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Forca, Football!

Cross-posted from http://weedjoint.wordpress.com

Scoring a jaw-dropping two points out of twenty in the preliminary round of a football quiz made me aware, for the umpteenth time, of my painful lack of knowledge of the game. I might have heard the lyrics of Waving Flag sung and re-sung and distorted to glory, groaned over the inevitable ubiquitous use of ‘Waka Waka’ in the newspapers, but I soon realised what I didn’t know was central to the theme of the quiz- in short, trivia about the game. Intelligent guesses and wild shots in the dark are always thrilling when the answers turn out right, but sometimes, when confronted by people who know their stuff inside out, ignorance isn’t quite bliss.

The sulking skies opened up just before the quiz competition was due to start, and my teammate and I were hoping for a slice of extraordinarily good luck- the kind that led India into the 1950 World Cup finals, instead. It is another matter that they didn’t play because they weren’t allowed on the ground barefoot, as one version of the story goes. We were spared major embarrassment, of course, as people trickled in to increase the amount of competition (presumptuous of us to consider ourselves part of it, even so)- the quizmaster wanted atleast six teams to make a decent match of it, and his fears were unfounded. A decent number of people braved the rain to turn up at the prelims, and but for a bit of sparring, my teammate and I might have reached the royal score of four, halfway to the cut-off. Six teams made it to the final round, and no, we didn’t rue any lost opportunities.

As the questions flew around, we were treated to an intriguing collection of trivia scooped out of the massive amount of history the World Cup has accumulated over the years. Humour, controversy, corruption, and the crowning glory of triumph- football has seen it all.

Sport is no exception to the curses of human arrogance and senselessness. The brutal murder of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics and the ostracism of the Jews at the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin are some of the more famous examples of politics sullying the reputation of global sporting events. Evidently, football has had its share of controversies- the inaugural edition of the World Cup at Montevideo, Uruguay, in 1930, featured only four European teams, a surprisingly low number for a continent that is home to some of the powerhouses of the sport. Defending champions Uruguay sought to retaliate by boycotting the 1934 championship in Italy, another controversial tournament where the hosts themselves had to qualify to play.

This is just a sample of the trivia that we were treated to. There were references to bizarre incidents, such as the one about a dog running on to the field to be caught by England’s Jimmy Greaves, who in turn had his lap graciously soiled, at the 1966 World Cup- yet another example of nature triumphing over man.

The magnitude of football’s reach is incredible. Its being a sport that can be played on the streets with a battered ball and goalposts traced out with a piece of chalk on a wall greatly helps matters. India may not have latched on to the idea of football asWe may be a long way off from having a football team to cry ourselves hoarse for. At a particular World Cup hockey tournament while India was still under British rule, the Indian team is reported to have sung ‘Meri Bhains Ko Danda Kyun Maara’, a folk song, to avoid singing God Save The Queen- Indian spirit, drawn straight from the rural heartlands. Maybe it won’t be too long before we have our own football anthems (and no, we’re certainly not taking the services of a certain bejewelled music director, thank you very much), and a football team that will give us someone to burden with our hopes and expectations (isn’t this what we do best?).

We returned from the quiz with our curiosity whetted- it was the perfect curtain-raiser to the approaching weeks of unbridled sporting passion, raw and real. The 2010 World Cup kicks off tomorrow, and here’s to the thirty-two teams that made it- the major hopes and the underdogs, the rookies and the players who will fight painstakingly to reach that one epoch before the swansong- this is one festival the world will feast on, undivided in spirit, for one magnificent month.

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Dusk

We watch entranced as the eucalyptus trees dance as if possessed, their lithe bodies massed together, the wind pressing hard against their ghostly, silhouetted bulk. The dimly-lit, pale blue waters on the surface of the swimming pool shiver in innumerable ripples; dragonflies meet their death on the tepid surface of the water, close by the lights. What infatuation does Death hold for these creatures, warned and yet tempted by the cruel fate that awaits them?

