisfied with your work..... Almost.....
9 Nov 2006
24 Oct 2006
14 Jul 2006
BUTT WHY ZIZOU?
The World Cup is finally over.. For me it is the end of my night shifts (I'm still trying to figure out if that is a good thing) But if I were to pick out one particular moment that left its impact on me in some way... I would have to call on the Zidane-Materazzi incident. I still remember how I felt that morning when it all unfolded.. We had run a special show at 3:00 in the morning... and the adrenaline and excitement kind of fuelled it.. I felt that I was in some way so close to that event... happening miles away..
Zidane's greatness tarnished by this single act.. Materazzi's unsportsmanlike behaviour (or can we pen it that way really).. When I saw the first replays, I was shocked, angry and upset even... And I immediately shifted loyalties.. How could Zidane have been so foolish and stupid to have thrown away his team.. his country..?? And I bet it was more than that for a player who had worked his way out of all discriminations to become the captain of a country.. to represent one of the best teams in the world.. and then lose it all, playing in the last match of his entire career.. illustrious career! And it comes down to that now doesn't it.. A black mark.. rather a 'red' mark on his football career...
Zidane was never an ordinary guy.. Zizou was the god.. an idol that millions adored...
Then the postmortem began.. And suddenly.. My hatred evaporated and redirected itself... Materazzi took centre stage..
Sledging is an age-old game in itself! I do not know where that phrase was truly born. But If anyone asked me to close my eyes and uttered the word -'Sledging'... Images of Bodyline cricket would appear... Cricket has had its share of the jeers.. The Englishmen probably gave birth to one form of it against the Australians, particularly Don Bradman.. But it is probably the Australians themselves who have perfected it..
Sledging is a sport in football as well.. And Italians have had their tryst with it.. for long now.. Popularly cally 'Furbo' meaning cunning and savvy.. the Italians have found many ways of winning.. I can't help but smirk at this sad reality.. Many would berate this point. But whatever happened to playing fair?
And if only Zidane had kept his head on his shoulders before directing it towards Materazzi's chest.... there would have possibly been another team celebrating.. another country rejoicing.. another captain holding the Jules Rimet in his hands.... Zizou... It could have been you.....
Zidane's greatness tarnished by this single act.. Materazzi's unsportsmanlike behaviour (or can we pen it that way really).. When I saw the first replays, I was shocked, angry and upset even... And I immediately shifted loyalties.. How could Zidane have been so foolish and stupid to have thrown away his team.. his country..?? And I bet it was more than that for a player who had worked his way out of all discriminations to become the captain of a country.. to represent one of the best teams in the world.. and then lose it all, playing in the last match of his entire career.. illustrious career! And it comes down to that now doesn't it.. A black mark.. rather a 'red' mark on his football career...
Zidane was never an ordinary guy.. Zizou was the god.. an idol that millions adored...
Then the postmortem began.. And suddenly.. My hatred evaporated and redirected itself... Materazzi took centre stage..
Sledging is an age-old game in itself! I do not know where that phrase was truly born. But If anyone asked me to close my eyes and uttered the word -'Sledging'... Images of Bodyline cricket would appear... Cricket has had its share of the jeers.. The Englishmen probably gave birth to one form of it against the Australians, particularly Don Bradman.. But it is probably the Australians themselves who have perfected it..
Sledging is a sport in football as well.. And Italians have had their tryst with it.. for long now.. Popularly cally 'Furbo' meaning cunning and savvy.. the Italians have found many ways of winning.. I can't help but smirk at this sad reality.. Many would berate this point. But whatever happened to playing fair?
And if only Zidane had kept his head on his shoulders before directing it towards Materazzi's chest.... there would have possibly been another team celebrating.. another country rejoicing.. another captain holding the Jules Rimet in his hands.... Zizou... It could have been you.....
3 Jul 2006
The first times...
There is always a first time. Always. Like when I decided to start this blog. Like when I decided to personalize it. When I decided to do journalism. When I decided to be the best. When I decided to take this road. When I decided to taste beer.. and decided that I hated it. When I decided to wear a skirt.. And actually liked it. When I decided to get into sports. When I decided to be a leader.
There were a lot of firsts that I experienced. Of being a daughter. Of being daddy's little girl. Of being the first child. Of being awarded my first star. Of being a woman. Of being complimented. Of being courted. Of being loved. Of being admired. Of being away from home.. Of being away from family..
There were a lot of firsts that I indulged in. My first walk in the rain. My first crush. My first trip to a beach at 2 in the morning. My first gift to a dear one. My first report. My first essay. My first birthday party.. and I decided I did not like birthday parties for some reason. My first dinner with family outside. My first conversation about the guys in my life. My first letter.
And I have learned. A lot from my firsts.
I do not know how to explain this feeling of experiencing and doing things for the first time. I feel weird in a sense and a little tentative. And then... It goes away... And becomes a part of this whole bunch of memories hidden in some neurons of my big head.. and chooses a place and gets stuck there.. until I feel the same thing or do the same thing.. again.. Then that memory frees iself and come out to hit me again.. And I do not feel the same way I did the first time. This becomes a little familiar..
There are some memories I like.. And some I don't. There have been times, when I wished for that memory never to have been born, because I know I didn't feel right when that first hit me. And I abstain myself from doing or experiencing things that had brought out that emotion..
There is this conscious effort that I take... I do not know if I am stopping some things that are natural.. Or that are meant to be experienced.. But nevertheless, I continue to avoid it.
And I learn... And I have in a sense evolved... But I don't like change. I don't like altering something.. Or maybe I do not like discovering things about me that I never knew probably existed before... Maybe, like my friend said.. That part of me was always there.. And it emerged when that memory was born.. And another facet of mine emerged when I tried to either stash away.. or rekindle it...
I am me... I am what I have been... Or maybe I have been changing...
