IPL: some turds

In the good old days, the Forrest Gump saying "life is like a box of chocolates, you never know which one you are getting" could be applied to cricket. "Cricket is like a box of chocolates, you don't know which gem each game will unearth".

But during and post IPL, the line needs some major modifications. Now it looks like: "cricket is like a community toilette commode with the seat down. you never know which turd will show up when you really want to have a go."

In the one and half month long jamboree that was IPL, I used to switch channels to Set Max with almost similar dread everyday. My only limited expectation was that it should be anyways better than the Marathi soaps the female population of our household forces on me everyday. And one fact I (re)learnt is that one very easy and fool-proof way to be happy in life is to lower your expectations so that you overachieve all the time. With that fixed, I paid my daily obeisance to the megalomaniacal melee of Indian cricket administrators, cricketers, movie stars and who's who of Indian industry.

Let me confess that most of what was served exceeded expectations by a large margin. Let's talk about that, too. But later.

Of course I did not expect anything out of ordinary and got everything expected. The biffers biffed, the ballers generally prayed and hoped. Most influential were people with the state of art training and attitude also known as the Aussies. Nobody was expecting this format to be the pinnacle of strategy. But it was proved that it does not even have a place for tactics. The baller tried things and prayed; the batsman picked his fav hitting areas and hoped. The result was almost as random as a toss of a coin. We can not prove it is otherwise in one dayers or tests, too. So let's not talk about it.

Here is the list of some of the worst turds I dreaded and came across, not necessarily sorted by their sizes:

1. Commentary: A confession- I like cricket more on the television than on the grounds. You can burn me at the stake for this but that has always been the case. OK, now that this is off my chest, let me continue with the point I am trying to make. One of the reasons for this is the thoughtful analysis of the experts. For me it is one of the forth pillar of cricket along with batting,bowling and fielding. Nothing like a Ian Chappelle-Naser Hussein banter in the commentary box or a generally tongue tied Wasim suddenly waxing eloquent about left hand swing balling. Now the Indian commentators were never worshipped for nutrality but some of them (esp Gavaskar, when he is talking abt Sachin) came up with small gems here and there.

But what was on display was even worse than the cheer-leaders exposing as much as legally possible. Not only did they not have anything meaningful to say but even the semi-respected one's like Sunny also pimped my most precious part of a cricket match, i.e. the commentary with turds like "DLF maximum strike".

2. The fabulous fours: The revered ones failed in different degrees.
a. Dravid was not only an absolute and abject failure but an undignified one also. I was feeling like putting him out to sleep when he used to come up with pathetic excuses after yet another thumping defeat. Failed in team selection, failed as a batsman,failed as a captain, failed as a cricketer, failed as an ambassador of whatever is good with current versions of cricket.
b. Lakshman: Was lucky as he did not as much falter in team selection. Learnt reality fast and was the first non-playing captain of any cricket tournament soon.
c. Ganguli: Held together only cos of his tenacity and never say die attitude. Managed to have non-insignificant contributions in almost all insignificant clashes.
d. Sachin: Generally saved by the groin. This reduced his attack surface area. 10 years before he was a fidgety one day captain, incompetent test captain. He is a clueless 20-20 captain as well, after all these years.


3. Slapgate: When our new-born Indian team gave it back to the brits, the pakis and most importantly to the aussies, we applauded. But apparently there is something wrong with what we are teaching our kids. Otherwise why there is no aussie slapping/kicking another one? Still I will consider this a blessing if these two learn their lessons from this. At least this happened in this bastardized version and not in any of the "standard" matches!!!

4. Aussies: I don't know whether you noticed but once the Aussies left the tourney was running on half tank. Almost a ship without sails fully up. In fact the momentum was held together majorly by remaining Aussies themselves with some noted exception of some Indians and a couple of Paki ballers.

Hey, let's come back to this later. Russia not only is giving the dutch a tough time but generally controlling the game and they are about to head towards the shootout. Nope, as I write this they have got one across the goal line !!! Far more interesting things are afoot. I will share some more views on this for sure. But let's keep that for the laters :)

Square peg in a round hole

Have been devouring management books for quiet some time now.

