Three posts in ten whole months. How lousy! And a lousy fourth post to commemorate that! In the words of the great Chandler Bing, could I "BE" any lousier???
P.S. - I have no idea when the next post is coming...
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Monday, July 9, 2007
Divinity – Thy name is Roger
It was 9:45 10ish. Or maybe 10:30. I don’t remember what the exact time was. Doesn’t matter though. Because the moment of glory was captured in my heart forever. “Game..Set..Match..Federer..7-6,4-6,7-6,2-6,6-2”, announced the chair umpire as the rousing applause from the packed-to-capacity Centre Court continued. The television showed an emotional Roger Federer falling to the grass, cradling his face in the palms of his hands, tears coursing down his cheeks. He had done it. Again. It took a while coming this time than usual but when it did come, he was overcome with child-like emotion. Like two long-lost lovers reuniting after separation can’t express what they feel for each other and end up crying in each other’s arms. That’s how much he loves Wimbledon. That’s how much he loves to go there and win year after year. That’s why we all love him so much. For that and a lot more.
The match was a closely-fought contest in which both players produced some exquisite tennis. Nadal, true to his never-say-die warrior attitude, tested Federer to the hilt. Rarely had Federer been pushed and made to work hard in the green lawns of Wimbledon. Previous finals here have been grotesquely lop-sided affairs with Federer Express making short work of otherwise worthy opponents. But this time, he wouldn’t have it easy. He had to call upon every ounce of his champion’s spirit to claim his prize. And he did just that. And deservingly pocketed a fifth straight crown equaling another legend Bjorn Borg in the process. Bets on Federer eclipsing Borg next year?? My money’s on Roger already!
This year’s final was different for me too. Instead of watching it in the cozy milieu of my home as I do every year, I found myself hundreds of miles away from home sitting on a wonky chair in the Hostel mess watching the proceedings on the common TV. The mess was choc-a-bloc with tennis enthusiasts. Soon enough, the polarity of the player allegiances became apparent. Every play and every great stroke was greeted with shouts of “Shottttt!!!!” and rapturous applause by the respective fans section. There were also a few “non-fans” who were enjoying the spectacle. It was pleasantly surprising to find beautiful people in the audience cheering on their favourite player (which coincidentally happened to be Roger). Whoever said women are not into sport!! As the match wore on, the tension in the air seemed to get heavier. Federer fans oohed and aahed and anguished every time the champion played an easy shot into the net or Nadal thumped a winner past him. As they went into the deciding final set, almost everyone in the room was on the edge of their seats. And finally, the tension melted when Fedex broke Nadal in the 6th game to go 4-2 up. From then, we all knew it was a matter of time. Except maybe a few of the Nadal fans who were hoping for a miracle turnaround. But it wasn’t to be. History was to repeat itself. For a fifth straight time. The God of all things Tennis was to retain His most-cherished possession. And He shall Reign Forever…
The match was a closely-fought contest in which both players produced some exquisite tennis. Nadal, true to his never-say-die warrior attitude, tested Federer to the hilt. Rarely had Federer been pushed and made to work hard in the green lawns of Wimbledon. Previous finals here have been grotesquely lop-sided affairs with Federer Express making short work of otherwise worthy opponents. But this time, he wouldn’t have it easy. He had to call upon every ounce of his champion’s spirit to claim his prize. And he did just that. And deservingly pocketed a fifth straight crown equaling another legend Bjorn Borg in the process. Bets on Federer eclipsing Borg next year?? My money’s on Roger already!