The strong breeze pushes against us as we walk, clothes aflutter, more trees swaying eerily. The decrepit, abandoned factory building with the rusted brown chimneys in the background doesn’t help matters. There is so much to entice the part of your thoughts that reluctantly believes in the supernatural (and lives in blatant denial in broad daylight); how easy it is in such a setting to fall prey to the machinations of a hyperactive imagination. A wisp of hair brushing against your nape or an unusually strong draught of wind could give you the jitters and throw imaginary shadows on the wall. A solemn song floats from the church with the stained-glass windows- a rather vibrant reminder of the presence of human life and colour on an otherwise dark evening.

We’re giddy with the happiness of materialism. We have shopped and indulged ourselves, are sated with the pleasure of new clothes and good food. However, it doesn’t compare remotely with what is yet to come- a return to childhood, to thoughts of roads that weren’t too narrow for our play and houses that contained- or overflowed with- mirth and pure, unrestricted love and delight. The swings are empty and we gingerly lower ourselves on to the curved seats. The hard sand floor is under our feet, we kick against it to set ourselves free- to feel the wind in our hair as the swing arcs gracefully upwards, higher and higher, the gulmohur trees triggering more memories of sunny roads traversed in the summer holidays of long ago, branches bent forcefully for a sprig of the brightly coloured flowers to put into the little vase on the window-sill.

I cannot go too high- I get dizzy. What has growing up done to me? I was better off not knowing about vertigo and acrophobia and giddiness- half-baked biological knowledge has made hypochondriacs out of many of us, proud of reeling out impressive names to attribute to the various imaginary illnesses we are beset by. The heights that drove me to thrilled chortles as a little girl now set my head spinning. What, really, do we grow up for? I think of the RL Stevenson poem I had learnt by heart in school all those years ago. I don’t remember a word of it now; those merry, simple lines have been buried underneath a load of imagined, unwarranted profundity and philosophy.

We walk back home in the deepening dusk, a call on my mobile phone bringing us back to our senses, to the present, against our volition. Nostalgia is an intruder, though, and I don’t have much to worry about. The past sleeps quietly on in its exclusive recess, dormant but ready to present itself at the slightest invocation.

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Scarlet Clouds over Bahrain

If the Bahrain Grand Prix were an indication of things to come, then we indeed have a tremendously exciting season to look forward to.

A desert might be an unlikely location for a Formula One circuit, but the Sakhir circuit is vindication of the emergence of Asia as a strong market for motorsports. The season-opener today lived up to its expectations, setting the stage for what should surely be an extremely competitive year. Ferrari asserted their supremacy after a lacklustre 2009, Fernando Alonso taking the chequered flag in his first ever race with the Italian team. Teammate Felipe Massa, driving in his first race since his dangerous crash in Hungary, came in second, with Lewis Hamilton finishing third for McLaren.

The race could well have been Sebastian Vettel’s but for the exhaust problems that forced him down the order after a decent start; he finished fourth. Alonso, starting on the clean side of the track and slotting in second ahead of Massa at the beginning of the race, lost no time in taking advantage of Red Bull’s reliability issues, going past Vettel, followed presently by Massa and Hamilton. Mercedes put in a strong showing, Nico Rosberg and Michael Schumacher finishing fifth and sixth respectively. Schumacher wasn’t quite his old self, and being overshadowed by his younger teammate is certainly not something he will take sitting down; flashes of his genius should come through sooner or later. Reigning drivers’ champion Jenson Button came home seventh.

The first corner saw all the twenty-four cars come through relatively unscathed; Mark Webber locked up, spewing a stream of smoke across the track, and Adrian Sutil’s Force India made contact with the Renault of Robert Kubica, but they managed to stay in the race, dropping to the bottom of the chart. Force India did manage to make it into the points, though, with Vitantonio Liuzzi’s ninth-place finish. They are possibly the best of the midfield teams at the moment, with an unchanged line-up from last year. Webber finished eighth, with Rubens Barrichello rounding off the top ten.