Where Asimovs, Hugos and Hemingways of the world jostled for space; there now elephants are elegantly trying to dance, Mount Fujis are being moved, Jack of the Welch heritage and other management junkie clones.

And boy!! Hasn't that made a difference!!!

This square peg is definitely ready for the round hole now. Bring it on!!!

The red headed boy next door

He runs in smoothly, very loose and relaxed, he is so composed and cool that he gives an impression that he is confused.
The wiles of hiding the shine behind the other arm are not for him. His right arm shows the cherry loud and clear. It is going to be the inswinger.

The best batsman in the world is waiting for the delivery, relaxed at the crease, the bat resting lightly besides his pads like a magic wand.
Head still, thoughts focussed, like the ball which is static at the top of its flight, just holding it before he decides which way the ball
should be hit as soon as it is released.

Bowler’s red head shines in the oblique summer sun of the western hemisphere. His approach to the popping crease is also breathtakingly smooth.
He does not have those extravagant jumps before the final delivery. His left foot lands so near to the stumps that it is obvious he is going to fall into the stumps
and disturb the tranquil picture. But within a fraction of second he manages to still maintain his stance, right arm is stretched along the right leg,
left shoulder comes across, left leg lands exactly in line with the off stump and the ball is delivered almost from the top of the stumps before the
bowler glides to the left side, surprising sparing the stumps, the ump and the danger zone.

It lands half a foot away from the off stump, exactly on good length, calculated with the batsman's height and reach taken into consideration.
Any other bowler and he would be flicked through the midwicket for a single. But respect is paid where it is due. The batsman has read it beautifully even
before the ball pitches, he gets on the front foot, executing one of his compact air tight defences. Not even a daylight can pass through the front pad
and bat. But surprisingly the ball does, and takes only the one thing that was possible, top corner of the off bail.

The ball has sped just enough to beat the bat meeting the pad and has created the opening for itself.

The batsman is Sachin Tendulkar and the bowler is Shaun Pollock. One how the greatest batman should be and the others how the heirs to the cricketing dynasty
should be, but rarely are. Hardworking , affable, humble, down to earth, smiling. His uncle one of the best batsmen of his era who never played, his father one of the best
bowlers his country has ever produced. He was always expected to do more than 100% and only after that his achievements are grudgingly conceded.

Aged 13 he replaces his injured father in a state game and grabs seven wickets. But still he is the joker of the pack,
and was not even considered the best amongst his cousins. The will to improve takes him far further than his cousins. His is an exciting exhilarating story of the talent, dynasty effect of politics on cricket and the good and bad things about cricket. Life is pretty good with Hansie Cronje and his then deputy Kirsten taking care of an emerging side.
With some very good batsmen and terrific bowlers; all exceptional fielders. Hungry to perform and prove. They reach the second spot and apart from frequent choking;
are a team to match the mighty Aussies. He is very happy hunting with his favourite hunting partner Donald the snake.

But that is just a facade, something evil is simmering inside. Something so black, it will smear name of the team and the game forever. Turn away millions of believers.
There are some ripples which show the monster lurking below especially when the vice captain retired without any intimation. And one day the hell breaks loose.
From a far away country news of unearthing the grave of cricket float on the air. Jadeja, Prabhakar, Ajhar, Malik are gone; Kapil,Inzy,Waugh,Warne are doubted.
About two generations of cricketers are under the scanner. The world of cricket and especially South Afrikan cricket is in tatters. Cronje is out, gibbs-Boje are doubted.
A closely knit hard working family is hit where it hurts most. Their captain, who represented them, invigorated them and held them together has turned kaput.
He who created ambition out of the glory and will to improve and fight back through their defeats has let them down.

And the mantle of captaincy falls on his unassuming shoulders and world is fun no more. The heir of the dynasties rises up to the challenge. The fun of playing has
somehow not gone out still. And along with the flair of the Tendulkars and Laras, the steadfast tenacity of Waughs and Ranatungas, the simplicity of the Pollocks
of the world is something that provided straws to clutch for the believers.