This year’s final was different for me too. Instead of watching it in the cozy milieu of my home as I do every year, I found myself hundreds of miles away from home sitting on a wonky chair in the Hostel mess watching the proceedings on the common TV. The mess was choc-a-bloc with tennis enthusiasts. Soon enough, the polarity of the player allegiances became apparent. Every play and every great stroke was greeted with shouts of “Shottttt!!!!” and rapturous applause by the respective fans section. There were also a few “non-fans” who were enjoying the spectacle. It was pleasantly surprising to find beautiful people in the audience cheering on their favourite player (which coincidentally happened to be Roger). Whoever said women are not into sport!! As the match wore on, the tension in the air seemed to get heavier. Federer fans oohed and aahed and anguished every time the champion played an easy shot into the net or Nadal thumped a winner past him. As they went into the deciding final set, almost everyone in the room was on the edge of their seats. And finally, the tension melted when Fedex broke Nadal in the 6th game to go 4-2 up. From then, we all knew it was a matter of time. Except maybe a few of the Nadal fans who were hoping for a miracle turnaround. But it wasn’t to be. History was to repeat itself. For a fifth straight time. The God of all things Tennis was to retain His most-cherished possession. And He shall Reign Forever…
Friday, April 20, 2007
Travel Travails
It’s summertime. Time for the birds to twitter, time for flowers to turn into fruit and oh yes! time for the sun’s fifteen minutes of fame! The sun is up and about in all its golden glory, gliding from East to West, scorching every inch of space that its rays can reach. I am all dressed up for work. It’s two on my watch. One hour to go before my permanent afternoon shift begins. I turn on the T.V. Switch to the news. The weather forecast is on. "….and Mumbai will see some hot weather today with maximum temperatures soaring to 37 degree Celsius…", says the weather girl. Her pronouncement has me hot under the collar. "37 degrees!!!..And it’s only April!!", I say in a plaintive tone. The weather girl makes me envious. She stands in the comfy confines of her cool studio with a stick in hand reading out the forecast that feels like a Supreme Court Judge giving the death sentence to a convicted murderer. Anyway, resigned to my sultry fate, I wave my goodbyes and leave home for work.
As soon as I step out into the open, I start feeling like a slice of butter that’s just been tossed into a frying pan. Literally. Just like the butter in the pan, I start to melt away with sweat pouring forth from every imaginable fold and corner of my body. I start to pity myself already. I feel a strong urge to do an about turn and go home. But I will myself against it. I let myself believe that I have to do this as I am the sole breadwinner for my family. What would happen to them if I don’t work? They’d starve…Or would they? Anyway, it’s with such a welter of befuddling thoughts that I continue to soldier on gamely. The sun is unforgiving. But I am comforted because I know paradise is just around the corner and soon enough, I’m going to be walking through this paradise.
This place I call paradise is a bylane called Deodhar Road, which is across the street from my building on the opposite side of the main highway. Deodhar Road is beautiful. On both sides of the road, gigantic wide-stemmed trees - with branches so sprawling that they lock into each other like the antlers of two squabbling deers - arch over each other to blot out the blazing sun. It’s like a mother kangaroo tucking her baby in the warmth and comfort of her pouch. I wait eagerly on the road divider of the main highway for the near-endless drone of vehicles to whiz past so I can scamper across to the shady haven. It’s like the first bout of unexpected showers when people are caught unawares and make a dash to take shelter under the canopy of the nearest dukaan to avoid being soaked. That’s how eagerly I await Deodhar Road on that divider. As I walk through the tunnel formed by the sprawling trees, I start to realize that my joy and relief is going to be short-lived. For I can already see the glimmering reflection of the sun bouncing off the smooth, glasslike concrete road at the other end. I sigh. I reach the other end of Deodhar Road and turn back for one final glance. I feel like the son who has to part with his family because he’s been summoned to do battle for his country. Except that my battle is going to be against the weather.
I amble the remaining distance to the railway station (Matunga), pay my homage to Ganpati Bappa who sits just outside the station and proceed towards platform number 2. I glance at the electronic indicator. It says 2:23 ST. I flick my eyes to my watch. It says 2:20. Ah! Just a couple of minutes before the train rolls in!… I look at my watch. It’s 2:30. No sign of the train. As usual, Central Railway has lived up to its lazy ways. It reminds me of myself.
