Cash-for-Entry Scam

This has to rank amongst the most audacious things ever done by anyone. Atleast by me. SIGH!!! I let out a huge gasp of relief and after what seemed like an hour I lifted my head up. The instructions given to me were very clear from the beginning; at no cost should I lift my head up till I have reached inside. What I didn’t realize at that point was at no cost included being pointed at by an AK47 ready to blow your temples off. Anyways now am alive and inside I can afford to look up and look back at what I have done.

“Vikram just don’t panic and remember to keep looking down no matter what, the rest I will take care of.” That was all Vijay Singh told me before we started. He held my hand and took me along. The goddamn dhoti was what I was afraid of; I had three layers of belt – one around my waist and two around my thighs, two jeans and three undies beneath the dhoti just to be sure. 

The first checkpoint we encountered passed off without an incident; Vijay Singh seemed to know all of the guards in person who didn’t bother to break their chai time and signaled us in. Logically there was no reason I should be afraid, Minister Vijay Singh has been coming here for the last 30 years, before that his father had been coming here for 50 years, politics was their family business. Not surprising that he knew all of the people around.

Things went ahead event-free with the next few checkpoints as well. Majority of them put a salaam to Singh and continued with their Chai, a few of the points dint even have guards, a few had guards busy with their rummy sessions, only a few of them actually rose to talk to him – be it about their promotions, or regarding when to pick up Singh’s children for school the next day or the grocery items for his house for the month.

At that time I was thinking to myself “Haha, if this is the deal I could have negotiated for half the price with Vijay Singh”. Just then I was stopped by two Sardars who could have easily passed off as the Great Khali holding two AK-47s which were almost my size. Two German Sheperd’s were tied to the post on the sides that would conveniently be say triple my size or say one-tenth of a Ambani’s son.

I straight jacketed myself sucking all the air ass-up. I could feel all the contractions and every bit of my nerve in the lower half of my body. For a moment it felt like I had succeeded. But I was not fully sure whether I had managed to hold my uneasiness in bowel movement without any solid output to show. Vijay Singh pounced in at the right time to avert any further disaster. He took away one of the Sardars slipped in a 500 Rs note in his pocket and threw a biscuit packet at the dogs.

“I told you not to panic Vikram when I am here. Saala yeh log naya hai isi liye humko rukha tha”. The next few checkpoints the same procedure continued – He would take one of the cops away slip in a 500 Rs note and throw a biscuit packet at the dogs. But Vijay Singh wouldn’t go unless they gave him a proper salute at the end of it all and a ceremonious exit arranged for him. How much was it for him and how much was it for the 500 Rs? But he was least bothered about all that. 

We had reached the last of the inspection gates; Vijay handed over a KFC burger and asked me to sit in the corner as he said this one will take time. I was happy that the ordeal is almost over and I would soon be inside one of the sacred institutions of the Indian government where only a handful of people in India would have ever gone into. Which is why I feel very special and privileged to be..THUD..

The next moment I had the AK-47 on the back of my head, the burger went tumbling across over to where the dogs where. They ripped it apart in seconds as it was their starter and were waiting for the main course bounty. I was soon surrounded by the other cop who brought the other AK-47 right to my face. Vijay Singh tried to plead with the cops to let me go but I could see him reach out for the trigger instead. I squeezed my eyes in as tightly as I could.

And it clicked!!!

There were no doubts about this one. It was neither solid nor liquid, it was in between. I could feel the sensation of a semi-solid substance dripping down my thighs.

I could afford to laugh about it now but had it not been for Shakila Chechi, the German Sheperds would have had a Vikram feast for the night. How can a minister, and that too, a minister of parliamentary affairs be such a big Chutiyaa? He almost got me killed, that Bastard. He had counted the number of checkpoints wrong and had 500 Rs less for the last entry. The cops would have blown my head off hadn’t one of them turned out to be a Mallu.

