Rahul Dravid's retirement: a personal loss

I started writing this piece last week. I was in pain and I was not sure if I could share it or even express it. My wife would not get the connect, friends could laugh it off as theatrics. I waited for emotions to subside. But one mention of the name, and the feeling of void resurfaces. I need to take it off my chest. Rahul Dravid has retired. I will not see him in India jersey again. 

Rahul has been one of the two reasons why I have followed cricket. The other, of course, is Sachin Tendulkar. While Sachin has been there since I started watching cricket, Rahul arrived on the scene when I began appreciating the finer nuances of the game. Over the years, I probably have said more prayers for Rahul than for Sachin. I do not know the reason because I never sat down and decided ‘I like Rahul more’ but when I think of my favourite sportspersons, I see a clear trend to it. I have liked Boris Becker over Stefen Edberg, Agassi over Sampras, Steffi Graf over Monica Seles, Chelsea over Manchester united. The admiration for Federer began when he started to hold his own against the might of Pete Sampras.

I have vague memories of Rahul in his first match, an ODI, which I otherwise remember quite vividly. India won a low scoring affair by 12 runs, Sachin had scored the first 28 of 33 runs, Siddhu was bowled by Vaas in his nineties, Srinath spewed venom in his first spell and even Venkatesh Prasad had hit a six. The debutante went unnoticed, as would be the hallmark of his upcoming long career. Then of course Lords happened. India got busy celebrating the arrival of the ‘Maharaj’, but my heart went out to the one who stopped just short of the magical three-figure, not once but twice. Since then, while Sachin continued to conquer the world and Ganguly became the new ODI superstar, Dravid kept producing gems without being noticed by most.

He liked ‘slipping under the radar’, to use his own words, but I made sure I did my bit to publicise, even exaggerate, every little thing he did. Everyone around lauded his masterful first test century, 148 against South Africa, but I ensured they did not miss out the six he hit off Donald in the ODI series. My uncles discussed over tea, Saeed Anwar’s record breaking 194; I ensured the discussion did not end without applauding his dogged 107 in the losing cause. As it happens in all relationships, I have had to face brickbats and heartburns over the last 16 years. I became the butt of jokes when he scored 1 off 21 balls against a lowly Bangladesh. But I gave it back when he scored the 50 off 22 balls.

I have, at times, been disappointed by his performances but mostly was troubled by the fact that he received a lot less credit than he deserved. There are a score of things I can list down. But then I realised it does not befit a Rahul Dravid fan. He never seemed to hold any grudge against anyone, never cared to talk back even to those who hurled abuses. Dignified was his response at all times, and that is something to emulate. Dignified and respectful, yet displaying an unmatched steely resolve, not giving an inch. I also disliked his nickname, ‘The Wall’ and I suspect so did he because he possessed some of the most watchable strokes and not just a tight defence.

Most of us follow sports only for entertainment and forget the sportsperson once he is out of action. Rahul is one sportsman I have really wanted to know as a person. His penchant for reading, thoughtful observations (glimpses of which we saw in his Bradman oration), love for musicals, the perfectionist in him (some of which was described in the Cricinfo column by his wife) and even his classy sense of humour (he recently said, ‘I used to joke that these guys are setting me up because after I failed it's easy to say 'another brick in the wall falls down', or 'the foundations are weak'’ on being asked about the nickname The Wall) make him quite an intriguing personality to me. His good bye has left an emptiness in heart which will be hard to fill. Not only will I miss the player in him but also the fact that we might get to read very little of him in future. Players have to go, and it is commendable in itself that he played for so long but I wish he is around as a columnist and a commentator. I have not yet had enough of Rahul Dravid!

Archive

(This is a piece I wrote for Tata Steel Global magazine, which suddenly stopped getting published for some political reason. There is an imminent danger of the article getting lost given my superior file management skills, so posting it here. Ignore the official tone of the piece; we did have a lot of fun during the trek. And by fun I mean...real fun !!)

