Pulp Non-Fiction

New Home

I have moved to a new blogging home at wordpress. Rediff Blogs was a good place to start with but with better blogging agents available and with the access problems with rediff, it was time I shifted. So, please do update your bookmarks and drop in at my new blog. My archives and older posts continue to remain here.

Adios.

On Reservation

If you have been staying in India, you would have read and heard about this new hare-brained policy, brought on by an increasingly regressive UPA government. It is quite apparent that this government is draining crores of tax-payers' ( that is, yours and mine) money into infected schemes, that falsely claim to aid the nation's progress. Be it the National Highway Development Project, or the Sarvasikshan Abhiyan, and now quotas in the higher education, the government has been hoodwinking nation's public by announcing the truckloads of money it has drained into these schemes. What is imperative to investigate, and examine, is how well have these schemes worked in achieving their objectives, not how much has been spent. Here is a probing piece on the performance of the Sarva Sikshan Abhiyan scheme. Also, if you do read Indian Express, you would have noticed those little snippets related to the Golden Quadilateral project, that exposes the scant progress of this costly ( already into over-runs) project.

What I have to say about the reservation issue can never match the clarity, brevity and brilliance of these two pieces by Atanu - 1 and 2. So, without much ado, I urge you to read them both. Even if you are against reservations, and specially so if you are not. I hope Arjun Singh can read them too. Oh wait, he is far too senile to be doing that.

Update and A Request: Rediff is blocked from office, which essentially means I cannot blog since I have no net at home either. Luckily though, Blogger is still surf-worthy. I was wondering if any of you knew if, and how, to transfer my rediff blog to Blogger (or any other good blogging agent), archives and all. If you do, or have any other suggestion, please drop a mail at gshreyas81{at}hotmail{dot}com. Thanks!

C and H: Redux

C: So, what now, H?
H: You ask me questions. I provide the answers.

C: You know all the answers uh?
H(smiles): No. Only the ones you seek.

C: Cool! So what is the deal about life? What am I supposed to do with mine, H?
H: Pretty simple. Just do things that make you happy and you should do fine. Every time you need to decide between options, choose what pleases you. Not the one that would make dad, mom, or your girlfriend happy.

C: That's it, eh?
H: Yes. That's about it. You also have this additional bit of learning you gain from life's little experiences. Nice to sit back and think about them on lazy Saturday afternoons.

C: What's the deal with people, H? Why do they behave strangely? And, what about my relationships with them?
H: The world's a pretty rational place, filled with the intelligent and wise. They have figured out everything - gravity, evolution, planetary motions, animal behaviour, relativity, derivatives! You have neat, little equations defining every little and big stuff.

In this world of rationality, we could not get you humans to be all complacent now, could we? Hence, we wired people and relationships between people this way. Relationships are illogical, irrational and agitative. A few of you have an inherent knack to decipher this puzzle and some of you don't. Just one of those random events of nature to put you in place.

C: So, I am pretty much screwed when it comes to this stuff, uh?
H: Sadly, yes!

C: Thanks a lot, H!
H(grinning): You are welcome! But, C, it just means nothing in life comes on a platter to even the richest, or the brainiest or the wisest. Everyone has his weaknesses against which one has to work. Life is not easy, C. It is not meant to be. But, it is also not impossible to get through by. Put your efforts into something and sure enough, things will appear clearer. You anyway have your books, games, cricket and quizzing to keep you interested, C. You should enjoy them instead of fretting over things that are bothersome.

C: Who made women, H? Why are they made like this?
H (laughs): Like what?

C: Oh! They are so difficult to figure out. For instance, they always will say one thing and mean another. Or, they will tell you, you should have done X thing Y years ago and belittle you for not doing it, without telling you in the first place. Or, they keep doing the same mistakes despite tumbling. Or, they refuse help even when you insist to, only to tell you days later that you were a sissy to not have helped. Or, they go from talkative to aloof, sad to happy at the drop of a hat. Or, they keep getting into the same rigmarole of cyclical relationships, without noticing that it is not going anywhere. These are just my observations, H. What is the deal here? Every woman from my mom to the last girl I met is unpredictable.
H: Surely, you exaggerate and generalize too much, C! But, even admitting that you are not, let me tell you that it is a two-way street. Women feel the exact same way about men, albeit with a different crib-list. May be the trick is not to attempt to understand them, it is fine if you can just get along with them. Again, some of you are good at getting along with the other gender, some of you are good at cracking Sudoku.

