Greatest of them all?

Bradman Vs Tendulkar—the debate rages on. It’s a highly emotive topic for us Indians that easily captures the public imagination (and countless eyeballs on TV I daresay, with every cricket pundit worth his salt giving his two cents) But to me it’s largely unnecessary and over-shadows the fact that India have been capitulating with unfailing consistency on the pace and bounce of the tracks in the southern hemisphere.

These two were batsman of a completely different era; one played on uncovered pitches in very few countries whereas the other has played on covered surfaces but in different conditions around the world. Bradman had a significantly higher average than Tendulkar but he did not have to carry the expectations of a billion people on his shoulders. Bradman played without a helmet and did not have to play one-day cricket; Tendulkar has to contend with different forms of the game and has been amazingly successful in all versions. I could go on and on but lest I fall into the ‘comparison trap’ again, let me just emphasize that the chasm between them is so wide, you could literally fill in two generations in between. Its simply not an Apples to apples comparison..

India went into the first Test at Centurion without a practice game and put into bat on a lively pitch were left floundering against arguably the best pace attack in the world today. They ruthlessly exposed the Indian batters ineptness against sustained pace; within a few hours of being put into bat India were left jumping and twitching like a fish out of water in alien conditions. The pitch eased out by the time the South Africans came to bat and they took full advantage and piled it on, amassing enough runs against an ineffectual bowling attack. A spirited response by Tendulkar and Dhoni in the second innings was not enough—the deluge of South African first innings runs was too much even for their collective powers to bail India out.

Predictably the headlines in India next day focused more on Tendulkar’s 50th century and tended to gloss over the fact that India lost by an innings. Doubtlessly as the tour progresses and the Indian batters become accustomed to South African conditions they will not fold as meekly as they at Centurion and even perhaps win a Test or two, but will they have left too little for too late? Alas, as we keep debating about the greatness of Tendulkar another ‘away’ series threatens to follow that predictable pattern of failure that Indian cricket lovers all dread.

A Wish Fulfilled

My Mom wrote  this in anticipation of Priyanshi's arrival...

 

A little angel is on its way,

A little girl is here to stay,

To fill our hearts with joy and pleasure,

Moments that us will always treasure.

Tiny hands and tiny feet,

Jingling Bells a December gift.

Happy thoughts in the shape of clouds,

A tiny angel to make us proud.

As rainbow colors runs though our eyes

May God shower his blessings on the child.

Winter!

The stinging wind hits your face,

With a numbing force that makes you brace.

The bare trees rustle and shiver in the cold,

Like a lonesome man wizened and old.

One step at a time you tread,

For slipping on the ice is something we all dread.

The crunch of snow beneath our feet is all we hear,

In the frozen stillness loud and clear.

The footprints left on the snow,

Gradually disappears sure but slow.

For the snow falls once more draping everything in white,

With an ethereal glow that lights up the night.

The perfect Christmas tree, adorning that cozy room,

Spreading joy and cheer to all those in gloom.

The brightly decked malls, the milling crowds, the glamour, the glitter,

That my friend is what I call ‘Winter’!

Crackberry!

I’ve often wondered how long I can resist the touch friendly sexiness of the iPhone or the myriad Android based devices?  Well, here are my reasons for sticking to my good old Blackberry!

1. Email—when it comes to email, my berry is still the King. If you want mission critical encrypted email delivered to you, instantly, no other phone comes close to the reliability and ease of use that a berry offers.
2. Keyboard—I’ve never been a fan of touch screen keyboards and when it comes to keyboards, RIM (makers of Blackberry) are still streets ahead of its competitors. Combining the perfect tactile feedback with a very user-friendly layout the keyboard is something to drool about.
3. LED Notification—Not many phones have this feature. My berry has a small LED light that can blink unobtrusively in different colors depending on whether you have a new email, missed call, text message, voice mail, facebook message etc. As a result, very conveniently, from a distance you can decide whether you need to reach out for your phone or not.
4. Bedside mode—Another great feature on my berry is the bedside mode that instantly turns the phone into a beside alarm clock when charging (with a desktop charging pod) and also disables the LED notification so it doesn’t bother me at night.
5. Profiles—My phone allows me to customize audio and vibrate notifications to a very detailed level. So for example, you can make it vibrate twice when you get a mail in gmail but vibrate only once when you get an email in yahoo. You don’t have to take out the phone from your pocket to figure out in which inbox you got the mail.
6. Applications (Apps)—some say the greatest innovation of Apple is not its iPhone but it’s App Store. Blackberry has been late to join the bandwagon but is fast catching up. There are some great apps for Facebook, Twitter, checking weather, storing passwords, turning your phone into a flashlight, sharing your files etc that greatly extend the functionality of the phone.
7. Shortcuts—simple but thoughtful shortcuts that enhance your productivity—for example you can add a quick shortcut to add an email signature, add a pause and wait when dialing extensions and conference call numbers all make the phone irresistible in my opinion.
8. Browser—The new webkit based OS6 browser is much improved over its earlier OS5 version. Its fast, has tabbed browsing, flash and HTML5 support all of which makes it a handy tool for checking the web on the go.
9. Universal Search—another great new OS6 feature allowing me to instantly search my phone to find what I am looking for—no need to fumble around through confusing menus any more.
10. Solid phone—At the end of the day your phone should work as a phone. Period. You don’t care for fancy displays and do-it-all apps when you are in a dead zone and desperately want to call someone. The berry’s radio is as good as it can get with cell phones, no question. My earlier Nokia dropped calls like crazy and I for sure appreciate the difference a good solid phone can make.

