Crushing loss and a scraped win

Some of us looked forward to that particular weekend as a special one. After long, we had planned to play a cricket match – weather was on our side and so all of us reached ground at time to start off the much awaited game.

In the excitement of playing, we made a mistake that seems a blunder when looked in hindsight – we kept the match to be of 20 overs – and even forgot the fact that we were playing at 5000 plus feet above sea level. And as luck would have it, we lost the toss and opposition chose to bat first.

At the beginning things went well – until one of the opposition team member decided to take us all to the cleaners. Suddenly all our bowlers started looking like kids playing against a high class professional athlete. Catches dropped, balls went through – shots that would fetch just a single, started getting two and threes. The trouble of playing after long break – is that your body is usually a couple of steps behind. Dives to stop or catch the ball came usually late by a few seconds, legs went forward and torso seems crawling behind, scratchily. On top of that, there is a lot of frustration from everyone, because when you are on ground, nobody wants to lose, or nobody wants to lose like that.  All of that lead to chaos – after a couple of failed attempts to control that chaos, and bring the team back – I did what seemed like the only available option at that time. We waited for it to get over. The opposition batsman, who dented us the most, was considered to be better than us – and he batted as if he knew that well. In penultimate over of the innings he hit me over my head for six with complete disgust – gulping down I delivered another ball – only to see it being sent for another boundary. The next ball went in air again, and to our great relief the catch was taken this time. He scored a century, before getting out and probably batted us out of the game.

We were set a target to chase 203 runs in our 20 overs – a tough ask by any standard. Our innings started and soon it was falling apart like pack of cards.  Fresh bowlers of opposition, looked far more threatening than they actually were – against our dilapidated batting line up. To make matters worse, the outfield was very slow – square cuts through ground that would fetch an easy boundary on any good ground, would only get you two if you ran hard. Realizing this, I tried to be too cheeky too soon and attempted a Dil-Scoop, only to miss the ball and get bowled in a funny looking fashion.

The rude reminder of the fact that body was not backing up what mind so desperately wanted was not pleasant. We lost the game, and some of our players left ground, dejected at the loss which they would soon forget.

Those who were there, thought to give it one more shot, though this time for only 10 overs. We started another match – and this time we won the toss and chose batting first. I opened with the fastest runner on our team, and we ran many doubles. He was a great athlete and a pushy partner when it came to take doubles. Had it not been his insistent Dhoni-like running, we would have only had half the runs we made in our partnership.  After a stable start without losing a wicket in first five overs– we had our share of power hitters who helped reaching the score to 58 in our ten overs. At best – looking at their batting line up, this was a modest total.

On taking the field we were determined to give our best to defend that total. 4 regular bowlers left us to squeeze two overs from somewhere and luckily one of the part time bowlers stepped up.

Our regular bowlers started decently – and finished their overs quickly. In last two overs – they needed 16 runs and we had two overs, one from a part timer and one from me. I tossed the ball to the part timer and he bowled us an amazing overs just conceding 6 runs, with no extras. When they needed 10 in final over – and centurion of the first innings at crease, they seemed very confidently placed.  To be honest – I thought of the part timer to be better bowler than me, but just the fact that I had slightly higher confidence and match awareness, made me consider myself as a bowler on that team. When taking that last over, I was touch nervous. We had 10 runs to defend, 4 more than what I had expected to be defending in last over, so suddenly victory seemed within reach!

First 2 balls, the batsman could not connect – third one where he connected went upwards and not far enough. Wicketkeeper dropped the skier, and the batsman did not run. Of course he was still backing himself to get 10 in final 3. Beneath a veneer of a heavily built body, I could finally see some panic. “Pressure gets to most of us.” I told the umpire before 4^th ball which again got an outside edge that dropped before the keeper. Now, if they wanted to win, he had to hit a six and a four at least – fifth ball went on ground and they did not run. All I had to do now was to bowl a legal delivery and we would win! All team members suggested to be careful and not to deliver a wide or no-ball, I delivered a low full toss that went for a four.

