The League of Extraordinarily Sordid Gentlemen

Just two weeks into the IPL and I already find the commentary repetitive and boring, the quality of cricket is slowly depreciating, and the advertisements have only increased two fold. Every hit that crosses the boundary is a "DLF Maximum" and every sitter of a catch is a "Karbonn Kamaal Catch" and every wicket is a "Shitty Citi Moment of Success", add to that a "Maxx Mobile Timeout", an advertisement in between balls (poorly superimposed on a large screen in the stadium) and you feel like asking "Where is the Cricket!?". Modi has his army of sycophants (read commentators and cricket "experts", if you consider Arun Lal to be one) who hail him as the "New Messiah" of Cricket and sing of all the cheer and joy he has spread across the country thanks to his "baby" the IPL. Navjot Singh Sidhu with his over-the-top expressions would compare him with the Mahatma if he had his way."One small step for Mr Modi is one giant leap for the cricketing fraternity"  said Navjot Singh Sidhu, that is the most subtle he could be in kissing the rear end, you can expect this and more from a guy who compared the IPL with the World Cup.


In every state level player who hits a slam bang fifty or takes a wicket, we see a future Sachin or a future Fast Bowler (seriously, when was the last time we ever had a true blue fast bowler?). We celebrate their success and we go to bed with a feeling that "Yes, we do have the proper replacements when our modern greats retire". The most irksome part of all is how easily we have fallen for this shallow dream. We have fallen for the glitz and the glamor and the scantily clad cheerleaders with poor footwork, we have fallen in love with the artificially infused drama that is T-20, yes it brings in the kids and the women and increases TRP ratings and increases the game's reach in countries where it is lesser known, but is a cricketer's worth only measured in the mindless slogs that he executes? IPL now is more about the cash and less about cricket, it is more of a power game about which celebrity owner gets to rub the nose of his counterpart in the dirt. And in this crossfire is caught the modern day cricketer who is now merely reduced to a commodity. Every cricketer now comes with a price tag.

"I'm just a businessman and have absolutely no idea about the game of cricket. It is just business for me." - Mukesh Patel, co-owner of the new Kochi IPL franchise.

When you let money minded businessmen and celebrities with giant sized egos run the show you can only feel sorry for the real players who are involved in it. Every body now wants to sink their teeth in the IPL pie.

IPL as huge a revolution it may seem now, will die an inevitably slow death, the reasons being that the biggest draw for such a lucrative tournament are the players. The 35+ brigade of Warne, Gilchrist, Hayden (The Holy Aussie Trinity) Kumble, Murali, Jayasuriya, Ganguly are one of the main reasons why this event has been hugely successful. But how long are they willing to push themselves for that one final encore remains to be seen. I am not criticizing the IPL here, it is an exciting venture, where else would we get to see a South African and an Aussie give high fives or Sachin and Sanath tear apart the bowling, or Kumble and Warne still celebrate every wicket as if its their first. But the IPL should not be taken seriously, it is already turning out into an Injury Premier League (credit to Atul Wassan,SET MAX's in-house "Expert" for coining the term, the only sensible thing he has said so far). And with the World T-20 beginning five days right after the IPL final, it remains to be seen if the players have enough ammunition left in their armor to come out all guns blazing for another two weeks in the Carribean.


IPL which was all about Cricket- a simple game between the bat and ball has now evolved into a clash of egos and a quest for greed. Gordon Gekko had famously said "Greed is good", but too much of greed kills the goose that lays the golden eggs. Andrew Symonds for a change speaks some sense instead of sledges when he says "You have to look after your cattle, you can't just keep driving and whipping them", with two more teams added to the league, and 94 matches in IPL-4 you can only wonder what happens if the cattle turns savage.