C(with a beaming smile): Yeah, H! I guess I should start enjoying things I am good at - crosswords, sudoku, puzzles, quizzes, music!
H: There you go!

C: What about friends, H? I find it really cool to have a lot of friends!
H: Good, C! Friendship is what makes the world go. Your friends are your escape routes from the solitary boredom you get trapped in. They chase away questions like 'What the hell am I doing here?' . They are what constitute your happy memories, for you to share with your kids. Fill your life with them because they are the ones who are most likely to be there always.

C(Creeps, It's Me): Hmm. Thanks a ton H. Finally, do you exist, H?
H(Him, The Lord):Terrorist strikes, gender violence, murder of innocents, eve-teasing, crimes by law-enforcers, Sanjay Leela Bhansali, corrpution, famines, earthquakes, tsunami, perverts, child molesters, gang-rapes, bigotry, Arjun Singh, intolerance, communism, fantacism, forest degradation, endangered species, global warming.

Of course, I do not exist, C. Would I let all this happen if I existed ?

Seasons

April Last,
Came Spring,
Karanjis bloomed,
You met me,
Happy was I

April this,
Oppressive heat,
Withered flowers,
Know not where you are,
Blandness is everywhere

(Cross-posted on Poetic Injustice)

Beautiful

After a long and ardous search, I obtained the songs from the movie 'Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi'. The movie by itself is a brilliant piece of film-making, gone unnoticed in the slew of monotonous movies in Bollywood. But, what has lingered on, months after I watched the movie, are the poetic songs, accompanied by a wonderful combination of classical vocals and music. The song I loved the most is 'Bavra Mann, written and sung by Swanand Kirkirc. The music is romantic, but the words steal the thunder. To note, especially, is the repeated use of that melodious word - Bavra. One of the best romantic songs, in my opinion. If anyone has the original Hindi lyrics, please do provide them to me

Here are the lyrics in English:

Bavraa mann dekhne chala eak sapana

Bavraa mann dekhne chala eak sapana

Bavraa sea mann ki dekho bavari hai batea
Bavraa sea mann ki dekho bavari hai batea

Bavari se dhadakane hai bavari hai sansea
Bavari se karvato sea nendea duur bhagea

Bavraa sea nain chahea bavrae ke hotho sea
Bavare nazaro ko takna
Bavraa mann dekhne chala eak sapana

Bavrea sea es jaha mea bavraa eak saath ho
Es sayani bhid mea bas hantho mea tera hanth ho
Bavri se dun ho koi bavra eak raag ho
Bavri se dun ho koi bavra eak raag ho
Bavre se pair chahe,Bavre tarano pe
Bavre se boal pe thirakna

Bavraa mann dekhne chala eak sapana

Bavraa sa ho andhera,Bavri khamoshia

Bavraa sa ho andhera,Bavri khamoshia
Thar tharati loh madham,Bavri Mudhoshio
Bavra eak ghunghta chahe,hole hole bin bataye
Bavra eak ghunghta chahe,hole hole bin bataye

Bavre sea mukhade sea sarakna

Bavraa mann dekhne chala eak sapana
Bavraa mann dekhne chala eak sapana

Bavraa mann dekhne chala eak sapana
Bavraa mann dekhne chala eak sapana

(Courtesy: India Guitar Tabs)

Back to Links

In the midst of the Bangalore hullabaloo, I came across this very gastronomically-tempting titled-blog, Churumuri. Though I am not sure about the origins or the purpose of the group blog, this page is absolutely mouth-watering. The actual content revolves around a whole host of topics - current affairs, cricket and also Sardar jokes. If you are a fan of Mysore, like I am, do remember to read Sunaad Raghuram's page. Well, check it out even if you are not!

A tear for Bangalore from the Bangalorean Eye

What I have discovered over the past two weeks have been depressing me. All of these relate to my hometown - Bangalore.

Firstly, the violent aftermath that followed the death of Dr.Rajkumar blew my mind out. As I watched images of a police constable being beaten mercilessly by a group of hooligans, I was numbed. Had this happened in any other city I would not have been shocked. For my roommates, it was just another violent attack, instigated by manipulative political forces. But, as a Bangalorean, I was stunned. The death of a doyen of Kannada cinema did not deserve this farewell.