As soon as I step out into the open, I start feeling like a slice of butter that’s just been tossed into a frying pan. Literally. Just like the butter in the pan, I start to melt away with sweat pouring forth from every imaginable fold and corner of my body. I start to pity myself already. I feel a strong urge to do an about turn and go home. But I will myself against it. I let myself believe that I have to do this as I am the sole breadwinner for my family. What would happen to them if I don’t work? They’d starve…Or would they? Anyway, it’s with such a welter of befuddling thoughts that I continue to soldier on gamely. The sun is unforgiving. But I am comforted because I know paradise is just around the corner and soon enough, I’m going to be walking through this paradise.
This place I call paradise is a bylane called Deodhar Road, which is across the street from my building on the opposite side of the main highway. Deodhar Road is beautiful. On both sides of the road, gigantic wide-stemmed trees - with branches so sprawling that they lock into each other like the antlers of two squabbling deers - arch over each other to blot out the blazing sun. It’s like a mother kangaroo tucking her baby in the warmth and comfort of her pouch. I wait eagerly on the road divider of the main highway for the near-endless drone of vehicles to whiz past so I can scamper across to the shady haven. It’s like the first bout of unexpected showers when people are caught unawares and make a dash to take shelter under the canopy of the nearest dukaan to avoid being soaked. That’s how eagerly I await Deodhar Road on that divider. As I walk through the tunnel formed by the sprawling trees, I start to realize that my joy and relief is going to be short-lived. For I can already see the glimmering reflection of the sun bouncing off the smooth, glasslike concrete road at the other end. I sigh. I reach the other end of Deodhar Road and turn back for one final glance. I feel like the son who has to part with his family because he’s been summoned to do battle for his country. Except that my battle is going to be against the weather.
I amble the remaining distance to the railway station (Matunga), pay my homage to Ganpati Bappa who sits just outside the station and proceed towards platform number 2. I glance at the electronic indicator. It says 2:23 ST. I flick my eyes to my watch. It says 2:20. Ah! Just a couple of minutes before the train rolls in!… I look at my watch. It’s 2:30. No sign of the train. As usual, Central Railway has lived up to its lazy ways. It reminds me of myself.
The loudspeaker rigged to the roof above the platform starts blaring. A recorded female voice recites that the train is expected to arrive shortly in three different languages. "…..thodyach velaat platform no don var yenaar aahe"…"thode hi samay main platform no do par aayegi"…"is expected to arrive shortly on platform number 2”. I listen to all three of them. "She always lies!!", I tell myself. Finally, the train shows up a full 15 minutes behind schedule. I try to smile wryly. I hop in and as if almost immediately, I hop out. At the next station that is. Before I knew, Dadar had arrived. I guess time really flies when you are busy wiping sweat off your body! I get down and take another glance at my watch. It’s 2:42. I realize I have to run if I am to catch the 2:45 Virar local at the other end of the bridge. I know the folks at Western Railway put a good value on their time unlike their Central counterparts. I also know that if I miss it, I’d be made to wait another ten minutes in the vacuum-like stillness that pervades platform number three before 2:55 Andheri arrives. More sweating. More wiping. I hated that thought. Determined - like the same son who bid adieu to his family to fight for his country - I start loping up the staircase, wending and weaving my way through the sea of flesh and reach platform number three to find – to my good relief – that 2:45 is still waiting.
I jump in and stand near the exit door. It’s not as if the train’s crowded and there are no empty seats. There are many. It’s just that I prefer the airy natural ventilation that comes my way through the door to the hair-dryer like hot air that the fans inside the train funnel towards me. Dadar to Andheri is roughly 14 minutes with allowances for unscheduled stoppages in between. The relatively cooler breeze near the door is soothing. I feel like I have gained some ground in my war against the weather. Bandra comes and goes. And a few minutes later, the train slides into Andheri. My draughty sojourn in the train ends. I climb the bridge and trudge out the exit on the eastern side.