Source: http://www.cricinfo.com/ipl2010/content/story/453552.html
            http://www.cricinfo.com/page2/content/story/453025.html
           

Inamorata

He looked at the monitor, dazed and irritated, "How could it go wrong? I did a thorough check of everything" he wondered. Yet he could not figure out the reason for the "30 Errors Detected!" message that flashed on his screen. "A damn copy paste job! and I could not even do that without screwing up!" he cursed himself. He threw his arms up in dismay, muttering to himself, wanting to smash the monitor to pieces. His thoughts of torchering the monitor was interrupted when his boss came over and told him that he had to work on the weekend. "Great, I'll probably go to the pantry, drown myself with endless cups of coffee and hopefully die of a caffeine overdose" he mused to himself. It was there that he first set his eyes on her, and the first word that came to his mind was "Ethereal".

She seemed like the first drop of rain that falls on earth after a sultry afternoon, she was beautiful, graceful, and so serene. He nervously fidgeted with the coffee machine hoping not to make a fool of himself in front of her, praying that she stayed a bit longer. He wanted to know her name, he wanted to know about the life she lived, he wanted to be her friend, atleast in that way she would say out his name, and it had been ages since his name had been called out by someone so divine looking. He wondered if her name would be as beautiful as she was, did she have a guy? Was he even deserving enough to hear his name being called out from those gentle lips? He wished he had the charm and the panache to go over and start a conversation with her. But he was socially challenged, he felt having too many friends was overrated, he spent the weekend lazing around on his couch, making excuses to avoid his friends so that he could curl up in front of the boob tube, watching new releases on pirated dvds. He had a simple life and was a simpler guy to please. He wanted nothing from life, until now. 

It was then he wished that he became her friend, a friend who would make her laugh, a shoulder to lean onto when she cried, a friend who would always be there to comfort her, to tell her that pain doesn't last forever. He would sing for her, dance for her, learn to play the guitar for her, become a clown for her, for her he was willing to get off the couch on a weekend.  He heard her name being called out by his friends, "Inamorata" they said to which she responded. "Inamorata" he whispered to himself, if ever there was a name so fitting to a person, this had to be it.

He drank up his stale cup of coffee saying her name out to himself after every sip, as if it made the coffee more sweeter. He trudged back to his desk and typed her name in different fonts...
 
Inamorata!  Inamorata!   Inamorata!  Inamorata!   Inamorata!   Inamorata!   Inamorata!



He wrote them in different colors....

Inamorata!  Inamorata!   Inamorata!  Inamorata!   Inamorata!   Inamorata!   Inamorata! 

And chuckled to himself about how crazy he was sounding...

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, he occasionally bumped into her at the pantry, or at the elevator. He was drowned with work, deadlines to meet and reports to be sent and targets to be achieved had clouded his mind more than her. Those chance encounters with her may have lasted for only a few minutes, but for that brief moment he would be transported to a whole new world. A world where she called him out by his name, a world where he was the reason for the smile on her lips, a world where work took the back seat and she the front. 

The economy was coming back to health and his colleagues who had taken this job as a stop-gap arrangement moved on to greener pastures. His work increased and he soon had to juggle tasks. Getting out of office on regular time became a luxury. Inamorata was slowly fading away from his heart and mind. His request to his boss on allotting him with a helping hand fell on deaf ears. "You can handle it! you are quite capable, you are being trained for bigger roles" he was promised, "So much for laughing out loud on your bad jokes" he thought to himself.  But he never gave up, he kindly put in a word on lending a "resource" from other departments whenever he found some time with his boss. Finally the powers that be decided that he be provided with a "resource". The best "resource" that he could have wished for.

It was late in the evening and the office was close to empty when his boss introduced his new colleague to him, he exchange pleasantries and updated his new "resource" on the process and the works. He felt something burning within him, there was an urge at the bottom of his stomach that wanted him to rush out of his desk and run towards the restroom. He excused himself and rushed towards the restroom, as he walked the tiredness that had corroded his mind and his body slowly vanished. He walked into the restroom, took a quick scan. There was no one around. He rolled up his sleeve, adjusted his glasses, pushed the strands of hair to the side of his head, closed his eyes and took position. 