“The sad thing, Vikram, is I had to give that new Shakila DVD to that cop. This is her latest video, and I got it specially sent from the Kerala chief minister”. His only fucking concern was that his DVD was gone. I had only heard of Shakila once in my life, when my engineering college roomie from Kerala had posters of her all across the room. His name was Jibu Joseph Mathew Kuttan.

“Don’t worry about what happened Vikram – I have transferred those guys already to Chattisgarh. No one watches what’s happening inside. You can move around as freely as you want. Enjoy your time Vikram” I paid up the full installment of 5000 Rs to him and he was off. Finally after an hour of adventure with AK-47s and German Sheperds, I am here inside the PARLIAMENT OF INDIA. Thanks majorly to Shakila

The first look reminded of my engineering college TCS pre-placement talk. A huge gallery auditorium which had a speaker and a few members dispersed across. And there seemed to be no placecom to bring in more people here.  

I was initially skeptical about the anonymity of a stranger like me inside the Parliament, but, I was pleasantly surprised with the hospitality I received. The person next to Vijay Singh’s seat welcomed me as if he knew prior about my arrival. He introduced himself as Panjo Baby Mohanlala Jobimon. He added that he was from Kerala and he got working on his laptop. As if there was every any doubt in my mind that he is from any other state of Dubai.  

I scanned the entire place once. Not even half the number of people would have been present at that point of time – many of them were sleeping with their heads on the table, a few of them were playing temple run, the rest of them were divided between angry birds and stick cricket. Only a very few like Panjo Baby Jobimon sitting next to me were doing something productive like working on the laptop.  Whatever you say, these mallus are one of the most hardworking set of people I have seen.

To believe this was the Parliament of India, the highest institution of governance, attended by the elected representatives of the people was the toughest part for me. And it was after months of hard-work and meeting with the right contacts that I got in touch with the Vijay Singh for this entry. But what would you expect if the parliamentary minister is the prime culprit for selling entry into the parliament to me.

From what I could figure out the motion for passing the food security bill is being discussed. Every 30 seconds a group of ministers would wake up from whatever they were doing to clap their desks in approval of the motion, and at the same time, the remaining set of ministers would boo to express disapproval. Then they would get back to continue with their more important works. None of them had any clue as to what was happening in the house. That’s because coming to the parliament for all these members was just a matter of turning up and clapping or booing whatever was the order of that day.

Panjo Baby Jobimon, though, was generally uninterested in disruption of the session and was fully into his work. That’s when I realized the seat number I was sitting on is 102, which means, the seat next to me is 103. Seat #103. That’s where Sachin Tendulkar sits.

“What are you talking? He will have hundreds of commitments, how can GOD come to the parliament and all? He has not been able to make it for even a single day. That’s how busy GOD is.” Panjo Baby was livid when I asked him why Sachin hasn’t come to the parliament.

GOD it seems. Bloody if he is god why the fuck do you bother him with all these petty things, like nominate him and make him a member of the parliament. This is the GOD-damn problem here; elevate simple human beings to god-level status so you become blind and immune to their errors and frailties. The same servile attitude is prevalent everywhere in life and largely responsible for the biggest evil of these people - sucking up to the party high command. When will these people raise their voices?

I didn’t have to wait long for the answer. There would have been a minimum of hundred cell phones that rang at the exact same time. The leader of the opposition party group stood up to announce 3..2..1. At the count of 1, all of them were inside the well of the house in no time enacting what seemed like a scene from 300. A mix of chairs mikes dhotis flew from end-to-end. Not to be left alone, the ruling party on this side also joined in. Panjo Baby let rip one of his slippers right at the crowd and landed exactly on the speakers head. He wasn’t completed satisfied though. He removed his belt and ran at full speed towards the opposition, Panjo Baby was least concerned where his Dhoti was.   

The entire session of parliament was adjourned for the entire day. It was all part of their bloody plan. I was the only one with no part to play in any of this. I silently walked out before someone could rip my Dhoti apart.

ENTE MONE Jobimon!!! All this while you were doing..Sigh. Same Shakila. Same DVD.

These mallus have to be one of the most HANDWORKING set of people I have seen. 

