Dear Denver

Dear Denver,

It has been long time since we parted ways, but it took time for that feeling to sink in, and hence the delay in writing this. 

Your mention has a power to light up the beginnings of any conversation however I have been observing that the account I have to offer is weak and lacks the strength to live up to the image that you have created for yourself.

Soon after your mention people expect stories of great adventures, heavenly natural beauty of Boulder and victorious accounts of climbing the fourteeners that you are so famous for. Unfortunately I have few of the above experiences to offer - hence my account of Denver seems at best - boring  to people I encounter. 

While one cannot do much to correct fleeting impressions one creates during formal exchanges over a cup of coffee or at cafeteria , I could certainly set the record straight for both of us at least, just so you know that without experiencing any of your widely celebrated and popular aspects too - you are still the best place to live in the open wide world for me. 

I haven't been on top of the mountain - but I have been fortunate to witness the closeness you have shared with people around you, have seen a mountain from a porch of a friend’s home and have heard stories where people mark a specific spot on your wide bare back to tag it to one of their own personal memories!

I haven't seen the most beautiful of your gardens, flowerbeds or places - but I have seen the beauty created by two individuals who come together to start a new life under your ever generous, serene and caring sky. Evening walks under your sky are memories that will be forever fresh in my mind. Conversations that took place on your roadside benches or at a neighbourhood park are so close to heart - and I have no doubt that after long enough time elapses, those conversations will still be vivid in my memory. 

I haven't tried my hand at any adventure sport but I have been fortunate to witness courage to grind out routine life as well as the courage to take tough calls when time demands. I have witnessed, during my stay there, friends and colleagues who stand by your side even when going is especially difficult and challenging.

Through friends and colleagues, I have witnessed big events such as childbirth, purchase of house, marriage and relocation. I have also seen routine things like change of seasons, pleasure of discovering a new flavour of ice-cream that one falls in love with, colour of the evening sky and beauty of a full moon. And both types of experiences have been amazing in different ways!

You may say that all of them would have still happened, and yes that’s true - but believe me it would have never been the same without you! 

May be you would say that, by not doing certain things, I have not made the most of my time with you - but then that was never the point in first place!

If it’s not too much inconvenience, I would continue to recount you through these things rather than more popular ones - as these are closer to heart and hopefully more enduring! :)

As Ever,

-Dhruv

The last man standing

“You are an ideal mother,” I told him more than once, in a gratification of his efforts to keep us all on track!

Cook of our first meal in the US, first one to own a car that all others used to learn driving, first shout from everyone in case of any issue, first one to know when tea is light on sugar and vegetable dish is a bit too heavy on oil, first name on all our apartment leases, first one to know if any one of us was unwell in any way! And the first person I had consulted about my –then unexpressed to its recipient– love to my wife.

Four of us were sharing an apartment during our on-site stint at Denver, and Satish was from the very beginning – the provider of the house.  It was his caring attitude, culinary-skills and friendships with all the rest of us that proved to be a glue that held us all together.

Especially in the beginning of our stay in Denver, when the time was quite eventful. Starting from the struggle to know routes to matching the grocery requirements according to different colleagues who would be helping us for lifts to and fro the grocery stores. Meticulousness in payment of rent, insurance, utilities on time – and to divide all those expenses among the flatmates judiciously required close monitoring and careful execution. He did that all in starting, and then once he had known end to end – started delegating tasks to others, even after delegating – he would still keep a watchful eye over the task and ensured that everything goes smooth.

These were the tasks that could have been neglected as routine at worst - or done with a machine-like regularity at best! But Satish not only did them better than the best possible way, he did them with an emotion that was unmatched, unique and sublime. He did them in a way that our apartment started feeling like a home!! It has been over 8-12 months now, from the time we started separating from that apartment, one after the other however we carry with ourselves that feeling of home and it has never left the dynamics of our friendship ever since!

Satish was also our go-to man for any issue – be it at a household level or at a personal level. He was a sole broker of peace deals when any one of us was cross with another! Nudging someone, coaxing the other or sometimes just ordering a decision with a firm conviction – he led us through many of those complicating issues that are part of any group’s existence!

Even after we separated from single apartment to different places, as most of us moved with their families, Satish stayed a constant common factor. Be it an important event in anyone’s life, or a trouble that needs help at the stroke of a midnight – Satish was sure to be there!

