Hum Jeet gaye...Hum jeet gaye

Immediately after Sreesanth lapped up the now world famous skier, I received an email from vcd "In the immortal words of Ram Singh from Lagaan - Hum jeet gaye! Hum jeet gaye"!!! Its been a day and I still haven't gotten over that sensational bit of news. I, an enternal purist always had my doubts about this format of the game. Taking another cue from Lagaan I thought it was "sadiyal, bhaddha sa khel". Now that India has won, I absolutely have no doubt that it would be humongously popular in India culminating in more tournaments and better packaging which in my opinion will lead to replacing the 50 over game.

Most of the blogs or articles I've read have re-iterated the fact that India have found a new father figure in Dhoni and the togetherness is at a new level etc etc. We've always been a nation who has adored their batsman much more than anything else just like Pakistan is obsessed with their pace bowlers. Dhoni was the first person to point out that this victory was a tribute to some exceptional bowling on our part throughout this tournament. I would like to go a step ahead and point out the influence of Venky Prasad and one of all time favorite ODI cricketers Robin Singh for their influence.

Its no co-incidence that our bowling has improved by leaps and bounds after Venky was brought on board. Zaheer and Arpy consistently troubled the Pommies during our summer tour to England. Arpy and Irfan then carried on the good work into T-20 WC as well which eventually led to our victory. Our fielding was in fantastic shape...a direct hit at a crucial juncture in almost every match was enough evidence on our sharpness on the field and more importantly the key ingredient that we have been missing for a while. I've always felt that a good coach would be the one who has had to struggle and really work hard for moderate success. They could instill the right work ethic into a youngster to help mould his career better. Venky and Robin just about fit the bill...moderately talented but hardworking nonetheless. They deserve a big round of applause along with the adulation for the players.

Somewhere deep down I kinda feel bad for Pakistan as well. They have bowled their heart out...fielded fantastically and led smartly by Shoaib (the move to bring in the spinners as soon Yuvraj walked in was a master stroke). Both India and Pakistan have brought colour back into the game of cricket....much like the way I used to enjoy Holi in the days of yore. That's why I found it appropriate to end the blog with a video of Dhoni and SHoaib celebrating their success (along with Darryl Hair) to the tune of the legendary Bhojpuri song by Shenaz Akthar "Kaptaan bhool ke kaptaani". Enjoy!!! ... And ofcourse....Bharat Maata ki Jai!!!

Kanti Thoughts

He woke one morning
Wondering what he saw
A dream to him, A nightmare for others
Was he a good person?

He wondered about things
That could have been different
Had he been different
or could people have been more tolerant?

People say a sorry
And they really mean it
But would it matter for the one
Who suffers the consequences everyday?

A plea to listen to him
A plea to talk to him
The plea fulfilled but,
A taunt of being needy
Was it really worth it?

A friend of yester-years
A stranger in the present
Was the human ever a friend
Or was an acquaintance of yore?

He lived his life alone
For the past score and more years
He wondered does he like company
Or would it be a hassle?

A peek into my pensieve

I’ve had long drawn discussions with my old friends Vcd and Todd about the veracity of the popular notion that “Federer is the best player to have lifted a tennis racquet”. As I so often do, I tend to stick my money in stats from the past. I haven’t seen a player of the class of a Sampras who in the midst of greatness all around him stood head and shoulders above everyone else. Would Sampras be considered as a legend if Federer was playing in the same era? Probably not; but neither would Federer. These are just random musings on the part of an old man though. I still tend to look at facts and the fact is that I can’t get a certain US Open final out of my mind and that is where I need to delve deep into my pensieve to dig out the greatest upset that humbled a cocky Federer.

It was just another fine day in NewYork where the crowd had resigned to yet another youngster’s decimation by the hands of Roger. Little did they realize that this strapping, ebullient, Metro-sexual young man had the talent of a Sampras, the work ethic of a Courier, the grace of Edberg and the determination of a Lendl. Never had one seen the complete package in a wild card entry ever before. He ran like a gazelle covering every inch of concrete with consummate ease. His nonchalant wafts and magical racquet struck a deep chord with the rapacious crowd who egged his mastery and erupted at his opponent’s errors. He was a true son of the soil and the hallowed turf was shrinking its womb to etch his footprint where a vast legion of warriors had succumbed valiantly. The large contingent of Federer-haters including yours truly had finally found their voice after nine gruelling years of staying mute.

Federer face was ashen as if he had just been violated by a 12 inch alpha specimen. His precise if not perfect back hand had completely deserted him, his once feared fore hand was being mauled by incisive ground strokes and his unruffled demeanor was sullied by his rants towards the chair and his incessant frustrated hissing. The first set flew by like the cool autumn breeze that was blowing through the ‘Meadows’. The 6-4 score line against Federer appeared a lot closer than it actually was. Things though did not take a turn towards the worse; the youthful exuberance of the young man and his heart stopping plays lit up the azure sky; reminiscent of Sampras in the days of yore. A running back hand followed a delicate lob, every drop shot was accentuated by a fearsome forehand cross court passing shot and each precise first serve was complimented by an even better array of volleys. The second set was an even shorter affair: 6-2. This was Providence in flesh, justice was being served cold!

I sat there with my mind racing ahead of time imagining this young rookie lifting a rare piece of silverware amidst years of ruthless domination. I quickly snapped out of my halcyon thoughts for fear of bewitching the foreclosure of what lay ahead. But nothing of that nature happened; the best was yet to come. The relentless machine gun fire from the rookie’s racquet kept pace with the racing heart beats of every human being inside the arena. His iridescent presence beneath the luminous floodlights and an incandescent moon bequeathed the master of his glowing past. A 6-0 bagel set in the final was a fitting way to end Federer’s humiliation, just as the way he has humiliated others. The night was young but to me, a new day had already dawned.

The scenes after the young man’s victory are as fresh in my mind as the virgin snow. Even though I’m entering the fag end of my sojourn, I can never forget the euphoria of having seen my closest buddies beat one of the best player’s ever. If only he had continued longer, the question that I posed at the very beginning would have never been raised. He will always, to me, be a man who fought disability to emerge triumphant. That image of him lifting the trophy in one hand and a Jackie Shroffish thumbs-up with the other will forever be etched in my mind. Click here to reminisce a forgotten great.

I salute you my dear friend Marw.