The Charms of Street Food

There is something about food on the street side that tingles the senses within. A sense of desire, an invitation and a battle of the mind vs. heart. The heart always indicates a want to go, when the mind rules over it. Thanks to the unnecessary sophistication of education, and its emphasis on hygiene. But I know where my heart is, always. Every single time I cross them, they play hell with my blood pressure. Rarely, very rarely, does the heart rule over the mind and I go on to experience the bliss by the road.

If there is always a sense of deep love for food, then for the street food it is an amorous lust in me. There are no menu cards here, nor a starter bus to the destination. Nor does he care about providing any decent ambience  and well-served etiquette. Quiz him about a finger bowl, don't care explain to him, he would most likely sell a lime juice for it and charge you ten bucks for it. I don't get here a foreplay of refined tasting session, nor do I go looking for it. But everytime I get to experience an exasperating journey of a culinary delights that sure leaves me wanting for more..

One of the greatest pleasures for me in having stuff by the road is to see him at work.For sure, he doesn't himself back.If there is a moral dilemma between more and less, for him it's always that one spoon extra. Be it the extra Chaat masala, or the chilly or the butter, it's always that little bit exttraaa. And right through the time watching him at work, I work overload to control that irresistible urge to splurge into it. He sure doesn't operate on a fixed recipe book with teaspoons in it, its his hand-eye coordination that works magic. It's mad. It's beautiful.

The kind of ease with which he goes about his profession invariably draws me into it. I ask him to add more (never less huh) onions/chillies as I fantasize it to be, the kind I will never be comfortable asking him to add more olives in a thin crust pizza. If it has no olives, that's HOW it is supposed to be had. But this chotu on the road is all mine, it's like sitting on a plane in the aisle seat, when the person behind has to accept it for what it is.  

Also, there is an inverse proportionate ratio I find with the quality of the food with the increasing complexity of the place. Like more the similarities between a Punjabi girl with Anuska Sharma before marriage, more the chances of her becoming a mega version of a Mayawati or a Mamata Di. The farther you take the chotu from his neighours from the sty, the faster he becomes proficient in making the Aloo Chaat a Aloo Jat.

There is no greater pleasure than having it at where he has been for the last 5 years, and reliving your childhood when you find a small kid from the tuition carrying an ice cream in his left hand scrambles for the coins with his right for a pani puri. And I don't think there is anything truly rewarding if I manage to get the right amount of people for pani puri, so that I don't have to wait too long till my mouth goes dry, or too less that I still haven't let the tamarind starch my tongue. 

And, if there is one meaningful ban in this country, it is by these people of some utterly useless and pleasure threatening items like a bitter gourd or a raddish. They don't give a damn or pretend to even appease anything apart from your taste buds. There's no recipe of it online, there are no manuals of it, every city has a different taste to the same, every day has a different taste to it. It's not an assembly line at work, it's a human appraisal of delight garlanded with an attitude for the flair. 

When was the last time you truly went out to experience street food? It's just the papyrus that has replaced your nickel preventing you do that. Go on for a nice hop across the streets of your city. You will relive and appreciate countless small things which you've grown blind over.

I just did. Burrrppp

Anushka Sharma vs. Puneeth Rajkumar

Ever since I wrote the last blog post my life has become a mess, a complete mess..Nowadays people don't need a reason to laugh at me, friends get high and put a conf call at 3 in the morning and ask me whether I am in Sales still and non-stop laugh for 2 hours..Bloody have I become such a big laughing stock like Sachin? Just because he has stopped entertaining them, it's me huh??Damn Chutiyas all of them..

If my next door kid doesn't eat, his mom threatens her saying "If you don't eat, you will become like that salesman uncle"..His 5 yr old sister runs away everytime on seeing me..How many times to tell her I am not from Delhi? Po dee Po you will only get only a HR job in future..

My mom who is probably my only source of strength in tough times, said she exactly understand what I was going through in my life and empathized with me..The next day she sends me 5 lungis as birthday gift, and that too those checked mallu type lungis..I mean Lungis just because I am a salesman? The only other place I  have seen those lungis was a stupid mallu college dance ..."Ohhh Sexyy Chechi.." Ente mone!!! Just because Shakila Chechi is from Kerala I din't personally go to kill each one of them..

