Thursday, January 31, 2013

The Doomsday!!!

sachin-pak-chenn_bigSome scars never go away; they just don’t – especially when they are close to your heart, especially when they strike a mind which in the process of maturing, especially when they come because your hero fell down just before crossing the line and others with him just refused put up any fight.

The scars which come with “I was this close” phenomena, while you are pointing towards the distance between your thumb and index finger while they are touching each other, just don’t go. They just don’t.

Fourteen years ago, the evening of 31st January 1999 gave us one of such scars. And it is still fresh.

Indo-Pak tours have always been more about politics than cricket.  About 1999 series, all I remember there were a lot of dark clouds of politics over it but let’s just talk cricket for now.

Oh yeah, for the records I don’t believe in the rhetoric called Aman ki Aasha.

The match was a classic. It was a match between one of the best bowling attacks of modern era pitted against a batting lineup which was close to being invincible in their own den. It was Waqar, the master of swing, Akram, the best left arm pacer ever, Saqlain, the mystery off spinner, bowling to the god on off side Ganguly, the man with wrists made of rubber, Azhar, the man with abundance of patience, Dravid and HIM, the God.

The venue, Chennai, had a history of offering good pitches. And if ever there is a time to play in Chennai, it is in winters. Otherwise, you know it all.

We didn’t allow them to score many in the first innings. They returned the favor. It was a meager lead of less than twenty runs which was all we got. Saqlain Mushtaq got five wickets – one of them was of Sachin who couldn’t read the Doosra and was out without scoring.

Pakistan started their second innings in a much better way than their first one. The biggest surprise was the batting of Shahid Afridi, logically 19 at that time but I think he claimed to be 17. The slogger played a beautifully crafted test innings which had a perfect mix of patience and belligerence. As Ravi Shastri would have described it – his madness had a method in it.

At 275 for 4, it all looked over for India.

Along with Ravi Shastri, I also felt that something was going to happen. And it did.

At 275/4, thanks to Afridi’s brilliant knock, Pakistanis were looking to explode. Being the unpredictable team they have always been, they preferred the route of implosion.

The man who had always done well against Pakistan, the Aamir Sohail demolisher, the pacer who bowled fast as a surprise weapon, Venketesh Prasad, with all his height of six foot three stood up to get counted.

Within no time, Pakistan lost six wickets for 11 runs. Prasad took five of them. Only time was Afridi’s – his madness took over his method. Venketesh Prasad snapped him.

Suddenly we were back in the game – score 271 and the match is yours, just 271.

But was it just 271? Against Wasim Akram who could bowl six balls in more than twelve ways? Against Waqar Younis who, unlike West Indian greats, was more interested in breaking toes than beheading the batsmen and he was bloody good at it. Against Saqlain Mushtaq who could turn the bowl twice more than Anil Kumble without anyone noticing and could do it in both the directions? Batsmen today know all about Doosra yet they cannot pick Ajmal. In those days, Dossra was more mysterious than the Bermuda triangle.

The chase started like a nightmare. Openers were back in the hut even before team’s score could reach double figures. The wall couldn’t stand tall. The man with the wrists of rubber and one of the best players of spin fell to his nemesis – Saqlain.

My hope rested on Sachin and Ganguly.

Then it happened. Ganguly drove it and a catch was claimed. After much deliberation Steve Dunn ruled him out – without consulting the third umpire as apparently it was a bump ball. The picture quality of the TV set in my hostel was pathetic to say the least. It was as if you are taking a picture with ISO being over 20,000. Everyone around me shouted – it bounced clearly before the catch was taken. I couldn’t see it even after multiple replays. But it was a bump ball – I saw it later on youtube, few years later though.

Ganguly waited, waited and waited. He was waiting inside the ground till the next ball was about to be bowled. Technically an umpire can reverse his decision till the next ball is bowled. It was one of the rare occasions when Ganguly’s technical correctness was bordering perfection.

With five wickets down and almost two hundred more to score, the match was almost over. But again, it was an age when as long as Sachin was at the crease, no TV was switched off. Our only chance was him and it had been like that for last ten years. He, the God himself, was still there.

