Once More, Tendulkar

On a rainy evening of 1990, as we were taking a walk around the neighbourhood, my father told me a young Indian schoolboy had taken the English bowling attack to task in an ongoing match. Quite improbable, I thought, for I had a faint idea of the lethality of someone called Devon Malcolm. Intrigued, I tuned in to my first viewing of the game. I did not tune out ever again, until yesterday morning.
The phenomenon of Sachin Tendulkar to me is far beyond his mind-numbing career statistics which began getting discussed only somewhere in the last decade. He had become my hero well before I had warmed up to the game of cricket. The smooth, angular movement of his blade had me in awe well before I knew it was called a 'flick off the pads'. I secretly prayed I could grow up to be a short man. Before I knew it, Sachin Tendulkar and cricket in that order, had begun to govern every living moment of my childhood.
I bought a cricket bat and broke it soon. I enrolled in a summer cricket camp and was rolled out soon. Over the years, other priorities were made to take precedence over my directionless cricket frenzy. But Tendulkar had become a constant in my life. He stood for inspiration, passion and discipline, a little of each of which I could do with as I hit adolescence. I remember how I bunked school to watch him play. During my board exams, he chose to be at his scintillating best. Just my luck, but I struck a deal with my folks that I'd lock myself back in the study once I was done watching him bat. A Tendulkar innings took precedence over everything, and this was tacit law in the household. Time came to a halt every time he walked out to bat. His bat never ceased to wield its magic. 
With time, reality dawned: he was only human. He failed too. But when he did, it made me irritable and upset. Every time he walked back to the pavilion, I wondered if he knew there was a boy sitting devastated somewhere. It was a while before I knew I was not the only one with the grouse.
Various injuries and career slumps later, people began suggesting fans get over him. Everyone knew this was a distant possibility, including the ones who suggested so. Every time cynics thought they had seen the end of him, he rose like a phoenix, bettering the Tendulkar we had seen previously. We made ourselves believe this dream would never end even as we acknowledged it would.
Once I was exposed to the various uncertainties of my own career, to blundered decisions and to nebulous aspirations, I saw what really made him my hero. He was just another man born to the same country riddled with inefficiencies and flawed systems. But he lived his dream. He defied physical limitations, unsolicited advice, unwarranted slander, and arguably the demons in his own mind. He rose above his own stature, retained his humility, and taught us the worth of grit.
Sachin Tendulkar brought delight to billions of fans across the world. This  may merely be incidental to the pursuit of his own ambitions, but the enormity of his legend makes us believe in our dreams a lot more. Today, as he calls it a day, I feel somewhat cheated. It's like a segment of my memories has been stolen. But then, the legend knows better. I only wish this show could go on. In hindsight, it still does - because that elegant straight drive down the ground is going down in the pages of sporting history as one of the most delightful sights ever.

Not this time, Mr Kejriwal

It takes nerve to renounce a steady, sustainable life to champion a cause that has few takers. Arvind Kejriwal's intended fight against corruption in the country is as inspiring as it is fanciful. And sure enough, he has gained due merit for beginning to convert into action what most of us had systematically initiated in the form of armchair philosophy.
But quite like a frail leaf in a lovely bouquet, or a caveat in every appraisal evaluation, or like the odd worm in a KFC burger, some of Kejriwal's invocations to us stick out like a sore thumb. The latest among them being his grand suggestion to all HSBC India employees to quit their jobs in the wake of his money-laundering allegations against the bank.
Seriously, man! Get real. We are talking nearly thirty-seven thousand people here. So when you urge us to sacrifice our jobs for the sake of the nation, surely you have a notion that this nation also takes responsibility for offering us new jobs with the same unlaundered money that has been ensuring the functioning of our ordinary lives? Our ordinary lives, yes - they hinge around our jobs so much that we talk about them wherever we go, from public urinals to social dos. Do we look like we care about the black money we will never get a whiff of, any more than we care about fending for our basics?
Maybe we do, at some level. We feel ashamed and angered at the dismal gaps between the economic layers of our society, and at the thought that these gaps could be bridged were it not for the ill-gotten money by a few whose fancy lives we secretly covet. We are convinced by your intent, but we have our fears about the plausibility of an outcome. Our country is no stranger to corruption, and a menace as deep-seeded won't find a solution through our jobs going on the line. Moreover, we are bothered more by the micro than the macro - the micro being our struggles to keep up with escalating prices, intimidating loans, social pressure as well as our ineptness to deal with uncertainty. We can live a little longer with the macro issue of social biggies stashing away black money to that place we might only visit on discounted Cox & Kings group tours. But we can't live a day without our bread.
We wish to make India a better place too, so we can tell our future generations we weren't mere fence-sitters. Our contribution will be intended at beginning with our own social reformation, followed hopefully by our collective intellectual pool that can bring about a reformation in processes related to compliance and ethical practices in the government and the private sector. Having said this, we are indebted to you for taking up the cudgels against this affliction that has riddled India. We might join you too, once we have stashed some white money in our Indian banks to secure the future of our families.
Until then, please don't grudge us the semblance of stability in our lives. Our choices are often our constraints.