Fed up of life..Totally..It doesn't happen with my friends in Consulting, IT, or HR (went to the loo puked twice) but only for me salesmen..Ajj if you all are doing proper MBA kinda jobs and I am doing a PUC job..If only I expose you all and what you people do, you'will realize how much deep shit you guys are all in..

In fact, let me do that only..Once for all, do a naked expose of you all..Weak-hearted people can close the page at this point or read ahead at you own risk..

Consulting:

The biggest Chutiyas of the lot, definitely without doubt..If only you ask them where they work, with a touch of arrogance and achievement you get the response "Consulting Firm"..Firm it seems, othaaa..Basically, my job requires an in-depth analysis of the procurement of high-class manure from domesticated animals and executing a cost-benefit analysis of in-house development vs outsourcing the needs from a strategic long term objective of meeting the target expectations of 20% ROI in 5 years for a foreign firm.."That word firm only pisses me off..

That project would be for some Kenyan company who requires some cheap ass cow dung from India..For this these buggers will prepare 150 slide presentation with the recommendation - 'Cow dung is green in colour, so its a natural product"..Do you people know that your client will never read that report or you make the report knowing that only?

Why do you need to wear suits for this you tell me? And inside that Red colour Rupa Frontline Banian..Aiyoo Aiyoo..Enda little bit class also you people don't know aah da?

There is a line where truth ends and your insulting begins..


IT:


Fellow brothers are the most humble of the entire lot..In fact, you don't even need to provoke them, just ask them about their jobs and you will be sponsored 7 RC large, 2 Antiquity Blue and 1 BP..If only you can listen to their stories about how they had a manage 5 emails at the same time, talk to an on-site client at 8 in the morning, and how he is one of the 1000 critical resources for the project..Young talented Rahane kind of people constantly waiting for some 35 yr old's to retire..And those people in their companies are not even like Sachin who retires when the time is right, plus or plus 5 years..

Although the general chutiya ratings of these people are lower than other jobs, there is a small clan of people in IT who calls themselves as IT consultants, thereby increasing their CC (Chutiya Count) to a higher side..The moment people tries to use consultancy to their roles, their CC automatically goes up and when they call themselves working in a firm it goes to a higher pitch than our Yo Yo Singhhu...

If not for a minority set of IT consultants, this clan has wonderfully grounded set of people, that they travel only Kingfisher..They also acknowledge the fact that SHIT happens..I'm Sorry..IT happens..

HR:

Contrary to what people might think, HR is one of the most important set of people..(Computer hangs up for 2 hours, infected with unobjectionable content which was entered) I mean the other day, when my fan wasn't working, they set it right, They announce all the festivals in different innovative colors, pass on lunch coupons to employees, arrange hotel/travel arrangements, organize new unheard of games like Dumb-C on Fun Fridays..Sometimes they also have blinking letters in mails, which I feel is a wonderful way to break out of the clutter of emails..

To think that a function has such cross-functional requirements and requires such diverse skill-sets, and to excel at it is beyond me..Respect Plain Respect..(Not for the bloody guys who spoil the sanctity of that skill sets that role demands..I can understand girls have that dumbness in them, but why you da??)


Now only happy..Sigh..Take it bloody all for all the laughing..Run and hide your face, but where will you guys go..If my sales brethern are given a massage by Anushka Sharma in a third rate village, you get served porridge spoon fed by Puneeth Rajkumar in a five star hotel..Haha take that on your face..

The Biggest Predicament of my Life

Oh Mom How I wish I could explain to you..But I am really not able to put in to words what I am going through, if only I could I would've given a brilliant oration like an Indian PM..Sorry Mom, I have tried just that I am not able to sometimes tell you..