So when the next iPhone or the Android device is able to match my berry in at least five of these features, I’ll jump ship, I promise. Till then my berry remains on my bedside.

PS: For those interested in finer details, I’m running a leaked OS 6.0.0.358 on an AT&T branded BB9700.

In Blossom Today...

Rohit glanced at his watch hands glowing in the dim light of the platform and clutched his bag nervously. Even at one in the morning the sound of the approaching train miraculously transformed the station from its soporific state to a bee-hive of activity. Porters yelled, lights came on, makeshift food stalls cranked up their ovens and carts and trolleys full of luggage were wheeled past at breakneck speed. Rohit was glad to see the train approach for ever since his father’s untimely death a few days back he yearned to go back to the anonymity and solitude of hostel life; the incessant phone calls and visits from relatives, the endless rituals and the disingenuous words of sympathy from distant relatives were getting all too much for him. The train was his passport to freedom.

Once Rohit had clambered aboard and found his berth he quickly dozed off lulled by the gentle rocking motion of the train and the exhaustion of the past few days. Only when a American accented female voice whispered into his ear, “Sorry I need to sit. Can you move your leg a bit?” did Rohit awaken with a start. Irritably rubbing his eyes he stared at the culprit in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Her salwar-kammez contrasted oddly with her fair skin; blonde hair loosely tied in a bun, slightly loose black rimmed spectacles which she kept pushing up to keep in place. To Rohit she seemed incongruously out of place--A lone foreign woman in a train wearing a salwar-kammez--certainly not the usual stereotype of a western backpacker out on a discovery of exotic India Rohit thought, his interest kindled.

“Hi, I’m Cathy, and I’m really sorry for waking you up but I really needed to sit down since I had the upper berth”, she said flashing a smile. Rohit introduced himself wondering where he had seen the smile before. It was a reassuring, calming smile of a person at ease with herself; a smile that belied her age and made her appear older that she actually was. Rohit was instantly smitten. Before long they started chatting and Cathy told her that she was just of college from New York, working with a volunteer organization involved in setting up literacy programs across villages India. She was just returning to Delhi from a field trip to the south of India before heading off to the villages of north India again. Rohit found himself enjoying her company after the stifling atmosphere at home the past few days. Cathy expressed her condolences on hearing about his loss but thankfully left it at that. They talked about shared interests, movies, books and of course about her experiences in India. Rohit’s question about what made her leave a comfortable life in the States to serving the poorest of the poor in a third world country was met with an enigmatic smile that only made him more curious. At the morning stretched on his emotional catharsis continued and Rohit felt strangely drawn to her; a kindred spirit whom he could bare his soul to. On hearing that Rohit loved to read she brought out a hardcover book from her bag, scribbled something on the flyleaf and gifted it to him. It was a book from her favorite author she said--‘The Grapes of Wrath’ by John Steinbeck. Her ready ‘Do-as-I-say’ smile deterred Rohit from protesting and he found himself dutifully tucking the book into his bag.

By early afternoon as the train slowed down as it neared the outskirts of Delhi, they exchanged email addresses promising to keep in touch. Rohit helped Cathy get her luggage down at Delhi railway station and before he could realize it, she had said her goodbye, that self-assured smile never for once leaving her face. Rohit longed to follow her but she had melted away in the crowd as quickly as she had appeared and Rohit was left gripping his bag wondering what might have been.