There were a lot of firsts that I experienced. Of being a daughter. Of being daddy's little girl. Of being the first child. Of being awarded my first star. Of being a woman. Of being complimented. Of being courted. Of being loved. Of being admired. Of being away from home.. Of being away from family..
There were a lot of firsts that I indulged in. My first walk in the rain. My first crush. My first trip to a beach at 2 in the morning. My first gift to a dear one. My first report. My first essay. My first birthday party.. and I decided I did not like birthday parties for some reason. My first dinner with family outside. My first conversation about the guys in my life. My first letter.
And I have learned. A lot from my firsts.
I do not know how to explain this feeling of experiencing and doing things for the first time. I feel weird in a sense and a little tentative. And then... It goes away... And becomes a part of this whole bunch of memories hidden in some neurons of my big head.. and chooses a place and gets stuck there.. until I feel the same thing or do the same thing.. again.. Then that memory frees iself and come out to hit me again.. And I do not feel the same way I did the first time. This becomes a little familiar..
There are some memories I like.. And some I don't. There have been times, when I wished for that memory never to have been born, because I know I didn't feel right when that first hit me. And I abstain myself from doing or experiencing things that had brought out that emotion..
There is this conscious effort that I take... I do not know if I am stopping some things that are natural.. Or that are meant to be experienced.. But nevertheless, I continue to avoid it.
And I learn... And I have in a sense evolved... But I don't like change. I don't like altering something.. Or maybe I do not like discovering things about me that I never knew probably existed before... Maybe, like my friend said.. That part of me was always there.. And it emerged when that memory was born.. And another facet of mine emerged when I tried to either stash away.. or rekindle it...
I am me... I am what I have been... Or maybe I have been changing...
13 Jun 2006
I had to say... Football!
Till now I always thought that soccer was about 11 people vs 11 others. But I am a little happy to tell you that I am wrong.
I am with the sports desk at CNN-IBN. And the people around me have helped me change my opinion. Soccer, or football as we prefer to call it, is more than just a game.. How often have we heard that phrase?! But I honestly have begun to experience this! There are thousands of people out there who are watching every minute of every game of the World Cup that has just begun in Germany.. Either at home on their TV sets.. or in sports bars and pubs.. Many are actually there in Berlin to watch the matches up close (1000 Km away from the field). No, but seriously.. this is one game where there are unbelievable amounts of passion involved..
Wayne Rooney probably had more than half the world praying for his recovery.. People cried when news came than Cisse was out of the World Cup due to an injury.. Thousands were anxious when Ronaldo missed a training session..
Now, a lot of things about the game struck me.. One, music...
There is so much of music involved in this sport! Starting with the Brazilians.. (isn't that obvious)... Have you heard their new Portuguese number? If you haven't, I strongly insist you do! What about India?? We are not even part of the World Cup.. But does that stop us from being part of it?! No! Indians everywhere are so driven and have been so taken in by this game, that cricket, has been forgotten.. And it will remain this way till 9th of July atleast.
What about advertisements?? Go watch the new Adidas football ad... It infuses an adrenalin rush like none other.. Wannna watch the Brazilians in action off the field? Watch them in the new ad where all the players keep kicking the ball around, in their dressing room, while they are changing out of their team outfits after a game...
I was one of the first people to hear the World Cup song.. And it made me very nostalgic... giving me goosebumps...
I have been pouring over football sites, reading up books just to feel like am a part of this giant wave that washing over half the world.
yes.. I could not act nonchalant and ignore all of that.. I had to say.. Football Football!
I am with the sports desk at CNN-IBN. And the people around me have helped me change my opinion. Soccer, or football as we prefer to call it, is more than just a game.. How often have we heard that phrase?! But I honestly have begun to experience this! There are thousands of people out there who are watching every minute of every game of the World Cup that has just begun in Germany.. Either at home on their TV sets.. or in sports bars and pubs.. Many are actually there in Berlin to watch the matches up close (1000 Km away from the field). No, but seriously.. this is one game where there are unbelievable amounts of passion involved..
Wayne Rooney probably had more than half the world praying for his recovery.. People cried when news came than Cisse was out of the World Cup due to an injury.. Thousands were anxious when Ronaldo missed a training session..
Now, a lot of things about the game struck me.. One, music...
There is so much of music involved in this sport! Starting with the Brazilians.. (isn't that obvious)... Have you heard their new Portuguese number? If you haven't, I strongly insist you do! What about India?? We are not even part of the World Cup.. But does that stop us from being part of it?! No! Indians everywhere are so driven and have been so taken in by this game, that cricket, has been forgotten.. And it will remain this way till 9th of July atleast.
What about advertisements?? Go watch the new Adidas football ad... It infuses an adrenalin rush like none other.. Wannna watch the Brazilians in action off the field? Watch them in the new ad where all the players keep kicking the ball around, in their dressing room, while they are changing out of their team outfits after a game...
I was one of the first people to hear the World Cup song.. And it made me very nostalgic... giving me goosebumps...
I have been pouring over football sites, reading up books just to feel like am a part of this giant wave that washing over half the world.
yes.. I could not act nonchalant and ignore all of that.. I had to say.. Football Football!
26 Apr 2006
Tirupathi.. The hills are alive!
Travelled to Tirupathi with my parents. Learned a lot of things and cherished some moments :
1) Travelling with parents can be fun at times. Unless of course you end up arguing there as well. In which case you have the three of us (mum, dad and I) walking our own ways up the hills, until dad cracks a joke to lighten the mood (as usual).
2) Glucose water is good.
3) There is no difference between Goli Soda and Paneer Soda.