What I am dealing with here on a daily basis is intense pressure and scrutiny from my Mom..After all, I am not even playing a team game not moving my NPA (Non-Performing Ass) and sending a mob to quell people who think that SRT actually stands for yeS ReTire, nor am I doing anything hideous and getting spoilt by watching Puneet Rajkumar's movies just beacuse I am in Karnataka (Actually mom, I think the only people who can watch his face or his nose are those poor people who use it as a placebo to develop a dislike for food)

My problem is very simple. Everytime my Mom asks me to explain what I do for work I am not able to offer her a satiable explanation. She is disappointed and I am heart-broken unable to do broker a peace deal between us.. I am really in a fix..I look back at my last month recounting my Sales life to see if I can figure out a way to solve this important life problem..

Day 1:

Got my targets for the month..Insane growth figures and Chutiya type expectations..My boss expects a 20% growth over last month..I tried explaining my boss about how it is not possible to do that this month..He says 'Can't' isn't a word in his dictionary..(Blatant Lie Mom I checked all the dictionariesavailable in the market)..

If I tell him anything more he will say "I have been in this industry from 1989 and I have been here for 23 years now.." Sigh..Bloody hate all these 39 year olds who refuse to listen to public opinion..Should immediately pass a bill to remove all 39 yr olds in any system..

Day 4:

How do I explain to you Mom that the bill didn't pass because of a single MP in Rajya Sabha? You'll just not understand..You will say pray to God, everything will be alright..How do I tell you that God only didn't let it happen..If I tell you this, you'll say "#SivaX2 AbacharamX2" and shouldn't talk like that about God..But how do I...? Leave it Mom

Day 9:

You're asking me about the important client I had to meet..I really wanted to tell you about this..He purchases half the month's sales and many say he decides the real post of a manager in this territory..A Sonia Gandhi-MMS relationship..Aiyoo Amma I am not watching any MMS and that too of Sonia Gandhi..By MMS I meant Manmohan Singh..This is why maa I don't tell you anything..

Anyways I went to meet him today in the new Van Huesen shirt you got me in a bus which had a few men, women and 100 chicks..Again Mom again, don't think like that these are the small yellow ones I am talking about..I was travelling like a SRK in Swades to meet this kingpin..

You won't believe it Mom, all the while I was talking to him he just sat there and kept digging his nose..However hard I tried to take non-cognizance of the fact, that bloody bugger thought as if he is digging a borewell for water. After a point he stopped it and he inserted his hand into his banian (Yes Mom, he was wearing a Banian for our business meet) and was scratching his armpits..After that he is offering Dhokla's to eat with that same hand..

His name btw was Chandi..people fondly call him Chandi da..A Marwari settled in Calcutta and before migrating here..One thing you tell me Mom, no Marwaris never stay in Rajasthan huh? And bloody how do they have so much money?

These Marwaris are definitely the Jews of India..Thank God Hitler wasn't an Indian..Imagine Mom what would have happened..Thank God..Lives of so many good looking girls saved..And Guys too, of course if not for those Marwari Uday Chopra look alikes how will we have Pani Puri in Chennai kinda places..

How do I explain to you when you ask How the business meet went? How Mom how?

Day 15:

Got a call from my manager who blasted me for my performance till now..When asked how does he expect me to do the targets he says " I have to push myself hard, push the team, push push is the only mantra.." and cut the call..Bloody as if he had given a Bhagavad Gita on the Kurukshetra battlefield..

Just because he has a twin within a year of marriage, bloody he is giving me lectures..

Mom how do I explain pushing to you? How do I do it?

Day 23:

Had to travel to a town called Ranikuthi today..Mom how do I even tell you the name? But that is the name of the place..I don't even know if any self-esteemed Tamilian will even spell the name of the place..You would disown me if you even hear this, that is why I told you I didn;t goto work today..Pls understand Mom

This place Ranikuthi doesn't have a single 5 star hotel..I mean not even a single 5-star hotel for a population of 1 lac people..Not that I am ever going to stay in one, but the other day I went to Gurgaon they have atleast 20 5-star hotels for a population of 1000 people and 1 lac pigs..Just fascinating Mom how diametric is India's growth..Again if I tell you this, you will ask me how can 1000 people live with 1 lac pigs..But when I don't have the answers why to tell the story in the first place..