Still he was straight enough to dedicate the West Indies whitewash to his tainted captain, Cronje. He hoenstly believed he owed the improvements in the team
to the foundations laid by Cronje and he acknowledged it.

He partnered with Ntini as well as he did with Donald. Always keeping it tight and setting it up the other bowlers to get the glory. Use the long handle pretty effectively
and quiet frequently, good enough to be called a bowling all rounder. As a senior statesman of the team, always supported upcoming bowlers and
Now that this simple, straight talking guy is retiring, the world of cricket is definitely poorer and less simple by his absence.

A Wasted Saturday

Sometimes things happen without any warning and they are more endearing because they are so unexpected.
After continuing the slumber in the drawing room through the Gilchrist and Symonds show of early morning. I had no warning what is lying ahead in the day for me. Just shifted base from the diwan to easy chair, picked up the long pending Amartya Sen book (It looks more and more like I will not be finishing this one), while shifting focus from the land of Oz to South Africa.
Watched Gibbs allow one through Gateway Of India(or should it be SA?) and knuckled down further deep in the easy chair in preparation to see another Kallis show.

Built like a fortress, this guy defends like one too. His approach is so serene that the opposition is not there in the picture anywhere. He builds a shell around himself and builds the innings in that shell. Very few (maybe only the Aussies) have been able to cause discomfort for him. But here this does not seem to be his day. his defense is awkward today, inside edges the ball to fine leg. And lo and behold: chases a wide one before he opens an account. So I concfentrate more on the book and ponder at the feet of clay most of our idols now-a-days seem to have.

I have almost lost interest in this match and surfs my fav channels and it throws up a gem. This is semi finals of some non-descript masters tournament. Ferrer is taking on Andi Roddick. now Ferrer is a guy I remember very little of. There is a chance that I have not seen him play at all. And Roddick has his share of sympathy like a number of other could have been world-beaters after the versatile Swiss knife called Federer made them look uni dimensional repeatedly.

so with mild interest and a lot of sympathy I watched initial warm up. But it took exact 25 seconds of actual play to clear my misconception. Roddick was serving first, I knew him as a good serve, he fired one and to my amazement the serve was replied with a drop shot Roddick rushed to the net and what followed was deft touches like Badminton near a tennis net. Ferrer won the dual. Roddick looked stung and powered through rest of the game.

Ferrer won his serve after a deuce and broke roddick for a 2-1 lead. The match was on: I had forgotten Amartya and was on the edge of my easy chair. Yet another Saturday was spoiled but was put to a good use.

Epilogue:

At the end of the day, Ferrer defeated Roddick pretty easily. But Star Sports pulled a DD by stopping the transmission. I did not complain as by then Kallis had overcome his antsy start and resumed uninterrupted service. I was back deep in the easy chair, the Amartya Sen book still lying unopened across my knees.

North America on the run: Canada - the place

The next rendezvous beckoning after Seattle was the city of Barrie near Toronto.It is very confusing whether the landscape of Canada is more boring or the people are more remarkable.
In conclusion, I think both things are equally true.

About the Canadian land, the only words I have for it are flat, flat, flat, flat, flat, flat, flat, flat, uninteresting, uninteresting, flat, flat, flat, uninteresting,lakes,lakes,lakes,flat,flat,uninteresting.
Huge huge humongous infinite flat land. More than enough for everybody many times over. On my way from Toronto to Barrie I saw around 8-10 golf courses, after which I stopped counting. Buildings have so much of space left empty around them that they look very tiny despite being huge.
I saw a school building with 5-6 soccer grounds around it. Was just imagining Ojas running amok around those grounds: me and Pallavi hot in pursuit. Nothing more to bring out and enhance the innate free spirit present in everybody: especially a fresh mind, unaffected by any external influence. The city of Barrie is by the side of a huge lake and a very nice walkway around it. Had a chance to visit it only once though: I would definitely like to get back there with more time at my hands and with my family. Let's see: who has seen the future? Who knows?

