It's true

April 2nd 2011, 13:30 hours local time, Lynn, Massachusetts

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A little Indian flag, brought to the living room from my brother's office desk for the special occasion sits unnoticed on the drawing room table of a house. It may be feeling a little lost out here so far away from home but boy, it must feel proud! Four guys who had been dedicatedly watchng a somewhat important cricket match live since 5:00 AM local time (one of them opting to stand for about 4 hours in the end to 'ensure' the victory) are going ballistic with joy all around it and why not! We were finally World Champions again after 28 long years, admittedly in a sport which may not be the most popular in the world but is at the centre of a lot of Indians' very existence.

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We pause for a second and look outside the window to see if any of the neighbours has reported a group of four runaway madmen to 911 yet. Nope! The area is of course insanely quiet. Duh! Just another day in the couldn't-care-less-about-cricket country of America. Out on the streets of every town and city in India, thousands were already doing somersaults of elation and running around in crazy circles and so were we, like so many Indians separated and distributed across time zones and countries, tapping directly in the incomparable happiness feed that was beaming out of the Wankhede stadium in Mumbai.

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After the first couple of minutes of euphoria following Dhoni's winning shot, the magnitude of what had just happened began to sink in. The unabashed crying of Yuvraj Singh & Harbhajan; Sehwag's quick tear wipe; Sachin's lap of honour on the shoulders of his teammates flag in his hand; Mahendra Singh Dhoni with his ever cool smile, the weight of the tricolour draped on his shoulders which he had carried with such grace - were emotionally draining moments, leading to a somewhat embarassing sting in my eyes and a quiver in my voice. As I guess would have happened to all those Indian cricket fans who had stood by their team through thick and thin - not the ones who conveniently kicked them when they were down and would now rush to the forefront of the party to claim the victory as theirs. For those few patient souls, this was a moment of quiet vindication.

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We are trained as kids to believe that the world is a simple place with a simple equation: do what is right, give it your best shot, stay happy. The realities of life frequently drive us to significantly darker conclusions. On the day of India's victory though, it was difficult to fight back this feeling of foolishness. In "In the end, everything that happens, happens for good". In "Good things come to those who wait". In "There is no substitute for hard work". In a country whose unfulfilled potential is first written off by its own cynical people. In corny self-help books and moral science classes. In Santa Claus and in the tooth fairy. Believe.
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[http://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2011/04/its-true.html]

Anew

Image by ViaMoi via Flickr

"A new beginning is due!" says the wise radio weatherman,

Yet for all I can see, the gloom of winter still does stand;

The wind is cold and breathless, each tree bare and wan

The sun for sure is not smiling, or helping anyone's tan.

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Dark clouds on the prowl I watch as the rain comes dripping down,

It's that kind of grey evening, that they write sad songs around;

If I were the worrying type, my face sure would wear a frown

A thousand morose thoughts would spring, at thunder's rumbling sound.

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What then is, you may ask, my way to beat the blues?

One of these days, I say, the old man's words will ring true;

Melancholy doesn't last forever, even the deepest possible hues

Wake up to brilliant green you will, no telling where winter flew.

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The season of hope, the season of promise, may be biding its time,

Once spring's here you'll see, sadness ain't worth a dime.

Dream

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"That's it. I am done. Why should I care? This is just not worth the pain."

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On the evening of 13th March, 1996, that was exactly how I felt. I was a broken man (No... wait, I was only 11 then, so broken kid). I had bunked school afflicted by that mysterious fever that goes undetected on thermometers ("It's how I feel inside!!"); the Indian cricket team had been smothered by the Sri Lankans in the World Cup semi-final and the Eden Gardens was up in flames. I had watched the match first ball onwards on TV and was now in the process of making a vow.

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No more following Indian cricket. Not a chance. Cricket was still major fun to play so the long summer evening sessions with friends were very much on but the hours wasted on watching a heart-breaking defeat were a strict no-no. Was Azhar going to fly in and complete my assignments for tomorrow? Was Sachin going to sign my sick leave application now that my folks were convinced of my 'fever' being not so real? 

