A blog can so often mirror a person. The blog writer (let’s call him the writer here) writes on topics close to his/her heart and on issues important to the person at the particular stage in life. If what I have just written is remotely correct, then I have an eerie feeling that on how I will be judged. I used to be a decent writer, at least I claimed I was good. I used to write on myriad topics ranging from football to history to personal life. Notice the phrase ‘used to’. Yes that’s correct. I haven’t written for so long that I am fearful what this present blog will produce. But this is it. My slumber of more than a year has been broken. Over the next few articles I shall write on a number of topics which I have been thinking on for quite some time. But let the first of those just be an apology for this long hiatus and a promise for more to come. I end my blog here and hopefully somebody will read it. But be prepared for the slew of articles coming your way soon!
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Friday, January 23, 2009
Travels and the Great Tree
Travels often bring out the best in people. Even the most mundane of daily travels can have a stimulating effect on the mind. For me, it is always the outrageous which plays in my mind while journeying. Lately I was fortunate enough to visit some parts of Madhya Pradesh state’s forest belt. A friend of mine pointed to a big banyan tree and proclaimed it to be over 300-400 years old. This triggered a slew of ideas in my mind. What if by some way, we can make the tree to talk? If by some way, I can just communicate with it.
If it is 300 year old then did the banyan witness the Battle of Plassey from its heights atop the hill? It must have seen the epic battles between the Marathas and Ahmad Shah Abdali. It must have wept with all of us, when Delhi turned red after Nadir Shah’s carnage on the city. Climbing a bit more the top branches might as well have caught a glimpse of America’s freedom struggle or even seen Bismarck’s war cries. So much can be learnt from the tree if I can only talk to her once.
Better even if the tree –lets name it B- is 400 years old. So much information must be stored on every pore of B’s body. She must have witnessed the landing of the first British ships in India. I wonder how B will rate the making of “Jodha Akbar”.
If I can only have a date with the 400 year old Banyan tree! I will extract information not known otherwise, and I shall become famous instantly. More than meager fame, it is the glory of seeing the world from up the Vindhyas for the period of 400 years that makes this the greatest of all journeys.
If it is 300 year old then did the banyan witness the Battle of Plassey from its heights atop the hill? It must have seen the epic battles between the Marathas and Ahmad Shah Abdali. It must have wept with all of us, when Delhi turned red after Nadir Shah’s carnage on the city. Climbing a bit more the top branches might as well have caught a glimpse of America’s freedom struggle or even seen Bismarck’s war cries. So much can be learnt from the tree if I can only talk to her once.
Better even if the tree –lets name it B- is 400 years old. So much information must be stored on every pore of B’s body. She must have witnessed the landing of the first British ships in India. I wonder how B will rate the making of “Jodha Akbar”.
If I can only have a date with the 400 year old Banyan tree! I will extract information not known otherwise, and I shall become famous instantly. More than meager fame, it is the glory of seeing the world from up the Vindhyas for the period of 400 years that makes this the greatest of all journeys.
The Holy Cow!