As he opened his eyes, he could see a large crowd waiting for him to perform. He took a deep breath and broke into a waltz. There was no music being played, yet he could hear a melody within his heart which seemed to be flying high. As he swayed faster, his heart beat faster, as his heart beat faster, the music grew louder. The crowd was on its feet, dancing along with him. They were shouting out his name loud, they were asking for an encore. His feet moved faster, and his hands moved even faster. As the music slowly faded out he slowed down, he bowed his head, doffed his imaginary hat to the crowd and thanked them for the support. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened his eyes again. He was transported back to reality.

He went to the basin, washed his face and looked into the mirror. "Inamorata" he slowly said, her name was music to his ears. He gave a smile, wondering when he smiled last. Blew a kiss to the mirror, and walked out of the restroom to meet the girl waiting for her, Inamorata.

Keying Away - When Bloggers Meet

The hall was filled with Young Rookies and the Old Warhorses, some were humorous and some were sober, some listened to Rock, some listened to Raaga, some preferred Vodka and some preferred Wine, one was a Lawyer and the other a Student, but they had one thing in common: They were all passionate bloggers. And thanks to IndiBlogger, I was able to meet with some of the brightest and creative minds that one could find in the virtual world, it was a confluence of the Madcap and the Methodical. A confluence at the end of which one could proudly proclaim that "S/He is a blogger!". It was at the meet where my belief on the powers of blogging were confirmed. We all have a voice, in a world where our voices are drowned in the noises and the cacophony, cyberspace comes as a breath of fresh air, here we have our own space. Here, we all have our own individual domains, we all have our own unique twitter handles and we all have our own opinions. Like one fine lady said "We cannot be F.C.U.K ed with", its true, its amazing the kind of power that Web 2.0 now has presented to the Average Janardhan.


We now have a voice that can be echoed to scores of people. And its a powerful voice. We can show care, faith, anger, distrust, love and hope with the words we choose. And our words become a voice when we hit the "Submit" button. From people who blogged about technical stuff to the ones who blogged about random personal occurrences to the ones who blogged for a cause, for them all the keyboard is more powerful than an AK-47. It was a Saturday well spent, I made a couple of friends, shamelessly publicized my blog (in M.B.A parlance "networked") and gobbled up some freebies on offer. They say love can be found at the most unusual of places, I guess I found mine at a blogger's meet.

She, is a Woman

She is our Creator,

She is our Destroyer,

She Makes us,

She Breaks us,

She, is a Woman.

She can't be lived With,

She can't be lived Without,

We learn to Live for her,

We want to Die for her,

She, is a Woman.

She puts us to Sleep,

She wakes us into Reality,

She can be our Best Friend,

She can be our Worst Enemy,

She, is a Woman.

She Kicks ass!

She Heals wounds,

We crave for her Touch,

We yearn for her Love,

She, is a Woman.

She makes a Man feel like a Boy,

She makes a Boy feel like a Man,

She is a Shoulder to lean onto,

She is a Friend we all want to have,

She, is a Woman.

She is Worshipped,

She is Abhorred,

She is a Sinner,

She is a Saint,

She, is a Woman.

We love to see her Cry,

We love to see her Smile,

She makes us Want them,

She makes us Loathe them,

She, is a Woman.

She has a Resolve that can't be broken,

She has a Love that can't be matched,

She Makes us believe in Love,

She Shatters our belief in Love,

She, is a Woman.

She makes us Laugh,

She makes us Cry,

She gives us Hope,

She gives us Pain,

She, is a Woman.

She is a caring Mother,

She is a doting Sister,

She is a faithful Friend,

She is a devoted Wife,

She is a beloved Lover,

She dons many roles,

She has many faces,

She, is a Woman.

Lend Me Your Ear

At a first glance I thought it was some kind of a headset, with the funkier kind of headsets that are being manufactured these days I wasn’t surprised when I saw something of that kind. But a second closer glance made me realize that it wasn’t a headset, it had the shape of one, and it was plugged into the ears of a guy, but it wasn’t one. It is one of those things which don’t have a name, they don’t have a label, and they don’t have a brand. It is one of those freak products that men make and find a use for it later. It was some sort of an ear muff, an ear muff with an impoverished and ill-fitting look that would make a White Man say “Yes! this does seem like one that is manufactured in the third world nations!”. A big, large, clumsy looking ear muff which sits awkwardly in your ears and makes you look like Mickey Mouse, whose ears I feel may have been the “inspiration” for the inception of this product.