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It was perfectly logical. Why should 11 woefully fluctuating performers on a cricket field far far away dictate my state of mind? On the rare day, they did make it float up in a beautiful blue sky, across spectacular scenery; but on most days, they put my mood through the mental equivalent of a paper shredder. I was and still am a person who strives to keep things in balance, not investing too much of my emotions into someone or something. And then came those moments when all balance and caution were thrown to the winds! Indian cricket ranked high on this list of balance destroyers and I wished to cut myself free.

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Today happens to be April 1st, 2011. How did I do on my escape? Failed. Spectacularly. Many times over. 'Like' is something which is quite difficult to quantify or justify. Either you like it or you don't. Facebook had that bit well figured out and hence that magic button. I resent watching India mess up on the cricket field, but I like watching India soar; it's only the mix of pleasure and pain that makes me irresistibly want more. Indian cricket is so much like India, and India is so much like the Indian cricket team.

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I don't buy into the hype around the importance of winning the World Cup for India though. "The dream of a billion plus people?" - Really??? True, nothing brings us together as a country like cricket but nearly a billion of our 'billion plus' are dreaming of more important things like better education & careers, good roads, a plate full of food, functional hospitals, faster justice, even debating if they want to be called an Indian or not and such like, not M.S. Dhoni lifting the trophy. It's a hard fact but if cricketing glory is at the top of your mind, you are having it really good as compared to most of your countrymen.

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Inspite of everything that I said in the paragraph above, for me, at a personal level, this Saturday, the 2nd of April has the potential to be the most important Saturday of my life. Yes, the proverbial elephant in the room, quietly swishing its tail, that is the question of whether India will overcome Sri Lanka in the World Cup final, will leave only after the presentation ceremony is done. It may leave ears drooping and eyes downcast, or it may run out trumpeting joining me as I shout out and jump with joy in a place and country half the world away from where I wanted to be just for this day. For reasons beyond my control, Dhoni and his boys have a major stake in my happiness tomorrow & for a long time to come, and a flood of happiness like this may just be a once-in-a-lifetime event. So please please please... 

'Ghar gatta'

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Remember that irritating game which I am sure anyone who has had a close in age sister in the house knows about. The whole mini house-hold set-up thing with tiny pots and pans, gas cookers and plastic vegetables where your sister could pretend at running a house for her dolls was called "Ghar gatta" or "House" in its international avatar. To top it all, your sister would have the nerve to invite you to join in and you would run away to stand in the verandah with a foul expression on your face wishing that you had a brother instead with whom you could play "Chor police" with your toy guns. This behaviour unfortunately gets back to you one day as you will find out, an unavoidable reality in a time bound assignment based job like mine.

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The greatest thing about being a working tourist like me is that you have all the weekends to yourself; to look forward to, to travel, to explore your surroundings and be footloose in general free from the chores & maintenance planning that a permanent resident of the area is subject to. The worst part of being a working tourist is that you are still bound by social conventions to plan for your rented accomodation such that you can survive there for the 5 days of work which finance your wanton weekend wanderings.

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So once again I found myself in an empty, newly refurbished apartment enjoying the feeling of huge unutilized spaces. The carpeting is brand new and the rooms still smell of fresh paint. There is a sense of a new beginning in here. So far so good. Then I discovered that the house is infested with cupboards and shelves which I knew somehow need to be utilized, and that is where the stress starts to build up. I realized that I need cooking utensils, crockery, a table and some chairs, a table lamp, an Internet connection, a mattress etc etc - the list grew beyond the line of my eyesight within a few brief seconds. Sadly it seemed that I needed to make notes now and sat down to put down my requirements on paper. The monetary part of the new settlement was only a minor issue, the major pain was that to fulfill my needs, it was time to go - horror of horrors - shopping!

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Our neighbourhood Super Walmart is an intimidating place with massively long aisles packed with an infinite variety of goods in a mind boggling combination of prices. My method of shopping involves looking at my list and then grabbing the first brand I see of that category. Admittedly a very flawed technique but there's only so much patience I can show when it comes to hanging around in a shopping mall wasting precious weekend travel hours. Fortunately there was expert help at hand in the form of a female colleague who marches through the super-market like she owns the place. Her husband and me trail along dazed and disinterested as she darts about from one corner of the huge product filled spaces from here to there. She was truly in her element. "You need salt, right?" she asks all of a sudden. I look at my super well planned shopping list to find it missing and answer with a sheepish "Oh yes, salt!" Then she enquires "Sugar?" Yes, that's not there on my list too, so another "Oh! Sugar!" is due. "Coffee, surely?" she goes and a quick check to find it absent means that I am on the verge of tearing my hopeless list up and handing my wallet over to her to buy what is called for. I somehow restrain my impulses and smile.