HIMALAYAN TREK: A DREAM LIVED FOR TEN DAYS

Tata Steel India is known for imparting an elaborate training to its fresh recruits. The training programme focuses not only on developing the technical knowhow of the recruits but also strives for their overall personality development. As a part of this exercise, Tata Steel Adventure Foundation (TSAF) organises a trekking camp every year for officers who have joined fresh from college. Known as the ‘Outdoor Leadership Course’, it is organised under the guidance of Ms Bachendri Pal, the first Indian woman to who had made it to the summit of the Mt. Everest.

This year too, a group of 8 young researchers were part of one of the batches which scaled the 12,500 feet high Dayara Top located in the Lower Himalaya region of Uttarakhand. The camp was for ten days, from June 1 to 10, a pleasant time to be in the mountains, a far cry from Jamshedpur which was sweltering at 45 degrees (1130 F).

We started off from Jamshedpur on May 29 and reached New Delhi the next day. It was a 6 hour drive to Haridwar where we spent the night. After taking a dip in the holy ‘Har ki Pouri’ of River Ganges the next morning, we left for Uttarkashi by road. Driving through the meandering valleys and picturesque mountains, we reached the base camp at Ravada, some 10 km from Uttarkashi. Colourful tents, beautiful alpine trees and the rocky landscape on the banks of the cascading river Assi Ganga all presented a feast for our eyes.

The first evening was spent unpacking and familiarising with the amicable TSAF staff and others in the team. We were twenty in all with two girls. As we soon realised, the river was to be our lifeline for the next five days, as it was the only source of water.

The next day started too early, as comfort was the last thing we should have expected, It was clear in the very moment when we were taken jogging uphill followed by an entire day of physical activities and games. By the end of the day, everyone was sapped, but invigorated. We were divided into three groups with one leading a group every day. The groups would compete in some tasks and cooperate in others. The tasks were aimed at improving the team work and resource management skills of the groups. For the next four days we participated in activities like rock climbing, flying fox, abseiling, river crossing, a village visit etc. We learnt how to make our own tents and cook food with natural resources only. We were back to basics. The idea was to acclimatise to a different environment.

Sixth day onwards the real task, the trek began. We moved in groups, with each group carrying its own food and tents. The days started ridiculously early. With a stick in one hand and a rucksack on our back which had everything that was needed to keep us alive, we just walked like liberated souls, singing, dancing, cracking jokes, breaking the silence of the mountains with our shouts of ‘Come on guys!”

After two days of walking and a night halt at Morsona village, we reached Gujjar Hut, the foothill of Dayara Top. It had already started raining while we were on our way, but as the day progressed it got chillier. The worst was yet to come. All hell broke loose as the night approached. Heavy rains started, accompanied with a wind so strong that some of the tents were uprooted. We spent the night playing hide-and-seek with the rain water seeping through our roofs.

The tents were drenched but the spirits were not! Much of the next morning was spent praying to the rain Gods to take a break and give the sun a chance. And relent they did! With a spring in our steps, we set off for the final conquest. The final part proved to be the most scenic of all. The lush green Daraya meadows made for such a serene view, we forgot all our fatigue. Reaching the top was an incredible feeling. Every drop of sweat seemed worth now. We congratulated and hugged each other warmly, thanked our instructors and treasured that unique sense of victory safely in our hearts. A string of high-fives and scores of photographs later we started our journey back. A cultural programme awaited us at another hilly village, Agora, where everyone of us shook a leg or two to traditional drum-beat. It was a perfect ending to our long trek.

Travelling downhill was not easy but a satisfied heart and the sweet memories more than made up for the weary legs. Bidding adieu to the new friends and the magnificent mountains proved inexplicably difficult.

Without doubt this was the best possible training programme any one of us had ever undertaken. We had lived a dream for ten days.

Random Gyaan...

Blogs do for me what pets do for girls. I can vent it out all here and feel lighter. But I write only when I am jobless. No, no, Tata Steel R&D hasn’t disengaged itself from my services. Far from that. I continue to be a Researcher, and apparently an above-average one at that. I keep fooling them day in and day out. The pity is they don’t seem to care. Worse still, at the end of every month they pay me too. It’s me who ends up feeling foolish. This is the biggest Gandhigiri of all time and I am facing it for last ten months.