I am the Holy Cow of India
The envy of all other quadrupeds
I am treated like a god king here
The great Homo Sapien stoops before me
I had a king’s upbringing
Was born off a junkyard in New Delhi’s glitziest district
Did my schooling off slums
Where young innocent minds showered me with the reddest of bricks
For food I was always pampered
No boring green leafy vegetables or simple hay for me
I had the best of junk food
Spicy Continental Banana skins garnished on polythene packs
My mom called me one day and told me about a dream land nearby
She told me of a place on the foothills of mountains where flowed the sacred Ganga
It was the holiest of cities in India
Our kind are particularly given royal treatment there
So I went along dreaming of all the pleasures
I felt welcome when a picture of a sister was embedded on stone
So I went in looking for the priest’s blessings
I was blessed by his wooden rod, holier than all of humanity
I know I am a protected animal here
My life is guaranteed
Pity my brothers elsewhere
Who are fed and nourished only to fall prey with life still in them
I will continue to flourish till the body finally gives way
Till then I shall enjoy the best of junk- and all that for free
Who needs a McDonald’s or Wimpy’s
I am the Holiest of Holy Cows in India
The envy of all other quadrupeds
I am treated like a god king here
The great Homo Sapien stoops before me
I had a king’s upbringing
Was born off a junkyard in New Delhi’s glitziest district
Did my schooling off slums
Where young innocent minds showered me with the reddest of bricks
For food I was always pampered
No boring green leafy vegetables or simple hay for me
I had the best of junk food
Spicy Continental Banana skins garnished on polythene packs
My mom called me one day and told me about a dream land nearby
She told me of a place on the foothills of mountains where flowed the sacred Ganga
It was the holiest of cities in India
Our kind are particularly given royal treatment there
So I went along dreaming of all the pleasures
I felt welcome when a picture of a sister was embedded on stone
So I went in looking for the priest’s blessings
I was blessed by his wooden rod, holier than all of humanity
I know I am a protected animal here
My life is guaranteed
Pity my brothers elsewhere
Who are fed and nourished only to fall prey with life still in them
I will continue to flourish till the body finally gives way
Till then I shall enjoy the best of junk- and all that for free
Who needs a McDonald’s or Wimpy’s
I am the Holiest of Holy Cows in India
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Th Strange Choice!
We witnessed a lot of hype over Hillary Clinton’s nomination to run for the post of Presidential candidate from the Democrat Party in the US recently. It is indeed an achievement for any human being whatsoever to rise to the position of being a semi-finalist in the race to be the world’s most powerful person. And for this alone, she should get a lot of respect from the public in general. But to claim that she was a messiah for women kind and that she was a solitary female representative in a male world is ludicrous at the least. Yes she is a woman, but then dare we forget she is the wife of Bill Clinton who was America’s President not so long ago, and in fact still remains among the most popular ones ever.
Now late us take the case of another woman leader in a different part of the world. The name is Mayawati Naina Kumari, presently the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh. She was born in the lowest rung of society, and is now the leader of India’s largest and perhaps most influential sate. Here I’m not trying to be an advocate of caste politics or dalit-socialism, but I’m only trying to gauge the mind of the so-called feminists who have put personalities like Hillary Clinton now and others like Indira Gandhi and Isabella Peron in the pasta s feminist icons. Mayawati had an economically impoverished childhood, and is not conventionally pretty looking a quality often required for women to reach the top in patriarchal societies. And yet presently she is the most powerful person in one of the most backward-patriarchal parts of the globe. I’m not suggesting that Mayawati is a morally superior personality, but if seen purely as a female symbol surely none can have better credentials. Perhaps her not being dressed elegantly could be a reason for this lack of appeal to the modern working women who then look for falser idols. Indira Gandhi’s suave English and Hillary Clinton’s Caucasian American look better fit into these stereotypes of so-called ‘breaking the glass barrier’ and all that.
But the truth is that if I had been a feminist, Mayawati would definitely have been my idol. She has consistently managed to kick men around successfully starting without a base point to launch her campaigns. Indeed without seemingly powerful intimate relationships of blood or flesh.
Now late us take the case of another woman leader in a different part of the world. The name is Mayawati Naina Kumari, presently the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh. She was born in the lowest rung of society, and is now the leader of India’s largest and perhaps most influential sate. Here I’m not trying to be an advocate of caste politics or dalit-socialism, but I’m only trying to gauge the mind of the so-called feminists who have put personalities like Hillary Clinton now and others like Indira Gandhi and Isabella Peron in the pasta s feminist icons. Mayawati had an economically impoverished childhood, and is not conventionally pretty looking a quality often required for women to reach the top in patriarchal societies. And yet presently she is the most powerful person in one of the most backward-patriarchal parts of the globe. I’m not suggesting that Mayawati is a morally superior personality, but if seen purely as a female symbol surely none can have better credentials. Perhaps her not being dressed elegantly could be a reason for this lack of appeal to the modern working women who then look for falser idols. Indira Gandhi’s suave English and Hillary Clinton’s Caucasian American look better fit into these stereotypes of so-called ‘breaking the glass barrier’ and all that.