4) People never grow up (yes ranj hard as it may sound ;)). Even if they are at a temple. We were walking up the hills as you know and there is a stretch of the road (towards the end) winding up to the temple. Now, the road is mainly used by the buses that transport people (who have already climbed the hill) back down to the foot of the hills. So as we were walking along the pavement, a van passes by with a bunch of guys in their late 20s and as they cross us poor souls walking in the heat, they scream and point out as if to say - "oh look! People climbing still!! We finished! Yay!!" And I was muttering - "Obviously you morons! We are still climbing. People still will climb. And even after I finish I know people are still climbing!!"
5) There is a huge diffrence between buying stuff, like water or even a chocolate bar at ground level and buying the same stuff at thousands of feet above. Yes.
6) You do not lose a lot of weight climbing 7 hills (hard to believe).
7) There is a second golden temple in a place 12 hours from Mumbai!
8) Kids have it easy at Tirupathi. All they need to do when they are tired of climbing steps, is stop, drop and roll.
9) If you need to get to any place in Tirupathi you have to, I repeat, have to climb atleast a two flights of stairs.
10) Karma doesn't work here.
11) The deer is very greedy. (O yes, there are lot of those along the hillls)
12) Basically you are travelling in circles. I remember starting out with windmills at my back. And when I reached the temple I saw the same bunch of windmillls right in front of me, on top of a hill.
13) All roads leads to the sanctum sanctorium. The only difference is the cost it takes. Pay a 1000 and you can take the shortest route.
14) Once inside the temple, everyone looks the same. Shaved heads is all you get to see standing in the queue.
15) Men and women are extremely immature when they visit temples.
16) People like to strike up conversations, which will lead to the topic of comparing the different temples. That's when you act as if a sudden lightning struck out of nowhere, leaving you speechless.
17) Riding down a curving multiple hair-pin road in the night, with the breeze hitting you is just an awesome experience.
18) Curd rice at Kalyan Residency - with finely chopped chillies, grape pieces... is yummy!
19) When you are checking your weight, be absolutely certain that you are not carrying a 100 Kg bag! I realised it after i read my weight slip and almost fell in shock.
20) After climbing every step, you will somehow be forced to take out your wallet and pay.. for something or the other.
1) Travelling with parents can be fun at times. Unless of course you end up arguing there as well. In which case you have the three of us (mum, dad and I) walking our own ways up the hills, until dad cracks a joke to lighten the mood (as usual).
2) Glucose water is good.
3) There is no difference between Goli Soda and Paneer Soda.
4) People never grow up (yes ranj hard as it may sound ;)). Even if they are at a temple. We were walking up the hills as you know and there is a stretch of the road (towards the end) winding up to the temple. Now, the road is mainly used by the buses that transport people (who have already climbed the hill) back down to the foot of the hills. So as we were walking along the pavement, a van passes by with a bunch of guys in their late 20s and as they cross us poor souls walking in the heat, they scream and point out as if to say - "oh look! People climbing still!! We finished! Yay!!" And I was muttering - "Obviously you morons! We are still climbing. People still will climb. And even after I finish I know people are still climbing!!"
5) There is a huge diffrence between buying stuff, like water or even a chocolate bar at ground level and buying the same stuff at thousands of feet above. Yes.
6) You do not lose a lot of weight climbing 7 hills (hard to believe).
7) There is a second golden temple in a place 12 hours from Mumbai!
8) Kids have it easy at Tirupathi. All they need to do when they are tired of climbing steps, is stop, drop and roll.
9) If you need to get to any place in Tirupathi you have to, I repeat, have to climb atleast a two flights of stairs.
10) Karma doesn't work here.
11) The deer is very greedy. (O yes, there are lot of those along the hillls)
12) Basically you are travelling in circles. I remember starting out with windmills at my back. And when I reached the temple I saw the same bunch of windmillls right in front of me, on top of a hill.
13) All roads leads to the sanctum sanctorium. The only difference is the cost it takes. Pay a 1000 and you can take the shortest route.
14) Once inside the temple, everyone looks the same. Shaved heads is all you get to see standing in the queue.
15) Men and women are extremely immature when they visit temples.
16) People like to strike up conversations, which will lead to the topic of comparing the different temples. That's when you act as if a sudden lightning struck out of nowhere, leaving you speechless.
17) Riding down a curving multiple hair-pin road in the night, with the breeze hitting you is just an awesome experience.
18) Curd rice at Kalyan Residency - with finely chopped chillies, grape pieces... is yummy!
19) When you are checking your weight, be absolutely certain that you are not carrying a 100 Kg bag! I realised it after i read my weight slip and almost fell in shock.
20) After climbing every step, you will somehow be forced to take out your wallet and pay.. for something or the other.
13 Apr 2006
I know it now. I have lived in this bubble. Always a foot above the ground. Floating along at my own pace. Stopping once in a while to escort another bubble. Maybe. But I will not say that I am entirely oblivious to things and people around me. I would be lying then. But really. I cannot help but look at my reflection in the moving transparency and feel ashamed. I cannot help feeling grossly misunderstood at times. I cannot help looking down at my green slippers and feel... nothing. All these years of living and... nothing.
There is a difference between grabbing a pen and holding one. When you are grabbing a pen, you are not even familiar with the contours of the object, let alone trying to understand it. But when you are holding a pen, you know what is in your hand and you know how to use it. I don't kow how to hold a pen. And I so wish I did.
I so wish for the sun to set when I want to. For the sun to rise when I am awake to see it. I wish for the moon to be red. For spring in December. For wild flowers outside my house. For that hug. That kiss. I so wish for 15 degrees in Chennai. For that smile on that little girl's face. For that frown to vanish. For that applause. For that praise. For that kindness to knock unlock my heart. I so wish to see that generous soul standing beside me, praying for me...
There is a huge difference between writing and essaying. I write. I always did. I don't think I ever learnt to essay. You write out a shopping list, a things-to-do list, notes in the class, telephone numbers...
You essay letters, love letters, cooking instructions, notes in your diary at odd hours, a journey, a dream, a thought an ambition...