As being the last one today, living in the same colony and seeing Satish move to a different apartment – I reflected on the time spent together. It feels like a beginning of a different era – one in which all of the former flat mates are now located at different places – separated by long distances.

It is an amazing joy to find unadulterated connections in one’s adult life. Satish’s friendship and the bond we built as flat-mates are constant reminders of such unadulterated connection! It has rubbed off on many other aspects of all of our lives and it would continue to serve as a wonderful reminder and inspiration of such friendships in future too!

What's in the name?

“You have got a perfect name, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Said her father reassuringly. For Aomame her name had been a constant point of botheration of her school life. Not only it always came first – as it started from A – but it also made her classmates as well as teachers burst into a fit of laughter as they tried to pronounce it.

Clearly, a name lifted from a towering Japanese author’s intriguing work of fiction 1Q84 – did not go that well for a small town girl in India. However, her father had been an iconoclast – and followed his rebel heart while naming his daughter. The fact that she lost her mother, right at her birth, also might have been one of the reasons his father could have his own way and gave her a name that she would grow to resent.

As years passed she grew more and more uncomfortable with her name. Ideas to change it several times crossed her mind but every time the effort of changing all the documents that are attached to oneself seemed too much.

“What were you thinking when you finalized my name?”  “Had you seen the movie namesake a night before I was born?”  “If mom were there, she would have never approved of such an out of place name.” Thus ran her frequent angry arguments with her dad. Her dad used to calmly reply, every time that her name was kept after the name of a heroine of a wonderful novel and that the character was very powerful. He even suggested she reads the book, however, the size of the book daunted her and she never picked it up.

Years passed, not easily for Aomame- at every juncture, every new meeting, she would feel shortchanged when introducing herself. It was as if, she was pulled back at the start of a sprint by a good few yards! Her frustration only grew with her age.

She eventually married a guy her father had chosen for her. Once during their conversation, he innocuously asked, “what does you name mean, by the way?” – She retorted harshly asking him not to repeat this question ever again. “My name is a part of my life that I don’t want to share with anyone, so please don’t ever ask my anything about it again.”

Her husband was taken aback by this vehement response, he realized that this was perhaps a result of anger accumulated over the years and needed a different treatment. He resolved that he will do something that will make her love and remember her name fondly.

Over the next few days, however, he observed she was keeping very occupied. When asked what she was busy with, she replied, “there is a lot of work at the office, and I am running on a tight deadline, so just busy with it.” He left it at that and started thinking what he can do in order to appease his wife’s long-standing grievance.

After a few days, an idea struck him – he got her name tattooed on his arm. When he came home, he told, slowly rolling up his sleeve, “I have something to show you, it has been on my mind for very long – and I wasn’t quite sure what I could do…. but here it is now. I want you to know that names in themselves have no meaning unless we give them any. And this is a small step to represent the multitudes of meaning your name carries for me.”

She looked at him in disbelief, and handed a new copy of the government issued identity card - showing her new name!

     >Concept borrowed from “Gift of Magi” by O’Henry

Book Review The course of Love – Alain De Botton

The course of Love – Alain De Botton

“Our understanding of love has been hijacked and beguiled by its first distractingly moving moments. We have allowed our love stories to end way too early. We seem to know far too much about how love starts and recklessly little about how it might continue.” That we concentrate far too much on beginning and far too little about the continuance of love is reflected in a question

the couple is bound to be asked, “How did you two meet?”

In this book, Alain De Botton takes us through the progress of love through a story of a couple.

Rabih and Kirsten are young professionals when they first met. Enamored by each other, after a brief courtship they decided to explore the meaning of a vague phrase, “happily ever after”. That’s where this story begins. The story revolves around touchstones of a marriage from infatuation, irreconcilable desires, challenges of raising kids etc. They understand the harrowing amounts of energy it takes to sustain and blossom a household through routine life. Lead characters of this story serve as extended case study for the author – who keeps up with his style of extended commentary on what is going on with his characters.

For example difference of opinion, between the two over which set of tumblers to buy for kitchen, ideal room temperature at night, how early should one leave for a party, positioning of blinds on window, etc. provide us a useful insight that these seemingly silly things are actually just the loose threads that tie back to the fundamental contrasts of their persona which requires better recognition and reconciliation.

