Fresh Start

This was an unusual day by my standards. First, I got up at 6 am in the morning, got ready early on, had a filling breakfast and reached office at 10. Then I went to the gym in the evening - after more than 7 months. One hour of cardio and free hands to start off was quite good. Dinner on time, work some more while listening to Rafi Sahab. Nothing much here, just a long day that was not tiring.

Web of Conflicts

Watched Spiderman 3 tonight - 3 of us, after a 3-course dinner. (I could have watched Namesake as well, since another Samarjit was there, too.) Just for the records, this was my first among the movies that come as a series these days and everyone seem to have seen them. Hence, there was no Spidey, Happy Rotter (thought of not changing the spoonerism after I wrote Happy for Harry, since somehow I am not very attracted to his antics), LOTR, Shrek prior to this one.

Coming to the point, I was not very keen on going for this movie since somehow, English movies are not something that I usually watch. But I am glad that we went. Watching one of my favourite childhood cartoon heroes in action (the other ones were The Phantom and Lothar) was indeed satisfying. The stand-out feature of the film was, undoubtedly, the visuals. It's unbelievable how real the scenes looked - as Spiderman and gang went along with their business in NY. That the story and acts were also put together very well made the film much more likeable. If someone with a penchant for techno-graphics went to watch the movie, and I guess this is what these films sell on, they would be thrilled. And if you remove the super-heroism from the proceedings and replaced them with normal human behaviour, you have a good thing on your plate as well. The way every major character has been shown in contrasting shades at some point or the other, it surely deserves credit. The ladies did not resort to conflicting personas - perhaps as a symbolic exception to the grey existence of most humans. There was no villain in the movie, which I felt was quite unique in a movie of this genre. We saw someone turning bad out of compulsion, one out of humiliation, one out of blind obedience and one (our very own Peter Parker) out of heartbreak. Finally, it was again the victory of the grey as the white (of the selfless friend) and the black (of the selfish adversery) had to meet untimely deaths.

And at the end, we are told - 'We always have a choice to do the right thing.'

Miles you go ... while I sleep

I just had a late-night conversation with one of my very close friends. We were in college together after tenth and - even though we started talking on a winter morning under queer circumstances - have been great friends since then, for ever. I remember during the final board examinations, I would struggle with Calculus and Organic Chemistry all night and before going to bed - puzzled, flummoxed and vain - I would wake him up so that he could start his studies. And then there was this similarity in our unwavering adherence to Rafi and good food!

So when he went to pursue medicine with a brilliant performance in the entrance (and I - looking here and there and not being able to see much beyond the newly constructed, incomplete structure near my house that I have to call my college for the rest of my life - went for engineering), our interactions became less regular. Now, if you picture two boys focussing on the next few, most crucial, years that would decide the course of their lives, then read on. The fact is - you have only got half the picture. Because, one of them would go on whiling away time like no one did in a while. (Not that he repents, but that is more to prove that some people never learn.)

Talking to him, at a time when I am at my reflective best, really brought back some very fond memories. He has always been there, even at times when - after a of belt-loosening eating frenzy in our favourite roadside restaurant - I would pause by the nearest sweet-shop on the way to the bus stand.

I remember when I was very young, one winter morning my mother dragged me by my hand out of the bed and straight to the bathroom. She had but an option to do that, it was 8:45 and school started at 9:30. And when she happened to pass by after sometime, she found me lying there, curled up on the doormat. :D

This was not to digress from the what I was talking about in this post. I just mentioned it in passing - as a sample of what I am capable of when I am asleep. And, my best achievement was at this friend's home. This was about 2 years back. Three of us spent the day at his place - where he stays alone. In the evening, when the other friend was gone, my friend had to go out for some work and I stayed back. With nothing much to do, I took to the pages of a book on medicine and in no time knew of its sedative properties. So, within 5 minutes of his leaving, there was a breathing log on his bed. I woke up to his vigourous shaking, and opened my eyes to a very worried person. His face had anxiety, relief and anger written all at once.

As I came into the situation, I understood what made him the way he looked. When he returned after half an hour and got no answer to the bells, he called me on my mobile (which was lying by the pillow I clung to like a drowning man with a buoy). When that did not work, he started calling my name at the top of his voice. He was really worried when this went on for about 15 minutes and there was no answer from inside his own house. After having no other go, he - with the help of the watchman - broke the lock at the grills and came in; pretty sure I was murdered. Only when he saw me did he realise that this death was rather temporary.

These memories make me feel great and forces me to believe that there is nothing that I cannot do. If I could spend all these years being the way I am, I can surely carry on till the day I bid these memories goodbye.

30/1 (No, it's not the score)

Take two snooker balls and make a bigger one out of them. Now that you have got the size in your mind, that was the size of the cauliflower I bought yesterday. But I could not believe it when I was told that it cost 30 rupees. What is the country coming to? Despite the off-season, I could not believe it could have been more than 10. Or is it the city, because not very long back, I used to hear cries saying we can have two of them for 5 rupees in peak season, and they used to be double the size of what I had in my hand yesterday.

Living in the southern cities - Bangalore, Chennai and now Hyderabad - I realised that the cost of fruits in this part of the country was abysmally bad. And now, I would say the same for vegetables as well. I remember, during the peak mango season last year, someone commanded Rs. 35 for a single piece! I had a strange feeling on hearing this audacious announcement, a feeling that could potentially lead me to touching his feet or smashing his head. In a spectacular display of patience and calm, I smiled at him and returned. I did not go near a mango that year. Time, as usual, has been a great healer and now - even though I do not usually buy them - an apple at Rs. 25 or an orange at 15 does not shake my heart to convulsions. Images of my dad bringing home baskets of the most delicious Himsagar mangoes flash back in my mind, and the miles to Calcutta multiply manifold.