But the truth is that if I had been a feminist, Mayawati would definitely have been my idol. She has consistently managed to kick men around successfully starting without a base point to launch her campaigns. Indeed without seemingly powerful intimate relationships of blood or flesh.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Kunti's Rescue Act!
It was a fatal night. Her dark body, mesmerizing as it was stood in front of the brothers, not in reality but in thoughts. They twitched at every sway of her hips. She was born as destiny’s child and now was her chance to finally fulfill her father’s wishes.
It was the night before Draupadi’s Swayamvar. She was to choose her own husband. Yudhishthira was struggling to keep up his usually restrained self, and kept dreaming about her the whole night. Bheema would fell demons with ease, but her thoughts and the fear of not winning her made him look like a child. Nakula and Sahdeva, forever obedient to their elder brothers and wanting their good could not avoid a slight selfishness that night. It was written in the stars that she would be Arjuna’s, but that was hardly a consolation for him under the silver shafts of moonlight. The Pandava brothers for once stood divided!
Draupadi’s father Drupada was in a fix. He ‘knew’ that fate would conspire to make Arjuna the husband, but he could not be sure. Competing for the prize were also Karna, Duryodhana and Dussasana, among the finest archers the world had ever seen. And indeed on the day of the Swayamvar they would all gather as would the Pandavas in their disguise. Karna was denied Draupadi’s love as he was a ‘son of a charioteer’, or so she thought. Thus hurt would rankle him throughout his life, and would have devastating consequences. As Fate had it, Arjuna was adjudged the winner of the archery contest and Draupadi was his wife; much to Drupada and her own relief.
Draupadi would go on to divide the house of the Kurus as no one else. She added venom to a fire already burning, but the poison would end up destroying the entire house and indeed all of Kshatriya kind. This was pretty much her role, as she was born to aid Krishna in bringing about the Kaliyuga.
But has Kunti’s crucial role as a peacemaker been ignored? It was as if she intervened to stop the Pandavas themselves breaking up over Draupadi. Bheema, Yudhishthira, Nakula and Sahdeva all desired her. Bheema ended up as possibly her biggest lover, always there when it mattered. In the Kuru Sabha after the dice game, he was the only one to stand up for her dignity and honour. Kunti’s singular act was to speak out the words- “divide the alms equally among you”. Did she actually not know what the alms were?
The brothers thus ‘divided’ Draupadi equally among themselves. She was now common to all five of them. The envy of The Kauravas would lead to a cataclysmic earth-shattering war. What would have happened had Kunti not intervened? Perhaps envy would have torn the Pandavas right through. It is speculation but maybe Bheema’s Gada would then challenge Arjuna’s Gandiva. Or maybe, Bheema would have joined Karna to fight Arjuna!!! Unthinkable it seems, but then again we saw what then happened to Duryodhana and Karna. Self destruction reigned in. Amazing to think of what all could have happened, but to me Kunto remains the unsung hero (ine) of the Mahabharata War. Prudence or maybe luck ensured that she would save her own sons from strangling each other out, long before the end of the Yuga.
It was the night before Draupadi’s Swayamvar. She was to choose her own husband. Yudhishthira was struggling to keep up his usually restrained self, and kept dreaming about her the whole night. Bheema would fell demons with ease, but her thoughts and the fear of not winning her made him look like a child. Nakula and Sahdeva, forever obedient to their elder brothers and wanting their good could not avoid a slight selfishness that night. It was written in the stars that she would be Arjuna’s, but that was hardly a consolation for him under the silver shafts of moonlight. The Pandava brothers for once stood divided!