It also brings out how crucial it is to be able to communicate better, author hints that were Rabih or Kirsten better communicators – one of them might have told the other in response to insistence for over punctuality that “Leaving early, is ,in the end, a symptom of fear. In a world of randomness and surprises, it is a technique I have developed to ward off anxiety and an unholy unnamable sense of dread. I want to be on time (in fact a little ahead of it) same way others lust for power and form a similar drive for security.”

The story moves on and we see other sides of their marital bliss, the sulks resulting out of their differences or their conjoined exploration of each other’s bodies. Here too, through an intricate example where Rabih mentioned that a particular young waitress crossed his mind while having intercourse with Kirsten, the author helps us tease out something very important about marriage. Rabih acts defensive and ashamed at a weirdness of his thoughts whereas Kirsten, furious at first and judgmental later- frowns at the presence of someone else even in Rabih’s fantasies.

In an alternative, better communicating versions of lead characters this scenario might have played out differently per author. Rabih might have been able to square up to Kirsten with his desires like a natural scientist holding up for colleague’s inspection some newly discovered, peculiar looking species which both of them might strive to understand and accommodate themselves to.  And Kirsten in response might have told “the nature of this particular daydream is foreign, unfamiliar and frankly not a little disgusting to me; but I am interested in hearing about it nonetheless because more important than my relative comfort is my ability to cope with who you are. I will never be able to do or be all that you want –and vice-versa but I would like to think we can be the sort of people who will dare to tell each other who we really are. The alternative is silence and lies – which are real enemies of love.

Sadly in the novel, Rabih and Kirsten just move on to things that give instant gratification – by going to a movie and then a dinner, rather than engaging with each other and thereby quelling any chance of understanding weird byways of their psyches.  

As we go further this book it turns to parenthood and children. What children have to offer us about understanding love is amazing. William, their son, for example- is pleased by rudimentary things that as grown-ups we have forgotten to enjoy. Author’s excellent description makes for a heartwarming reading, he writes, “William is an enthusiast of a class of uncomplicated things which have, unfairly, become boring to adults; like a great artist; he is a master at renewing his audience’s appreciation of the so-called minor sides of life.” Further, he adds for parenting that, “The role of being a good parent brings with it one large and very tricky requirement: to be the constant bearer of deeply unfortunate news. The good parent must be the defender of a range of child’s long-term interests, which are by nature entirely impossible for the child to envisage, let alone assent cheerfully. Out of love, parents must gird themselves to speak of clean teeth, tidy rooms, bedtimes, generosity and limits to computer usage. Out of love, they must adopt the guise of bores with a hateful and maddening habit of bringing up unwelcome facts about existence just when the fun is really starting. And as a result of these subterranean loving acts, good parents must, if things have gone well, end up as the special targets of intense resentment and indignation.”

De Botton excels in Montaigne-like close observations of the routine and banal aspects of life, such as lost car keys, professional anxieties, burdens and boredoms of child rearing etc. While he may not be the kind of great novelists one knows like Flaubert Gustav, Rabindranath Tagore or Tolstoy – in an age troubled with shortage of time, lack of patience and ever increasing need for speed he is surely one of the most useful ones!!   

The present book provides a useful perspective on how love is not just an emotion but also a skill that needs to be developed over one’s lifetime.

è Italicized portions are from the book

Meeting with Murakami

I don't think you love me anymore, my current favourite author, Haruki Murakami told me. There was no complaint in his voice, only a bit of resignation. Similar to the one that I often saw in the copy of his book, lying next to my bed - untouched for last 6 months! Guilt of not having read it, troubled me. He kept staring at the book, and said nothing. 

Just as I was about to pick the book up with a resolve to complete it cover to cover; my flatmate shouted with frustration! “When will you ever become a regular at Gym?, because of you, even I have become irregular.” His accusation had no basis - but it still hurt. Excess fat in my body was visible. Suddenly a scene from recent cricket match came in mind, when I got run out while attempting a second run. 

There was a strong urge to run, keep running, until I became fit and fast! I told him to wait for a couple of minutes while I get ready for the gym. Not more than 15 minutes on the treadmill I stopped and returned home - tired. 

First thing to come to sight was the unopened book, and the disappointment on Murakami’s face. However, I brushed them aside and moved for shower.

After shower, as I was about to start reading, calendar buzzed - reminding me of an additional assignment I had taken at work. I snoozed the reminder for 5 minutes and picked up the book - half hoping it will never let me go back! 