About this, multiple rolls of newsprint have been written. What is saddening, and scary, has been the Bangalorean's reaction to the entire episode.

One, this post by Shruthi (via Desi Pundit) has become typical of the Bangalorean's reaction. The way she has listed down the points on What-to-do and What-not-to-do smacks of subtle yet scary xenophobic intentions that is slowly and surely gaining support from a number of Bangaloreans. As I read through the comments, I was aghast that not a single Bangalorean chose to speak against what has expressed in the blog post. I thought I would post a comment, but decided a blog post would be much more comprehensive. What I will do here is list down my thoughts against what has been expressed in the post:

1. If someone is guilty of making a generalization, so is the post by clubbing all Bangaloreans who haven't lived there for long, as one group! That apart, why be defensive about what drunken rowdies do? If some hooligans cause trouble and someone chooses to generalize, I think it is his/her stupidity at display.

2. Tit for Tat. Since they display 'hostile and superior attitudes', so will we. How more childish can it get? The fact you have used the word attitude means it is individualistic. So if someone is acting superior, you put him in place then and there. Not start an outlash against the entire community. Does this mean that no Bangalorean has ever acted hostile? There are all kinds of people in any community.

3. I read somewhere that parking attendants, auto-drivers and cab-drivers speak in Hindi, even with localites in Bangalore. If the businesses that serve the city are willing to not talk in the local language, why will an outsider make an effort? The point I am trying to make here is not many resident Bangaloreans themselves give Kannada the importance they demand from others. I came to Mumbai a year back and no one has asked me to learn Mumbaiyya. I have had to learn it because that is what is spoken everywhere. Imposition of any rule that goes like - Thou shalt speak only in this language, is never going to work.

4. Again, why take this shit from anyone? I would be outraged if anyone was being arrogant with me, outsider or otherwise!

5. Ah! The sense of humour. How sorely so many of us lack it! They make fun of how we pronounce 'H'. We make fun of how they pronounce 'O'. Big Deal! We all really need to loosen up.

6. A totally unnecessary defence again. As it is stated in the post, the baddies are everywhere.

7. Do something? Do what? Do tell me as a city-resident who pays thousands in taxes, what should I do to improve the infrastructure? It is a question I want to ask not just of Bangalore. But of Mumbai, Kolkata, Hyderabad. All of them. And well, cribbing is a human trait. Ignore them!

The feeling I got from the entire post was that individual traits and behaviour was super-imposed on an entire community/class of people. Most of the points reside on a fairly personal level. And, most of the others, seemed too obvious to be stated. Really, why the need for this defence at all? A person who is going to crib here is going to crib elsewhere too. A person who is going to generalize about A will generalize about B as well. Do you really think everyone outside Bangalore thinks all Bangaloreans are violent-prone based on a lone incident?

This blog apart, I noticed a whole forum that has taken birth on Orkut, that proclaims - 'BANGALORE'S FULL. GO HOME!'. As expected. most of the comments border on the xenophobic hatred and staunch bigotry. I can understand the frustrations they feel, but I cannot fathom why are they being directed at the migrants.

These reactions set me thinking on the reasons for the such extreme reactions from the residents of a city, known for our mild manners. For starters, I knew that it was not the 'Outsiders' who are the cause. Some thinking will reveal the reasons are basically economic and historic. Let me state them:

1. Growth of Infrastructure: The most worrisome aspect of our economy is the blatant lack of importance given to infrastructure. Bangalore is a city that exemplifies this like no other in India. As I studied through my engineering days, all I read about was companies A,B,C setting up shop in Bangalore. Nowhere did I read that roads are going to be built up or the public transport revamped. No major policies or planning for the future water and power needs of the city. How does this link-up with the frustrations of a resident? Sample this - I am stuck on the Electronic City flyover for over an hour in my car. As I get annoyed by the minute, I turn around and glance at the Punjabi in the car next to mine. So what does my ragged mind think? 'Damn! If this guy and other migrants like him wasn't here, I would have reached earlier'. Similar frustrations add up as I face queues at Utility Bill counters, Hotels and even Pubs. Since the government is an invisible hand at most of these places and the human instinct is to seek someone real and present, we usually tend to blame the 'differnt' - those who do not speak our language, those who do not pronounce words like we do, those who act differnt from us.