After a crushing defeat – this hard fought win came as a great relief. It restored the single most important factor in success, self-belief for all of us. It was like being in love again after a bad break up, makes one feel alive again whenever remembered.  

 

6 O clock- routine

“What time is it now?” I used to ask my grandfather frequently as a kid. In a span of 30 minutes, this was 10^th time, and each time he would reply with a smile – showing the clock and progress its hands had made from the time of last enquiry.

Disappointed at its slow pace, I would wander around again to come back to him with the same question after a few minutes. Old man, knowing the intention behind repeated enquiries - would carefully explain that it was 30 minutes past five; and would take 30 more minutes for my mother to return from office.  As a kid of working mother, 6’o clock in the evening had a special meaning for me. It was the time when she would return. On some days, by the time it was 4:30 in evening, urge to see her home used to be so pressing that I had to call her office and ask if she would be home by 6.  She would confirm that she would be back by 6 – and that helped me cross the last hour and a half.

While growing up, things changed – the time that was spent waiting for her, soon got filled with engrossing cricket games in society, tuition classes and group studies with friends. My calls to her at 4:30 in evening, changed to her calls to my friends’ homes around 8 PM to enquire if I was there. On moving to college, that threshold only got pushed further.

At times her “Good Night” message was an unpleasant reminder for guilt of not calling her for the entire day. Quick call back to compensate and an assurance to call early next morning were nothing but failed attempts to cover up.

Once I started working, things did not improve either. Growing social commitments kept on pushing the time further – and for a certain time, my call was the last thing she would attend to before falling asleep.

I then moved to Denver, Colorado for work. Due to the 12 and a half hour time difference, there would be none that I can call in India during my day time. This simple realization brought back, the importance I used to attach to 6’o clock (IST) – the only difference, it would be 6 AM IST this time! Hand goes to the phone more often, after 5 PM MST – as that’s the time my mother would have woken up at home.  On weekends, I have actually called home at 5 PM MST a couple of times – and waking them up a tad bit earlier than the usual time.

It is very hard to appreciate one’s mother, I don’t know why – perhaps because it is not possible. But luckily, this co-incidental reunion with 6’o clock routine helped me become a bit more aware about the warm rush of blood it used to trigger in my heart as a 5-6 year old – and still does.

 

 

Batsman with an overseas hunderd

As a kid playing cricket fanatically, making it to the state team, and subsequently to the top echelons of national team used to be a constant dream across my childhood. Getting selected was so overestimated that I even made plans to settle in Sri-Lanka after someone told me that it was just as big as the state I represented – and hence my chances of making it to National team there, might be higher. J

Watching cricket on television was never limited to just the live telecast, its repeat version or the special shows. It extended to re-playing  - that one shot, taking that one catch or bowling that Yorker which you loved over and over again in one’s mind – of course with oneself as a protagonist!
As understanding of the game increased, the childlike fanaticism gave way to a bit matured – though still mad – love for the game. And then the inevitable happened – with advancing age, stage, number of subjects and end-term exams my association with cricket ended. Like the love affair of tender age, it was destined to die pre-maturely – and was perhaps even visible clearly to all except me.
Years post that saw sporadic but short lived interactions with the game. A match or two every six months, either for the college, class or just with friends on weekends. There was, of course a high point again when during MBA our class won an interclass championship! A few strokes from that tournament are still so vivid in my mind as if they were played yesterday. Years of job proved to be rather like draught. Few exciting moments from net sessions done over the weekends, one lost match – where I had hit a straight six, and quite a few dropped catches that I can’t forget.
At a point when India’s performance abroad was really under scanner from all corners, performance outside the subcontinent stood out as a yardstick that truly differentiated true batting talents from bullies of flat tracks.   Fast forward to present – I moved to Denver for work, after spending first few weekends in shopping for groceries, visiting parks, library etc. I finally found a contact detail for a local cricket club. From last week, after submitting its registration form and receiving acknowledgment for it life has changed a bit. US is not a cricket friendly country, or at least the city where I live, it seems not to be very popular – no sport shop sells a cricket bat or equipment, only a few store managers even recognized it. Cricket Season’s start is at least- four months away and I am not yet even on that team – still an idea that I could possibly – get to play a match and then go on to make an overseas hundred warms a heart in a unique sort of way!!
Dream usually starts with a fall of wicket after which I would walk out to bat, with team a bit under pressure. Slowly but surely runs start coming in, square cuts stand out and the end is always filled with a couple of lofted shots!
None of the particulars from above mentioned dream, starting from my presence in this country to be actually able to play the games and performing the way I would like to, are anywhere close to reality right now. At a time of writing this they are just figments of my imagination. Yet it has been one of the favorite indulgences, to think of it!!
Well-aware that these games, if at all I play, will have no record anywhere except for that in my mind and perhaps that too would only remain selective in really long term – thinking about it actively excites me, motivates me to run 30 minutes a day and most importantly helps me go to sleep with smiling face. J