Since next day was a Sunday, I thought to pull an all-nighter in order to finish the book. However, there was just one thing that I was equally resolved to do that day; it was to talk to my parents at length. Routine leaves with little time at hand and candid conversations can hardly take place - so for such personal conversations weekends are more suited. After an hour long , deeply satisfying conversation - I finally turned my mind to the book again. Shortly after, phone again buzzed - this time with an email , it was a third reminder for paying the electricity bill for the month. If I don't pay it now, it will get further delayed, I thought, and opened the computer again to make the payment.

While I was making the payment, my favourite film actress appeared and told me about her newly launched TV series being shot in US! It was exciting, so I thought to watch an episode of the show. 

When tiredness meets temptation, it is very difficult to resist. One after another, episodes kept streaming and before long, it was one hour past midnight. I finally turned the computer off. 

For the next 15 minutes, I struggled between the book and sleep - finally sleep survived.  

He waited till two of clock, then finally, walked off in anger from my room with his book! I ran behind him, asking him to forgive me and return the book.

“I just need one day, I just need one day” - I was shouting, but he disappeared! Perhaps he knew that the one day I needed might never come!

Suddenly I woke up with perspiration! This is how Murakami met me in a dream. 

If you were here today....

If you were here,

If you were here today, visiting this lake on a chilly winter afternoon, I would have told you that even when none of the trees have any leaf left on them, a park can look very serene and beautiful sometimes. I would have told you that trees, just like humans, appear to be a little tired at times,  especially after spring, and when you sit beside them quietly, they might just shed a tear or two on your shoulder too. 

If you were here, I would have told you that the way squirrel runs around, makes one think that in squirrels how does one tell old and young apart? Sure enough scientist would know of ways, but to naked eye, their agility and health seems almost same whether they are young or old!

Two people, at a distance, walking with arm in arm evokes a certain degree of warmth and happiness even though they are complete strangers to you. 

Picture courtesy - Ramchandra M S

I would have told you that though poles apart, for the differences in geography, natural scenery across the world have something common among them. Mountains always make us feel our existence and therefore, our problems are tiny compared to theirs. Sunsets always an elegant reminder of how endings can be beautiful and always followed by new beginnings.  Lakes always impart a sense of calm and collected composure, even when the water in them is frozen in patches. 

                                                                   

I would have told you all that and one more thing perhaps, that even in midst of all these non-human and natural elements, if there were a few humans in my thought you were one of them,if that is any indication of our friendship, in any way.  Overwhelming as natural scenery may be, we have a way of putting a human touch in it - perhaps a suggestive of the fact that we too are a part of it in a larger picture. 

Tuesdays With Morrie - By Mitch Albom

Have you ever shivered a little before making any phone call? Ever put off a phone call or getting in touch with someone for many days, months or even years? That confrontation which we so dread, is often the confrontation we all most need. 

This confrontation may be in different forms, sometimes it is with people you fear you have let down, sometimes its with ideas, sometimes its with self reconciliation. In this book, author takes us through his journey of confronting series of such ideas that we normally put off during day-to-day life. His teacher, Morrie, who is dying of ALS becomes his guide through the journey and helps him see things with a refreshingly different perspective.

Mitch is fairly successful professional, a self made sports journalist who has everything that takes to win in the world, skills, understanding, connections and hunger for even more success. He has a lady love in life too, whom he intends to marry sometime. He considers himself happy and when asked “Are you happy?”  usually his reply would be, “I guess, I cannot complaint.” Though successful he struggles with finding meaning of life, purpose of existence and shies away from thoughts of death, sympathy, empathy and compassion. Until he met Morrie once more. 

Morrie cuts through Mitch’s defenses with deft of an old lover, one after the other and helps Mitch face some of the bigger questions of life which he had been putting off until now in guise of getting more work, more money, more success. The fact that Morrie is suffering from ALS and is diagnosed to die in a few months, makes their journey even more poignant and inspiring.

Morrie reinforces some of the timeless truths which we all know but only some apply. He crusades against following advertised values, cautions against expecting that material things will yield us any solace, advises to keep close with family members and friends. However it is not so much what he says, but how beautifully he exemplifies all that he says makes this story wonderful. For example, when during a football match, when everyone in stadium was shouting - we are number-1 , we are number-1 - he got up and asked a rhetorical question to the crowd, “What’s wrong in being number-2?”  Or his insistence on holding a living funeral for himself, because he wanted to hear the good things people had to say of him while he was alive and not after his death. 

