The Obituary...

It was fun when it all began
Fresh-faced teens on a red-brick background
He spotted her wearing a green pince-nez
And thought to himself 'what a snob!'

A month was all it took for pride and prejudice to deconstruct
As he decided to play Antony; she Cleopatra
Through the initial rough and tumble he survived
But the seeds of his hamartia had already been sown...

She came to him soon enough
And there were two hearts beating as one
She was his first love
And the world was full of Dutch tulips...

Iagos abound in this world, so he found out soon
But who was to blame but himself?
Like the old ram, he had dug his own grave
And, Peripeteia occured...

She left him for another, he wrote
And engulfed himself in love of the Red
She had indeed moved on, hated him
And there was no contact...

It was histriomania that landed them back in a room
He apologised, she forgave him
But reserved judgment on his past
The quest for redemption had begun...

He tried to bide his time
He tried to be her friend
He tried to pry her loose
But knew, it was a losing battle...

A sudden swing in fortunes
And he was back in the running
Maybe the Old Man had something to do with it
But he would never know...

They drifted apart and floated together
Grew up into the twenties
His heart still had a reservation for one
She was destined for bigger things...

One day, the break came
The least he could do was say goodbye
'Be cheerful sir, our revels now are ended'
And that was the end...

Or maybe not, for she still cared for him
Called him up one fine morning
Reestablished the connection that should've been left broken
And up went his hopes again...

But she had moved on again
And that left his journey for redemption unfinished
Till the next break happened
Which took another bit of him away...

He was finally the man she would've wanted him to be
But alas! She wasn't there to see
The knight was riding in shining armour
To hide, perchance, or put up a front...

And yet again, that primitive form of communication popped up
Telepathy, destiny, fate - it has many names
But this time he was firm in resolve
And managed to put it across to her...

" I want you to know it's a little fucked up,
That I'm stuck here waitin', no longer debatin',
Tired of sittin' and hatin' and makin' these excuses,
For why you're not around, and feeling so useless,

It seems one thing has been true all along,
You don't really know what you've got 'til it's gone,
I guess I've had it with you and your career,
When you come back I won't be here and you can sing...

Where'd you go?
I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone. "

That was when he breathed his last, that man
It was as if a debt had been paid
He could finally breathe easy
Easy come, easy go...

He had forgotten that he was Faustus
The man who had sold his soul to Lucifer
Mephisto came to him and said
'Its time, my friend...'

Wander the depths, Faustus
Find solace, if not redemption...
For thou hast left and gone to hell
And I wish thee a warmer Farewell...

They say Beelzebub is a benefactor
Not the Fair Lord up above
May the fire not singe thy coat of fur
But even if it does,
'habit is a great deadener...'

Let the Madness Begin!

And so after all the hype, the hoopla, the drama, the gazillion dollars, and everything else that spells P-O-M-P under the sun, the Indian Premier League will finally get underway on April 18. Now, call me a traditionalist, but I tend to think that Test Cricket is being violated, nay, slow-poisoned by all these upstart T20 tournaments. Be it the OFFICIAL one or the REBEL ICL, what with the high-bass music, the dancing babes, or the handsome hits to- and over-the-fence, the traditional straight bat has been chucked out of the window overlooking the ocean... (Read: 'has been left to sink')

Come to think of it, THIS, my dear reader, is the evolution that Darwin talked about... How an old species has to adapt to changing conditions or else, face extinction... It remains to be seen whether Test cricket, the true test of strength and character, turns out to be a Dinosaur...

* * * * * *

But then again, the show must go on... And the show, undoubtedly, is Twenty20 cricket... Blessed be the Englishman who invented the game of cricket, and blessed be the other one who thought of this ridiculous idea to shorten the game to 20-overs-a-side. Doesn't seem too ridiculous, does it now, especially with Lalit Modi at the helm? Here's some food for thought for those who call the IPL a waste of time/money/talent... Would Vijay Mallya invest his millions in a doomed project? Uh-huh, sonny boy, I DONT THINK SO!

The best part about the ICL/IPL concept is actually borrowed from the Americans - the concept of city-centered franchises and the rivalry between them... This is a concept that actually polarizes the urban audience as per their geographic allegiance, which, if my reading of human history is correct, has been the reason for the 2nd highest number of wars in history (the 1st being ofcourse, religion). This helps generate more interest, brings out the performer in every player, and also makes an outsider playing for the team more selfless - since he plays for the AUDIENCE and their energy... THE FAN IS KING!