Sachin started resurrection. Actually resurrection isn’t the correct word. Sachin started his magic. Very rarely I have seen someone playing such a high quality bowling with such perfection.

He covered for swing, he read the spin. When he defended, he defended. When he attacked, he attacked. He found a partner in Mongia.

No script is complete without a bit of a tragic dramatization which wasn’t originally accounted for by the audience. There is always a twist in the tale that’s worth remembering.

The tragedy, the devil’s reminder that life isn’t fair, struck from the back. It hit on the back.

Suddenly Sachin started holding his back. The frequency of this started increasing. We could see the Physiotherapist making frequent trips to the ground to treat Sachin.

The scenes were strange. Sachin would play a few overs, score boundaries which stretched him to maximum, run like a tracer bullet between the wickets which must have taken a toll on his body, and he soon would be on the ground and getting some treatment from the Physiotherapist.

Try lying down on your bed when you get a back pain and let me know how easy it is. Yes, lying down I said and not walking around, leave aside running.

Talk about playing through the pain and all that.

Batting, treatment, batting, treatment, batting – this was going in a loop.

We were getting close, really close.

Hallmark of a champion is that he never gives up. Not when he is getting punched, not when he has been punched down. He just keeps getting back. He just keeps getting better. A champion is always on a lookout for excellence.

Hallmark of mediocrity is that it cannot sustain excellence for long.

This is what followed – mediocrity’s inability to sustain excellence. Mongia, who had been batting so sensibly till now, lost his patience and decided to lift Akram over mid-off. This was just after he had completed his half century – a fine one. Maybe he forgot – it was not the time for “I have done my job” bit, it was the time for “I will see my time home”. It always is.

Mongia’s mediocrity gave up. Akram’s excellence prevailed. Mongia’s lofted shot was caught by Waqar – two Ws had turned the match again.

Yet Sachin was there and we had some hope. His back looked like surrendering but Sachin, the backbone of Indian batting, was not willing to till the bone of contention was alive.

Sachin found another partner in Sunil Joshi. Another partnership started. I had read about Joshi and his gritty batting in the domestic cricket. In Ravi Shastri’s language – he was no mug with the bat. Joshi was hanging around. He even hit a six – over long on.

We were close, really close.

Don Bradman might have made truckloads of records but if there is one failure for which he is remembered for is his last innings – that one run. Milkha Singh must have dropped his guard for that one moment and what he missed because of that moment is history. No matter how respected Mr. Vajpayee was as a politician, Babri will always be a blot on his political career.

We all have that one moment in our lives, at least one, when the failure left us with a scar so deep that it haunts for the rest of our lives. No matter how sunny the days become after that, the darkness of that scar doesn’t leave us. No matter how much happiness we get after that day, the pain of that scar remains stitched with us. No matter what happens, we can never get rid of it.

It just doesn’t leave us. Only death can do us apart.

That day, on 31st January 1999, lot of Indian cricket fans got that scar. It was the moment when Sachin got out.

We were seventeen runs away from the victory when it happened. The ball had been given lot of air by Saqlain, Sachin tried to clear the inner field and he mishit it. I don’t know if he misread the length. I don’t know if he couldn’t read it from Saqlain’s hands. I don’t know if it was his back pain which restricted his movements. But he missed clearing the fielder. Wasim Akram, who himself had taken a few insulin injections during the day, was not going to miss the catch. He didn’t.

Sachin was gone. So were our hopes. The doomsday had struck.

Rest of wickets, as expected, turned out to be a formality. When Srinath was done in by Saqlain between his legs, Pakistanis erupted with joy.

Their celebrations had madness, absolute madness. And all we had was absolute sadness.

Slowly, the Chennai crowd started clapping for the winning team. Pakistanis sensed the mood and took a victory lap as if they had won the world cup on their own soil. The crowd gave them a standing ovation.

“It is a salute to sportsmanship” said some commentator. I didn’t matter one bit to me.

After the match, the talks of how that behavior of Chennai crowd can be seen as a stepping stone for a healthy relationship between the two countries, the talks of how this generation was free from the baggage of partition and rosy days were ahead, the talks of how cricket can lay the grounds for peace between the two countries started.