There is a wall of a difference between grabbing a pen and holding it... between writing a note an essaying the same........
I take a sip of watermelon juice and sit back in my chair... When will the pen be held. When will the note be essayed. When will the moon turn red. When will the faces smile and the frowns recede..
There is a difference between grabbing a pen and holding one. When you are grabbing a pen, you are not even familiar with the contours of the object, let alone trying to understand it. But when you are holding a pen, you know what is in your hand and you know how to use it. I don't kow how to hold a pen. And I so wish I did.
I so wish for the sun to set when I want to. For the sun to rise when I am awake to see it. I wish for the moon to be red. For spring in December. For wild flowers outside my house. For that hug. That kiss. I so wish for 15 degrees in Chennai. For that smile on that little girl's face. For that frown to vanish. For that applause. For that praise. For that kindness to knock unlock my heart. I so wish to see that generous soul standing beside me, praying for me...
There is a huge difference between writing and essaying. I write. I always did. I don't think I ever learnt to essay. You write out a shopping list, a things-to-do list, notes in the class, telephone numbers...
You essay letters, love letters, cooking instructions, notes in your diary at odd hours, a journey, a dream, a thought an ambition...
There is a wall of a difference between grabbing a pen and holding it... between writing a note an essaying the same........
I take a sip of watermelon juice and sit back in my chair... When will the pen be held. When will the note be essayed. When will the moon turn red. When will the faces smile and the frowns recede..
12 Apr 2006
4 Apr 2006
Got a Job!
And after some interviews CNN IBN decides to take me in so that I could be a part of their TV 18 family.
I am happy (really happy). Delhi is where I will be heading, staying for a year. Don't know what's happening
after that.
A job finally. It looked like that is what I was doing all along in ACJ. Practically living here.
Sleepless nights. Empty stomach. Hunger. Editing. Voicing over. Scripting. Producing. Did I say Editing. I
mean lots of editing! Shooting... What am I complaing.. I loved it all!! I probably never spent so much time with
my parents this year... But I know I made many friends. People I am never going to forget, few of whom I am
going to continue working with...
Ahem... don't know what's in store for me. But I'm surely ready for it.
I am happy (really happy). Delhi is where I will be heading, staying for a year. Don't know what's happening
after that.
A job finally. It looked like that is what I was doing all along in ACJ. Practically living here.
Sleepless nights. Empty stomach. Hunger. Editing. Voicing over. Scripting. Producing. Did I say Editing. I
mean lots of editing! Shooting... What am I complaing.. I loved it all!! I probably never spent so much time with
my parents this year... But I know I made many friends. People I am never going to forget, few of whom I am
going to continue working with...
Ahem... don't know what's in store for me. But I'm surely ready for it.
15 Mar 2006
?
waiting at the corner.
bhel puri. pani puri. kachori. samosa.
the smells of chat...
santro. or was it matiz?
long drives down the flyover, U-turns
up the flyover. and back around
soft songs. music in the car.
flowing through me...
long drives and long conversations.
Getting old...
waiting across the road.
taking books, notes... act anagram...
miming a strange language
trying to guess what the other is trying to show
are we always miming instead of talking?
really talking...
Diwali
i love gulab jamuns.
always did
a ride in the car with the taste of rose buds on my tongue...
and something else...
crimson velvet seats
at the ice-cream parlour
near my place
butterscotch and chocolate?
Text nothings...
or were they?
hours of pondering and fighting
over this and that
here and there...
professor sarcasm perched right above us
very happy with the progress we both had made.
Graduated with honours..
Last day...
he jokes about the name
i do not find it funny
always talking about 'us'...
about something that isn't there...
pictures being taken...
digital memories... only.
No more.
*punches in the last key. clicks 'publish post'*
bhel puri. pani puri. kachori. samosa.
the smells of chat...
santro. or was it matiz?
long drives down the flyover, U-turns
up the flyover. and back around
soft songs. music in the car.
flowing through me...
long drives and long conversations.
Getting old...
waiting across the road.
taking books, notes... act anagram...
miming a strange language
trying to guess what the other is trying to show
are we always miming instead of talking?
really talking...
Diwali
i love gulab jamuns.
always did
a ride in the car with the taste of rose buds on my tongue...
and something else...
crimson velvet seats
at the ice-cream parlour
near my place
butterscotch and chocolate?
Text nothings...
or were they?
hours of pondering and fighting
over this and that
here and there...
professor sarcasm perched right above us
very happy with the progress we both had made.
Graduated with honours..
Last day...
he jokes about the name
i do not find it funny
always talking about 'us'...
about something that isn't there...
pictures being taken...
digital memories... only.
No more.
*punches in the last key. clicks 'publish post'*
19 Feb 2006
17 Feb 2006
10 Feb 2006
Untitiled 2
1
It was a blue.
Dark and rich. With 2 streaks of red and gold.
Running across the surface.
Just above the head.
A 2-inch gap between the red and the gold.
The thick coloured threads
neatly woven.
Moving in and out. In and out. In and out.
Neatly. In order. Arranged. Correct. Almost perfect.
A thin strip at the back of the head.
Knotted. Tight.
Not loose.
To fit the head. Correctly. Almost perfectly.
It is complete with the shade. Yes the shade.
At the front.
With an embellishment of a pawn in red.
The pawn in red. Red? Why red?
Pawn in red.
Pawn.
The red pawn, crested on the blue shade.
Yes. The shade.
Shielding the eyes.
Sheltering. Blocking. Screening.
I try to look up.
To see and stare.
To see.
But the shade. Almost guarding. Almost.
2
I remove the cap from my head.
Take it off. Get rid of it.
The shade the strap the red the gold the blu the strips......
And see.
It was a blue.
Dark and rich. With 2 streaks of red and gold.
Running across the surface.
Just above the head.
A 2-inch gap between the red and the gold.