And what the teams have realized is that sports are for young people... Their marketing strategies are centered around colloquial usages, and packages that would attract the youth. SRK's proclamation of KORBO, LORBO, JEETBO for his Kolkata Knightriders franchise was the seminal moment, when the IPL brigade went under-25. Its all about the Passion, it really is...

Passion is, ofcourse, where DADA is... Mr. Sourav Chandidas Ganguly, the man who wore his heart on his sleeve as captain, the one who defined a generation of Indian cricket... Add to that, the passion of Shah Rukh Khan, the Mark Cuban of IPL, throw in the glut of talent, and what you have is a team worthy of a fan-following, even before a ball has been bowled...

KORBO LORBO JEETBO RE!!! GO KNIGHT-RIDERS!!! :-D

Ramblings in the Interior...

Frustration is cruel to the subject's mind
Cruelty is inbuilt into mankind
Mankind's favourite pastime is chatter
Chatter is what monkeys do, it don't really matter...

Matter is used in physical science
Science is used to clearly demarcate philosophical lines
Lines are drawn on maps to separate countries
Countries are threatened by global warming, save trees...

Trees are useless unless its Spring
Spring up to the top with a zing
Xing is a variant of the Hyundai Santro
Santoro is also the name of a Tennis Pro...

Pro or positive feelings are not things with whom I associate
Associates are the ones who you call when you're late
Lately though, they never reported it to the boss, something i hated
And now I am frustrated...

Moral of the story: When you're mindfucked, life is circular...

A Quarterly Report, The Usual Musings, and A Tribute to The Wonder Years...

And so I'm back after a long, long hiatus, come back from the dead to tell you all... I shall tell you all...
Not that you'll be interested, but if you are in the habit of reading other people's blogs, read on...

* * * * * *

Anyway, so here I am, two days short of 3 months into my first job... And its been so far, so good... I'm doing what I love most, SPORTS, and may the revelry continue... Albeit in a different medium... Nothing against mobile phones, nothing at all, but I would much rather be in front of a camera, covering sports for television... But if wishes were horses etc etc...
So the quarterly report would be rather profitable... Coz I feel it is broadening my horizons as far as progress ahead and upwards is concerned... Enough about the workplace...

* * * * * *

And so, it has been six months... Diwali is now a distant, bitter memory, and Holi is around the corner... But in here (pointing at the fuckin brain), nothing much has changed... Its weird, its funny, but I cant really find a reason for this constant fixation... I mean FINE, I loved her, SOMETIMES she loved me too, for cryin' out loud as the Americans would say... But shouldn't there be an inbuilt mechanism somewhere within the grey matter that can flush out these unwanted memories???

A couple of days ago, I had a weird dream... Dunno what Freud would've interpreted it as, but it was freaky... I saw her, and I saw her offspring, say 10 years hence... And for no rhyme or reason, there was a reunion - a flashback to those moments which still linger in the vicinity of this bloody brain... That too, just as I thought I was actually beginning to turn my thoughts towards someone else...

Bottom line - I still miss you Meiya... U r, and perhaps will remain the only one... The only one in front of whom there were no masks - the only one who ever knew Shreyas Sharma, not Big Daddy...

Or, in the words of the legendary Pablo Neruda...

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example,'The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance.' The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is shattered and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight searches for her as though to go to her. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same. I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before. Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.

* * * * * *

But then again, all is not dark and thorny... Nothing ever is, actually... Nothing lasts forever... Even my relentless pessimism... No, really... Although I've had a bit of outside help, over the past 3 months of my Mobile ESPN sojourn... After the fiasco(s) @ IIMC, its been great to find Rocket/Raju/GK2Junkie, Khyali, Wrik and Shreeja... What with Raju's aversion to tickling, the stupid/smart Khyalisms, which often lead to paroxysms of laughter, Wrik's smart-ass observations (Chelsea fan, after all!) and Shreeja's gang-leader act, LIFE'S GOOD, FOLKS!

Thanks for all the booze and the good times, guys... I can just appreciate it by humming something from my fave TV Show of all time, The Wonder Years...

What would you do if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song
And I'll try not to sing out of key.

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends

What do I do when my love is away
(Does it worry you to be alone?)
How do I feel by the end of the day,
(Are you sad because you're on your own?)

No, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends...

Gentlemen, the game is dead!