While it comes across as a book filled with bright spots Morrie doesn't feign positivity or happiness at all. When asked, if he laments his condition, he candidly answers that he often cries in morning for having this disease which is killing him slowly. As much as he is sad of his health, he never allows himself more than a few minutes of self-pity every morning, after that he thinks about the day ahead, all the people who he is going to meet today. Morrie’s daily quota of limited self pity is such a contrast to everyday cribbing we hear constantly from people around us about far more routine stuff than their life. 

Another very inspiring aspect of Morrie’s character is that he gives everyone his complete attention. He defers phone calls when in an in-person conversation, and maintains a very doting eye contact with his audience despite his flailing health. In an age where personal space is so intruded with gadgets his was really an amazing example of how to go about talking to people in person. 

Book is replete with such examples of everyday events that we often neglect and avoid. It also provides a new perspective towards death and shows a more welcoming, warm and friendly approach to that eternal truth of everyone’s life. 

Like all great teachers, Morrie offers a lot to learn and think - his last class was on life, it had no textbook or curriculum, there were no exams and learning from that goes on for anyone who has been touched by this book.

D-213 Fired on all fronts

D213 is our apartment, four of us share it. This Friday evening residents of D213 were putting some pretty intense thinking for the game of cricket planned on Saturday morning.

Weekend cricket is informal and not played with pre-determined teams. However there is a clear informal line which separates the two teams – one team considered as naïve and inferior by the other team implicitly. Four of us who share an apartment ended up playing on same side. We were the ones considered naïve and inferior.

Previously when we four were playing from same side, we lost a very close game – a bit like India’s loss to Australia in Sydney under Anil Kumble’s captaincy. Since then the desire to win had only sharpened among us, and though no-one directly spoke of it, we were looking to win and set the record straight. There is a special joy in startling the opposition, who has written you off as an inferior side, with stunning performance in any sport; more so in cricket!

Our opposition team started rather well, with scoring almost 6 runs an over without losing a wicket, and were looking to put up a good total. Unfortunately we dropped a few catches and that allowed them to score a decent total of 71 runs in 10 overs. Ram who has transformed from a stop-gap bowler to a regular strike bowler bowled full quota and took crucial wickets to put some breaks in the free flowing innings from the opposition. I also got a wicket and bowled rather tight last over of the game.

In steep chase of 72 we lost a wicket on score of 0 and in walked Nilesh, who is famously known as Shahid Afridi of D213! His innings though was very unlike Afridi, this time. He nudged the ball around and dealt in ones and twos.  On the other end was his best friend and an ideal partner – Satish. He also has a reputation of a big hitter but today he applied himself like never before. His stroke-play was amazing, with a reverse sweep to a pace bowler being the highlight of it! Both of them were going 6 an over, and looked in complete control while they were on crease. After 6 overs we were 38 for the loss of just one wicket!

7^th over was the one when Nilesh and Satish decided to go after the opposition. Both of them got six each, and their sixes are not normal sixes, they are monstrous hits that make bowlers feel weak in their knees. With two sixes and a boundary, they amassed 16 runs in 7^th over. This made the equation 18 runs in 18 balls. However on the first ball of 8^th over Nilesh got out against a run of play.

Memories of collapse after his wicket in last game haunted me as I walked in, with side needing still 18 in 17 balls. After taking a dot ball, I took a single and Satish came on strike. He played couple of dot balls and got out on the last ball of 8^th over. This wicket allowed our fourth flat-mate, Ram to enter the match at a crucial time.

Before 9^th over, when we were in the middle I told Ram that between the two of us, I will chance the arms and he will try to bat through the innings.  9^th over started well for us with a double and a wide. Bowler was the quickest from the opposition but I kept driving and cutting all through the over – we ran well and took 4 twos in the over and got one wide as bonus!  

With last over and 8 to win, it was still anyone’s game. Especially in Denver where grounds have very heavy outfield and ground-shots typically are not always well-rewarded, 8 runs was still defendable in 6 balls.

Between the overs, Ram told me that he will now go for it from the first ball itself!

First ball of the last over went straight over the bowler’s head for a six! I was thrilled and told Ram that it was perhaps the best time to pull out the straight six. Fueled by a lot of intent and aggression he sent the next ball also over the bowlers head for the same result! We had successfully chased the target and won the game!