But why am I crying hoarse now, all of a sudden? There is a reason to that. I am suddenly gripped by the fear that I might have to face this bunch of Gandhi Babas for my entire life. At least for quite some time.

I had applied for Civil Services a few months back. That is one job where I can imagine myself spending thirty years of my life. Getting in is a lot of hard work, I know but I was reasonably happy for last six months. I had something to do, something to look forward to. As it turned out, I did not receive my admit card for the Prelims. Apparently, my application did not reach the UPSC office. I am shattered, devastated. Yeah, seriously. Don’t chuckle. I know I was not really close to cracking that exam. But that doesn’t console me.

Success or failure is not that big a concern. Not yet because I know I have still not put in the hard yards which I need to. The bigger concern is I seem to have lost the purpose I had in my life. I have nothing to do when I reach home now. I have enough time. More than enough. I hate that. I can afford to stare blankly at my TV screen and surf channels even when no football match is playing. I don’t want this privilege in my life. I love running around, being busy. I love it when I have to squeeze some time out to talk to my near and dear ones. I loved my life when I had to think in the morning how I was going to fool my boss today and sneak out early to manage half an hour extra for jogging without compromising on my time for studies. I hate to admit this but I even loved studying. Even after spending ten hours at work. More than anything else I loved the fact that I was working towards achieving something, that I was not going to stagnate in this job.

A job where you don’t have to work much and you still get paid decently sounds cool; isn’t it? It is, but only to people who don’t have to go through this ordeal. The fact is you don’t work hard enough because you don’t like that work enough. When you spend ten hours a day, six days a week searching for proxy sites with weird names which can run Facebook and play Youtube videos; open TOI, Hindu websites far more frequently than they update their news; browse through your entire G-Talk friend list and read every stupid status message once every hour; keep cursing the Jharkhandi RJs of Big FM but still listen to them because there is not much else to do; boss you know you are making a mess of your life.

It is way better not to have any time than having loads of it. I prefer it that way. The only solace is I am confident this joblessness is a passing phase. I will soon go back to my earlier ways of keeping myself busy. I have to, don’t really have an option.

Rahman, Gulzar Saab, Slumdog and its 8 Oscars:

Like every other net-savvy Indian I too was keeping track of what was going on in the 81st Academy Awards. And when the results came, one after another, I pumped my fists and ‘Yess-ed’ in joy, especially for the great A R Rehman and the legendary Gulzar Saab. They are not only my favourite music director and lyricist, I also feel they are the best ever in Hindi cinema and the present crop has a lot of catching up to do. It was only fitting that they have started a trend which hopefully goes a long way in future.

But after some time when the hormones settled down and brains took over I started questioning the importance given to the Oscars here in India. Those who have heard Rahman before would agree this was definitely not the best of his compositions. And for Gulzar, it was regular stuff. So, why are we celebrating as if Rahman and Gulzar have conquered the world? They are much better than the world (read Hollywood) will ever know and it is deriding for them to be judged by this Oscar.

As far as Bollywood goes, it still has a long way to go before it can claim that it is able to rub shoulders with its western counterparts. Of course, once in a decade we do make a good movie which we keep bragging about for the next two decades. Comments like 'the world is at Bollywood’s feet' (by Anil Kapoor) are simply ridiculous and portrays the veteran actor as an attention-grabbing-wannabe. Just like hiring a few Hollywood technicians and shooting a Hindi movie abroad doesn’t make it a foreign film, Slumdog is not an Indian movie and the awards it has won don’t speak anything for our cinema. Even if the same movie had been made by an Indian, do you honestly think it would win an Oscar? No way. Black, for example, I think was a better movie which didn’t even make it to the last five. My point is it is their awards and we should stop craving for their attention at the slightest pretext.