'Quick lunch' and other pieces of office fiction

Nakul is in a fix again.
In a stark contrast to the high-stake assignments he is always entrusted with at work - such as noting minutes of lapsed meetings and maintaining trackers for impending meetings - he has now been asked to mentor NRI Rick Shaw, Rutwick Shah in better days, who has just joined his team after a long stint with some firm in the Bahamas (who sets up firms in the Bahamas? Preposterous). Now, besides the implacable blow he was dealt when Rick innocently quoted his obnoxious salary aloud, Nakul is also faced with helping NRI-man getting used to the good ways of the Indian corporate setup. One week down, Rick isn't any less confused about certain things.
Take the manager's introductory email, for instance, which ended with a polite "If you have any questions, feel free to revert to me." Rick felt so free he barraged the poor chap with a volley of questions ranging from their 'unique' business strategy of  inclusive growth to why the office sprinklers didn't use water recycled from the lavatories. The manager resorted to an unscheduled vipassana program and seconded all these questions to his subordinate.
A tad more rational in the matter, the subordinate summoned Rick for a one-on-one chat and asked him to classify his questions in order of priority - P1, P2, and some such. Rick explained his biggest issue was that he hadn't yet gained independent access to the work building. "Oh, that's easy," said the subordinate reassuringly, "Do one thing:" He gave Rick momentary relief with the triviality of his command, before adding, "Do one thing. Write a mail to the admin with your employment details. Then take two passport sized photographs and submit them at the security office. Bring me a copy of a no-objection letter which I shall sign for you. Send the signed copy to the head office in Delhi. That's all."
Understandably on the edge after the rigmarole, Rick was now hoping to get some time with the team to understand lesser crucial details about the project and his role therein. "Right after a quick lunch?" suggested Nakul - a lunch which lasted its usual average of an hour and a half, and ended an entire hour before the team's mandatory afternoon tea break. By the end of the day, Rick was beginning to ask everyone how they calculated their weekly percentage productivity.
"The guy needs to learn to sit back and relax," reckoned Nakul.
"Do one thing," I suggested. "Let him be. Give him time. Lead by example. Whatever that means."

Three things English Vinglish teaches you

I finally made it to the cinemas this evening after having been holed up indoors on account of yet another bandh (didn't bother figuring out the reason this time - someone told me it was because Arnab Goswami asked Sachin Tendulkar all the wrong questions in yesterday's interview - which was probably not true).
It was an evening well spent. Barring, of course, the first ten minutes of the show where I patiently waited for a fellow member in the audience to finish telling his bank manager to open a new FD account or something.
English Vinglish marks Sridevi's comeback, who blends so effortlessly into her role you hardly feel she was gone all this while. This, supported by an ensemble of fine actors, funny jokes you have not heard before, and very sharp direction - makes for a commendable film. The positivity aside, there are three key lessons I see we can learn from the film:

1. Don't be a grammar nazi:
Take it easy. The world functioned before English as a language came into being. It will do just as well with people who don't meet the benchmarks you have, ahem, set for them. We need expressions to thrive and communicate, not some Wren & Martin-on-demand. And if you still insist on going around the social network randomly asterisk-ing the universe's grammatical mistakes, do consider charging people for it. You will at least end up feeling a little important.

2. Do if you must what they think is absurd:
Life is too short. And worrying about what others think of your decisions is as passe as the previous sentence. Do what matters to you. That is your best shot at not being regretful about your life. There will always be people who will deter or mock you for your persistence. It doesn't matter. Chances are you won't run into them again. If you still do, chances are you are by then already in a position to have set an example for them. In either case, your critics and your patrons are nothing more than an audience. The stage is only yours.

3. Mothers are rockstars.
Respect your mother. Do what you may, but you will never be a patch on her. Learn from her sacrifices. Those sacrifices have a large role to play in what you have made of your life. Thank her as much as you can, for one lifetime is not enough to do so.

This vacation has only just begun

Not really. But this Europe junket was only so gorgeous and surreal I am mentally still there even as I clear disputed transactions with my bank and fight with my neighbour who thought it was his due right to usurp my parking space while I was away.
So, after a healthy debate in which my wife dictated commands and I quietly acceded, we planned a rather fluid holiday, choosing to plan most of our schedule on the go. For most parts, this approach works - except when a Thai tourist takes so long to frame a question at the information center that you end up missing an important train. But the sheer beauty of the continent will help you overlook the glitches.

Take London for instance. We were warned of unprecedented chaos owing to the mad rush at the Games. But the city showed no signs whatsoever of traffic snarls, chants of "Sir, you made lakhs" or congestion in the tubes. God, can't stop raving about the London tubes. I took a day off only to hop on and off them with no destination in mind. The passion Brits showed towards the Olympics, and towards sporting in general, kind of embarrassed me. I joined them on the open lawns at the Thames to watch a game of Fencing. Couldn't figure out for the life of me why Fencing must excite them so much. But then, these guys are generally passionate about everything. You need to see the tour guide at the Tower of London, for instance, to know what I mean. They will take jibes at everything that is not British, in particular Americans, to sufficiently emphasize they have the grandest empire and the richest history in the world. Four days in London, and you can almost certainly agree with them.