Happy New Year to anyone who might've lost their cyber-way and landed up here... Doesn't seem a very happy one where I am - a wannabe sports journalist in a cold, foggy city, 15 days into his first job, covering the biggest controversy to have befallen Cricket since the time when Mike Denness' mama couldn't keep her legs together! So, Messrs Bucknor and Benson had a horrendous test match... And Bucknor can't stand at Perth... So, Harbhajan Singh was banned for three test matches, for calling Andrew Symonds a monkey... So, Ricardo Ponting and his team won a record equalling 16th-consecutive test...

Does that mean the passionate Indian cricket fan should participate in his neighbourhood protest rally and burn effigies? Should the BCCI cancel the tour altogether, since 'unfair treatment has been meted out to our team, and the Indian national pride has been hurt'? Should Ponting be pressured to relinquish captaincy owing to his team's growing behaviour issues? Was Kumble right in saying that only one team played the game in the right spirit? Was he wallowing in self-pity? Are Indians crybabies - as seen in the South Africa series in 2001 under similar circumstances?

Too many questions, too few answers available... But we maybe ignoring the most important question of them all...

Is this what the Gentlemen's Game is coming to? Racism, Sledging, Intimidation, Mind-Games, Allegations, Counter-Allegations, HEARINGS and suchlike?

* * * * * *

Before I begin with the crux of the article, let me issue a small disclaimer... If you think that I am an Anglophile or a Traditionalist, well so be it... I am none of those... All I am is a cricket fan, and this is my vision of cricketing utopia, and dystopia...

* * * * * *

Okay so Australia are a dominant side in World Cricket and no one comes close to challenging them nowadays... But what has given rise to this muck is their attitude towards their opponents... They treat the defeated as beneath contempt, and do not even seem keen to interact with them... Australia have been dominant for a long time now, but this is a more recent phenomenon, perhaps as recent as the last 3-4 years. It is not as though they were saints before that - on the field, there was no team who played mind-games like the Aussies or their captain Steve Waugh... But no series ever got to the level of being called off, 'JUST' because of 7 bad decisions in a test match and two players taunting each other in, shall we say, 'unparliamentary terms'...

The problem with the Aussies, and in particular with their captain Punter, is that they are perfect examples of the saying - 'power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely'... Now consider this, Punter and his cohorts all came into the team AFTER the era of Aussie dominance had begun... And they went on getting hungrier, since nothing succeeds like success itself... But with the control they had over everyone on the field, they inadvertently started thinking of themselves as lords and masters off the field as well... Gavaskar hit the nail on the head, when he asked what right Ponting had of claiming to be an honest fielder, when he stood his ground upon nicking the ball in the first innings? How is a fielder's word trustworthy but not a batsman's, when both are the SAME INDIVIDUAL! But Ponting asserts that this is a TRIVIAL MATTER BLOWN OUT OF PROPORTION! Is this guy sleeping?

Symonds, on the other hand, is that bully you knew at school... He has been known to verbally assault his opponents, and has never, in my memory, shook the hand or even acknowledged an opponent's 100, unlike most other cricketers in the world... There is not a courteous muscle in the man's body... And yet, every time someone stands up to his bullying, be it the opposition or the crowd, he takes advantage of being of West Indian descent and cries 'RACISM'... There are various forms of racial abuse in the world, all equally contemptible, but taking advantage of your ethnicity to get another person/group reprimanded for returning your on-field abuse ranks perhaps second lowest on the scale, to bonded labour...

The West Indies dominated world cricket right from the 60s under Frank Worrell, to Viv Richards in the 80s... Most players of that era were descended from either Afro-Carribean or Asian ethnicity... They had the most fearsome bowlers in history, and perhaps till eternity, in Wes Hall, Andy Roberts, Malcolm Marshall, Michael Holding, Joel Garner, Courtney Walsh and Curtly Ambrose... How many of them ever uttered a word to the batsman, let alone question their parentage? You may argue that there was no way to find out, since there were no rules and no policing/refereeing at the time... Yet there is a way to find out - ask the batsmen - Sunil Gavaskar, Geoffrey Boycott, Graham Gooch, Zaheer Abbas, Glenn Turner - they are all alive and can vouch for it...

All I'm trying to say is, when the Brits invented this game, they called it the Gentlemen's game... A languid, elegant 5-day affair that was played at the empire's outposts by servants of the crown, more than in the home country... But its devolution over the last 10 years has been drastic... Cricket has become more akin to Pro Wrestling than the game of personal or team brilliance... And Punter, has led the way...

Much like George W. Bush has led the world...

...to Apocalypse... Now...