2. The Bangalore Culture Aspect: Even before the sudden spurt of migrants into Bangalore's population, the culture of Bangalore has always been a mixed one. We enjoyed Kannada slang, Hindi songs on Chitrahaar, English movies at the Plaza and Tam Coffee. There never was a strong language-based identity like in Chennai. But, off-late, there have been battle-cries for people to respect the Bangalore Culture. Without adequately defining it, how can you ask someone to respect it? I request all those of you who are reading this to define and let me know what exactly constitutes the Bangalore culture. Since such a strong identity does not exist, we see most services that function in the city sometimes using non-Kannada languages. As a Kannadiga, I am slightly distressed, but I know it is no one's fault. The city's history has been such that external influences have always diffused across differnt aspects.

What has prompted me to write such a long post is not to just respond to the comments of many Bangaloreans, but also to voice my thoughts against the dangerous trend of regionalism that seems to be taking roots in Bangalore. No country/region/city that has displayed xenophobia has prospered. The US ( though whatever you may think of their social/cultural traditions) are economically and politically supreme because they welcome influences and cultures from across the world. Within India, Mumbai is a shining example of what the strength of a vibrant mix of cultures and people can aid in prosperity.

My first reaction when I read the way Bangaloreans' feel was not shock or outrage, but one of extreme sadness. We can stop the outsiders to come in, we can force businesses to shift elsewhere and we can make our city Bangaloreans-only, but what is irreversible is the attitudnal change that so many of us seem to be cultivating. I have tried to be not emotional through this post, relying instead on logic. But, trust me, the day I hear of riots against outsiders or any community for that matter ( as I saw some on Orkut planning) will be the day I will shed a tear for my lost city.

Update: I have received many comments about how I have over-reacted. I will quote the comment I posted on Shruthi's blog to explain why I reacted the way I did:

"The roots of the worst conflicts reside in unintentional expression of emotions! I myself have not been guilty of the same. A few months back I wrote an emotionally-charged post, claiming Dravid was a Bangalorean and suchlike! Now when I go back to read that post, I realize how pointless that argument was! All that matters is he plays for the team I like and I want him to do well.

My fears appear as what they do because of what I have been reading on various forums - one guy wants to distribute t-shirts that will shout, "OUTSIDERS GO HOME" and another wants to start torching "their" homes! Mindless, stupid bigots who just want to express their pent-up frustrations arising out from not asserting themselves when required! That is why it is important that not more of us start getting carried away. "

In response to my labeling of Shruthi's post as one laden with xenophobic undercurrents, I reiterate that I am not labeling Shruthi a xenophobic. My response restricts solely to what was written in the post. Again, this in itself may have appeared unintentionally in the post, but that as well is cause for alarm.

Also, the discussion on Shruthi's blog is very interesting, thanks to thoughtful debates!

Froth

He was distraught with confusion and fear. It felt like his feet had grown roots into the ground. What could he do now? Could he do anything at all? This battle was taking on the hues of one with an inevitable conclusion - his decimation.

The enemy advanced with ominous intensity, threatening to devour the remaining warriors on the field. Yes, a few warriors who were yet to face the wrath of the enemy. Of the countless others who had ventured before, some had fallen in a debile manner, some had used cunning and yet others had actually succeeded in escaping with their strategic plans.

Strategy. Yes, if only he had been geared up for this battle more carefully, he would not have to be looking at last-minute options. It was not as if this was his first time in the line of fire. Could desertion be the answer this time? Well, it really was not a desertion as much as it was freedom. Moreover, you had to be in an army to desert it. Here, each warrior was on his own against the enemy. No team-work, no troop morale and no assistance.

There lay ahead of him that one door of opportunity to flee. To escape his terrifying enemy who would annihilate him in a hopeless battle. He looked at the enemy once more. It was hazy but he could make out that all signs of malevolent intent were very much present. As a fellow warrior engaged in a losing cause, the urge to bolt away to the sweet sounds of freedom was over-powering. How his life would change after that act was anyone's guess. But, he would be out of the enemy's clutches forever.

Time was running out. A war cry, calling him in to the combat would ring out anytime now. "Decide quickly", he told himself. He had just about managed to sever the imaginary roots in one leg when hell broke loose.

"Shreyas! Get your homework here!"

Epilogue: The warrior, in fact, did not flee. Instead, he went on to face many such battles that has evenutally led him to be an inexpert writer of nondescript prose. In hindsight, he regrets he did not dash out of the door. He believes he might have been a street vagabond, roaming the wide, big streets of a wild city. Or, a famous right-hand of Dawood Ibrahim. Or, the school watchman who had the power to close and open the gates to the low lifes.