I would go even further by saying that Slumdog is not the best movie I have ever seen and doesn’t stand up to the other multiple Oscar-winning movies. The Americans are in a habit of portraying themselves as the ones who care for poverty, racism, gay rights and other issues and hence the movies which deal with these have a much better chance to win awards than entertainers like The Dark Knight. Fair enough. But what is not fair is that to them India is still a country of snake-charmers, elephants and now slums. They would only recognize movies which highlight these aspects; and that too, if it is made by one of their own people. Promoting and applauding movies like Slumdog give them a pleasure and satisfaction of having done their bit for 'third-world countries' like India. Hence the eight Oscars.

Of course I don’t want to play a spoilsport and even I am extremely happy for the two individuals having won the most popular awards of the world. It’s just that I don’t want to lose perspective by saying outrageous things like “now the world knows the potential of our artistes” or that “Bollywood is now getting its due”. They simply don’t care and neither should we act like all these years we were waiting for them to recognize our artistes so that we could respect them more. Gulzar and Rahman were legends before today and will remain so forever, Oscar or no Oscar.

To her, with love!

There is something intriguing about the night. Whether it’s the darkness or the silence, I do not know. What I do know is that it generates feelings which you thought had long subsided beneath your seemingly impervious exterior. It was one such night when I was returning to Mumbai from Pune by road after spending a rejuvenating weekend. It was raining and the ever beautiful Lonavala-Khandala looked even more breathtaking through the mist clad window panes. With growing darkness, my mind started raking up events which I thought I had comfortably forgotten.

Of all girls I have known she came closest to my concept of a “lady”. You might sometimes come across an equally or even prettier face, but the purity in her eyes, the innocence in her smile and the elegance with which she carried herself made her beauty stand out. My heart invariably missed a beat at every sight of hers; my usually talkative self was left speechless on hearing her; her giggles used to light up my dull moments; her playfulness made me forget all my worries. She was the one for me. Only, I realized this too late. There are some relations whose value you understand only when you start missing them. Infact, I might have never realized this but for that thought-provoking night. All I can do now is wonder what went wrong. I can only blame myself--my confused self came in the way and unknowingly I hurt her to the extent which could never be healed. When she asked for commitment I thought I was not ready; when I got ready she was no more there.

Now I find the distance too large to be bridged. Still I feel inexplicably jealous and angry when I find anybody trying to get close to her. I know I am only being stupid for I have long lost all my rights to be possessive about her.

Those around her look like they are constantly conspiring to erase any memory of mine that might still exist. But nothing can make me forget the lovely moments we spent together. I doubt sometimes whether she even remembers any of those. She pretends as if she does not but I know they have to be there somewhere within her. I hope another night works the same way for her as it did for me.

I understand it is too weak and naive for me to expect some miraculous night to do it for me. An effort has to be made; and knowing her, the effort has to be huge. So far my ego has always played the villain and suppressed any motivation to act. I seriously doubt whether I would ever be able to overpower my inner demons.

Or, may be I shall just wait for another such night, as I did all these months, to turn all my doubts into a willingness to make amends.

Welcome back!!

I remember I had started a blog page during the summer vacation, 2006. I was staying in Kharagpur then and had nothing to do, hence this 'brilliant' idea of writing struck. Two years later, the brilliant idea has come back again, reason being the same, but I have forgotten the user id and password of the older blog. So I had to create an altogether new one. Mera kuch nahi ho sakta!!

I have been reading different people's blogs for a long time now and so far it has been quite enriching to come across different opinions and ways of thinking. After having peeped into so many people's blogs, both known and unknown, I had this feeling that I too owe them this privilege and pleasure; though I am not sure how much and how well am I going to write. So let me caution you- the pleasure is going to be very limited (if at all you choose to call reading my craps a pleasure).

Also, at times I have absolutely nothing to do while am at office (am working as an intern in L&T, Mumbai). I could spend my time talking with my fellow jobless interns but typing things and focusing on the monitor sends across a signal of one being extremely busy. Hence, I choose the second option.

And most importantly, I find people around me are getting busier (or, wiser?) and don't seem to be buying my opinions anymore. So I thought starting a blog will be a clever idea as bloggers are supposed to be smart people. Owning my own blog gives me the much required confidence to blabber and an official space to talk nonsense.

I invite my fellow bak**** to keep viewing this page and keep posting encouraging comments so that I can scale new heights in bakar.