To me, it was all utter bullshit.

I was right.

Within a few months, we were fighting a war in Kargil.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

The Match I Played!!!

385185_128678033967898_1771696256_nI used to be I-can-play-24X7 kind of person in my childhood but not anymore. Since last few years, I have never favored the idea of playing cricket because it always turns out to be an exercise where I would be standing in the sun for more than an hour or so, and then for someone who just cannot roll his arm over, get a chance to bat for a few balls. No matter how I used to boast about my defenses as a kid and always challenge people – you just cannot get me out, I never last more than a few balls these days. If in my days I could spot the ball right from the bowler’s hands till its destination, I can hardly spot the ball. I have aged. My reflexes have gone.

That’s why I was not so keen on 26th of January when the member of the housing society where I live, decided to play a cricket match in celebration of republic day. It is a trend – cricket matches is where the celebrations of republic day or independence day functions end.

If our national game is hockey, let it be. Who says democracies are free of irony.

However, my reluctance was shot down by the lady of my life – “You claim to be such a big cricket buff and when you are getting a chance to play, you are looking for a place to hide. Go play and make us proud” is what she said. Okay these weren’t her exact words but that’s what she conveyed with her looks. Having been married for six years, I can read her looks. Yes I can.

So I reached the venue – it wasn’t a big ground by any means. I was born and brought up in a so called small town where access to big ground was never an issue for those who wanted to play cricket. We had huge open spaces. This is one of the reasons we see lot of cricketers coming from so called small towns these days. They get access to big grounds whereas in big cities, the word ground itself is a luxury. Grounds in the so called big cities have been taken over by the residential townships and shopping malls and the other monuments of developing India. Distances have increased, roads have become slower. By the time you reach from Borivalli to Churchgate, one innings of a T20 match will get over. Not to forget the fact that you stay in Mumbai or Fatehpur, you still have 24 hours in a day.

The venue was already full with most of the residents of my housing society. It was a diverse population. It had people of my age – grey hair, bald heads, pot bellies and all that. It had young men, the regulars, who played regularly – the way someone holds a bat tells you how good he is with it, leave aside the stance.

There were wives and children. Women took the chairs which were kept in the shade. Kids got something which they don’t usually get – an open ground to play.

The toss was done. As always, my captain lost it. As always, we were asked to field. As always I was worried that my team might not get a chance to bat – lot of times in the childhood, matches ended due to some dispute in the first innings itself or the kid who owned the bat took it back with him once he was done with batting. However, these were gentlemen playing and I needn’t have worried. Normally Indian gentlemen forget about being gentlemen only when they are driving on the road. Otherwise, they are true gentlemen.

I looked at everyone playing. The regulars were completely in present. The oldies, generation of yours truly, were sent back to past – they were all in flashback and visiting the memory lanes. They had all been champion cricketers once upon a time in at least one pair of eyes – their own. They all knew the orgasmic pleasure of hitting the ball with perfect timing, the pleasure in getting a batsman out bowled, taking impossible catches, the run outs and the sweet joy of victory.

Sport is one of the best ways to be completely in present and enjoy it. While playing, you are completely disassociated with horrors of past or hope of future. All you see is the ball, the shuttle cock, the race track, the water in the swimming pool. You are just oblivious to the fact that every moment passes. You don’t even know if there is a moment waiting to arrive.

You just live in the moment which is with you. To hell with what is gone, to hell with what is to come. Present is what matters.

They, the oldies lost in flashback, had all enjoyed their present which had gotten lost somewhere in the past. Playing this game was a way to go back to that past and live the present.

Amidst all this, we all started taking positions on the ground. I listened to my heart and stood in the position which had always been my favorite – deep mid-wicket because that’s where most balls were hit. A friend of mine listened to his mind and stood at square leg because that’s where the shade was.

For next hour or so I was standing in hot sun whereas he was enjoying the shade. It was a lesson well learnt – mind should always take precedence over heart but normally it doesn’t happen. No wonder more people die of heart attacks than brain hemorrhages.