The rookie teams struggled as expected. Karun Chandhok was out of the race almost as soon as it began; his teammate Bruno Senna didn’t finish the race either. The Hispania Racing Team wouldn’t have had any grand expectations from the race, but they definitely have a lot of work to do- there is a separate race at the bottom, with fellow first-timers Lotus Racing and Virgin Racing having put in a bit of testing already and not quite as raw as HRT. Lotus managed to finish the race, which should give them some confidence to build upon. But it just wasn’t a day for the rookie drivers- Vitaly Petrov, Russia’s first F1 driver, went into the pits, never to exit; Nico Hulkenberg spun heavily but managed to keep his Williams going, finishing in a creditable fourteenth place.

Some of the questions doing the rounds after the regulation changes have now been put to rest. The ban on refuelling during the race saw the fastest pit-stops happen under five seconds; we’re probably going to miss the sudden fires, stuck fuel nozzles and falling pit mechanics. Safety car periods may also not have a considerable effect on pit-stops; in the past, the pit lane used to be the busiest part of the circuit whenever the safety car was out, but with tyre changes being the only priority now, it will be interesting to see what sort of pit strategies are employed. With only eight engines being allowed for the nineteen races this season, drivers will have to pamper their cars, especially considering that all the races will be started under a full fuel load- everything boiling down to reliability and skill, as usual.

The juggernaut rolls into Melbourne shortly; Ferrari currently lead the pack, but with four teams being touted as championship contenders this season, the wind can blow just any which way.

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Off To Bahrain

Say hello to the 2010 Formula One season.


Starting this weekend, another set of intrigues will be set into motion. Formula One has by no means been bereft of excitement of late; unpredictability was quite its hallmark last season, with an unlikely drivers’ champion in Jenson Button. 2010, of course, will again see a number of drivers vying for the crown. Sebastian Vettel will be looking to avenge his loss from 2009, while Lewis Hamilton and fellow Brit Button- both in McLarens- will look to go one up on each other as they take a shot at a second title. McLaren will sure have its hands full with two ambitious drivers at the helm.


Ferrari, pretty impressive in testing, will go all out to recapture their lost glory. Felipe Massa, returning from injury, is bound to jostle with Ferrari newcomer Fernando Alonso- the Latin line-up is already raising eyebrows, and of course, we’re all geared up for a fight.


The transition from the last season to this has by no means been placid- even into the last week before the season kicks off, teams are announcing their line-ups. US F1 has run into troubled waters and Campos Meta F1 has undergone revamping even before the start of the season, renamed Hispania Racing as a result of the takeover by a majority stakeholder. Karun Chandhok finally makes a breakthrough- albeit without any F1 testing experience under his belt- pairing up with GP2 teammate and Ayrton Senna’s nephew, Bruno. This certainly won’t be a team to look out for, but Chandhok’s entry does mark an increased Indian presence in F1. The mythical Indian Grand Prix keeps alive its hunt for an auspicious season to make its launch in, but the interest in the sport should now be palpable- the Sports Ministry certainly doesn’t have its eyes in the right place if it still continues to ignore this lucrative market.


Lotus Racing and Virgin F1 are the other teams kicking their F1 campaign off this season. Curious, isn’t it, how airline magnates find themselves strongly attracted to motor racing. Tony Fernandez and Richard Branson already have a bet on (bound to be extremely embarrassing for the one who loses) about which of their teams will perform better, but that’s a different story. Vijay Mallya, in the meantime, continues his ambitious drive to the midfield. Force India had a reasonably good season, earning their first podium position, and they will look to garner a few more, which, of course, is by no means going to be a walk in the park.


Formula One has created quite a bit of off-season news, with the rigorous shuffling and curious pairings keeping the recently renewed interest alive. However, it isn’t just the juggling and the newcomers that are grabbing attention. Comebacks are the new rage in sport in general, and when the man who gave F1 its tag of ‘predictability’ and often frustrated certain fans with his clinical precision decides to stage a return, speculation is definitely rife and armchair experts discover a new adrenaline surge. Michael Schumacher returns from retirement- or call it a sabbatical- at the wheel of former mentor Ross Brawn’s Mercedes team. Discussing his devotion to the sport would mean merely stating the obvious; what we now have to look forward to is a season of fireworks, and the arsenal of weapons he deploys against much younger rivals. Interestingly, his teammate is another German, Nico Rosberg, who has already made clear his intentions of not letting awe get the better of him as he drives alongside a much-decorated driver. Mercedes will definitely enjoy a lot of home support, as will McLaren.