The thick coloured threads
neatly woven.
Moving in and out. In and out. In and out.
Neatly. In order. Arranged. Correct. Almost perfect.
A thin strip at the back of the head.
Knotted. Tight.
Not loose.
To fit the head. Correctly. Almost perfectly.
It is complete with the shade. Yes the shade.
At the front.
With an embellishment of a pawn in red.
The pawn in red. Red? Why red?
Pawn in red.
Pawn.
The red pawn, crested on the blue shade.
Yes. The shade.
Shielding the eyes.
Sheltering. Blocking. Screening.
I try to look up.
To see and stare.
To see.
But the shade. Almost guarding. Almost.
2
I remove the cap from my head.
Take it off. Get rid of it.
The shade the strap the red the gold the blu the strips......
And see.
3 Feb 2006
not today.
the thoughts again
the serious tumult of things
blacking out the vision of my wants
seamlessly flowing, like
a rippling rage.
confusion
that word again
striking out, echoing.
three stumps in lush green fields.
me sitting in the stands
against the winds
watching.
i pull the cap
down on my forehead
closing my eyes to the sun... and the sun
i can't think anymore
pause. stop. halt.
freeze.
1:43pm and counting.
the thoughts again
the serious tumult of things
blacking out the vision of my wants
seamlessly flowing, like
a rippling rage.
confusion
that word again
striking out, echoing.
three stumps in lush green fields.
me sitting in the stands
against the winds
watching.
i pull the cap
down on my forehead
closing my eyes to the sun... and the sun
i can't think anymore
pause. stop. halt.
freeze.
1:43pm and counting.
2 Feb 2006
Untitled
The bed beckoning me. Callin me.
My eyes tempting to shut.
Only for a minute
if it may so. Rest. Sleep. But
hours lie ahead. Like a never-ending road.
Stretching below me. Like a lazy cat.
Smirking. Hands straining
against blocks of letters.
Type. Type. Type. Type. Error.
A frown. Seconds wear on to minutes...
to hours...to days... to frames....
to stills... to shots...
The road smirks,
suppressing a snigger.
The eyes strain against the monitor.
Straining to read. To correct. To look
through the eyes of the other.
To adjust. To capture.
To take. To store. Write.
Talk. Read. Script. Re-write. Converse.
Record.
The magic is in the eyes. Seeing.
Touching. Feeling.
Remembering.
Reams of memories. Spools of
dreams. Tapes of moments. Tiresome.
Yet...
The cat smirks again knowigly. Twirling its tail. Knowingly.
My eyes tempting to shut.
Only for a minute
if it may so. Rest. Sleep. But
hours lie ahead. Like a never-ending road.
Stretching below me. Like a lazy cat.
Smirking. Hands straining
against blocks of letters.
Type. Type. Type. Type. Error.
A frown. Seconds wear on to minutes...
to hours...to days... to frames....
to stills... to shots...
The road smirks,
suppressing a snigger.
The eyes strain against the monitor.
Straining to read. To correct. To look
through the eyes of the other.
To adjust. To capture.
To take. To store. Write.
Talk. Read. Script. Re-write. Converse.
Record.
The magic is in the eyes. Seeing.
Touching. Feeling.
Remembering.
Reams of memories. Spools of
dreams. Tapes of moments. Tiresome.
Yet...
The cat smirks again knowigly. Twirling its tail. Knowingly.
28 Jan 2006
GREG CHAPPEL – PUSHING THE BOUNDARIES
February 1981: New Zealand versus Australia. New Zealand needed just 6 runs to win the match and there was just one ball remaining. It could have been any match, between any two teams. But it was a match that people would not forget, years later. A match that would make critics sit up and stare disbelievingly. Trevor Chappell was bowling that crucial last over. Just before the run up, his captain has a word with him. Decisions are made. The fielders get ready, tense. The batsman takes his stance, nervous, preparing himself for that last big haul. Trevor runs in and in one of the most astonishing moments in the history of cricket, bowls an underarm delivery. The first-ever.
His captain – the man who had made that decision and had commanded him to bowl the last ball in the manner in which he did – was Greg Chappell, one of the finest batsmen Australia had seen.
Chappell, for his time, was a player possessing near-perfect batting techniques and was a delightful slip fielder. But his greatest weapon was and still is, his way of taking bold decisions and wholly relying on his convictions. It is this quality that made him the cricketer he was and more importantly, the coach that he is.
February 1981 was just one of the many decisions Greg Chappell took, indicating very important aspects about him. He was a bold decision-maker, he was a postive thinker, he stuck to his convictions, broke conventions and was highly innovative and most importantly knew the rules of the game. By telling his brother to bowl underarm, Chappell in no way breached the rules. But nevertheless, it showed a lack of sportsmanship on his part. The brothers may have expressed their embarrassment over this incident later. But Australia had won that match, and that was probably running in Chappell’s head. Chappell, furthermore, was part of the Packer team – a team that broke old conventions and made new boundaries.
It is this spirit that makes Greg Chappell work as the coach of the present Indian team. It has not been long since he took over as coach of the team and already significant incidents have occurred, recreating that image of 1981 – the bold decision maker.
The most prominent call that he made was very obviously the decision to drop Ganguly – the then captain of the side. Such things were never heard of Indian cricket. How could you drop a captain? But Chappell had made that decision and stuck to it. By this, he was indicating that in this profession there were going to be no sentiments involved. The team had to do well and it did not need any liabilities. That was the bold message he sent out.
Since then, he regularly made changes in every aspect that he was dealing with as a coach. He intoduced new and innovative training methods in batting, bowling and fielding. One that comes first to mind is his innovations in the nets. He would constantly watch over the nets sessions and as soon as the batsman had hit, would shout out a number – indicating the number of runs he had to take.