Draupadi’s father Drupada was in a fix. He ‘knew’ that fate would conspire to make Arjuna the husband, but he could not be sure. Competing for the prize were also Karna, Duryodhana and Dussasana, among the finest archers the world had ever seen. And indeed on the day of the Swayamvar they would all gather as would the Pandavas in their disguise. Karna was denied Draupadi’s love as he was a ‘son of a charioteer’, or so she thought. Thus hurt would rankle him throughout his life, and would have devastating consequences. As Fate had it, Arjuna was adjudged the winner of the archery contest and Draupadi was his wife; much to Drupada and her own relief.
Draupadi would go on to divide the house of the Kurus as no one else. She added venom to a fire already burning, but the poison would end up destroying the entire house and indeed all of Kshatriya kind. This was pretty much her role, as she was born to aid Krishna in bringing about the Kaliyuga.
But has Kunti’s crucial role as a peacemaker been ignored? It was as if she intervened to stop the Pandavas themselves breaking up over Draupadi. Bheema, Yudhishthira, Nakula and Sahdeva all desired her. Bheema ended up as possibly her biggest lover, always there when it mattered. In the Kuru Sabha after the dice game, he was the only one to stand up for her dignity and honour. Kunti’s singular act was to speak out the words- “divide the alms equally among you”. Did she actually not know what the alms were?
The brothers thus ‘divided’ Draupadi equally among themselves. She was now common to all five of them. The envy of The Kauravas would lead to a cataclysmic earth-shattering war. What would have happened had Kunti not intervened? Perhaps envy would have torn the Pandavas right through. It is speculation but maybe Bheema’s Gada would then challenge Arjuna’s Gandiva. Or maybe, Bheema would have joined Karna to fight Arjuna!!! Unthinkable it seems, but then again we saw what then happened to Duryodhana and Karna. Self destruction reigned in. Amazing to think of what all could have happened, but to me Kunto remains the unsung hero (ine) of the Mahabharata War. Prudence or maybe luck ensured that she would save her own sons from strangling each other out, long before the end of the Yuga.
Friday, May 23, 2008
T-20...Cricket or Not?
A lot is being made out of this new apparition of the game cricket-Twenty-Twenty. People are still not resolved in their conflict whether this format of the game has any resemblance to the ‘gentleman’s sport’ begun in England. I have an altogether different view of the matter. I feel that it may not be cricket but it is definitely less ‘sinister’ than the ‘gentleman’s game’.
Cricket developed in England in the 18th century. It was then played by the land owning gentry of the country. ‘Gentleman’ is in fact a very cleverly disguised term to describe the ‘idle rich’. They were people who owned vast swathes of land and had to do little work to sustain themselves as the peasants tilled the land. Only that class at the top of the pyramid could logically play a game for 5 days. Even then results were not always produced, so the game became a means to satisfy the ‘leisure’ time. In fact, even working rich like the merchants were not allowed initially. Later when they did get inducted, separate pavilions were in store for the ‘gentlemen’ and ‘workers’. And soon the game became a further propaganda for England as it was introduced to some of the colonies as a means of ‘elevating’ the local rulers. Even here a discrimination was done, as the colonies at the ‘lowest’ level were not ‘fortunate’ enough to be introduced to the sport. So while Indian Rajas became active participants of cricket, African tribal chiefs or Caribbean ‘blacks’ would never be privy to it.
Now the game has changed beyond that. Commercialization has made it possible for cricket to become a sport of mass popularity in countries of the Indian sub-continent. Players are being drawn from different economic classes. Twenty-Twenty in such a scenario becomes an extremely democratic form of the game. It ends in about three hours and thus suited to people busy in their lives and working to meet their various needs.