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But it's hardly over yet. There is stuff that I pick up from an aisle or two and the relevant advice from the expert turns out to be "Don't buy vegetables from here. We'll go to Trucchi's next. It's better quality there." or "Why buy this? You can get this stuff from the Dollar Store!" and such like. What, so there's Trucchi's and the Dollar Store to go to after all this??? You can almost see the rising shopping fever in her eyes! Sometimes you feel like even though you are saving many a dollar in this manner; after you turn 40, the high blood pressure medical treatment that all this is leading to is going to cost you a hell of a lot more. I should have thought about it before I invited female company to go shopping. By now it was too late.

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The day of dread was finally done and giving credit where it's due, the expert advice has made my new apartment a completely equipped and livable place without breaking my bank. I also have the raw materials, resources and instruments to cook anything now (on paper) but the fall-back on Maruchen Ramen & home delivered pizza is inevitable. For the majority of the week, I play this obnoxious game for which I have had a life long aversion so that I can be that kid in the verandah again for those two glorious days of freedom which follow the work week. Here I am, living through the cruel joke that the regular life pulled on me, playing "Ghar gatta".

On the chin

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A couple of days, South Africa were knocked out of the ICC Cricket World Cup 2011 in a typical, long-associated-with-them batting collapse that saw them concede a half-won match to New Zealand. Hundreds of pages had been devoted to their tendency to "choke" already and this most recent episode of epic on-field nervous breakdown will contribute a hundred pages more to their tragic history of cricket World Cup performances. 

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The South African team did once successfully chase down 434, the highest run chase in cricket One Day Internationals history (a record which still stands) in a super high pressure series decider against the then-top team in the world, Australia but as is human nature no one seems to remember this monumental achievement of theirs when their critics fire up the "CHOKERS" branding iron.
http://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2009/06/434.html

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The South African captain, Graeme Smith, was visibly shattered by the chain of events that led to his team's loss when he spoke at the post-match presentation. His response to the first question put to him about his sentiments was something to the effect of "Words can't describe how (bad) I feel right now. We just got to take it on the chin and move on..." In that brief statement projecting the image of having received a knock-out punch to the chin, was embodied one of the major lessons anyone from full-time professionals to back-yard team reserves take from playing a sport, any sport.

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Losing in sport hurts, in a very bruising sort of personal way. Most people know the bitter aftertaste of defeat even from being on the vanquished side of a close neighbourhood terrace cricket match. It's funny because it is a stupid (at least it seems so in defeat) set of enforced rules that we subject ourselves to and then gripe about how the others outdid us in this simulated restricted environment. Isn't life and its real world issues complicated enough to keep us busy instead of us voluntarily participating in stress inducing play-acting?

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Sport (especially professional sport) is often criticized for promoting the "Winning is everything" philosophy. "Do what it takes" is unfortunately a very fine line away from "Do whatever it takes" and the reason why some sporting greats (Cristiano Ronaldo, Diego Maradona spring to mind) I feel are poor ambassadors of the central idea behind sports no matter how talented they might be. Because the beauty of sports lies in playing by the rules, not flouting them when nobody is looking. In busting your gut, in drowning in sweat, being delirious in pain - and yet losing out because you were just that half a percent short of what was required to win. And then return next time, digging yourself out of that emotional black hole, ready or should I say hoping to write a new chapter.

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The real reason why thousands of kids around the world, look forward to after school hours or holidays with such anticipation; bat, ball or racket in hand is a lot more sublime than the crude sentiment of "Winner takes all". The sometimes gritty nature of playground sporting battles, does not take away the fact that in the end, even the most bitter of quarrels was settled and some of our most pleasant childhood memories comprise of friends and experiences on the playing field. Through the joy and the disappointment of being bound by a common set of play rules, a message of balance is being broadcast to us, a slightly modified version of what those who denounce sports say. "Winning is indeed everything... but no one can win all the time" And that is a lesson well learnt, in sport and in life, especially for days when you have to take it... on the chin.