So, I put myself in the costliest 200 Rs hotel in Ranikuthi..It seems that is the hotel most preferred by the salesmen in that town..My targets are going way off planning because of huge dumping of stocks in the last month by the previous guy..I am literally tired of this word "Dumping"..Everywhere Everyone says dump the goods..Bloody No hygiene at all in the system..I will set it right mom believe me I will..

Should have been careful when they said it was a hotel preferred by salesmen..Some serious dumping had happened in the loo..Ran out at full speed to a nearby hotel for some water and air..Board displays - Today's Special.."DUMPLINGS"..

Mom you will only scold me if I tell you that I didn't eat that day that is why Mom I din't tell you anything that day when you called..

Day 30:

The Allen Solly's are useless..I was asked to give two soaps today in the store..Burnt the shirt..How do I tell you that?

Day 31:

I want to tell you that I met my month's targets but if you ask me how How on earth do I tell you we pumped the goods into a shop..I am ethical Amma I don't Dump, I am your Son..

Please understand When I tell you "I'm doing well" and let things stay that way between us..

Love you Mom!!!

A lovely present to the romantic past?

Is looking back at your past a really fruitless exercise as we constantly keep hearing? Or Is it an hapless action reserved for the lazy old agers? How much I don't know the answer for those questions but I do know people who emphasize that they don't do the above are a bunch hypocrites travelling the first class. A person who doesn't keep memories of his past (physical and emotional)  are those ones who are just plain incapable of it. Living in the present is just a myth - a beautiful colored capsule taken by people to paint a mirage of a rainbow to say you lead a happy today. Or that's how it seems for me.

Invariably when I bide my time to clutter free of the present day clutter, I dig deep to my forgotten moments of nostalgia for that serene peace. And most of times, it's a rapid chemical reaction of hundreds of happy hormones across my body. Probably it's just the rejuvenation of an imaginary younger me, however much I try to avoid that thought to cram into me. As I escape the humdrums of the uncertain present and safely ensconce myself into a known script, it's just fabulously surprising to believe your mind actually craves for is Not a Sehwag but a solid Dravid. 

Shoulder length curled-up hair of the bard you played in school, with the innocence through the entire script worried about the journey and never about the applause at the end. Or when I suddenly get transported to smell the perfume of the silken hair of the girl as you bend your knees behind her in the attendance line, when you get pulled out for disobedience. The scent of Mangal Pandey bravado you put on for defying orders outweigh the unrealized humiliation. Sometimes I get drawn into the innocent splendor of moments which led up to a first kiss, and the knighthood obtained after it in narrating it to inquisitive friends.

The symphony and the orchestration you just picked up from the BSB's and how you hummed the loudly enough to make sure Karthik knew it was an English song. Sometimes, the little diary entries I used to maintain, before double checking on the latch of your parents room and write down "I Love You ...", quickly running across for water to the kitchen. Settling your goosebumps is the definite purpose, settling a sudden uprising and an altercation of nerves between your legs due to that bout of romance is an unintended consequence.

Or the journey you take to an uninhibited corner under a tree of eternal darkness to set fire to the little devil in your mouth for a minute, with clamouring friends jumping in line for their little moment of ecstasy. Not to forget the airs with which the monk who taught you is looked down up once you tame a black dog. And to go with the expert inferences on intoxication and the nonchalance in spelling out your favorite cuisine as "The liquids of Scotland".

Screeeeech...Rams my head into the front seat of a woman just missing her err..shoulders. That's how suddenly the present plays spoilsport into my adulterated trance I get living through a Bergkamp's goal and the classroom fights I would have had thence. The bloody driver slams the brake hard on my dreams. Kannagi constantly keeps casting a suspicious eye on me, on an another day, on an another day gone by, long gone by, I would have been sitting on her lap..Oh how do I stop thinking about the glorious gone-byes?

The Future is built, The past is pride..And ain't this wonderful present a lovely present to the romantic past?