The scene outside Andheri station is one of din and bustle. A mini flea market. I see hawkers roaring their sales pitch trying to attract the hordes streaming in and out of the station and peddling everything from belts to sneakers to T-shirts to vadapaavs. I stop at the sugarcane juice walla and slice the air in front of me with a quick horizontal sweep of my palm. The guy at the counter reads my gesture. He barks out to the old man inside to make ready a half glass of juice. I sprinkle some masala into my drink and guzzle it down. In winter, I wouldn’t stop by for a glass of juice unless I am out of small change and have to break a fifty or a hundred with the juicewallah. I need the small change to pay the rickshaw fare from Andheri to Seepz, the last leg of my odyssey. But in the heat of the summer, the drink feels like heaven. I pay up and walk out to find the first rickshaw that would take me to Seepz.
I see the sun shining in the glossy leather roofs of all the rickshaws parked outside. That tells me the milieu inside the rickshaw is not going to be particularly pleasant. I sigh and try to console myself that it is just a matter of another 20 minutes or so before it is all over. I get into a rickshaw and it pulls away. It snakes and slips its way between a tangle of fellow rickshaws and towering buses. The rickshawwallah is driving ferociously fast. And I am confused. On the one hand, I want to tick him off for putting his and my life in danger by driving so wildly but on the other hand, I am growing increasingly fond of the swift breeze that’s lashing my face. And then, I am also running late for work. So I let it be. Let him indulge his thrill for speed. And I sit back and enjoy the gust of air ventilating the insides of the stuffy vehicle. In about 15 minutes, I reach my destination. I pay the fare, get out and walk the 5 minutes from gate no1 to my office. Along the way, I flash my ID to the gatekeeper.
And finally, I step into the office building. And my goodness! What a transition! From the burning hellhole outside to the icy cool centrally air-conditioned heaven inside. I pause to take a breath, like one does when a sweet fragrance unexpectedly permeates the air. And thank the person who invented the air-conditioner.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
The Big Obscure Bang!
Hi, I am 22 years, one blog and a tiny post old. I like living life to the easiest. I don’t dig hard work. Like to crawl away into my loony world of lost musings whenever I can. People think I’m observing them when they see me gazing at them with rapt attention. But little do they know that I have slipped away like a noodle off a fork into my realm of lost thoughts. It’s a God-given gift that few people have. And I meet those people in my thoughts and they see me in theirs. Sometimes, it gets weird when two people having the gift are at the same place. You feel you have double vision.
As I said, I don’t like to work hard. This has led to me developing a liking for words that start with the letter ‘l’. Like like. I like like (except when it is overused by airheads in everyday conversation…Like, did you like like the movie or like didn’t like it? Like we can like go to the park and like play on the swing and like….Aha! Mr. Like Likerson, I didn’t know you could fart English!!). I also love words like leisure, laxity, luxury, lassitude, lethargy, lousiness, languor and live by them.
Am a big fan of ‘lazy’ (the word sounds so cool!!!). I am so damn lazy that I make lazy look hyperactive. I hope they will coin a word after my name one day. A word that would have the sloth-quotient of lazy, lethargy and lousy put together. A word that would turn laziness into a virtue. For example,
Mothers chitchatting in the lobby before a parent teacher conference would go:
Mom 1: I am really worried about Peter. He’s so lazy
Mom 2: Oh! You are so lucky! My son John is so Neel!!
Mom 1: Oh! I didn’t know it was this serious for you. Have you considered therapy?
Mom 2: I tried; they said it has no cure!
My word would have comparative and superlative forms too.
Random guy 1: Which of Adam and Badam do you think is Neeler?
Random guy 2: It’s a no-brainer! Of course, Badam! He was once slapped by a guy in slow motion!
Random guy 1: Yeah! But Cadam’s gotta be the Neelest. I mean, the guy starved himself to death for crying out loud!!
And all this would make me happy. Very happy. But I’d be too lazy to look up from my bed of nails in Lucifer’s Lair for Lazy Louts and appreciate it.
I also turn up late for outings with friends as I like late too! And I can bet my shirt that I can put any Latif to shame in this regard too! Maybe I will someday. And I’ll usurp his position and have his colloquialism named after me and erase him from public consciousness forever!