In that 12 overs a side match, I got to field exactly one ball which was still in the game. I got to fetch the ball more than 10 times when it wasn’t in the game – these were the shots which went way above my head. Imagine – standing in hot sun just to field that one ball. Damn.

Cricket, if you leave aside the fan inside you, is actually a very boring game. A test match, the so called real thing, is designed to last five days spread across 35 hours. Thirty freaking five hours. That’s five hours less than a productive week. Cricket’s shortest format, T20, lasts almost twice as long as a soccer game. It is boring. Why we still follow it - because we have grown up following it. You don’t really find faults with the things you have grown up. Although you try finding faults in everything once you are grown up.

The best of the fielders may stand in the sun for entire day and yet not get a chance to touch a ball when it is still in the game. In corporate terms, he would be an unused, unutilized asset with an extremely high asset turnover ratio – an indicator that return on investment would be very low and breakeven point may never be achieved. Yet, that fielder has to be there.

The worst of the fielders may stand in a “safe” position and yet get followed by the ball for the entire day. In corporate terms, he would be a bleeding asset getting always getting you in turmoil. Yet, that fielder has to be there. It is all about managing your best and minimizing the damage caused by your worst and sustaining this balance for a considerable length of time. This, in corporate language, is called efficient management.

They scored 76. Our captain, only man who could boast of a good physique, went for 40 in his two overs. Our best bowler, someone with a big belly big, gave away two runs in his first over and took two wickets. Form is temporary, class is permanent is what they say. Unfortunately his shoulders gave up after just one over. Shoulders are temporary, belly is permanent is what I thought.   

Scoring 76 in twelve over was a big challenge especially considering the fact that we didn’t have many regulars in the side.

Now for a person like me who was standing in the sun for more than an hour, I expected to get a chance to bat in opening position. I was denied. I decided to make amends.

As soon as our opener hit the ball in the air and a fielder was settling down to take the catch, I picked up a bat and ran towards the batting crease- the moment catch is taken, I will settle in my stance is what I thought.

The fielder dropped a sitter.

Everyone burst into laughter whereas I had to run back with double speed.

Lightning struck again. I ran back to the batting crease, once again. This time the catch was taken.

I was settling down in my stance. The bowler, a fast one and I mean it, was waiting at the top of his run-up.

I saw him bowl. Next thing I saw was the ball at my face. I tried to hook. I missed the ball and the ball missed my face.

“You will not get more than two runs if you hit it back or at leg side. Hit it straight or on the other side” is what the crowd shouted.

My mind went back several years. Once I was facing a fast bowler who had placed most of the fielders on leg side. I saw a gap on the off side. I moved towards the leg and square drove the ball. The ball was resting at the boundary line even before the point fielder could turn back to see where it had gone.

I will give them all a glimpse of my past, I thought.

The bowler bowled again. I moved towards the leg side. I saw the ball somewhere after pitching.

Cherishing happy memories is good only if you don’t lose sense of your present.

I lost my middle stump. I was out duck on second ball.

My wife was furious. She couldn’t fathom the fact that her husband, the one who was busy discussing Rohit Sharma’s selection with a friend at 1 last night, was out without scoring. That too bowled.

“How can you get out on zero? That too bowled, how?”

“Chill, that’s what Sachin did in his ODI debut. He scored a two ball zero”

“Oh yeah, you and your memory about the cricket scores”

I somehow managed to placate her. I asked a friend to take some pictures of mine while I posed for the cover drives, straight drives, pull shot. I almost fell down while posing for the pull shot.

We kept scoring. We kept losing wicket.

Then a fight erupted.

The dispute was about the score and we all started fighting. We were just fighting – doesn’t matter who we were fighting with. I even saw two people belonging the same side fighting with each other. Basically it was one more exercise of living those days – don’t tell me you have never had a fight over the scores. Those expletives, those threats and I have even seen the blood being shed.

However, this fight was much gentler. In this fight, everyone was happy fighting. This was like a ritual without which the entire event would have been incomplete – like a Sachin’s innings without a straight drive, like MSD’s interview without his cliché “Well off course”, like an Indian victory without Ravi Shastri’s booming voice describing it “There is a buzz among the crowd and atmosphere is electric”.