Teams and drivers apart, the new rules and points systems will have a huge say in the way the results pan out. With twelve teams on the grid this season, the number of positions being awarded points has gone up to ten. Major rule changes include the use of narrower front tyres, no refuelling during the race- think blink-and-you-miss-them pitstops, heavier cars (though KERS is not going to be used). All is neatly wrapped up now, though, and we’re extremely close to Bahrain and a massive rush of testosterone- which, sadly, it is going to be limited to; rumours or not, Danica Patrick is definitely not making her debut in F1 this year.


2009 witnessed a lot of trouble- the fracas over cost-cutting and the FOTA mess almost led to the formation of a new breakaway league. However, Mr. Ecclestone, with his inimitable suavity, has managed to rein in things yet again. The teams kissed and made up, and while budget considerations still cause a few pangs off and on, the testing flexibility allowed to teams that adhere to the budget cap should put some demons to rest.


This season will see the launch of yet another Asian track. South Korea makes its debut on the F1 calendar, and we’ll just have to wait till  to see what marvel Hermann Tilke has managed to come up with this time around. He pulled off a stunner at Abu Dhabi, and expectations will inevitably be high.


The weekend is almost here- so unfasten your seat-belts and chuck the earplugs away. Let the bloodbath begin!

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Right On Track

In the midst of spectators from Argentina, Brazil, Germany, Great Britain, Finland and Singapore, I watched Lewis Hamilton drive to victory. Strangely, I wasn’t disappointed. It was an experience to be savoured, an ambience to be absorbed to saturation. Seeing the drivers in flesh and blood as they were driven around the track on lovely cars, waving to the crowds, was surreal- people I’d seen on television, admired and detested, but wanted to know, were right in front of me. Hamilton is definitely charismatic; he can endear himself to the crowds, and so can Nico Rosberg.

The race didn’t go my way at any point. Hamilton sped off comfortably, the two safety car periods making no dent in his lead, his pit-stops flawless. Rosberg, challenging for a podium position, made a mistake that a rookie would have been ashamed of, driving clear over the white line as he exited the pit lane, incurring a drive-through penalty. Sebastian Vettel gave him company, being penalised for speeding in the pit lane. Adrian Sutil pushed a little too hard trying to get ahead of Jaime Alguersuari and took himself and Nick Heidfeld out, the latter already in misery having started in the pit lane. The Toro Rosso cars faced premature exits, in fact coming into the garage in the same lap, while brake troubles plagued Mark Webber.

Starting twelfth, championship leader Jenson Button did pretty well to finish fifth, consolidating his position on top. Rubens Barrichello finished sixth, giving the Brawn team something to smile about. The Ferraris continued their run of misery, both the cars finishing outside the points.

No pile-ups, no massive shunts, but the race never turned into a procession, as street races sometimes threaten to. The back of the pack- the Ferrari of Giancarlo Fisichella, the Force India cars, and Alguersuari’s Toro Rosso, provided some excitement as they kept bunching up. On the track, how close or far apart the cars are becomes really evident, and you wait breathlessly for them to lunge at one another, to attack.

I wouldn’t have missed this race for the world. One dream has come true, many to go.

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Singapore Grand Prix- Qualifying

Because I’m here, body and spirit, and this might well be my only chance ever to witness a race live at the circuit, I have decided to be unabashedly biased.

Qualifying didn’t exactly throw up the results I expected. With little or no overtaking expected on a street circuit, the results of tomorrow’s race have fairly been determined. Lewis Hamilton powered his McLaren-Mercedes to pole, while Rubens Barrichello will not be the most popular man in the Red Bull and Williams motorhomes tonight, the Brazilian swerving and shunting into the barriers just 26 seconds before Q3 ended, putting an end to any further efforts from the drivers to better their existing lap times. Sebastian Vettel will start second tomorrow, followed by Nico Rosberg in P3. Rosberg put up a decent show as the more fancied Brawns struggled through qualifying. Jenson Button didn’t make it to Q3, nor did Kimi Raikkonen, the Brawn and the Ferrari not very impressive tonight. Raikkonen admitted they lacked speed, and attributed it to the fact that Ferrari were already concentrating on 2010, and work on the current car had stopped since the Hungarian Grand Prix. Ouch. That isn’t very encouraging, with three races yet to go this season.