North America on the run : languid placid ennui

(Happy Independance day to everybody: I am here in some remote corner of Canada, when the whole country is celebrating the Independance day. I am ably represented by my kid though: he attended a flag-hoisting at a special guest at a school, all decked up in the Army uniform his mother bought his for the occasion. He will see the photographs of his first independance day when he grows and definitely will feel very proud. Anyways, happy Independance day to everyone)

I am sitting facing the glass wall of the terminal, a whole panorama expands itself in
front of my eyes, just for me. Mountains far away : blue and bleary : show promises of snow on their tops, peeping behind the pine like cold climate trees.

Greenery, that too immaculate shades of greens, is a rule rather than an exception. So if a piece of land is not in use, it is green, has a lush green well cut grass look to it. The huge airport sprawls between these patches of green. Humongous heavy belly air crafts lumber up to the start of their run ups, get off as if they never wanted to move.

With maximum gracelessness they pick their noses up. Reluctantly fold their hind tyres under their huge bellies. I can picture them any moment saying "to hell with it" and rolling on the beds of the inviting green grass expanding into the infinity. The sun also adds to the speed (rather the lack of it) of the scene, dragging its feet so slow that it takes four hours (from 6.00 to 10.oo) to just set. Right now the sun is just ambling, far past the time it should have set and gone to bed, playfully shining his weak rays here and there: sometimes on the blue mountains in the distance, sometimes fleetingly giving chase to the wings of one of the airplanes. Sometimes just teasing a poor passenger, sitting behind the glass in the terminal, minding his own business writing his blog.

Now consider that all this is happening at one of the busiest airports in western America, and you will see the irony. No, ironic is not the right word for whatever is happening here, contradiction: near but not enough; because the word means than there are two points of views, vying to be right: no, nobody is bothering to be right or to be proven right. Ennui: may be right, just right as then the word itself is so confusing that it adds to the mystery of the place.

But then this is not right as well. The mystery of this place is the chatter of the passengers and the announcements floating on the air to reach your ears. Add words like ennui to it, and it becomes a out and out murder mystery. it is not so. It is a mystery where the answer is some where near lurking just below the surface. You can see its outline but cannot find what it is. If you tried, you might. But you do not want to do that really. The tinge of anxiety not knowing the answer is what is more exciting than knowing it and getting it over with. Languor, placidity: next un-understandable word and I am just copying James Joyce's style.

Redmond, in first few days has already been an anti-thesis of sorts.The airport being the first place where I can sit down calmly for the first time and note it and note it down. The sun shines on the sand of clouds, undulating in the sea of the sky, and you people : hold on tight while I narrate one of the most bizarre journeys taken up (or forced upon )yours truly. So bizarre that a quarter of it is already done and dusted before I could breathe deeply and start making some noise about it.

My experiments with the coffee(maker)

this is Arvind Kandhare:
Blender of the coffees, visitor of the countries, solver(supposed) of the problems,sleeper of the days, sufferer of jet-lags, eater of bland oat meals and blander corn-flakes,takes the first sip of his own made coffee in his wife's name
and hereby (after adding a lot of sugar and creme whitener) christen thee sweet kandy-coffee.

Never having added sugar and creme whitener to the molten tar on the road, it can not be said for sure, but if it were done, it would not test very dissimilar.

I may live for hundreds of years more, but one thing is sure, I will never test anything so bad as this , either self-made and others, and emphasizing the fact that it is said after the bland oat meals in the morning in itself can be held as a proof of it, another proof being the remembrance of cockroaches we MPalya guys drank along with whatever drinks they decided to swim in, I declare this coffee the worst drink that ever did or will enter my bowels.

But the jolt this newly christened creation gives me goes far beyond what it was designed for: namely keeping me awake by the day, as I am so hi-strung that I may not sleep for next 3-4 days now :)

Surya Paahilelaa maanus

Mi paahilaai Surya paahilela manus
Suryakade pahane shakya navate
Mhanoon tya maansakade paahun anand maanala
Sope naste suryakade pahane
Jar dolech jalaale naaheet tar
Kapalee asel janmabhar tras bhogane

Satya aanee yogya te prakhar shubhra disel
satya aanee ayogya te kutt kaale
tadjodicha sandhiprakash kuthech nasel
Aanee kuthaleehee palwaat nasel

Bhurkat sandhiprakashaat chachpadataanaa
Malaa aadhaar hotaa,
"Pahilaa dagad tyaaneech maaraawaa,
Jyanee asel surya paahilaa"
ya yuktiwadacha.