Imagine sending Pathan out to open an innings. That is what he did against Sri Lanka in the Test Series. And he repeated that with Yuvraj. It was a treat to watch the reaction of the fans in the stands when a young Pathan came striding out (but India was batting) all padded up. That is another streak that is distinctly Chappell – always throwing surprises and keep the opposition thinking. His actions hence have always projected the idea that he wanted the team to carry an attitude that said that they desired ‘to win’ and not ‘avoid defeat’.
He did not stop here. Pakistan Series – Chappell instructs Dravid to go out with 5 bowlers. This is again a novel move. Inspite of the fact that the batting might get weakened he goes ahead with his convictions, pushing five bowlers into the team.
And there’s more to come. Unquestionably, it is a man like Greg Chappell who makes cricket the game that it is. Through his decisions he has made the audience enraged and at the same time be amazed of the kind of cricketing mind he posseses. Cricket, for Chappell is just an elastic that he can stretch, pull, mould amd remodel to suit his ways and his temperament.
Cricket may and may not need thinkers like him. But he sure makes everyone guessing – what next?
His captain – the man who had made that decision and had commanded him to bowl the last ball in the manner in which he did – was Greg Chappell, one of the finest batsmen Australia had seen.
Chappell, for his time, was a player possessing near-perfect batting techniques and was a delightful slip fielder. But his greatest weapon was and still is, his way of taking bold decisions and wholly relying on his convictions. It is this quality that made him the cricketer he was and more importantly, the coach that he is.
February 1981 was just one of the many decisions Greg Chappell took, indicating very important aspects about him. He was a bold decision-maker, he was a postive thinker, he stuck to his convictions, broke conventions and was highly innovative and most importantly knew the rules of the game. By telling his brother to bowl underarm, Chappell in no way breached the rules. But nevertheless, it showed a lack of sportsmanship on his part. The brothers may have expressed their embarrassment over this incident later. But Australia had won that match, and that was probably running in Chappell’s head. Chappell, furthermore, was part of the Packer team – a team that broke old conventions and made new boundaries.
It is this spirit that makes Greg Chappell work as the coach of the present Indian team. It has not been long since he took over as coach of the team and already significant incidents have occurred, recreating that image of 1981 – the bold decision maker.
The most prominent call that he made was very obviously the decision to drop Ganguly – the then captain of the side. Such things were never heard of Indian cricket. How could you drop a captain? But Chappell had made that decision and stuck to it. By this, he was indicating that in this profession there were going to be no sentiments involved. The team had to do well and it did not need any liabilities. That was the bold message he sent out.
Since then, he regularly made changes in every aspect that he was dealing with as a coach. He intoduced new and innovative training methods in batting, bowling and fielding. One that comes first to mind is his innovations in the nets. He would constantly watch over the nets sessions and as soon as the batsman had hit, would shout out a number – indicating the number of runs he had to take.
Imagine sending Pathan out to open an innings. That is what he did against Sri Lanka in the Test Series. And he repeated that with Yuvraj. It was a treat to watch the reaction of the fans in the stands when a young Pathan came striding out (but India was batting) all padded up. That is another streak that is distinctly Chappell – always throwing surprises and keep the opposition thinking. His actions hence have always projected the idea that he wanted the team to carry an attitude that said that they desired ‘to win’ and not ‘avoid defeat’.
He did not stop here. Pakistan Series – Chappell instructs Dravid to go out with 5 bowlers. This is again a novel move. Inspite of the fact that the batting might get weakened he goes ahead with his convictions, pushing five bowlers into the team.
And there’s more to come. Unquestionably, it is a man like Greg Chappell who makes cricket the game that it is. Through his decisions he has made the audience enraged and at the same time be amazed of the kind of cricketing mind he posseses. Cricket, for Chappell is just an elastic that he can stretch, pull, mould amd remodel to suit his ways and his temperament.
Cricket may and may not need thinkers like him. But he sure makes everyone guessing – what next?
16 Jan 2006
Guntur - the memories
My face made it to the papers. Captured during a discussion with the collector of Guntur (Andhra Pradesh). Guntur - one of the places chosen for our covering deprivation course. Asian College of Journalism is the only college in India that has a Covering Deprivation course in its syllabus. I was one of the 30 students, trying to make something out of our trip to Guntur. For me, this was more than just a part of the course that I had to complete in order to get my degree – my passport to professional journalism (whatever that means).