The other Ferrari of Giancarlo Fisichella failed to make it past Q1, his ex-teammates from Force India providing him company as they couldn’t quite match the promise they have shown in the past few races. The Singapore GP seems to be all about adaptability- how well you can get out of your comfort zone and tailor your styles to suit the vagaries of a street circuit, especially, driving under floodlights.

Romain Grosjean spun initially as the cars came out on track, but managed to get his grip back and keep it going. Except for a few false alarms and sparks, there wasn’t much excitement at qualifying. Barrichello’s cup of woes overflowed, though, as a gearbox change means he will start tenth tomorrow, instead of from P5, due to the five-place penalty.

Stats apart, being at qualifying, hearing the first murmurs of disappointment and triumph, was an interesting experience. I might well have been watching a race at the Interlagos, squeezed in as I was between an Argentinian couple on my left and a group of Brazilians on my right. I don’t think either party was fervently supporting Barrichello, though. They seemed more interested in the fates of Webber and Hamilton and, to make my life more bearable, Raikkonen. I saw only a couple of large banners, not quite the euphoric excitement I expected at an F1 race. This is probably the difference between a country that is steeped in motorsport tradition and one that has adopted it as, I hate to say this, commercial sustenance. I might be wrong, though. Tomorrow will tell. Singapore is a beautiful city to hold an F1 race in, particularly suited to a street circuit, and definitely rivals Monaco in terms of modern grandeur.

Just in case you are curious about the Fullerton, the Merlion, the Singapore Flyer and the Esplanade, names I have been mentioning off and on over the last few months, do make sure you watch the race. I have seen glimpses on the big screen on GP TV, and I never imagined it could look that real. The luminescence of the sea, the glitter of the skyscrapers, the magnificent structures all around the circuit make for some spectacular views. In just its second year, the Singapore GP has certainly proved a huge success, a massive magnet for foreign tourists and F1 connoisseurs.

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Singapore Grand Prix- Friday Practice

An eight-year-old dream of mine is coming true.

I am finally watching an F1 race, live, at the venue.

The Singapore Grand Prix is here. The tickets which had been safely stashed away finally saw the light of day- or should I say the floodlights of the Marina Bay Circuit Park.

With traffic jams prolonging travel time around the island, taking a train was the best option, and I got off at Raffles Place and followed the clear directions to Gate 6, the entrance to the Esplanade Waterfront Grandstand. Full marks to the organisers for the arrangements- if India is ever planning to host an F1 race, it certainly has a lot of work to do.

Gate 6 is in the vicinity of the Fullerton Hotel, and the area offers some of the best views of the city. Merlion Park, the Esplanade, the skyscrapers in the business district, the sea- they couldn’t have chosen better when they planned the street circuit. For once, without getting lost or confused, I made my way to the grandstand and settled in for the second practice session, having missed the first due to a delay at work.

Imagine. Think of a tight coil of anticipation unwinding suddenly, as the first F1 car roars around the corner, tantalisingly audible but not in sight yet. And soon, before you realise what is happening, it comes round the corner, speeding in with a high-pitched whine punctuated with thuds as the car bumps over the kerbs. The Red Bull cars came out first, followed by Williams, Force India, Ferrari, Renault, McLaren Mercedes and the rest. What an exhilarating sight it was, the glossy shine and vibrant colours of racing cars lit up by the powerful lights, sleek cars curvingh gracefully down the bend, precariously close to hitting the wall, but negotiating the turn with precision and near-perfection.