Nostalgic Account of A Forgotten Love

Delhi is definitely a city which stirs the senses in you. Right from its charming and buzzing streets to the historical cities which actually make Delhi, there's enough for the romantics to soak in over here. I spent the last week rustling across the various monuments in the city, each one of them has a story to tell about the plundering inflicted on it right from the Lodhis to the Mughals to the British. However, you invariably get your blood seething only when you hear about the British. Inspite of the fact that the empire is a very distant memory, and the fact that an Indian team under Aamir has defeated the Poms, a tinge of revoked history spurred in a sense of nationalism and revenge in me. Promptly blocked the weekend for the India-England series, I was taken through a romantic ride through the past.

My first vivid memory of cricket would be around the time I was 6 and a man who you might have easily mistaken for being a college professor with his pristine dressing and aristocratic looks took 6-14 against the West Indies in Hero cup. Anil Kumble used to wear spectacles then, Kambli had nice french beard, Sachin had curly hair and had some secret energy and Prabhakar used to wear colorful wrist bands. From then on, cricket was not a sport I followed, it was a journey I lived. Roughly around the same time, there was a match (Don't remember the exact details) held in Bangalore when Srinath and Kumble had to score some 20 odd runs, when they showed Srinath's mom praying in the crowds. The tension was too much for this little kid in me, I ran to the prayer hall for the last over only to return after we won the match with a final ball 4. India won the match that day not because of Srinath, but for me it was my little prayer I did. I had never believed in God more. 

In those days, India used to lose more than they used to win, so more of times used to be in despair than in joy. So the early morning next day, used to open the papers from the last (The practice has stayed with me till date !!!) to see if the match I saw yesterday was just in my dreams, and used to total the scoreboards just in case to check if there was a mistake. Never could I write a letter to the Editor, but my smart dad made me total it twice everyday just in case I might find an error the second time. Then the came the 1996 WC held in India, my school never seemed longer in anticipation of the bolt-run back home. During the lunch, snacks, and in the 5 mins between periods invariably used to dash across to the friendly watchman who had a transistor with him. Remember when we used to take turns in asking permission for loo ("...Miss Miss I am getting ... (and the pinky goes up) make the quick dash to the guard, and circulate the scores in a chit of paper across the class. The 1996 WC was the first time I saw cricket at a global scale with hundreds of players, colored clothing, floodlights, and countless lunch-time games right from the correctly naming WPUCJ Vaas' name to the score Sachin made in the match against Australia in the Group Stages..(if I remember right he made 137 and was out caught and bowled)..That WC was joyish schoolboyish fun left me with wonderful moments Brian Lara's century against SA, Ajay Jadeja's knock against Pakistan WC, the Aus-WI semifinal innings of Bevan. In hindsight, I hold Calcutta culpable for the Semi's but I very well know had I been there what I would have done. Kambli wasn't the only one who cried that day..

I grew up with more cricket, and absolutely no cartoons, comics or movies (I still feel the pinch when I try to pick up a conversation with girls) but I had a CDMA TV set with only ESPN on it (which used to include matches, Harsha's pre and post match analysis and ESPN School Olympiad on non-match days). Hatred for Pakistan developed when I knew no history about our neighbours or the horrors of partition but when I knew villains No.1 Aaqib Javed, No.2 Razzaq and No.3 Saqlain were from there. The 5-16 by Saurav at Toronto cup was a match I missed due to sleep and haven't cursed myself more doing that. I should have probably missed the Asia Cup Shoaib's consecutive yorkers which I didn't, what will I give to trade those two..Lord's, Eden's, MCG I had seen cricket everywhere but my Mecca of cricket was always Sharjah and its 4 o clock starts (It always seemed matches used to start only after I come back home). The two Sachin classics to make India qualify and win the tourney, with the desert storm in between, the car ride after the presentation and Tony Greig's commentary (I still remember this "What a player...What a wonderful player after Sachin's straight six echo in my head) was the nearest I had come to experiencing magic in sports. It was as if the Mozart had been born again to perform two of his best symphonies live in Sharjah. No desert has ever tasted sweeter till now in my life, and I doubt any ever will.