Do you have any similar experience, where things that are visibly trivial – as trivial as an unrecorded, yet to be played cricket match in a city where hardly anyone plays this game, mean so much to you that they make a part of some of your most favorite dreams?

Visit to a park

As long as the eyes could see, there was no human being in sight. Noise of dogs barking and a signboard saying “Beware of dogs” made me feel a bit nervous about entering this park. Lawns were well manicured and surroundings suggested that this was not as desolate a place as it looked at first sight. Just then I saw a couple walking towards the entrance and thought that probably there are more people on the other side of this long lane and I should go in and visit this marvelous looking but eerily quiet Park.
I read the rules of visiting the park very carefully, in a foreign country, especially on a first visit, one is – in many ways – like an infant trying to figure out the ways of world! And a bit conscious not to be on the wrong side of rules. For example, it is always better to check if taking photos is allowed or prohibited – before the impulse of taking a new selfie for DP in FB takes over the mind! After reading the rules and ensuring that I was in no way going to overstep on any of them in any way, I entered the park.
Trees standing guard on either sides of the lane gave it a unique sort of beauty which only natural surroundings can offer. Hills afar and trees nearby, two of most constant and steady of nature’s creations reminded me of all that is still constant in this seemingly dynamic life. The quiet environment of the garden soon turned from intimidating to soothing one, as walked on. After a long walk, of about 15-20 minutes, a playground appeared.  Sight of swings, slides, kids playing ball brought with it a sense of joy and helped me relate to this park instantly, somewhat similar to the ways a sportsman relates to a new ground after realizing its parallels with one that he is used to play at.
When a US citizen visiting Gandhi Ashram became my friend there, he once told me that here if people look at other people for a few seconds; they might take it as hostile behavior. Driven by this advice I deliberately did not stop by and watch kids play there instead I walked on taking satisfaction in similarities that kids have across countries!
On the way, I saw a couple coming with three huge dogs between two of them. Scared as I am of dogs, I climbed up till the top of the slope of sideline in order to make way for all 5 of them! “I am very scared of dogs” I said defensively. “They are fine” said the man, “At least, that’s what everyone says until they bite!” added his wife and all of us shared a good laugh! J
There was a drainage carrying wastewater of the park, and something was written on its inside, it caught my eye as I walked by – on a closer look – I realized what was written there! And it made me smile.



Written message: "For good times - call xxxxxxxx"

For good time, call – and the number next to it was blackened! It reminded me of such writings seen at various public places in India, some things cut across countries and cultures – I thought to myself. Though not entirely civilized, this instilled in me a sense of confidence perhaps because of the striking similarities that we all share as human beings despite huge differences in our backgrounds!

There are a lots of other small things about this park that will stay in my memory for long time, A signboard mentioning total cost of the park was amazing, I believe it helps people realize the worth of what they, at times, take for granted!