There wasn’t much action during practice, apart from Mark Webber spinning while he was on top of the time-sheets and ending up in a wall, due to which the session was red-flagged for about fifteen minutes. This resulted in his slipping down the order, Sebastian Vettel clocking the fastest time, followed by Fernando Alonso with an inspired, last-minute dash in his Renault, shoving down ex-teammate Heikki Kovalainen to third spot. The Ferraris, sadly, were uninspiring, as was Lewis Hamilton. Earlier in the day, the first practice session had also witnessed a red flag, thanks to Romain Grosjean’s mishap. This session was interesting in terms of the time of day- as twilight melted into night, the drivers had to deal with the transition from sunshine to darkness- a rather daunting task for them, considering every other race takes place in the afternoon.

Qualifying takes place tomorrow, and Red Bull and Brawn seem to be where most ‘experts’ are laying their money. Saturday will tell.

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Day 2 in Malaysia- A Sunday at Genting

Day 2 of my Malaysia trip has still remained unrecorded. Indolence reared its ugly head, but no more. Here we go.
 
Our hired van took us from KL to the Genting Highlands, about an hour and a half from the city, a drive up winding roads into lush, green hills. Swathes of white cloud rested on the thickly forested slopes as we made our way up to the theme park, perhaps the heart of Genting. Our first halt was at a chocolate shop, where we secured ’supplies’ of a few varieties to carry us through the day. We then drove up to the spot from where we had to take a cable car to the theme park. This was one truly marvellous ride, acres of rainforest stretching out far beneath us, mysterious and sinister as the cable car trembled and hobbled its way up. Beyond a point, all that was visible was a white wall of cloud, impenetrable to the eye, but just a misty sheath which the multicoloured capsules cut through with ease.
 
We alighted at a sprawling complex consisting of a mall, casinos and the theme park. We went down a number of escalators, followed directions, lost our way- but soon enough, we reached the gates of the theme park. People everywhere- it was like a carnival in progress, a festival of sorts. A quiet current of excitement reverberated through the air.
 
At the theme park, we split- not all of us had the stomach for rollercoasters and large swings that seemed to put to full use the principles of centrifugal and centripetal force. Two of the girls and I chose to while our time away at the stalls, trying our luck at the games, winning the smallest possible prizes, brazenly envying kids who carried away the large dolphins and rabbits. To break the monotony, we went on one or two of the rides- actually meant for kids, and where the only adults were the parents chaperoning them. Embarrassment has long become a thing of the past.
 
Up on the hills, the weather was lovely. Clouds drifted like smoke and we actually felt ourselves walking through them, felt their subtle touch on skin and clothes. I’ll never forget what a beautiful day it was if I live to be a hundred, the damp clinging to our clothes and hair, walking aimlessly amidst throngs of people amusing themselves, a carefree day spent away from work. The best part of it was that we couldn’t use our mobile phones, so for two days we were effectively cut off from the world we knew.
 
Lunch consisted of a bowl of vegetarian noodles, without traces of fish, shrimp and the like, a saccharine chocolate pastry and some extremely welcome hot coffee. Not a very appetising combination, but it is rather difficult to find vegetarian subsistence in those parts of the world.
 
We had an entertaining time with a couple of obliging clowns who crafted shapes out of balloons with impeccable skill- they twisted their fingers, turned their wrists, and voila! you had the shape you asked for. One of the mothers, however, complained to us about a bad-tempered clown- “This is not what I asked for!” They posed for pictures with us, and were generally rather amusing. It is a tough job being a clown, if you have to have a smile permanently stuck on your face, no matter how rotten you might be feeling deep within. Is a clown allowed to say, “Oh, it’s just one of those days!”, when he/she feels unreasonably low?
 
It was a peaceful, happy, long picnic, one that we returned tired, yet rejuvenated, from. You don’t get so close to the sky and the clouds everyday. We returned to Singapore in the dark, with a number of memories hoarded away, lost in thought, not exactly looking forward to a new week- but life goes on. Holidays are more precious for their rarity, and that’s the way it should be.

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Mister Pip- Visions of a Misunderstood World

The blue-grey jacket of the book almost obscured itself into anonymity amidst a sea of loud lettering and bold covers. However, it was perhaps this soothing subtlety that also made it stand out and brought it to my notice in the heap of books piled on rickety wooden tables at the book sale near Plaza Singapura at Dhoby Ghaut. One look at the blurb, and I wanted this book badly- keeping my budget in mind, I had made up my mind on the number of books I was going to pick up, and once I’d found it, there were no second thoughts. Doris Lessing was abandoned in favour of Lloyd Jones.