Dagad shodhayalaa madat karaa jaraa
Mi paahilaai surya pahilelaa maanus
Thodaa ghaitach distoy
Dagad maaraayachyaa addhich nighun jaicha

Kaa ugaa malaach awghad watat aahe?
Surya pahaane !!
Sope asel kaa sagale jar
sawalyaa asteel kaalya kutt aaanee
prakash kewal prakhar ..
aanee maahitee asel kee tumhee
nehmee barobarach aahaat ..
Aanee jar chuk asaal tar
swatachyaaek kanfataat deun barobar hone ?

Khup sope asel kaa
Ayogya pahilya pahilya tyacha pratikar karne?
chukeeche manjar aadwe gele kee rastaa badalne?
Kadhee shankaa yetach nasel kaa,
he yogya waate tar aahe pan kharech te tase aahe ka?

whiffs floating on the mists of the past: A man in dark times

Insipid future stagnates
in the well worn grooves of the past.
History devours the future.

The more things change,
more they remain the same.
A sad eternal truth tries unsuccessfully
To hide behind the thin guise of the context

But the fact remains.

And the fact is this:
Always,
lions are encircled by packs of wolves
And truth is nothing but a trap
Laid out by the naives: laid out for the fools
The Butterfly meekly turns back into caterpillar,
A dreamer is left holding the cold ashes of his dream.
While others sell them out
For higher places on the ladder.

But ..

Defeated yet unconquered
Broken still unshaken
Stands tall
Against odds all
A man:

A man in dark times.

what a shame!!!

Like one of its most progressive thinking coaches, the game of cricketwas poisoned yesterday. It was then strangulated because it was not dying soon. It was found lying in its own feces and vomit, unattendedand abandoned.

It was a good final when it started though. Ground staff worked hard to get it running even if reduced to 38 hours. Gilli did what he does best, blasted off and was the best batsman from both the sides by quiet some distance.

It was still cricket when the ball suddenly started swinging without any perceptible change in the cloud cover. It was in fact pretty good cricket when Jayasurya and Sangakkara bided their time till the situations became favorable. Once the sun got out and the swing suddenly disappeared, they cashed in their patience, very good indeed.

Sri Lanka was quiet sure they won't have anybody playing the innings Gillie did for the Aussies. The trick was for everybody to play his own part in the chase. It was pretty much followed. Sangakkara did his job by first playing out the difficult overs and then cashing in on 2nd powerplay. The chinaman from Hodges did him in but by then he had played his hand and played it well.

From then things started going slowly downhill. The clouds became dark and ominous. Srilankan batsmen had too many things on their mind. What about D/L score, what if it does not rain till the end, what if they lose yet another wicket while trying one of these theories, all that along with a fading light caused Jayasurya to misread Clarkes innocuous skidder. It was bad that Sri Lanka should be put throught his hardships while chasing a daunting total, but still it was rules and cricket. But this is the last thing to be accepted under the vagaries of glorious uncertainties of cricket.

What happened next was incredibly stupid and unprofessional. Silva andMahila were going pretty strong and refused light and held fort through high wind and heavy rain. Even if it increased their net required run rate, they were slowly taking D/L out of the equation.The rains were about to let up and at this juncture first of many incredulous idiocies were committed.

With wind taking away rain clouds and sun peering through the web ofclouds, the light was offered and the covers were brought on. Byaccepting light and going off the field, Lanka lost whatever chance they had of making it a game then and there. It was sad that because of one official misjudgement, a dark horse lost the chance to unseat the champions. A seasoned follower can forgive them that.

But then the real bizarre things started happening. SriLankan tail accepted the light in almost a pitch dark condition. A D/L situation would have nominated Aussies as outright winners, just for one rule where the play can be resumed the next day. The umpires were adamant that they will start the play the next day, But by then the Aussies had started celebrating, the score board declared them as winners, the clowns and dancers for the farewell program were almost in the ground when the on-field umpires shooed them off.