I love to laugh. And make others laugh. Although it can’t cure my laziness, I still think it is the best medicine. It tastes even better when you can laugh at yourself. When you find a joke funny, laugh at the joke. When you don’t, laugh at the person who told the joke. Laugh and the world laughs with you, keep laughing and the world laughs at you but remember to keep laughing, for the one who laughs last is the last to get the joke but at least, you won’t have someone trying to explain the joke to you if you laugh!
More about my liking for the letter “l” later.
Ever since blogmania hit the virtual world, I have wanted to set one up for myself and get cracking (I know I shouldn’t be using idioms like “get cracking”…it’s so out of character!). But something or the other kept tramelling me… Now that’s a lie. And as much as I like words that begin with “l”, I don’t like to lie. There was really only one thing that stopped me blogging. Good ol’ laziness. And I have somehow managed to bribe, coerce, threaten & cajole it into letting me start. And started I have. Albeit a wee bit obscurely. But as they say, Obscurity ignites Curiosity and Curiosity kills the man. So don’t blame me if you feel suicidal after reading this. And those who have “felt” it already, May Thy Soul Rest in Peace!
As I said, I don’t like to work hard. This has led to me developing a liking for words that start with the letter ‘l’. Like like. I like like (except when it is overused by airheads in everyday conversation…Like, did you like like the movie or like didn’t like it? Like we can like go to the park and like play on the swing and like….Aha! Mr. Like Likerson, I didn’t know you could fart English!!). I also love words like leisure, laxity, luxury, lassitude, lethargy, lousiness, languor and live by them.
Am a big fan of ‘lazy’ (the word sounds so cool!!!). I am so damn lazy that I make lazy look hyperactive. I hope they will coin a word after my name one day. A word that would have the sloth-quotient of lazy, lethargy and lousy put together. A word that would turn laziness into a virtue. For example,
Mothers chitchatting in the lobby before a parent teacher conference would go:
Mom 1: I am really worried about Peter. He’s so lazy
Mom 2: Oh! You are so lucky! My son John is so Neel!!
Mom 1: Oh! I didn’t know it was this serious for you. Have you considered therapy?
Mom 2: I tried; they said it has no cure!
My word would have comparative and superlative forms too.
Random guy 1: Which of Adam and Badam do you think is Neeler?
Random guy 2: It’s a no-brainer! Of course, Badam! He was once slapped by a guy in slow motion!
Random guy 1: Yeah! But Cadam’s gotta be the Neelest. I mean, the guy starved himself to death for crying out loud!!
And all this would make me happy. Very happy. But I’d be too lazy to look up from my bed of nails in Lucifer’s Lair for Lazy Louts and appreciate it.
I also turn up late for outings with friends as I like late too! And I can bet my shirt that I can put any Latif to shame in this regard too! Maybe I will someday. And I’ll usurp his position and have his colloquialism named after me and erase him from public consciousness forever!
I love to laugh. And make others laugh. Although it can’t cure my laziness, I still think it is the best medicine. It tastes even better when you can laugh at yourself. When you find a joke funny, laugh at the joke. When you don’t, laugh at the person who told the joke. Laugh and the world laughs with you, keep laughing and the world laughs at you but remember to keep laughing, for the one who laughs last is the last to get the joke but at least, you won’t have someone trying to explain the joke to you if you laugh!
More about my liking for the letter “l” later.
Ever since blogmania hit the virtual world, I have wanted to set one up for myself and get cracking (I know I shouldn’t be using idioms like “get cracking”…it’s so out of character!). But something or the other kept tramelling me… Now that’s a lie. And as much as I like words that begin with “l”, I don’t like to lie. There was really only one thing that stopped me blogging. Good ol’ laziness. And I have somehow managed to bribe, coerce, threaten & cajole it into letting me start. And started I have. Albeit a wee bit obscurely. But as they say, Obscurity ignites Curiosity and Curiosity kills the man. So don’t blame me if you feel suicidal after reading this. And those who have “felt” it already, May Thy Soul Rest in Peace!
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