Next week two of our friends are leaving for India, for holidays. This was a wonderful way to bid good bye.

What a sky catch can do to a struggling cricketer

When you are having a season which is below average, as a cricketer it becomes very annoying as well as depressing fact of life. Having played as a number-3 batsman in all the teams I represented from school to junior level states; to have more than 10 games in succession with a highest score of just 17 not out was a troubling thing. Not only could I not score as freely as I would have liked, my role in the team also slumped to someone who was just a blocking guy, used as a shield to play out the opposition bowling searing through the top order as and when such a need arose.

Selection in top eleven depended not on my batting skills but on the fact that I was also a useful bowler who could bowl six balls at one place without conceding any extras. I bowled first change consistently and took a couple of wickets invariably. However, I wasn’t a go-to man for my captain in case of crisis situation. With someone who relies more on variations in length rather than great pace, I wasn’t a first choice if the opposition batsmen were chancing their arms successfully at anything.  

There was a constant battle going in the mind, various theories of why it is not working out were advanced, debated and refuted. The fact that grass in Colorado grounds is thicker than any other grounds I had played; did seem comforting on the face of it– however deep in heart, I knew it wasn’t the outfield that had the issue.

And then in the last innings that I played, amid falling wickets at the other end, when I was still there at the crease blocking – struggling to get the drives past the covers and cuts through the point – I saw a ray of hope. May be that was to be the innings that would resurrect the lost form; prove that class was indeed permanent and I did have it; free me from the self-doubt that inflicts every sportsman going through the slump. At mid innings break we had lost more than half the side, and I told myself to stay there and grind it out.

The first ball I faced after the break – I did the most horrible thing possible. I guided one to the slip; fancying a chance with an upper cut. Walking back was heart wrenching, picturing the dismissal was not helping; but there was no way to avoid it either! Why, o’why did I try to be cheeky; did not I know the fact that it was a shot to be played when one was in good touch only? Did not I know the fact that bowler was too slow and maximum I might have got from that shot – even if it cleared slip – was just one run?   It was a cricketing synonym for suicide – as if I was giving fielding practice to the opposition team.

After that dismissal, I thought to myself if I would really consider myself a batsman. Not long ago, in India I had hit pace bowlers for sixes over the top of their heads. Not long ago, square cut used to be a shot that was sure to yield a four whenever width was on offer. Not long ago, I was an active batsman always busy on crease and playing freely, scoring runs and having shots to cherish from every innings that I played. Thoughts of past glory did not subside the present misery; they only exaggerated it!

While going for another game this Saturday, I told my team-mate that I needed one good innings before the end of the season. With just 4-5 games to go; and the current form of the team, as well as myself; it looked very remote possibility. A dreadful thought lurked in mind, if I will be transformed as a bowler forever!! Or if I had already!!

In that particular game, I did not get a chance to bat and bowled just one over that cost 9 runs to the team. It was a close game and demanded complete intensity; on field. I was fielding at long off and thinking to myself if there was any light at the end of this dark runless tunnel. The opposition needed 30 in last 4 overs and in walked their most explosive batsman. On the first ball he walked across the stump and lifted it over the short fine leg for a boundary.

We knew that the only way to win was to get that player out before it was too late. The captain called me in from long off and asked me to go to short fine leg.  Looking at his stroke-making he thought there would be a chance of a skier at short fine leg and trusted me to take it.

Usually when one is out of sync with game, fielding is an aspect that reveals it the most. Fumbles become regular and sky catches become nightmares. How one fields is a great sign of one’s connect with game!

On the next ball; batsman again hoiked one more time – bowler being the tallest guy in our team ball went only up in the distance and not far. It was exactly between me and the man standing at midwicket; “mine” shouted I while running towards the square leg umpire.  

High as it was, it gave ample amount of time to position under the ball nicely and put my hands up in anticipation. Hard as one’s hands are usually when not in regular practice – it bounced off once; however composed judgment, position and calmness ensured that I gathered it easily on second attempt without any panic.

That catch was the only saving grace from that game; however it did something wonderful to me. Those who play cricket, know it enough that when you take skiers comfortably and confidently you are at peace and joy with the game! It rekindled the kinship with the sport I love!

It was joyous realization that even when runs were dried, connect with cricket remained vivacious, active and joyous!!

Hopefully runs will follow too!

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.