Finally it settled down.

We needed 13 of 12. Penultimate over resulted in only 3.

“Don’t worry, we will get rest of the runs in 2 balls – a six and a four” I said to everyone.

Then I looked at the bowler – he was a skinny kid in his teens, son of one of my neighbors, just coming back from his school. Beard and moustache were just finding their way out of his skin. The moment I saw him, I knew we were going to lose.

During my playing days, big bulky bowlers never worried me. They were always more interested in hitting you than the timber behind you. I could handle them. What worried me more was the skinny kind. These bowlers always bowled to clatter the sticks behind you. And they always bowled fast, real fast. In Ravi Shastri’s language, they meant business.

Somehow we managed to score a few runs.

Two were needed of the last ball. “Just touch the ball and run” was the plan. Only if it was an international match, Ravi Shastri would have described it “The plan will be touch and go”. He would have been happier with the result being tied as it would have given him a chance to use another of his numerous clichés “In the end, cricket was the real winner”.

The kid bowled. The batsman swung it hard. And he missed it.

The kid had bowled a perfect Yorker – the one you think would be a full toss but ends up near your toes. In this case, it hit the stumps.

“Wow, what a ball” was what everyone said in unison. Only if Ishant could learn to bowl this length. May be he needs to go back to school, is what I thought.

We had lost by one run. But it didn’t matter. Everyone shook hands and was happy.

If the winning side was asking that kid, “What took you so long”, the losing side was asking “Why did you come at all”.

We all wrapped up and started going home.

Voices of “Let’s play every weekend” or “If not every weekend, at least twice a month we can surely play” were met with the replies of “Yes, surely”.

I just smiled. If we are lucky, we may play again on Independence Day is what I was thinking. I knew the rut of life was going to take precedence.

After much needed sleep in the afternoon, I was trying to find my way into a shopping mall to buy potatoes. Not only that, I had to keep my kids away from the toys section.

The rut of life had restarted.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Secret journal of a husband!!!

Gentlemen, come 19th February and it will be two years since India started its world cup winning campaign. On 19th February 2011, Sehwag almost fulfilled his promise of batting through fifty overs. Kohli made the most of what was supposed to be his only chance in the world cup. Our bowlers showed why they were a cause for concern. But all it was a journey well begun and thoroughly enjoyable – like another journey I had started six years back on this very day, 19th February 2007.

Let me be frank – God didn’t invent me to get wasted in falling with love in hope of converting it in a marriage. I was made for an arrange marriage. My concept was simple – love is divine, it can happen anytime. Marriage is an event which has to happen at right time. So, why to wait for something to happen, which can happen anytime, so that you can make something happen which has to happen at the right time?

Did I make any sense? If yes, please read on.

If no, when was the last time you saw me making any sense.

Even the arrange marriage wasn’t easy. After initial few rejections, a thought did strike my mind that it might never happen. But thanks to God who has given me this life, VVS Laxman who has given me this amazing ability to keep the hopes alive even in the most adverse scenarios and the lady of my life who agreed to tolerate me for the rest of her life, it did happen. I got married on 19th February 2007.

Since then, it has been a wonderful journey. While most of the credit goes to her, I would like to take some credit for discovering the secrets of happy marriage and implementing them in my own life.

For the benefit of those who are planning the bite the bullet or those who have already been shot down with the same bullet – here are some secrets to a happy married life.

Bypass – Okay, God has given you a head. You think there is a lot of meat inside it and I won’t blame you for that. If nothing, we all have the right to think the way we want. But it is not in what is inside your head. Most important body parts are at the two ends of your head.

These are your earholes. God has given you two earholes at 180 degrees to each other. All you need to do is to create a tunnel connecting both of them and use it as much as possible. Lesser leakage in this tunnel, better it is for you. Let is all pass. Quite often the gloomy days are described as – staring down a tunnel which has no light at the other end. Trust me, as long as someone can see light at the other end, he will be happy.

Just create a bypass between two ears and let everything pass at the speed of a tracer bullet. You will just get the feeling that it is what the doctor ordered.