Mister Pip is bewitching from the word go. You know how certain books bond with you instantly, talk to you and let you slip into the bodies and minds of their characters effortlessly? Mister Pip is one of them. Set mainly on Bougainville Island, it follows the life of young Matilda and other children trapped in the horrors of revolt, finding succour in the most unimaginable way as all other doors seem closed to them. After their school is closed down, the only white man on the island, Mr. Watts (or Pop Eye as he is called before they learn to really respect him), who is not even a teacher by profession, decides to take on the responsibility of teaching the children. He is not an expert, searches in vain for quite a few answers, but brings with him a gift that delights and gives the children another world to escape into- that of Dickensian London. He reads to them from Great Expectations, a chapter a day, until Matilda (and the others, as she realises gradually), find themselves drawn into Pip’s life- she grows protective of Pip, travels with him, feels his pain, despises those who use him badly. She writes his name out on the sand and adorns it, her private shrine to Pip.

Matilda’s mother doesn’t quite approve of her passion for an imaginary character, though, more so when she realises that her daughter values him and the book more than her own departed relations or her Bible. The depth of her hatred is revealed when she stands unmoved, harbouring a secret while the islanders lose all their possessions to the ‘redskins’, who, in their quest for the non-existent ‘Mister Pip’, suspecting him of being a rebel, burn up everything the people own. Trouble is further fomented on the island with the arrival of the rebels, the Rambos, and things spiral downwards rapidly. What, however, remains with Matilda throughout the turmoil, is the story of Pip and the hope it gives her to hold on to. She likens people and circumstances to characters and situations from the book, almost lives in a different world of her own, of grey streets and cold rain and orphans with sudden strokes of good luck. Matilda moves on, goes to Australia to live with her father and finish her schooling, and finds herself in London doing a thesis on Dickens’ life.

More than the thread of the story itself, what is appealing and evocative is the description of the characters themselves. You become Matilda, you transform into Mr. Watts. The questions she asks of Mr. Watts seem pertinent and very real. Imagination, that most precious gift given to all of us, is the thing to turn to when no other avenues seem available. The voice in which you say your own name is something which can never be taken away from you. Even when your house amounting to “something about containment that at the same time offers escape” is cruelly burnt down, you have that niche in your head, that secret room, which welcomes you and takes you wherever you want to go- the power of imagination, that parallel universe that the more practical scoff at. It doesn’t feed Mr. Watts, as Matilda’s mother says, but it gives rise to hope and courage, perhaps just as important as material sustenance.

(I only wish I’d finished Great Expectations before reading Mister Pip. I’d probably have enjoyed it better, because now I know all about the mysterious benefactor and Pip’s fortunes. Oh, if only I’d been patient enough to finish it- luckily, I’d read enough to know Mr. Jaggers, Magwitch, Estella and Miss Havisham.)

I have seen reviews that don’t really recommend this book and indict it for a plot that tapers out after promising much. Get into the characters’ minds, though, and you’ll probably see what I mean. It is magic. I hope Mr. Watts wasn’t getting into the act, playing a teacher. And I also hope Lloyd Jones isn’t pretending, that he means every single word about the enthralling power of books. Because it is all true, every bit of it.

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A Weekend in Malaysia- Kuala Lumpur

Melaka, spelt exactly that way, was the first familiar name that came up on the signboards as the van sped through the neon-lit streets in the late hours of the night. The thrill set in- yes, we were truly in Malaysia, on our way to Kuala Lumpur, living a distant, surreal dream of seeing distant places on the globe.

The Singapore-Malaysia border is just about twenty minutes away from where we live, and as the van reached the checkpost and we were subjected to the customary immigration checks, we could hardly believe we were already entering Malaysia. The road took a sweeping curve, and suddenly, the signboards were bereft of English. Unknown words were splashed across signboards and shop-fronts, and driving deeper in, we wpassed a row of automobile repair shops and people sitting at tables in the open, smoking hookahs at three in the morning. We were stopped at a few checkposts, which got a little annoying- especially because there didn’t seem to be any genuine checking going on. We were asked to get out and show our passports at one point to a group of trainees. Once all the bother was over, we were relieved to be finally on our way.