 

As a kid in school, I used to write essay on my visit to a park- perhaps they want kids to get used to the way of worlds through their interaction of these public institutions. While visiting a foreign country, especially first time, one is just like an infant, trying to learn the ways of the world. Learning how to cross the road, how to board a train or bus, how to behave in public, how not to behave in public etc J and such visits – though immaterial in larger scheme of things go a long way in establishing one’s bond to a new place.

Frostbite

The only frost I had seen until a few days back, was one that used to gather inside the freezer of the refrigerator.  A reminder of childhood memory of scratching the sidewalls of the freezer and eating that frost despite parental advice against that, is still

very vivid in my mind.

Therefore when I first saw entire neighborhood and all roads leading to office, covered with such frost, it was overwhelming, of course. I wasn’t aware of the word frostbite – until a caring colleague cautioned me regarding it.

When checked on google frostbite is understood as “injury to body tissues caused by exposure to extreme cold, typically affecting the nose, fingers, or toes and sometimes resulting in gangrene. It involves freezing of tissues, has four stages which vary in intensity and risk – starting from damage only to the external skin to internal and permanent damages”

At first I was negligent of the caution and treated it much the same way as we do to things that we don’t fully understand but claim to have command over, however nature prevailed and I surrendered soon. (Read just in time). Two jackets one with hood bought from a market in Denver, a sweater, muffler and cap brought from India and a set of thermals were all put in place and I was ready to fight the winter! I started taking help of colleagues who had cars to commute – instead of walking my way to work. I avoided any chance of frostbite – as best as I could.  

However, while reading a bit more on frostbite- it occurred that frostbite – in wider sense – can also include any injury that cold can cause. A deadlier variety can be considered as frostbite on our minds caused due to emotional cold.

Like stages of frostbite on skin, frostbites on mind can also have different stages – first degree called frost-nip is only affecting the outer surface of skin and usually results in itching and pain on affected areas of skin. Usually most of us suffer from this stage – total lack of empathy towards strangers is a primary symptom of such illness. Itching on mind just like the one on skin can make us susceptible to irritation and shortens attention spans. Usually appeal to internal crevices of their minds, still get registered as they are still sensitive.

Second degree known as blister – can be more severe – it leaves the affected area completely hard and blackened. It leads to permanent insensitivity to any kind of sensation.

Third and fourth stages are the most severe it can make affected areas permanently amputated. Usually it is caused by prolonged unprotected exposure to extremely cold environment. Emotionally this level of frostbite can be extremely oppressive – not only to the one inflicted – but also to the ones surrounding the patient. Irrecoverable cynicism and lack of enthusiasm to any sort of warmth are considered to be the prominent symptoms.

Get yourself enough warm clothes, keep the bon fire of passion and empathy burning within and make sure you don’t suffer from any sort of frostbite.

 

 

Javaay....

Picture: The Death of Socrates: By Jaques Louis David

Source- Google

“Javaay” was the word that would break my trance at the end of an hour long class. Such engaging was his each class, my childhood hero and one of the most loveable teachers. He used this word at the end of his class to suggest us that it was close of the day and we could go home.  Today when he is gone, away from this world to the one from whose bourn no traveller returns, the word “Javaay” seems even more pregnant with meaning, emotions and memories.  

 Hard as I struggle I could not find English word that exactly corresponds with this one, but, “Javaay”, roughly it can be understood as a permission to leave. My hand instinctively reaches out to cell phone, as it had over the last several years to call him and ask for the correct word. Disappointment dawns with the realization that it is no longer possible to talk to him in person. That his guidance to find the right English word will no longer be available is perhaps the least troubling aspect of the loss that his demise brings.  

The more significant loss comes in form of losing presence of an individual that he was. Rib tickling sense of humour and superb comedy timing were just a couple of traits that those knowing him briefly would also remember for their lifetime. A few days back, I had sent him a forward on Whatsapp that read “Every man has one thing he can do better than anyone else – and usually it’s reading his own handwriting.”  “I doubt whether doctors can” – came a snappy reply from him! And it sent me in a bout of laughter which we usually only relate to the episodes of comedy nights with Kapil these days.