Admire – Why blame women? Everyone wants to hear good words about him or her. It is just that women want it a bit more explicitly. Hence admire your wife in whatever she does – be it cooking a delicious Shahi Paneer for you or making you eat the Pizza which she herself couldn’t eat, be it the efficiency with which she manages the economy of the house or her art of spending all your salary in first 15 days of the month, be it her always welcoming you in the house with a smile or her tears which were shed because you didn’t say “Good Bye” to her when you left for work in the morning. Your praise has to be reflected in your admiration. Your criticism has to be sugarcoated with your admiration.

If she asks “Am I looking fat”, don’t simply say yes but reply “Oh these cloths these days. They are all made in China. That’s why they lose their ability to stretch with time”.

If she apologizes saying “Sorry, I forgot to put the salt in today’s lunch”, you can reply “Oh I thought that was deliberate. I forgot to tell you about the latest research which says that food with no salt keep the cholesterol down”

Only thing which you should never admire is the looks of other females in front of her. If she says “Wow, my batch mate looks stunning”, don’t jump all guns blazing in admiration but say “No way. You don’t have an eye for appreciating beauty. I have it” and wink.

Cunning – Women are curious creatures. To ask question is a right they acquire even before they are born. But they are different. They don’t ask questions to seek answers. They ask questions so that they can ask more questions based on the answers they get.

“You like your left eye more or the right one?”

“What is this question?”

“Just answer me.”

“I like my right eye more.”

“Why not left eye?”

“Well there is not much of a difference for me between these two.”

“Then why you said you like your right eye.”

“That’s because you insisted on me answering your question.”

“Will you do anything if I insist?”

“That will depend”

“Depend? Why do you never give me definitive answer?”

See, this can go on and on. Women know it very well that in life and boxing, he who gives the hardest punch doesn’t win. It is the one who always stands up after being punched down turns out to be the real winner. Your best of the answers are matched with a question, always.

You need to learn the secret. The objective is not to answer the question. Objective is to ask more questions. It is a loop you will never get out doesn’t matter how intelligently, as per you, you answer the question. Even if you do win this battle, you will be mentally exhausted.

What is the point in getting into a battle which, even if you somehow manage to win, will completely drain you out? Remember King Ashoka and the battle of Kalinga?

You need to be cunning here. You need to give such an answer which doesn’t give birth to another question. You may not win but at least you will mitigate the risk of getting drained out. That will be your victory.

So next time you are asked, “Which of your two eyes you like more”, simply answer with a smile “Whichever sees your first”. Chances of being hit back with another question will go down like a tracer bullet.

Henpecked – It is up to you, really. You want to live with your ego or you want to be happy. Your ego will give you nothing but lunches with no salt, lunches full of bitter gourd, lunches with three days old Pizzas, or most probably no lunch and you will be cooking the dinner. To stay happy, say goodbye to your male chauvinist ego and be henpecked. Oh yeah, don’t give me that stupid argument of “I wear the pants in my house”. Ask yourself an honest question; is it not the very same pant which you very often pull down in front of the higher ups at work? So why not do at home as well and achieve global peace.

Eavesdropping – Stop doing it if you do. Don’t start it if you don’t.

Don’t ask what you are not supposed to. Don’t listen to what you are not supposed to. Don’t see what you are not supposed to. Don’t read what you are not supposed to.

In short, don’t try becoming a phantom.

Knowledge is good but too much of it is good for only Dumbledore. I am sure you are not him.

Why a one year old is happier than a five year old? It is because he knows nothing about school.

Why a ten year old is happier than a sixteen year old? It is because he knows nothing about going to IITs.

Why a sixteen year old is happier than the ones in IITs? It is because he doesn’t know that all his dreams that the other side of gender divide would fall on his feet just because he made it to IIT were going to be shattered once he actually made it to an IIT.

Why someone in IIT is happier than someone who has passed out of it? It is because he doesn’t know that it is same crap everywhere, all that changes is the place.

Why someone who is out of IIT is happy? It is because he is yet to get married.

See, knowing more is not always good. So why not just know what is told to you. Why take extra pain to do it. As someone said, ignorance is bliss.