Divine vision

The year I remember correctly was 1998. I had accompanied my dad on a work-related trip he had to make to Delhi. With his meetings for the day done, both of us were strolling around the Connaught Place shopping area taking in the sights and sounds of the hub of the capital city. Delhi, setting aside for the moment its reputation for housing the not-so-rare irrationally or criminally ill-behaved citizen, happens to be the only Indian city truly deserving of being the capital of our nation thanks both to its historical importance and the imposing architecture & infrastructure of New Delhi. 

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So there I was, a small town boy wandering through the endless rows of alluring shops and restaurants, eyes peeled for all of the details, all of 13-14 in impressionable age. It's hard to say whether it caught my eyes first or my dad's but it can be said that we reacted simultaneously, hard core car enthusiasts that we were. A board over a newly opened showroom on CP said "Hindustan Motors-Mitsubishi" and both of us moved in its direction, mice uncontrollably drawn towards the cheese (if Tom & Jerry cartoons are to be believed)

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India was still a very bad place to buy modern cars or even spot them on the road back then, and cars like the Daewoo Cielo and the Ford Escort had just arrived to add some colour to the road traffic. The richest of the rich could still afford the 200% flat import duty on BMWs and Mercedes, which were visible on the streets of Bombay and Delhi but few and far between. For the common man, the only option for a modern car was the Maruti. Any new car launch was a breath of fresh air. Both my dad and me were extremely curious.

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Stepping inside the showroom, I took a sharp breath in and let out a wolf-whistle, instinctively and unashamedly. Ask any genuine car fanatic, and he (here I am discounting any similar lunacy in the opposite gender) will tell you that cars are not cars, they are people. Every car model has a story, a character and a reputation. What I saw there was a modern day legend. The room's interiors were purposefully poorly lit and in the centre on a slowly rotating dais under a perfectly sized spotlight, stood a red as blood Mitsubishi Lancer, gleaming with intent and begging to be raced away.

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Reigning World Rally Championship champion (in its Evo avatar), the Lancer was a car that every car magazine worth its salt devoted pages to praising. How it looked, how it drove, how it stirred the soul as it roared and skid through snow, sand, gravel and tarmac; through mountains, deserts, forests and cities was all what I had been reading about dreamily uptil now. Now that dream had been physically manifested right in front of me, out of the blue, on my home turf. I desperately wanted to possess it and I wanted it to possess me. It was as strange a sensation as could be. I was in love... with a car!

Jhamelaa

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First up, let me state this frankly and clearly. In the past, I have avoided helping road accident victims. Many times. Because of the supposed 'jhamelaa' (complications). The normal excuses that people give like "The police will instead harass you for bringing in the victims about what you were doing there!" or "The hospital won't admit the injured victims in and they will die in front of your eyes outside the hospital entrance." were good enough for me to not get involved in any rescue operations.

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What I never did and never will do though is to hang around the scene of an accident, especially one in which the victims look critically injured without any purpose. It is surprising how many people actually do that in our country where the ambulance always takes too long a time to show up (due to a million reasons not under the control of the ambulance service) and the best chance for saving lives is to get them to the hospital in time somehow through personal initiative. If I cannot be of help, I move on so that someone who actually wants to help can do his/her job.

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On Wednesday evening, the day for Saraswati Puja here in Bengal, as I was making my way back home after work, on the narrow Beliaghata bypass road bordering the canal, I saw what I hated to see once more. Two guys sprawled in the middle of the road, heads split open, blood spurting out of their major head injuries and a huge crowd gathered around them. My first reaction was to thread my motorcycle through the people and go ahead ignoring the commotion, but this looked like something which had happened half a minute ago. I pulled over on the side and I still don't know why because this wasn't how I had behaved in similar scenarios before.

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Enquiries revealed that a speeding Ambassador car had knocked down the pair from their motorcycle, and then the car had fled from the scene. Needless to say, neither the car nor the motorcycle were driving at civilized speeds and the youngsters aboard the bike were wilfully ignorant of the rule that a helmet should be worn at all times while riding. People were standing around passing judgements "Should've worn helmets!", "I shouted at them to go slow just 200 m before. Now look!" or "The first one will definitely not make it. Look at the blood he is losing right now. He's gone!"