Post-Script: Inspired by Miss Annie, who taught me Social Studies one unforgettable year and of course, Miss Wormwood.

Not quite godly!

Cricket in my life is an unacknowledged passion. Though I never write about it or actively think about it, I follow cricket fanatically. I browse Cricinfo for innocuous statistics like Carl Hooper's batting average in Australia or the win-loss record between New Zealand and Pakistan. Discussions on cricket make my ears perk up and I always have an opinion, a very stubborn one at that, on all things cricket. Basically, like any other Indian cricket fan, just a little crazier!

The topic that is doing the rounds in my brain cells, as in the mainstream and alternate media is Tendulkar - Is Tendulkar over? Is he a past great? Will he rise again like a phoenix? Is he the only immortal to have walked the cricketing pitches?

The answer to the last question, for me, became a definitive 'No' on the last day of January in 1999. The first test of the historic India-Pakistan series at Chennai was underway. I have always been an admirer of Pakistan Cricket and the prospect of a test match between Pakistan and India, after ten years was very exciting. After three days of very absorbing test cricket where fortunes swung and my heart missed its beats, this was the final act. India had put on 40 for the loss of both the openers at the end of the third day. Rahul Dravid and Sachin Tendulkar were at the crease.

I woke up unusually early and sat down to watch the day's proceedings, brimming with bright optimism. On the ground, the conditions were cold and foggy. Dravid, still to score a big innings had not the slightest clue against the wiles of the Ws - Waqar and Wasim. Sure enough, he soon departed, bowled by the most magical ball I have ever seen.

Tendulkar, at the other end, looked resolute and impenetrable. It appeared that the man, who had bamboozled the Australians less than a year back, was all set to play that one champion innings missing from his portfolio. He defended dourly, stroked the good balls and avoided the balls outside off-stump like the plague.

The remaining two full-time batsmen did not last long either, falling to the spin of that under-rated off-spinner Saqlain Mushtaq. Each fall of the wicket shook my confidence, only for it to be restored by the batsmanship of Tendulkar. I believed that as long as he lasted, and he looked like he would for ages, we still had a chance.

In walked, the last world-class wicket-keeper to have played for India - Nayan Mongia. He had one major innings, a slow and ground-out 153 against Australia in 1996. I uttered a silent prayer for the Gods, who smiled when he played that innings, to smile again.

For the next 192 minutes on that winter afternoon, I felt an impending sense of victory. So often had India had collapsed in such scenarios, so much so they could not touch the finish-mark of a paltry 120 against a weakened West Indies team in 1997. But today was going to be different. I had lunch when the players went off to lunch and took toilet breaks only when there were drink-breaks. I did not miss a single ball that was bowled nor the masterful artistry of the bat by Tendulkar. If there is one cricketing stroke that truly wamrs the cockles of my heart, it is the trademark straight drive Tendulkar unleashes. Each time he played a similar stroke, I smiled the smile of a devotee blessed with a boon. And this was no ordinary pilgrimage. It was a pilgrimage to banish the devils of uncertainity and seal a victory in trying conditions.

Wasim Akram had tried all the tricks he had up his sleeve. Saqlain employed the crease, both sides of the umpire and half the team inside the circle, to try and weed out the batsmen. Tendulkar dismantled each of his ploys with an authority bordering on the disdain. But he did not play a single casual stroke. Like all champions, he deemed to have a stable head that ensured no weak chinks in his armour.

Around five overs into the post-tea session, Wasim brought himself on to the attack. I am curious to know what it was that was going through Mongia's head as he slashed at a short one to offer a looping catch to Younis at mid-on. Yet again, the floor of certainity I stood on shook disturbingly.

In walked Sunil Joshi, no mean schmuck with the bat, at least in regional cricket. I clung on to the hope that Tendulkar will shepherd Joshi and the rest of the tail to an easy win. After all, there were just 53 more runs required.

And then, the cloak of immortality Tendulkar had put on, slipped. In one poorly thought-out stroke, that was executed much more poorly, Tendulkar tried to swat Saqlain out of the ground. Yes, Tendulkar was tiring. Yes, his back was hurting. But this was supposed to be a champion innings. An innings that was to lead from the front and take India to the victory. Hurdles and injuries be damned when you are on the battlefield. But, how can you, O Sachin the Great!, play a stroke so careless and so senseless?