Rohit all but forgot about Cathy once he was back to the daily grind of hostel life. A few weeks later when clearing his bag he came across the book that Cathy had gifted him and so reminded of her decided to send her an email. After he had finished typing and hit the ‘Send’ button a news headline caught his eye and he clicked on the link and started reading:

American national killed in communal flare-up

Lucknow, Oct 10 (PTI): Reports are coming in that an American national, Cathy Martin working with a volunteer non-profit organization has been killed in a communal flare-up in the village of Naushahar about 70 kilometers from here. Eye-witness accounts mention that the attack took place around 11 in the night yesterday when the hut she was sleeping in was burnt down by a mob. Communal tensions have been on the rise in the village over a disputed property and prima facie evidence suggests this might be a case of mistaken identity. A police team has reached the spot and a team of officials from the American Embassy in Delhi are en route to the spot as well…

Rohit stopped reading, ran to his bed where he had kept the book and opened it. Inside scrawled in curly feminine handwriting were the words:

 

In blossom today, then scattered;

Life is so like a delicate flower.

How can one expect the fragrance to last forever?

Take Care,

Cathy Martin.

Movies!

Movies! Ah! What would I do without them? As a self confessed movie buff let me attempt to list the movies that have made a lasting impression on me in more ways than one and the defining images or scenes with which I recall these. Some of these are dripping in nostalgia, associated with fond memories of childhood or college and each of them have a unique and sometimes indescribable feelings associated with them.

It’s a purely personal collection in no particular order and I would love to hear from my readers about their own choices so please comment!

Forest Gump—It’s a story on the baby-boomer generation and the events that defined and shaped it. The symbolism in the feather floating around in the opening and closing scenes denoting our destiny is a powerful image and coupled with a stirring background score still gives me goose-bumps when I see it.

Where Eagles Dare—Having been brought up on books of Alistair Maclean (slightly archaic choice as one person suggested),  watching Clint Eastwood and Richard Burton clamber onto the top of the ropeway heading up to the impregnable Nazi castle on their secret mission, still sends a tingle up my spine.

Fly Away Home—Beautifully crafted with exquisite aerial shots, I was lucky to have watched this on the big screen. When the geese finally land back safely it made me feel so wondrous—a true feel good movie if ever there was one.

Born Free—I remember watching this on VHS tape in my childhood but still vividly recall the scene where Elsa the lioness was let loose back into the wild where she belonged and the bitter-sweet emotions of her owners who had raised her since she was a cub. This movie was based on a true story which made it all the more appealing.

Sound of Music—a childhood favorite of many I’m sure, including my Mom! I recall her recounting countless stories about this movie and watching Julie Andrews dance amidst the pristine beauty of the Austrian Alps to the strains of ‘Do-Re-Mi’ still brings back fond memories.

StepMom—An emotionally uplifting movie with brilliant all-round performances; I still can’t decide whose side should I take—Susan Sarandon or Julia Roberts? The lasting memory is of the scene in the restaurant when Susan Sarandon says ‘It doesn’t matter”, to a question from Julia who wonders whether her daughter will ever be able accept her.

Schindler's List—Steven Spielberg’s ode to the Holocaust. Admittedly it was a very difficult movie to watch but a necessary education in history nevertheless. The sight of thousands of ordinary men, women and children being led to gas chambers for execution is a stark image that conveys poignantly the utter desperation and barbarism of those times. In the midst of all those horrors Oskar Schindler is able to save thousands of lives, a tiny beacon of hope in tragic times.

Dead Man Walking—Another difficult movie to watch which asks uncomfortable questions about capital punishment and life in general. With Susan Sarandon at her brilliant best (yes even better than Stepmom) coupled Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s haunting score, it’s difficult not to list this movie here. The scene where Sean Penn says goodbye to his family for the final time is touching to see the least.

Bridge over the River Kwai—A classic David Lean WW2 masterpiece which tells the tale of British POW’s building a bridge in South East Asia only to see it destroyed by their own bombs. The climactic scene of the bridge falling down with the train still on top readily comes to mind.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade—I probably won’t enjoy this as much as I enjoyed this watching as a young child. Adventure, action, humor all rolled into one with catchy theme music to boot--- it was a joy ride all the way. I remember watching this on VHS tape but was spellbound nevertheless.

We made it!