Apart from making me realise how lucky I was, Guntur gave me many moments to cherish and remember, cry and laugh over, think deeply about, capture and keep…
* * *
Soujanya. An 11-year old girl, she carries a tin of ladoos instead of books, hands clutching the little money that she gets instead of a pencil. Soujanya. Her feet bearing the mark of her labour… We met her during our initial days selling ladoos at the quarry. She did not want to join a school and learn to be able to read and write like the other kids. When we spoke to her she was pretty sure that her life revolved only around the quarry and ladoos. Few days later, we made a stop at a school-cum-orphanage and came to know that they were getting another child to join the others – Soujanya. I experienced a sense of satisfaction, relief, a tinge of excitement, but not before a wave of unexpectedness and surprise. One of my friends, Pia, had met the people of this school, telling them about Soujanya and had urged them to take her in. We went back to the quarry and there she was, holding the tin for the last time… hopefully… I sat next to her and tried to converse using the few words of Telugu that I had managed to pick up. She giggled initially at my lack of knowledge of her language, but we were able to understand each other. She then presented us (Rads, Pav, Yogi, Max and me) with a flower bouquet. And I still have it with me in my book…
* * *
From Guntur, where we had a brief meeting with the Joint Collector, we went to Vinukonda – our base camp. We were hardly ever at our lodge, except during the nights of course. We would set out every morning in our jeeps, lugging arou
nd our video camera and tripod and return hours after darkness took over. I got so used to that system that I kind of miss the rush of it all now. We always made sure that we somehow got to travel in this one particular jeep because we felt (especially Max), that we bonded with the driver. He had never spoken much to us, probably because we didn’t speak the same language. And still, we bonded… As soon as the jeep revved, he would switch on the tape player and instantly the jeep would throb with Telugu beats. And we enjoyed every bit of it. I did not understand the language. But I simply loved those moments, traveling with a mission with the beats and the rhythm taking us there. I remember our first day in the jeep. He had not used the tape player at all and after quite a long time, we were beginning to get bored of the silence. So we had begun singing! Yogi and I were doing the seconds and Max, using the camera bag as the drums, provided the beats. I really do not know how our driver put up with us that day! Maybe that’s why the tape began playing and never stopped since then…* * *
After hours of debates, we decided that we would target the education in these areas. I had researched a bit before leaving and quite obviously found that this aspect highly troubled me. So we went about visiting schools in the different mandals and interviewing the mandal officials, trying to gather as much information as we could. There were no colleges in most of the mandals. Bollapalli was by far the most backward mandal with a literacy rate of barely 33%. We met many students and teachers there. The easy way out was to get one of the Telugu speakers to help out. But I was determined to try and converse with the students there. On one such day, we didn’t return to our base camp and chose to stay back at this town called Durgi, in an ashram. We spent most of our time in the terrace there, because it was much quieter. It was hard for me to believe that I was in a place entrenched in naxalism. The huddled conversations, the chill breeze, the memories, the moon, Wikham (Yogi’s man) shooting the moon oblivious to everything around him, the bhajans, Max sleeping… it seemed like we were in some dream. The tensions, the fear was not there. Yet t
here was an undercurrent. And it was then that nishat sir came up, pulling in a boy. He called Rads and me and said that this boy, Cheenu, had come looking for us. The boy looked up and gave a shy smile. It was considerably dark and I could not catch his features. From what sir told us, Cheenu had seen us in one of the schools. Wanting to meet us, he had enquired around and had reached the ashram. On one hand this thought scared me (we had so easily been traced). But on hearing this, a few of my classmates sitting around us, appreciated the fact that we had been able to reach out to him, prompting him to come to us. Yes. I did feel very nice. I did feel nice to have been able to create some impact (little it may be). And we did talk. Pav was fluent in Telugu and we spoke to him about his school, his dreams, his parents, his society, his life… then very carefully tip-toed into the realm that we really wanted to venture – naxalism. We skirted around, cautious all the while. Lunged a bit, then withdrew, kept repeating before we were able to get into a good rhythm. And it amazed me. How naxalism affected every soul here, young and old...* * *
Max slept in every mandal! Wherever we went there was a stop, initially for 15 min and later extended ones to give us more time to take the shots and talk to the people in the villages. Max, the big guy that he is, got stares from every quarter. In one of the towns, Durgi, one guy went to the extent of asking whether he was a nawab! That was probably the last straw for the rest of us. From that day on, Max went around using Pav’s dupatta making a turban out of it (like the ones sheiks wear) proclaiming his authority as the ultimate nawab!
* * *
An encounter. A dead body. A
naxalite. These were the first images that hit us as soon as we landed in Vinukonda. Jayraj had enough contacts to ensure that the body would not be removed until we had a look at it. I really could not say if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But honestly, the days of moving away, not getting close enough to things that would alarm us were gone. At least for us. We were journalists and it was more important for broadcast journalists to get right there. It was Amanda Harper, a BBC journalist who had come down to teach us a semester, who made me realise that it was our job to get there up close because no one else could. We were the journalists, the people’s link. However, I could not ignore the sadism that had seeped in. Here we were, students of journalism, the first journalists ever to step into these areas and we were excited. Excited to see a dead body. A dead naxal. Frankly, I do not know what to make of that. I still have the footage…
* * *
‘I am breakfast Puri’. That is what I ended up saying at one particular restaurant and from then on, it stuck. But it didn’t stop here. I was rechristened several times during our trip. So were a few others. It was like we had lived different lives there and we had to have different identities, different names. And it was mostly related to food. We think when we are eating I guess. Pav was ‘Mirchi Bajji’, Max was the nawab (who ate a lot so we could not really name him), Rads was the ‘Goodie Bag’ (she had the yummy things from home), Dhara was the ‘Alam Chutney’. Many others went nameless and we do feel a sense of regret. But life moves on. Even after returning home, we did not forget our alter IDs. I’m still breakfast puri, Pav is still Mirchi Bajji, , Rads is still the Goodie Bag and Dhara is still the Alam Chutney, Max is no longer the nawab (we absolutely refused to boost his ego any more)...
7 Jan 2006
Can the Raja be the Mantri?!
How is it like, when instead of leading the team, like you had so often before, you are being led? What is it like to work under someone, whose position you had once been in? Do the equations remain the same? Does everything add up to how it was before?
In a rather stormy and dramatic turn of events, Sourav Ganguly, the captain of the Indian cricket team, was shown the door by a relatively new coach – Greg Chappel. After traversing the rough seas henceforth, there seemed to be some relief when Ganguly, the ex-captain was brought back very briefly. Not as a captain, but as a player, in a side led by Dravid.
Here is a potentially volatile scenario, where an ex-captain is playing under another captain. This has happened a lot of times in Indian cricket before. Nobody can forget the times when Kapil and Gavaskar shared grounds. A little later, Ganguly and Tendulkar, Ganguly and Azhar and now Dravid and Ganguly. Was Greg correct in excluding Ganguly completely and ushering Dravid in as the new captain? The ex-captain and captain playing together – what significance does this have on cricket?
There is so much of psychology involved in this state. As the popular adage goes, cricket is more of a mind game than a physical one. Battles were fought and won, not because army A was physical stronger and more powerful than army B, but because they overpowered the opposition by wit and possessed the power to think them out. The Trojan horse was a product of the mind and not the carpenters who worked day and night to build that horse that brought them victory.