Lose the battle, don’t fight, and just surrender – As someone said – there are two parties in a marriage. One is right and other one is the husband. So why to fight if you are going to be proved wrong, always?

If you lose, you lose. If you win, you spend rest of the day in wiping off her tears. Why to fight a battle which you can never win? Why not simply surrender? What is the harm in it? After all she is called your “better half” and you are called her “other half”. Why not be fair and simply believe in letting the better of the two sides win? What are you going to fight for anyhow – to give preference to watching the inaugural match of the world cup over celebrating your anniversary or switching the channel from Mann ki aawaz Pratigya on Star Plus to India Glorious on Star Cricket or not eating the specially cooked bitter gourd curry? Why not celebrate your anniversary, worry about the issues Pratigya has in her life and never buy bitter gourd at all.

O, the big O - Run, go hit the gym, work on your fitness. It is about the big O. I meant obedience towards your wife’s orders to take care of your health. What were you thinking?

Read the above, take a print out, tattoo it all on your palms if needed but do implement it – It is all based on experiences – my experiences, my friends’ experiences, my relatives’ experiences and anyone else’s experiences. Once you have read the above, implement it, internalize it and actualize it. Just in case you have trouble remembering it all, I have devised a key for it.

Bypass, Admire, Cunning, Henpecked, Eavesdropping, Lose the battle, Obedience, Read.

Bachelor is the key.

Just stick to this bachelorhood and you will have a happy married life – stay bachelor, stay happily married.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

The Legends of Sir - Quiz!!!

downloadOkay, you think you know a lot about the planetary motions, Poonam Pandey’s wardrobe and Arnab Go-Swami? You think you have a brain which works as fast as Rajinikanth’s reflexes, it is as sharp as your chic’s tongue and as prolific as Indian sperms, take this quiz. Just try it.

The quiz is about Sir. Yes sir, the Sir. If you think I am crazy, give me a Sir who is better than Jadeja. I will give you a Jadeja who is better than that sir. Sir is the best Jadeja in the world.

For ease of writing, I am giving the answers along with the questions. Try being a bit honest, I know it’s a difficult, and answer the questions yourself before looking at the answers. First three winners will get personally signed video cassettes of Sir’s fourth triple hundred – as and when it happens but you know it is just around the corner, don’t you?

Here you go.

Q. If Diego Maradona’s daughter marries Sir, what will she be called?

A. Sir-a-Dona.

Q. Why doesn’t Sir play cover drives?

A. Because he modeled his batting on Sachin’s epic 241 in Sydney – from one master to another, no cover drives there and no cover drives here, just loads of brilliance all everywhere.

Q. Why doesn’t Sir play straight drives?

A. What’s the fun in playing straight? Sir prefers swinging it both ways and does it hard.

Q. Once a man named Nicholas tried to get cozy with Sir. What is he known as now?

A. Nicholas Sir-Cozy.

Q. When Sir sends an SMS to someone, what are they called?

A. SirKaSms.

Q. When Sir starts cussing, what is it called?

A. SirCus.

Q. If Sir’s wife also turns out to be his Bhakt (devotee) like us, what will Sir become?

A. Bhakta-a-Var.

Q. If Sir was a boxer, what would have been his nick name?

A. Sir-Punch.

Q. If Sir acts in a “Movie” with Sunny Leone, what would it be called?

A. Boss, even jokes have their limits in being unrealistic and hypothetical. Now go count your score and mail it across to me at onlygenuinefan@Sir.Jadeja.

Hail Sir.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

The Day Earth Stood Still!!!

downloadIt was magic, sheer magic. He was Bradman with the bat and Warne with the ball – I mean if Bradman had tried batting left handed and Warne had tried bowling left arm spin. While fielding, he was himself - one of the best as ever. Yesterday, on 15

th January 2015, Ravindrasinh Anirudhsinh Jadeja, or Sir Jadeja as we devotees call him – was on song. He gave us a small glimpse of his immeasurable talent. He gave us a glimpse of his unbelievable abilities. He gave us all a glimpse of himself.