“Welcome abroad!” boomed the pilot’s voice his bald pate glinting in the sun, “We shall shortly be on our way, but before we start let me go over a few important safety instructions.” For a second the words seemed familiar but a fly buzzing in my ear reminded of where I was-- next to a ridiculously small plane on a hot tarmac under a blazing late morning sun and not safely ensconced in the air-conditioned comfort of a wide bodied jet.” So we are all set”, the pilot continued his face curving into an impish smile, “but one last thing before we start, I need someone to help me out as my copilot.” Most eyes looked down, some brave ones even smiled in amusement. “What? No volunteers? Then let me choose one” he smiled sadistically like an executioner ready for his kill. “You! Why don’t you join me?” An elbow poked me sharply in my side—it felt more like a knife twisting into me—and my wife whispered into my ear, a bit too loudly for my liking “It’s you he is pointing towards, come-on be a sport, step forward”. Before I could mumble something Mr. Pilot was moving towards me ready for the final blow. “Young man. What’s your name? Let’s get you briefed”. And before I could stammer a reply, his huge hands were patting my shoulders and everyone was nodding their heads in approval. I was officially their co-pilot!

Before long everyone was abroad, Mr. Pilot had shut the passenger door, completed a manual inspection of the fuselage and climbed into his seat. No need for any ground crew, no stewards around to help seat the passengers---just one brash pilot and a copilot who has never seen an airplane cockpit before I thought caustically. He fished out a worn book from under his seat and opened a bookmarked page. Was it ‘Flying for Dummies’ I thought cynically? But it was merely a checklist of some sort. In front of me was a bewildering array of dials and instruments—the only familiar though not very reassuring object was a small bag labeled ‘Air-sickness bag’. I sat with bated breadth waiting for his instructions but he just smiled at me and said “Relax! I’ll let you know if I need help.” I could only smile weakly back not sure what he meant.

We were soon airborne; the ground fell away quickly beneath us and the monotonous drone of the nose propeller drowned out all our conversations and we were forced to put on our headphones. Beneath us the flat desert plains continued, broken only by red and brown colored hills rising from the surface like a rumpled tablecloth. As we went over the hills the plane dropped suddenly and I had that familiar stomach churning feeling that you feel in an amusement park roller coaster. “Sorry! It’s the hot air rising from the hills”, Mr. Pilot explained nonchalantly as if swatting a fly. “No big deal” I mumbled hoping he did not notice my face turning a shade of green. Apparently he did not for soon thereafter Mr. Pilot turned into a tour guide, pointing out the sights below. The serene blue waters of Lake Powell slipped beneath our wings, Hoover Dam appeared somewhere below us and before I knew it we were over the piece de resistance—from the air The Grand Canyon was a awe-inspiring sight. For a few minutes I was transfixed by the raw primal beauty of nature; the immense canyon walls rising vertically from the waters of the Colorado River snaking its way on the canyon floor below.

But just as I was getting carried away by the majestic vistas in front of me, I was brought crashing down to earth (perhaps not a wise choice of words given the circumstances); by a female voice screaming into my ear “Can you close your window? The wind is really messing up my hair”. I reached out and shut the window. Trust my wife to be practical and keep my feet firmly planted to the ground no matter how high I’m flying (this time quite literally, I thought with a smile); while I was getting goose bumps she was worried about her hair!

Our aerial sightseeing over we headed back and after what seemed an eternity our wheels finally kissed the ground. Mr. Pilot taxied to the end of the runway, switched the engine off, beamed at me with child like glee and readied his punch line. Wiping his brow he deadpanned, “Whew! We made it!”  If it hadn’t been for his 6 foot 2 inch frame, I swear, I would have hit him.

Fresh off the Boat

On my way back from a recent sojourn to Chicago, our progress temporarily slowed down by some late afternoon traffic as the highway skirted around the city, I managed to sneak a glance to my left and intoned a silent, ‘Wow!’ at the picture perfect view of the sky-line of downtown Chicago. The buildings jutted into the sky framed perfectly against the backdrop of a cloudless azure sky, hemmed in by the tapering structure of Hancock building on the left to the distinctive tubular shape of Sears Tower towering over the rest on the right. A ‘concrete jungle’ as some might sneer, but to me at that moment those were symbols of progress of a country that had been founded less than 300 years ago. Coming from India, I mused, where the first ancient civilizations were established 5000 years ago it’s difficult to comprehend sometimes, just how recent the history of this country is and more remarkably how quickly this country has been able to establish and assert herself in the world stage. Of course its endowed with rich natural resources and more importantly it has always attracted the best and the brightest from all corners of the globe; ordinary industrious people willing to take risks whether in the factories and mills dotted across this vast country or in the corporate offices of Wall Street or in the exploration of Space or more recently in the garages of Silicon Valley. It reminded of something I had read not that far back:

“It should not be denied that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations. Absolute freedom. And the road has always led west”

And what about my own first impressions of this ‘Great melting-pot’, as the cliché goes? I wasn’t escaping any oppression or wanting freedom of course but the inebriation of youth was tugging at me to be footloose, to explore and experience different cultures from up close; maybe it was simply a touch of wanderlust? But what was my first ‘fresh off the boat’ experience like?