As Tendulkar, the mere mortal for me from that moment on, walked out drudgingly, holding his back, I knew it was over. The finality of defeat that only threatened, at best, in the morning was a sure-shot certainity now. I was shattered. My dad was back and he could see the sadness plastered on my face. I went back to my room and shed a silent tear. It is one of those days I remember when I was distinctly and vividly depressed.

The contrast and the marked mortality of Tendulkar has just been emphasised over the years by the feats of other Champions. Less than two months after the Chennai Test, Brian Lara played a freakishly similar innings for West Indies. With one major difference. He stayed till the end and took his team to victory with just one wicket left. A few months later at the World Cup, Steve Waugh thrived in similar conditions against the South Africans, eventually leading his team to a famous World Cup victory.

Tendulkar is the greatest batsman India has ever produced. Tendulkar has provided me with more joy than any other Indian sportsman has. Tendulkar bludgeoned bowling attacks with an authority unmatched by any Indian batsman, ever or since then. But, in my eyes, he will never be the 'God' that he is to so many other fans.

On the 28th of April

The hall reverberated with a loud buzz. I wondered how could there be so much noise with no music or television or any machines operating. All the sounds emanated from people. Whispers and chattering of people can be so clamourous. As I glanced my head around, I could see Mala Aunty in animated conversation with Kaushik Uncle to my right. To my left, Bharathi Ajji, Sudhi's granny was giving well-meant advice to a visibly disinterested youngster.

And then there was Sudhi. The main participant in this show of grandeur - his wedding. Sudhi, my dear friend from school. Sudhi, the most avid cricketer I have known. Sudhi, a friend who never said 'No'. He was presently seated on the platform, the mantap, on one of those made-for-mass-occasions plastic chair. He looked pensive and tensed. I wondered if he was having second thoughts again. No Sudhi, not now, you cannot be thinking of changing your mind at this hour, I said to myself silently. I had no energy to go and have a solacing talk with him again.

But Sudhi was not clairvoyant to pick up my thought waves. He continued to look tense, repeatedly checking his cellphone and playing with its keys. All his gestures suggested he'd rather be anywhere else than here, in this hall, in his wedding!

Two hours later, I had forgotten all about it, as I stood around a mass of people, trying to glance a peek at the couple nearing the culminating act of this ceremony - the Mangalya Dharana. Sudhi appeared as tense as he was when we used to wait for our final exam results in school. Asha, his wife-to-be, looked at him with puzzled, and slightly worried, eyes. But, Sudhi seemed to be carrying a very heavy burden, the effects of which clearly reflected on his strained face. He checked his cellphone once again. Now, his face lit up like a child who has discovered piece of forgotten candy in his pocket. Mala Aunty gave him an admonishing stare, implying him to switch off his cell. But, Sudhi was apparently too excited to bother about puzzled glances or angry stares.

He stood up, and before anyone could say anything, he made a dash for the front exit, all the while saying, " Don't worry, Amma! Don't worry!" and interjected once with, " Everything is going to be alright! Just that something very urgent has come up. "

We all stood in stunned silence as none of us could grasp what had just happened. Had Sudhi just ran away from his wedding? I knew Sudhi had his set of eccentricities, but this was beyond any of his previous antics. I felt angry at him for deciding to do something so stupid. Mala aunty, meanwhile, was trying to calm others, and herself mostly, as she kept repeating, "I'm sure he will be back soon"

I decided the best thing I could do was to find Sudhi and get him back here. I followed him out of the door and saw him running toward one of the shops at the corner of the road. This was getting mysterious by the minute. What did he have to buy at this hour? Or, was he rendezvousing with someone there?

As I neared the shop myself, I saw Sudhi, holding an edge of his crisp white dhoti in one hand in the midst of a mass of people, trying to get a glimpse of something.

It all became clear then to me. How could I not know? It was the World Cup final. India was playing Pakistan. The biggest cricketing showdown ever. How can Sudhi, the biggest cricketing fan ever, miss out on this? He had controlled himself all day but as the match neared an exciting climax, he couldn't resist himself. I shook my head and sighed in relief.

I yelled out, "Sudhi, you idiot!" . He replied, without even looking back, "Maga, last over. India need five runs. Bhajji at the crease, man. Baro(Come here)" I obediently ran up next to him.