People who think Parisians are snobbish and refuse to help tourists have clearly not been to Malaysia. But seriously, this isn't true. The poor chaps just don't know "Hello" is a commonly used term for exchanging pleasantries. Try "Bon jour", and they turn so friendly they are almost ready to hop on along with you on to the tour bus. Do hop on to the tour bus. It shows you around the stunning architecture of the city and allows you to take postcard-worthy photographs of its countless admirable monuments and institutions. Photographing them is very important, because the pictures are all that will remain with you - you are not likely to be able to spell or pronounce their names by the time you return home. That doesn't include the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, of course, for these sites need separate tours of their own. Among the scores of other breathtaking paintings and sculptures at the Louvre, there is obviously the Mona Lisa, which justifies all the hype around it when you step close enough to it to see the crazy genius that Da Vinci was. Take a walk around the Mona Lisa, observe it from every angle possible, but those eyes never seem to leave you. Spooky, but lovely.
Built in 1887, over a period of two years, the Eiffel Tower stands over a thousand feet tall and is one of the most intimidating structures you are likely to ever see. Only, you marvel at it a lot more standing at the base than you would by getting to the top for an aerial view. Spend plenty of time at the base. Once you reach the top, all you are going to say is, "But Sears Tower is so much better! And it has a glass floor too."

You need lesser time in Switzerland than you think. Of course, it's the kind of country you can't get enough of. But it also bears the kind of tranquility that gets on your nerves if you are not used to seeing more cows than motorists. Also, its cities follow some sort of a template in structure and layout. Jungfraujoch, the highest peak in Europe, is no doubt a place you must visit so you can slyly throw snowballs at ill-behaved and queue-jumping Chinese tourists. The Swiss rail has its charm, but if you like the occasional stopover, don't hesitate to rent a car.

The beauty of Amsterdam lies in, apart from its charming city centre, in the easy access to some pretty towns in Belgium and Germany. A day each at the town square of Bruuge and leisure kayaking along the river in Durbuy provide the quaint flavour Belgium is known for. The famed Red Light District in Amsterdam needs little introduction. You can take a walk around it, or visit its coffee shops for your dose of marijuana, or...you know, or whatever rocks your boat, really.
But at no cost must you miss a visit to the Anne Frank museum. Regardless of whether you have read the book, the house gives a painful insight of the dark times the Frank family had seen during World War II. A look at the closed windows and curtains of the house, the dingy rooms, and the glimmer of hope seen in Anne's writings, and you know what it is to take one's freedom for granted.

Europe is every tourist's grand buffet. Take your pick and have your fill.
Travel light. Except, of course, if you are a married man.

We have issues larger than Oprah

And by this title, I don't mean to take a potshot at Ms. Winfrey. What I mean is, we really need to set our priorities right. A foreigner makes a quickfire visit to our country, expresses surprise over our dining etiquette, and we get our knickers in a bunch? Come on, there is so much more we need to get our knickers in a bunch about. That we still eat with our hands is probably the last thing we need to feel upset about - for all you know, Oprah might have got miffed on being served some half-cooked Chicken Dum Biryani she wasn't able to dig her fork into, and hence the outrage.
Let us worry about what we know plagues us. It doesn't take an Oprah to tell us we have plenty to be ashamed about. For starters, we are growing increasingly insensitive - towards ourselves more than towards others. We are making our peace with the contemptible conditions we live in, mainly because we are responsible for creating them. Much as we may like to blame flawed governmental decisions for our miseries, we cannot ignore our own callousness towards maintaining basic hygiene, respecting our fellow civilians, and...don't get me started on traffic discipline and such. We are quick turning into a nation of armchair philosophers who will cry foul over everything from an elected president to apparently errant cops.
We need to learn to respect our cops. They are as human as we are. Every one out of ten times, their actions may not be justified. But never forget they are the ones to face the line of fire each time some gun-toting bastards decide to ruin our lives, before we carry candles in a peace march in "expression of solidarity". They are the ones who stand at polluted traffic signals through the length of the day - yes, those signals that become the death of us in our air-conditioned cars - to ensure they do their best in making our lives easier. And they are the ones who hear of cheap jokes and lame calculations on how much money on a day's average they make while letting off errant drivers with minor bribes. WE are the ones who err. WE are the ones who prefer minor bribes over legal fines. WE are the ones who do not know the penurious conditions these men live in. WE are the ones who drive them to the brink. All this, for a force that at least tries to ensure basic safety standards.
Foreign nationals who visited India often wrote about how unsafe our country is. Now, Indians write about how unsafe our country is. That is hardly the kind of social progress we expect us to make. Women are being raped and molested on schedule, but the newness in the menace is the rising mentality of blaming "deviations from the Indian culture" for this nonsense. The real question we need to ask ourselves is - what exactly is the Indian culture?
Oprah Winfrey sure cannot answer that.