Sir Jadeja, ladies and gentlemen, was on song on yesterday. And the universe stopped to watch. It did. Yesterday, cricket was blessed to witness a performance so brilliant that Oxford is thinking of calling back all its dictionaries – they want to redefine the meaning of word brilliant from “exceptionally clever or talented” to “Jadeja-like”.

Entire galaxy felt blessed to have witnessed his performance of the man who scores triple centuries at will. It was the day earth stood still and watched in awe.

Here is what people had to say.

WG Grace’s ghost, the granddad of cricket – I hope Americans get it now. They always wondered – why this game has to be a team game when one bowler bowls to one batsman. For them, it shouldn’t have been a team game. Now they would realize how visionary the founders of the game were. They were fully aware about the planetary motions which were going to cause arrival of Sir on this planet. Sir has started opening his eyes now and the world is shaking. We need a team to counter him else each match Sir plays will be no match at all.

Ashley Giles, the England team’s coach - All my career I missed an idol – an important ingredient for a cricketer to succeed. How I wish I had made my debut a few years later. I would have had an idol in him. What a player. We were lucky that only one aspect of his game came to fore in Rajkot and yet India almost defeated us. What an all-round performance he gave today. We had to put up two perfect all-round performances in the last match to counter him. This time, we had just one and were crushed by him. When Giles was asked about England’s all-round performances he was referring to, he replied – We played Samit Patel and Bresnan both in Rajkot. This time, our only all-round performance was in form of Samit.

Kapil Dev, the “Boost is the secret of my energy” fame all-rounder – He is a lot better cricketer than me. Imagine what he will do if he starts taking Boost.

Boost, the secret behind Kapil Dev’s energy – Sir is the secret of my energy.

God, the God – I am so glad that I couldn’t understand Mayan calendar and disapproved it. Else I wouldn’t have got a chance to witness the brilliance of Sir.

Mayans, people who predicted doomsday on 21st December 2012 – We are glad that God opened our calendar in “Symbol” font in place of “Tahoma”. Had he done that, we would have missed the belligerence of Sir.

Ja-deja-vu, one of 700 survivors of Mayans clan – Oh our ancestors, they were no better than a God forbidden nincompoop. How difficult it would have been to get a God damned calendar right? Now what will I tell my grandkids? That best part of the greatest ever cricketer doesn’t exist in our calendar?

Ishant Sharma, the unlucky fast bowler – I’ve started taking tips for Sir. Sir has asked me to try Lux Cozy.

Romesh Pawar, ex-cricketer – I was all round but Sir is all-rounder.

A secret source from Birmingham Palace, the secret source – Queen has asked our PM to put a request to India. She wants to be the first human to be adorned with the honor – Jadejahood.

Bhuvan’s ghost, the man who didn’t pay Lagaan – I played like him.

MS Dhoni, the Indian captain – I kept telling them between the balls – “Don’t hit them so hard that they forfeit the series and run away from here

Rajinikanth, HIM – Nope, I never visited Jamnagar.

Meanwhile, umpires have put in a complaint against Sir. They have complained to ICC that shine of the halo Sir carried behind his head blinds them and interrupts in their work. ICC has requested Sir to leave his halo on the dressing room while playing cricket. Sir has obliged with the condition that he would be wearing his cape from now on - just in case aliens are watching, they would recognize Sir due to this cape and proscribe any thoughts of attacking our planet.

PS: In case you have not figured it out yet, this is a work of fiction.

Friday, January 04, 2013

That Day Will Come!!!

On some days, the sun just shines and it looks so bright.

In its peak of powers, it shows us all its might.

I know it’s not today, but that day will come.


On some days, raindrops come falling down on flower petals,

The drops look beautiful like crystal pebbles,

I know it’s not today, but that day will come.


On some days, you cannot help but just keep smiling,

It is the feeling of winning and happiness just keeps piling

I know it’s not today, but that day will come.


I know it is not a day but a hopelessly dark night,

But I know what finally the sun, the rain and the smile will get it right,

It is not because they have to; life may not be that kind,

But it is the romanticism of optimist in me who knows that the cycle will get rewind.

I know that day will come; doesn’t matter if the night looks dark it all looks grave

Because we don’t have a choice but to hope and it is all we have.