I am feeling a bit dehydrated since yesterday. And whenever I am telling people why I did not go to office, I am feeling more sick. Because the unanimous verdict is - 'Have lots of fruits and juices!'

Words' worth!

I know I will not be able to express what I am trying to write in this post, but I will give it a try nonetheless.

I feel, we can categorise great poetry into two classes. One - pure good poetry, a good flow and rhythm, amazing choice of words that tells a tale within the confines of the meter. When you read them, you realise penning them down requires God-gifted talent. Someone like Rabindranath Thakur. He could create the same magic on the most complex and most trivial of topics. I believe, he could write a masterpiece - if he felt like - even on seeing the straining of tea at the roadside stall.

The other class is difficult to explain. These just leave you zapped. And it is impossible to imagine what thoughts, feelings and experiences lie buried in the foundation, upon which the words are erected. Written by geniuses no doubt, but it seems these breed of poets were taught by none other than Life himself. It is very easy to appreciate once you read them - but once you try to think what could have possibly brought such perspectives in their minds, you are bound to lose your way.

The essence of good writing lies in bridging the gap between feeling and expression - and one of the widest lies in me. And, if I am thinking a million, I can put only a hundred to paper and speak out just, maybe, ten. This remains the biggest reason that I have not decided to take up writing seriously.

Coming back to what I was saying, I thought of writing this after I was hearing one of my favourite ghazals sometime back. Though all the couplets are amazing, the one that made me write this was -

Iss shaher-e-be-charagh mein jayegi tu kahan?
Aa, ay shab-e-firaaq tujhe ghar hi le chale.

Each time I try to fathom what went through Nasir Kazmi's mind when he wrote these lines, I get baffled beyond recovery. It's something like this if I dare translate -

Where would you wander in this lightless night?
Come, o night of separation, I will take you to my home.

:)

Did I entertain you?

That is what Brian Charles Lara asked the packed crowd at the Kensington Oval last Saturday. A redundant question - that was replied with an even more redundant deafening applause in the affirmative from the crowd. Farther away, every true cricket fan (not bigoted fanatics) would have at least nodded a silent yes. For, that was what the man did - entertain. He is the last of the lot of cricketers who played their game for the love of it - and gave you joy in the process. You do not feel awe despite his thunderous presence, it always made you happy from within, a feeling one might get if one was to watch, and not read, poetry.

I am not going to the everlasting debate of whether he was the best player of his time. In my book, he was - he was simply above the rest in that his were genius acts, not rehearsed performances. Thus, he was highly unpredictable, susceptible to a luscious delivery and commanding impossible ones across or over the rope. Statistics do not count for players like him - despite the fact that he is right up there on that front as well - the fact that stands out is that he was best by miles on his day. Can you imagine any player to have scored 1276 runs in just 3 innings - and not out in 2 of them as well? I remember staying up till 3 am - despite my XIIth board chemistry exam the next morning - when he scored 153* in the fourth innings against McGrath, Gillespie, Warne and McGill, adding 70 odd runs with Ambrose (12) and Walsh (0*) for company. That was cricket - you had to see it to believe it.

I sincerely believed he had another 2 years of top class cricket left in him for sure. At least, he could have continued in the Tests. I am sure, he did want the same - since he had hinted about it so many times. But then he felt the undercurrents that ran in West Indian cricket and stepped out before it sucked him in. He had always spoken out against the powers that be for a range of issues - but decided to remain silent in his last act. He was surely not lacking in fitness or form, maybe his autobiography would talk about the decision when the dust settles.

It's a known fact that West Indian cricket is in the doldrums since around the mid 90s. But to make, break and rebuild records and be the best in the business amongst such ruins really shows the character and passion he had for the game.

With due respect to all the great players around, I have to admit that cricket has no charm left for me anymore. And - maybe leaving aside some decisive matches - I would not be watching cricket anymore. "Did I entertain you?" he asked. And as the resounding applause died down, he added, "If I entertained you I am really happy..." You bet you did Brian. And even though you managed to walk off one last time wiping just a single drop of tear, your bereaved team and countless followers would find it difficult to contain theirs everytime cricket is played without you.

God bless!

Revamped

Bored with the tiresome trudging of time through the sticky tar of the night, I thought of playing with the features offered in this blog. A quick quality check revealed a good structure and classification of the features on offer. So now I have a new font, a photo, link to pages I visit often, and other post options. Did not want to clutter the page with many features, nor do technical niceties attract me that much. I would rather go for an appearance that would look good on the page of a book, than at the Times Square.

What's more, my blog is now capable of posting in near-perfect Hindi as well. So let's not waste the chance of having a few (easier) lines here. This is from the immortal Mehdi Hassan gem Ranjish Hi Sahi, where he set the captivating lyrics by Ahmed Faraaz this haunting Yaman-Kalyan tune. One gem you should not miss -

रंजिश ही सही, दिल ही दुखाने के लिए आ -
आ फिर से मुझे छोड़ के जाने के लिए आ।

पहले से मरासिम ना सही फिर भी कभी तो -
रस्म-ओ-रहे दुनिया ही निभाने के लिए आ।

किस किस को बताये जुदाई कि सबब हम?
तू मुझसे खफा है तो ज़माने के लिए आ।

माना कि मोहब्बत का छुपाना है मोहब्बत -
चुपके से किसी रोज़ जताने के लिए आ।

जैसे तुझे आते है ना आने के बहाने -
ऐसे ही किसी रोज़ ना जाने के लिए आ।

Happy reading!