A Piece of My Heart!

Bill Shankly, the authoritarian patriarch of Liverpool Football Club, had once commented that football was more important than life and death. Perhaps that is true. For romantics like me, that’ll always be true. But even for the hard core pragmatists, of late two events have stirred, which have particularly touched my heart, and might as well, soften those of that camp.

Iraq mired in one of its severest political crisis ever, has risen from absolutely nowhere to reach the Finals of the so called, Asian Championships. The best national teams from all over Asia have gathered in their droves here. The traditional giants from the continent like The Korean Republic, Japan, Saudi Arabia and Iraq’s neighbours Iran along with newcomers Australia were expected to do battle, with the others merely making up the numbers. And Iraq, who would have thought, the players could hardly train, with the fear of a car bomb forever lurking near their bases. No other sport could have fuelled this possibility. Other sports are expensive, and most never arouse the community feeling which, this simple and beautiful team sport makes up.

Now we travel northwards to Spain where yet again Atletic Bilbao could ward off the threat of relegation and survive in the Premier Division. Super rich clubs like Barcelona and Real Madrid remain the only ones to have achieved this feat of forever being in the top flight of Spanish football. And while Real and Barca, have achieved this success through their huge power bases, their enormous wealth and government backing at least in the case of the former, Bilbao have achieved all this through their unique Canterra policy. To understand this, we first need to travel a little back in time. After Franco took over power in Spain in 1936, the language of Madrid, Castilliano was deemed the sole official language of the extremely diverse nation. The persecution of the Basques then went on headlong. Basque ethnic pride could no longer be openly displayed, so the Atletic Bilbao football club’s ground the historic San Mamez became the vent for this patriotism. And thus, the club only ever played Basques in the club’s team. No foreigner, not even a non-Basque Spaniard. In fact, some French Basques like Lizarazu have played for them, but no other Spaniards. Such sentiments can be understandable in an earlier age, but to think of the fact that the programme continues to be a success well into the 21st century tells us something about both he people and the sport. It is as I say such a common-man’s game, that passion alone over rides so often.

Tomorrow is I guess the day when Iraq plays the Asian finals against the Saudis. No offence to the boys from the Arabian Peninsula, but I will cheer all my heart out for Iraq. These men, their fathers and their sons, have suffered for so long, bombings, poverty, migration, that our sympathies reach out to them. And as for, the policy at Bilbao, I believe after the flirtations with near relegation over the last two seasons, perhaps the time for change may have come. Or has it? Is so called success, more important than regional pride? Answer lies with the readers. Tell me what you all think!

19th, July

19th of July. The date rings a million memories to me. The parties, the cakes, the food, and the jingles. Indeed, it is the day when 28 years ago, my sister was born into the planet. And this year, for the first time ever, she will be beyond my reach, in some other country, a separate continent, a different time-zone altogether.

The whole week has seen a huge abyss in my life. In previous years, the entire week preceding 19th, all of us would be exposed to Didi’s constant singing ‘Happy Birthday to Me’, which may not always be so pleasant. However, nothing of that this time around.

Sayantani Dasgupta has always been a very passionate character who pursues her dreams till the end. While many other women consider meekness a virtue, she has always been more than a handful for any person around. Brilliantly intellectual, she misses nothing around.

Didi has generally mellowed down over the years. Each step in her life has lead to a change. In school, she was fiery, someone who would break her pencil if things went wrong, or tear apart all the posters in her bedroom. She changed a bit in college, perhaps St. Stephen’s provided her a perfect platform to show herself, and those may well have been her happiest years. Then, as she went to JNU, a different life emerged to her. A more Pan-India culture proved to be a bit of a shock, and she got first hand information on grass roots politics in India. But the biggest change engulfed her as she went to work in Mohali. My sister who was previously obsessed with reading on Hitler, or Saddam Hussein, was now suddenly interested in dressing up in Salwars, and hearing Sufi Music. The girl got transformed to a woman. It was during her Mohali stay that she gifted me David Beckham’s autobiography for my 17th birthday.

The lady in question is also very loyal to her family. Always gets something for every one in the immediate clan, whenever she goes somewhere. And what’s more as she now heads to middle age, a new life is what she is experiencing. In America for the last one year (nearly), she has made deep inroads into American academic life. And I am just waiting for the day when she strides into her Ivy League classroom, to deliver her lecture on the Mahabharata, her life’s ambition.