So yes, W.G. Grace may be turning in his grave to see the world’s eyes resting on the Indian Premier League at the height of the English summer, yet we have to understand that the world has changed and cricket has to evolve accordingly. The gentlemen who developed the game were never so gentle after all.
Cricket developed in England in the 18th century. It was then played by the land owning gentry of the country. ‘Gentleman’ is in fact a very cleverly disguised term to describe the ‘idle rich’. They were people who owned vast swathes of land and had to do little work to sustain themselves as the peasants tilled the land. Only that class at the top of the pyramid could logically play a game for 5 days. Even then results were not always produced, so the game became a means to satisfy the ‘leisure’ time. In fact, even working rich like the merchants were not allowed initially. Later when they did get inducted, separate pavilions were in store for the ‘gentlemen’ and ‘workers’. And soon the game became a further propaganda for England as it was introduced to some of the colonies as a means of ‘elevating’ the local rulers. Even here a discrimination was done, as the colonies at the ‘lowest’ level were not ‘fortunate’ enough to be introduced to the sport. So while Indian Rajas became active participants of cricket, African tribal chiefs or Caribbean ‘blacks’ would never be privy to it.
Now the game has changed beyond that. Commercialization has made it possible for cricket to become a sport of mass popularity in countries of the Indian sub-continent. Players are being drawn from different economic classes. Twenty-Twenty in such a scenario becomes an extremely democratic form of the game. It ends in about three hours and thus suited to people busy in their lives and working to meet their various needs.
So yes, W.G. Grace may be turning in his grave to see the world’s eyes resting on the Indian Premier League at the height of the English summer, yet we have to understand that the world has changed and cricket has to evolve accordingly. The gentlemen who developed the game were never so gentle after all.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Carrot and the Stick?
It is that time of the year now, when we look back on yet another season of great football. We are gearing up towards another Champions League final and looking forward to the summer internationals. However, we knew all along that this summer would be different. In addition to the movement of players from one club to another, we will also be able to witness perhaps one of the most high profile summers in managerial appointments. Football has become very tactical, with the spontaneity of previous more innocent ages missing. The manager has to now make all important decisions. He is saddled with enormous pressure from top and bottom. Thus club owners and chairpersons are extra cautious in appointing the right person.
Sven-Goran Eriksson has just become the first high profile sacking. But then we also hear Frank Rijkaard getting the boot. Eriksson is someone whose methods have bored us, while Rijkaard’s teams have given all true football fans the real joy. Yet there is somehow a feeling that Sven is the unfortunate one. Rijkaard’s job was anyway on the line. We had been looking forward the whole season to see who would get the job amidst this merry go round of managers. The final appointment of Josip Guardiola is in many ways an anti-climax. Big names were touted like Jose Mourinho, Guus Hiddink and Luiz Felipe Scolari. But as we take a look back at Guardiola’s career, we can somewhat gauge this perplexing appointment. Guardiola is a Catalan true to heart. The blood of Catalonia runs in his veins and at times of trouble he might just about be the one to salvage a little pride for Barcelona Football Club once again. He was the Barca captain supreme, a natural leader of men and someone who would anchor the team together. The likes of Figo and Rivaldo may have enchanted the crowd more but his toe crunching tackles in the middle of the park were equally important. He has no experience at the top level of management, but has done well at the youth level helping bring the likes of Bojan Krkic and Giovanni dos Santos.
Guardiola’s appointment somehow takes me back to Real Madrid’s appointment of Jose Antonio Camacho a few years back. Real had just ended 2003-04 trophy-less, and needed the local passion and flavour. Camacho was deemed the right man. Yet, Camacho left within a few weeks at the start of the next season. Real were mired so deep in trouble that, that even he could not rescue them. Barca have similar problems, though they admittedly have an owner who is ready to sell the top stars if the team improves.