He was no Mozart, but Warne was more than a wizard. Hardly a few instances in my life I can recount when the actual event has lived up to the expectations of the massive buildup to it, but this one series of Aus-Ind in 1997 exceeded every bit of it. Sachin's dismissal in first innings, then his 150 in the second, along with Sidhu and Mongia's class, this series was more about seeing Shane Warne and his antics of pulling up his shirt take a stick in his face rather than India winning for me. Chennai has always produced classics, and so it did when Pakistan came down to India and India lost the test match after brilliance by Sachin and Mongia. I think I was matured enough by then, and this time I would have given wonderful ovation that Chennai crowd gave after the test, had I been there at the stadium. And I still wonder whether Wasim Akram the last man to get out in Kumble's 10 for din't get out to Srinath fearing for his life. 

If you have to tell fables of cricket stories and did your very best at it, still the best wouldn't have been 10%  of what was witnessed in the 2001 India Oz Series. There was a revival around this time with India just out of the match fixing scandal, and this was the team which probably had lots of personalities and style associated to it. There was Charisma in Sourav, Grit in Dravid, Class in Sachin, Passion in Bhajji, Perseverance in Kumble. This wasn't a team of players, it was a team of living role models, for once India served a well-made Indian Thali to all the teams. India's ascent to its glory days started around then. Looking at the 2003 WC and reflecting on India's loss in the final would be gross injustice to one of the most admirable journeys of team spirit displayed by an Indian team. The culmination to that journey happened though not in Jo'burg but in Adelaide. I didn't need an alarm now to get up at 5.30 in the mornings then, for during that series I won my battle against Snooze. This to me was more special than the 2001 match just for the fact that we did it in conditions where we used to lose matches in mid-journey to Australia in the previous tours. Rahul Dravid added an another hue to his magnificent rainbow he was painting in Indian colors. He would add to it further in Rawalpindi and Leeds latter. Dravid and Kumble both of them gave grit a good name and perseverance an admirable trait to imbibe. 

It was roughly around this time in 2004 that I graduated from school and college and also from my boyish fanaticism of Indian cricket and underwent a metamorphism to a matured lover of the cricket sport. I also flirted with many other sports like F1, Tennis, Basketball, Football. Even though I follow a few of those sports keenly now, I can never say "Kimi should have taken a left turn in the second gear across the champions wall opening up his DRS" as I confidently say "That's sliding down leg-side on live TV when an appeal is made". Cricket is not for the time I see it on field, all the nostalgic memories I have had with it make it an unforgettable first love for me..

So what if the Britishers have taken the Kohinoor from us, they have left the Cricket diamond for us !!! 

5 year plan - Approved

It's been a long time since I went high..
A sober time served the crude reality that I am twenty-five..
Fulfillment of my dreams doesn't seem nigh..
Penning the bucket list to heave a sigh!!!
Here's what I would love in the next five..

Booze, babes certainly guarantees a ball..

Top on my calender in the 2014 fall
To be at land of Samba cheering for the Dutch..
What will I give to get a Brazilian hitch

Let the BMW's and the Harley's wait..
All I want to do is to take up the bait
In a marathon should I run..
Crossing the line would be serious fun

I will jog for a mile even in the morning fog..
Please you belly stay away even if I hog
Even let a Baba Ramdev MMS scandal befall
I don't have the heart to handle a hairfall

Thinking of it makes me get real fidgety..
Will get one up on you damn Bungee!!!
One journey to the Poker table in Vegas..
Accompanied by Rainman would be kick-ass!!!

Don't think I have made it large as yet..
Bike trip to Ladakh would be the best bet
As happy and content I am with these
The road ahead doesn't look to wind down with ease
Mom and Dad, please give me some time for these!!!


To cork a poor guy's future life of its little holes
Is there a better way to heaven for you holy souls?
As the coffers cry for the sound of a metal..
Mani's 5-yr corpus fund eagerly awaits your nickel..