While looking back, there are several such sentences from him that come to mind and make me roll in the laughter which would now invariably end in tears.

Behind his sense of humour lay a deep sense of perspective and proportion. In an age troubled with status anxiety and bloated egos; his presence and life were greatest reminders of how we should live.  How a cricket tournament should be followed, how a book should be read, how papers should be assessed, how a vegetable sizzler should be made, how a conversation should be made and so many other things, when put together make life…… he did all that impeccably well, enjoyed doing them and even taught others how to savour them.

It is this wisdom of life that is biggest loss that his demise casts upon me. In day to day life there is little that changes, but there has been a niggle somewhere between my lungs and stomach of not having him anymore, and therefore a fear that without him being there, I may not be able to emulate, even a small part of the wisdom through which he lived his life.  

He had a giant built, long arms and round structure – I was short, tiny and thin; when sat next to him I would probably not even be visible fully and when his outstretched arm came around my shoulder while correcting my mistake I would almost be buried under it. That touch was gentle, caring, protective, encouraging and guiding……. That touch is now no more. Only its memory is alive.

Just as with me, there would be several memories of his residing in conscious or subconscious of most of his students, I take consolation in the hope that they will remain deathless.

The catcher in the Rye

If you have ever lied to a stranger in train, bus or flight or just twisted your truth a little in order to avoid a banal conversation taking an uncomfortable or unwanted turn.. Because you thought they wouldn't understand anyway...... then The catcher in the Rye is a book you cannot afford to miss.

Holden Caulfield is a young  pr-

-otagonist of this wonderfully written novel. Through his character writer has portrayed what a complex creation an individual is and how weird at times our own existence might seem when seen from a child’s eye.

Holden feels alienated and confused at the way world around him is constructed, convoluted; he seeks refuge in children younger to him. It is clear throughout the narrative that for him, adults are corrupted and only purity lies with children.

The entire book’s story takes place within a span of just four days, and yet so minutely has the author taken us through those four days that by the time we end the book it seems we have known Holden, Phoebe, DB, Ally, Ackely, Stradlater, jane and Mr. Antolini for years.

Another very striking feature of this book is that somehow, character of Holden, despite all its limitations as an individual, inspires a lot of sympathy in minds of readers. So far as confused yet compassionate and adorable protagonists are concerned, Holden from the Catcher in the rye is probably at par with Hamlet.... perhaps Holdens of the world outnumber Hamlets by fair margin.

The fact that he is suffering from some sort of mental imbalance, which is visible through conduct and opinions but intractable medicinally, perhaps makes readers relate with him, because secretly it reflects some of our own deepest conflicts and complex dilemmas.

The other prominent theme of this novel is constructed by Holden’s attitude towards sex. More than half of the story, he tries to lose his virginity, in fact more than once he comes closer to it however fails to make the cut in the end.  He later takes solace in the banal expression, repeated countless times in the novel “one has to be in right mood” for such things! He is unable to hold two conflicting ideas that revolve around sexuality – one that of romantic love that is built on care and respect and the other involving kinky fantasies for one’s partner. Little does the Holden know at the time, perhaps, that this was merely starting of a life-long dilemma we all face as adults!!

Bitterness that Holden has towards the rest of the world is in part really the bitterness he feels for his advancing age, moving life and its fickleness.  His frantic search for permanence is not only childish; it is also misplaced – miserably. And this gives a rather cantankerous and immature character a tragic touch which is a hallmark of adult lives.

The book stands out for its impeccable narrative, compact storyline and powerful characters. Some other most powerful events, such as the record bought by Holden for Phoebe, his deceased brother Ally’s baseball glove with lots of poems written on it, suicide of one of his schoolmates, visit to museum and Holden’s opinion for his elder brother DB add a classic sub-plot to the entire story and keeps readers engaged.

The fact that Holden HOLDs on to his childhood even while the world around him is trying to grow him into an adult brings out a fascinating story which is highly recommended reading for anyone interested to understand oneself a little better!!Top of Form