The recent plight of Barcelona F.C. in many ways offers a very good case study for modern management. Frank Rijkaard was one of those modern track suited managers who would come to the training ground and play with the boys. A sense of camaraderie existed between the players and the coaching staff. This went well at the club’s peak but once problems started, Rijkaard had little power to avert the situation. A great player he was who would teach the boys, but he was never one who could wield the stick alongside the carrot. Clubs like Manchester United have produced one great team after another in recent times is to a large extent because of the manager, Sir Alex Ferguson who belongs to the old school and keeps a belief in the distance between him and the players. Two years back Barcelona were on the brink of immortality before this self destructive streak set in. Ronaldinho was on his way to try and be a Pele, but he has suddenly been found considering himself bigger than the club. Frank Rijkaard’s managerial credentials were certainly on a high till mid 2006 at the team he had built right from scratch, but now all big clubs will consider twice before offering him the post. His man-management skills have certainly taken a beating.
Ultimately we all cry out for him and his team. In 2006 we thought this was going to be the best team for a long time to come. Barcelona was playing superb football and watching them was a delight. It was Total Football reinvented all over again, art at its highest. Yet now they perish. Perhaps now they need the stick of Guardiola much more than Rijkaard’s carrot.
Sven-Goran Eriksson has just become the first high profile sacking. But then we also hear Frank Rijkaard getting the boot. Eriksson is someone whose methods have bored us, while Rijkaard’s teams have given all true football fans the real joy. Yet there is somehow a feeling that Sven is the unfortunate one. Rijkaard’s job was anyway on the line. We had been looking forward the whole season to see who would get the job amidst this merry go round of managers. The final appointment of Josip Guardiola is in many ways an anti-climax. Big names were touted like Jose Mourinho, Guus Hiddink and Luiz Felipe Scolari. But as we take a look back at Guardiola’s career, we can somewhat gauge this perplexing appointment. Guardiola is a Catalan true to heart. The blood of Catalonia runs in his veins and at times of trouble he might just about be the one to salvage a little pride for Barcelona Football Club once again. He was the Barca captain supreme, a natural leader of men and someone who would anchor the team together. The likes of Figo and Rivaldo may have enchanted the crowd more but his toe crunching tackles in the middle of the park were equally important. He has no experience at the top level of management, but has done well at the youth level helping bring the likes of Bojan Krkic and Giovanni dos Santos.
Guardiola’s appointment somehow takes me back to Real Madrid’s appointment of Jose Antonio Camacho a few years back. Real had just ended 2003-04 trophy-less, and needed the local passion and flavour. Camacho was deemed the right man. Yet, Camacho left within a few weeks at the start of the next season. Real were mired so deep in trouble that, that even he could not rescue them. Barca have similar problems, though they admittedly have an owner who is ready to sell the top stars if the team improves.
The recent plight of Barcelona F.C. in many ways offers a very good case study for modern management. Frank Rijkaard was one of those modern track suited managers who would come to the training ground and play with the boys. A sense of camaraderie existed between the players and the coaching staff. This went well at the club’s peak but once problems started, Rijkaard had little power to avert the situation. A great player he was who would teach the boys, but he was never one who could wield the stick alongside the carrot. Clubs like Manchester United have produced one great team after another in recent times is to a large extent because of the manager, Sir Alex Ferguson who belongs to the old school and keeps a belief in the distance between him and the players. Two years back Barcelona were on the brink of immortality before this self destructive streak set in. Ronaldinho was on his way to try and be a Pele, but he has suddenly been found considering himself bigger than the club. Frank Rijkaard’s managerial credentials were certainly on a high till mid 2006 at the team he had built right from scratch, but now all big clubs will consider twice before offering him the post. His man-management skills have certainly taken a beating.
Ultimately we all cry out for him and his team. In 2006 we thought this was going to be the best team for a long time to come. Barcelona was playing superb football and watching them was a delight. It was Total Football reinvented all over again, art at its highest. Yet now they perish. Perhaps now they need the stick of Guardiola much more than Rijkaard’s carrot.
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