In such a situation, it is fair to say that you will in no way do something to show that another person is in many ways better than you. It is plain human tendency. This always plays in the mind of an ex-captain, playing under another captain. The effort that he used to give earlier would not be there at all. Every cricketer dreams of making it to the test team. Every test cricketer dreams of becoming the captain. That motivates them to perform and play. But for an ex-captain that motivation does not have a place anymore.
Sadly, statistics and individual glory has become more important than the team. It was always more important than the team. It cannot be proved that the ex-captain in the side does not play hundred percent anymore in order to make the team win. But truth is this notion is always playing in his head. There is furthermore, that sense of competition that may arise between the captain and the ex-captain. And most certainly this kind of tension transgresses into the dressing room too.
Look at (arguably) the best cricketing nation in the world. Australian selectors have always made sure that an ex-captain does not work under a captain. Never. There might have been captains for a series or a match. But never have such tensions been enforced upon the team. Right from Richie Benaud, Bill Lawry, Ian Chappel, Greg Chappel, Kim Hughes, Border, Mark Taylor, Steve Waugh, Gilchrist and now Ricky Ponting.
Their policies are very simple. Make the team members feel comfortable with each other. This policy of giving one captain his full run and then stepping down to give the successor the captain’s cap, has a lot of advantages. First of all, the captain and the team members (for that matter) do not live in fear of being thrown out the next minute. They know that they would be given a fair chance to prove their mettle. This in turn enables them to take bold decisions. Steve Waugh, for instance enforced a follow-on while playing against the Indians in the Kolkatta test match – something that Australians never do.
Since there is no threat of being dropped out of the captain’s seat, there is a percolation of knowledge, wherein the present captain shares all that he has learnt ( as captain) with the future captain. Therefore there is a relatively mature head taking his place, ensuring that there is no break in the momentum of the team.
Australians lost the Ashes. If India had been in that situation, the odds that the captain would have been dropped, are a 100 to none! The clear message a selection board gives the team in such a set-up is that the captain is as good as the team. If the team does not perform well, it is not the captain’s fault. So ultimately, the team benefits as a whole.
It is probably with this in mind that Greg Chappel did what he had to. He most certainly perceived the situation using this yard stick. The issue could have been less pleasant, but at this point no one can be blamed because the selection policy is such that cricketers are forced to feel insecure. Instead of looking forward, Indian captains are forced to look over their shoulders.
In a rather stormy and dramatic turn of events, Sourav Ganguly, the captain of the Indian cricket team, was shown the door by a relatively new coach – Greg Chappel. After traversing the rough seas henceforth, there seemed to be some relief when Ganguly, the ex-captain was brought back very briefly. Not as a captain, but as a player, in a side led by Dravid.
Here is a potentially volatile scenario, where an ex-captain is playing under another captain. This has happened a lot of times in Indian cricket before. Nobody can forget the times when Kapil and Gavaskar shared grounds. A little later, Ganguly and Tendulkar, Ganguly and Azhar and now Dravid and Ganguly. Was Greg correct in excluding Ganguly completely and ushering Dravid in as the new captain? The ex-captain and captain playing together – what significance does this have on cricket?
There is so much of psychology involved in this state. As the popular adage goes, cricket is more of a mind game than a physical one. Battles were fought and won, not because army A was physical stronger and more powerful than army B, but because they overpowered the opposition by wit and possessed the power to think them out. The Trojan horse was a product of the mind and not the carpenters who worked day and night to build that horse that brought them victory.
In such a situation, it is fair to say that you will in no way do something to show that another person is in many ways better than you. It is plain human tendency. This always plays in the mind of an ex-captain, playing under another captain. The effort that he used to give earlier would not be there at all. Every cricketer dreams of making it to the test team. Every test cricketer dreams of becoming the captain. That motivates them to perform and play. But for an ex-captain that motivation does not have a place anymore.
Sadly, statistics and individual glory has become more important than the team. It was always more important than the team. It cannot be proved that the ex-captain in the side does not play hundred percent anymore in order to make the team win. But truth is this notion is always playing in his head. There is furthermore, that sense of competition that may arise between the captain and the ex-captain. And most certainly this kind of tension transgresses into the dressing room too.
Look at (arguably) the best cricketing nation in the world. Australian selectors have always made sure that an ex-captain does not work under a captain. Never. There might have been captains for a series or a match. But never have such tensions been enforced upon the team. Right from Richie Benaud, Bill Lawry, Ian Chappel, Greg Chappel, Kim Hughes, Border, Mark Taylor, Steve Waugh, Gilchrist and now Ricky Ponting.
Their policies are very simple. Make the team members feel comfortable with each other. This policy of giving one captain his full run and then stepping down to give the successor the captain’s cap, has a lot of advantages. First of all, the captain and the team members (for that matter) do not live in fear of being thrown out the next minute. They know that they would be given a fair chance to prove their mettle. This in turn enables them to take bold decisions. Steve Waugh, for instance enforced a follow-on while playing against the Indians in the Kolkatta test match – something that Australians never do.
Since there is no threat of being dropped out of the captain’s seat, there is a percolation of knowledge, wherein the present captain shares all that he has learnt ( as captain) with the future captain. Therefore there is a relatively mature head taking his place, ensuring that there is no break in the momentum of the team.
Australians lost the Ashes. If India had been in that situation, the odds that the captain would have been dropped, are a 100 to none! The clear message a selection board gives the team in such a set-up is that the captain is as good as the team. If the team does not perform well, it is not the captain’s fault. So ultimately, the team benefits as a whole.
It is probably with this in mind that Greg Chappel did what he had to. He most certainly perceived the situation using this yard stick. The issue could have been less pleasant, but at this point no one can be blamed because the selection policy is such that cricketers are forced to feel insecure. Instead of looking forward, Indian captains are forced to look over their shoulders.
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