I still vividly remember my first visit; after what seemed an interminably long journey, (I missed my final flight because the connecting flight arrived late) I stepped off the plane mildly disoriented but my mind still agog with anticipation, ready to experience the country we all read and hear about so much. The first few days were a mélange of emotions—feelings of homesickness jostled with wide eyed admiration as I gazed at perfectly paved wide highways, generously spaced out office buildings, immaculately laid-out tree-lined suburban streets, huge shopping malls with department stores selling every conceivable thing my jet-lagged mind could imagine. The clean antiseptic smells coupled with the general lack of people and noise was very disconcerting at first and exacerbated the feeling of being far away from home. Soon I had my first ‘initiation’ into the American way of life--ordering the first burger at MacDonald’s (in the process trying desperately to figure out what ‘To Go’ meant) and my first visit to Walmart.  It was indeed a rite of passage--a coming of age that established a ritual to be repeated without fail almost every week that I have spent so far in this country. (Admittedly, I don’t go to MacDonald’s’ that often now but invariably end up having fast food every week). The bewilderment that I felt when a complete stranger on the street greeted me with a cheery ‘Howz it going?’ question was something I recall with a smile as well.

“Keep right in two miles”, the mechanical voice of the GPS rudely jerked me out of my reverie and for a second I turned my attention back to the road ahead but I wasn’t done yet.  My mind drifted back in time again and I was struck by the contrast between now and then; of how familiar everything looked and felt now. The smells and sounds no longer seem new, the roads seem well paved as usual and orderliness is almost expected. What was unexpected however was when we missed an exit and had to take a detour under a highway overpass. Shabbily dressed people lined the road, with signs hanging, begging for gas, money--anything that might possibly elicit the pity of passing motorists. Were these people merely an aberration as a pitiless, detached view might suggest or the increasingly real face of economically impoverished America hiding beneath the veneer of a big city? But that is another topic for another day and as we emerged back on to the highway and onto the mainstream, I smiled wistfully at those precious memories of my first days in America knowing those feelings won’t ever come back again.

Shades of Yellow

‘Starved Rock’; Ah! the name itself conjures up images of long forgotten battles and bloody sieges that you read about in the pages of history. It was an unseasonably warm autumn day when we left for the state park,  stocked up with food and armed with enough cameras to put even the most dedicated paparazzi to shame. The drive itself was uneventful; the only excitement being provided by the beautiful fall colored trees lining the highway on both sides. We drove past empty fields waiting for the winter snow, past golden yellow corn fields ripe and ready for harvest, past giant machines (harvesters) sitting like prehistoric beasts ready to devour their prey, past quintessentially American farm houses, pickup truck dutifully parked in the front; across the surprisingly wide Illinois river sparkling in the late morning sun dotted with boats trying to make most of the last good day for sailing before winter sets in.

Entering the park, we were greeted with all kinds of colors; not really the variety that we were interested in though! A full parking lot choc-a-bloc with cars! We were surprised by the huge crowds that had gathered there; perhaps enjoying the last warm day before the temperature dipped again we reasoned.

After a light but tasty lunch of sandwiches and cakes we set off on foot to explore the park. Poison-ivy trees lined the trail with warning signs besides them. Pine, maple, fig all kinds of flora were visible-a true botanist delight. A short climb led us to the bluffs overlooking the Illinois River, undoubtedly the most scenic spot in the entire park. But we had to contend with not just the milling crowds with people jostling for space to capture that perfect camera angle but dogs of all shapes and sizes-it was all too crowded sometimes. We continued on the trail past red colored trees lined with brightly colored wild flowers, stopping sometimes to capture a close up shot. The trail led us to French Canyon where the afternoon sun filtering through the dense foliage of yellow colored leaves washed everything in shades of yellow creating a scene of ethereal beauty. Moving on we wound up on the beguilingly named Lovers Leap, the spot on the opposite end of the bluff we had stood on just a few minutes back. Finally with an eye on the clock, we hurried back, our pace quickened not just by the downward slope but also by the impending dusk accentuated by the dense foliage overhead. After resting for a few minutes we were back in our cars, our thoughts about the week ahead but like a fancy camera that alters the hue of a photo, the mental image of the yellowish light that cast a strange unearthly light on the way to French Canyon stuck in my mind for a long time. In the words of the celebrated American naturalist, John Muir “In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks” How true!