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I asked if anyone had called the police or an ambulance yet. No one had. I called the police emergency helpline 100 from my cell. Guess what? It was busy! And so it remained for the next 10 attempts I made. I asked of the locals if there were any government hospitals with emergency wards in the vicinity. Private hospitals have a even worse reputation when it comes to acceptance of accident victims for treatment so government is the way to go. I got a name, the Neel Ratan Sarkar hospital next to Sealdah station but no one had their emergency number. I finally got through to the police and gave them the location of the incident via consultation with the locals, and they said that they were sending help right away.

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The minutes were passing by and there was no sign of the police or ambulance. The pool of blood around the prone bodies was horrifyingly large now. Some kind soul was splashing water on their faces but that was about it. People were angry in a directionless kind of way and were diverting traffic away from the narrow side street we were on. I once again asked the people milling around the victims, "Is there no doctor around? Is there any way we can get these people to the hospital ourselves?" Back came the aggressive reply "Don't you know how much trouble you can get into with the police in simple cases like this. Lots of trouble. Who will take the risk? Will you?"

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And I said yes. To their credit, within a minute or so they found a Tata Ace mini tempo whose driver volunteered to help get the injured to the hospital. Bear in mind, all private vehicles had made sharp U-turns when the same request to assist was made to them. The injured were placed in the cargo hold but no one, absolutely no one from the waiting crowd wanted to accompany me to the hospital. I was asked to sit beside the driver and we set off for the hospital, with two critically injured persons just lying in the open hold like transported goods. It wasn't the best way to proceed but our options were limited and it certainly didn't feel nice as we headed towards the Sealdah hospital on a bumpy road. Half way there, we came across a lumbering police van making its way towards the scene of the accident and they asked us to move on towards the hospital.

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I was really tense now as I madly waved a red rag out of the window, the universal signal for an emergency, so that traffic cops would let our vehicle pass. How crudely would the police and hospital react? So were the tempo driver and his assistant. The driver said, "I am a poor man who drives this vehicle for someone else. I hope I don't get into trouble for trying to help." As we drove into the premises of the hospital and reached the emergency ward, we were on tenterhooks. Then came the real anti-climax when I ran into the entrance and explained the situation. The police inside the emergency ward were prompt in their response and the hospital staff even more so. True, they were one stretcher attendant short at that point of time and I had to assist to get the more critically injured person to the Operation Theatre (OT), but the doctors were buzzing around and doing their best. The cops were not interfering in any way and waited till both the victims were wheeled into the OT before asking me the basic questions of where, when, and how.

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The cops asked me the questions in as polite a manner as I have ever heard anyone speak, thanked me for not giving in to stories about their corrupt & rude 'behaviour' and said I could leave if I wanted to. The victim's family was being contacted by personnel from the nearest police station, they told me. All those stories about how victims were refused treatment and how their rescuers were prosecuted may have some basis in truth, but we as a people are so bogged down by preconceived notions of 'jhamelaa'. This is the 'kalyug' (Dark age) some people say and so we must weigh all the possible 'jhamelaas' before we even think of doing what is right. 

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The injured persons were still conscious and moaning in pain when they went into the OT, something which surprised me considering the massive amounts of blood they both had lost. The human body is a resilient machine and it fights till the very last. I do not know if they lived to see the next day. God willing, their lives may have been saved but at least I think I did what I could to the best of my limited abilities to give them a chance. What I do know is that I ride a motorcycle to work everyday and I wouldn't want to bleed to death on a side street while a couple of hundred people stood watching the 'tamashaa' (spectacle), just because they want to avoid the 'jhamelaa'. 

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All said and done, India is a country with imperfect systems and we have very little or no faith in them. We blindly assume that since the systems are bad, the people in it must be equally rotten too. When we have faith, hope and the will to make things better and operate under the assumption that people are basically good, the first 999 times out of 1000, the experience is likely to turn out to be bitter. It is an almighty struggle to maintain that belief in most situations we find ourselves in, but nothing is more important. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" may sound like a ridiculous cliche which is all too frequently disproven, but it forms the primary basis of how we as a species have survived thus far. If you don't trust your fellow man to behave as you would and be helpful, you are basically stating that you don't trust yourself to able to be useful. And that is a very sad state to be in.