Now Chennai is not Siberia, at no hour of the day. Yet I could see a smattering of people wearing this on the way to work, in the initial few days of its “launch” I could roughly see 4-5 people wearing it but as the days went by the rate increased quite alarmingly. I see them in trains, at train stations, in buses, at bus stops, on the streets, on jay walkers, on pedestrians. I see them on school going kids, college going youngsters, middle aged men, middle aged women, old men, old women, on almost every type of demography that is out there. I was shocked to see this perched prettily on the ears of a friend of mine, whom I considered to be quite sensible until then. “Thou too?” I asked, “What? Its quite cold here! Stop judging people because they use something that doesn’t appeal to your standards” She said. “It’s 10 am in the morning and you are working in an air conditioned office! Of all the places you can’t wear it here!” I said, “It’s supposed to protect your ear from the cold, no matter where you are” she said just incase I was dumb enough not to figure it out. I found it futile to argue with her further, I admitted my defeat, thanked her for the insight and walked away.

It comes in all shapes and sizes and colors too, polka dotted, tiger stripes, leopard spots, green beret type (just in case you are going for a war in a dense jungle and want to be camouflaged so that the enemy wouldn’t spot you). I would not have found it outrageous had Chennai been a cold place or even if there were bugs flying all around and you had high chance of a bug getting inside your ear, or your ears getting frozen due to frostbite. But Sultry Steaming Singara Chennai is not all that, the only temperature that Chennai knows are Hot Hotter and Hottest, and I cannot even fathom why someone in their right senses would buy something so ill-fitting, ridiculously looking, garishly seeming item which doesn’t even have a proper name for it (The Ear Condom is what I could think of) for their large heads.

Why is it that man has become so insecure about getting infected or diseased that he has started manufacturing products which we do not even have a use for?

Condoms: I agree are very very useful for a nation where Screwing is the favorite topic/pastime after Cricket and Cinema and Music (Don’t you try to deny it, we did not become a population of billion + just by talking about sex.)

Helmets: You definitely need one with the vehicles outnumbering the riders in our streets.

Sun Glasses/ Shades: To protect your vision from the big hard sun which also makes you look cooler and helps you check out good looking people without making you look like you are ogling at them.

And I am not even including all those facial creams, pastes, chemical matter which we apply on our faces to make us look pretty and wrinkle free.

But an Ear Condom/ Ear Muff! What are the chances of our ears getting damaged?  They certainly don’t look like they could cover up our ear from an explosion, I would not mind if they looked good, but they look clumsy and they seem ridiculous.

Just like shoot first and ask questions later, I guess this is a case of manufacture first and find a use for it later. We are a nation of billion people and counting, and we are a huge market for every product imaginable. Out of a billion there could be a small but sufficient percentage of population that may find such products of their use. Which reminds me of a product launch competition in which I had taken part a couple of years back. The winner was a team who had come up with a product called “Musical Baby Diapers”, the purpose of this product was to let the parent know when to change the diapers with a musical tune, and no, it was not in the tune of a nursery rhyme, but it was of some popular Bollywood number (An A.R Rehman rendition to be more precise). So whenever the baby crapped, the diaper would start playing a tune to let you know that it needed changing. Now, would you find any use of a product such as that?

I do not oppose innovation or creative thinking, we need products that are a cut above the rest, but we have our Wants and our Needs mixed up. Every new product that comes into the market makes us want to try it, but is there a real need for buying it? There is a line in a movie which goes “Yahaan har minute ek bakra paida hota hai, aur har doosre minute do kasai paida hotein hai usse halaal karne ke liye”, the movie was a flop, but the line does seem quite right.