Five hours later, the skyline of Kuala Lumpur made itself visible through the hazy blue morning mist. Identical houses with sloping roofs, packed so close together as to induce claustrophobia, appeared on either side of the highway, giving us an indication of how populated the city was. Tall, unrecognisable outlines hovered in the distance, when all of a sudden, like a beacon, the famous landmark that we had seen and admired on television and in books appeared in the distance- the Petronas Twin Towers. A visit was in order later that day, and we could hardly contain our excitement as we drove on to the Batu Caves.

A giant statue of Lord Karthikeya loomed over the temples at the base of the limestone caves. A steep walk uphill led us to the interior of the caves which housed various shrines. Dimly-lit and bat-infested, the caves are a marvellous sight, opening up suddenly to the sky and the foliage above. Monkeys abounded on the steps, snatching at bananas and hopping around, disconcerting people as they made their way up and down the steps. Cool and invigorating, the walk through the caves was remarkable. The city was beginning to churn into activity as we looked down at it, the dust beginning to rise in the distance. Deciding it was time to move on, we made our way to the hotel for a short nap and to freshen up before we set off for our next destination- the KL Tower.

The Menara KL affords a fantastic view of the city from the observation deck. It is adorned with ornate arches, designed in Islamic fashion, and is an excellent way to take in a bird’s-eye view of the entire city. Rainforests thrive right beside it, to break the monotony of glass and concrete.

One of the attractions that we were smitten with was the F1 simulators- getting into those really low seats in the car-shaped chambers and driving on a simulated track was a true insight into what F1 drivers actually go through- and for us, it was without the strain on the neck and back muscles. I had an embarrassing four laps, spending more time in the gravel and on the grass than on tarmac, and I am determined to have more respect than ever for anybody who ever drives a racing car.

The trip to the China Bazaar was cancelled due to some sort of protest going on at the market, so we were driven to the Petronas Towers earlier than scheduled. The towers are a stunning marvel in concrete and glass, rising impressively overhead, the tallest twin structures in the world. Underneath lies the Suria KLCC shopping complex, which, after some perusal, I decided was made for the likes of Paris Hilton and the devils who wore Prada. Articles from the streets of Chinatown were laid out at exorbitant prices. That said, KL in general appears cheap compared to Singapore, but just doesn’t seem as comfortable and clean- perhaps a day is too little time to form opinions of a city, though.

We had the inevitable photo sessions outside the mall, and when we needed someone to take a group picture, I requested a lanky, long-haired (Dutch, I came to know later) tourist passing by to do so. He was very obliging, and asked us what we’d like for our backdrop. He looked around and, I am not sure what came into his mind all of a sudden, asked where the twin towers were. When we explained to him that he had in fact been wandering in the mall under the towers, he was perplexed and extremely disappointed. He complained he’d been walking through the “stupid mall” trying to find an exit, and all the while there he was, right by the towers. How he could have missed something as obvious as the nose on his face, I’m not quite sure, but it was a pretty amusing bit of confusion, and I wish I could have captured his priceless expression.

We came out into the open around seven o’clock to see if the lights in the towers had come on yet. The sight we were greeted with we shall probably never forget. The towers sparkled against the slowly darkening blue night, all shimmering with the electric lights artfully placed, the moon snug and aristocratic between the rods that met at the Sky Bridge, forming a V. People twisted and bent themselves into all sorts of shapes to get the best pictures of the incredibly tall structures. Looking at the towers, I knew, for once, that man had come quite close to beating nature at her own talents of irrepressible beauty and skill. I don’t know if the towers are perfect in every sense- but to me, at that moment, nothing came close to matching the awe and the inexplicable gratitude I felt. The lights in the KL Tower had also come on, and I suppose I make it very clear when I say we were left massaging our neck muscles the rest of the night.

Day 1 in Malaysia ended with pizza in the hotel. Sleep came easily, accompanied by glittering visions of multi-storeyed structures. How different Day 2 would be!

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