Only after confusion reigning supreme for an eternity, Jayavardene decided to break the deadlock by asking his batsmen to reject the earlier accepted light offer. The farce continued in pitch dark.Umpires prolonged the agony by brooding over the third umpire decisions, giving wides and trying their max to beat the dead horse.


Now I am sure they were exactly following the book. I do not know exactly whose fault it was. But I know that Aussies did not deserve the final they had. They had to break their celebrations and bowl last three overs like a naughty school boy us is caned on his knuckles.They had ruled the roost in this edition and they surely deserved more honor than they were accorded.


Neither did Lanka deserve this end. They were in the game just to be denied their chance at the victory by the weather first and then thestupid officialdom.

Neither did we, the viewers who kept the faith and burnt midnight oil,and kept awake at some ungodly hours like 3.0-4.00 am deserved this end.

One last picture sums up the tournament for me. After dias is brought in and then dismantled and took off the field on the umpires behest, a man with Rastafarian pile of hair on his head, lazily and reluctantly putting back the 30 yard markers back again, umpires asking the ball and the stumps, taken as a souvenir to start the game again !!!

Hope things will get only better for cricket from here.

WorldCupClassics: Gilli Walks

Written on Tue Mar 18, 2003:

There comes a time when you have a choice between two things ...
There is glory; personal as well as for your team and people;accolades; a chance to resurrect whole of your people;regain lost pride; reach new peaks ; conquer terrotories nobody has even dreamt of even trading on. The world is looking unto you to be won.

On the other side is truth, honesty.

There lies a small catch:you've to do just one thing wrong.Nobody'll know, it has been done before and being honoured forbeing practical heros and wily foxes and cunning winners.

But there are men who :
"Can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose,
and start again at the beginnings
And never breathe a word about the loss;" -- If

These are the angels of the new age;
they walk because they know it is right thing to do; that is the right choice, baby if you would.

Take Gilli today: He is just yesterday demoted from the vice-captaincy of the test side; has not been playing upto his potential; once he was touted as the captain of this best side in the world, basically his fortunes are in slow but steady spiral downwards; his walking might open the now brittle aussie middle order(with Martyn gone and Waugh absent and only symonds and Harvys and Bichels; who have won matches but not very much well known for the consistency) to the guiles of Murali; might end up losing the semis for his team.

OR Lara in a earlier match: his team desperately needs to win this match to stay in contention for super six.He's on a dream run; playing the best cricket of his life perhaps. He is matching his rival for the best-batsman-of-the-world title stroke by stroke if not score by score.He is the one who can make the difference.Who can show the gloomy West Indian cricket light on the lost path to the glory of the past.

Both could have probably done all that provided they ignored one small pang of self conscience. The umpire any way has not given you out. so you are not out, technically.

Still they walked, only because staying ain't "cricket". These are angels among some mere mortals.

These mortals may be demi gods; but only with feet of Clay. The lightening does not last more than a fraction of a second; but till it is there; it lights the whole earth with blinding light. The dew is always evaporated with the first cruel rays of sun but till it exists it reflects and holds a beautiful image of the whole world unto itself though momentarily.That's where divinity is displayed between the mere transaction of life.

Well done Gilly; well done mate !!

dream home: sunrise

He puts the alarm at 6.15. 6.36 is the sunrise noted in the newpaper for the earlier day. but then this place is high, it may be earlierhere, he reasons.

He wakes up five minutes before the alarm, switches it off. As if on cue, the son is already up,staring at some unknown spot on the wall,holding both feet in both hands, patiently waiting for something. He decides to go to the balcony, but it is still pretty chilly. He dresses him in warm clothes. The son also knows there is something cooking, he gets dressed up willingly.

The dawn is getting lighter by minutes and the son watches his father's face intently, waiting for the next step. Picks him up, he opens the door to the balcony. The east side is aglow, red-yellow. A freshening breeze welcomes both. He tries to show the son the colors in the sky. but the son is staring at his face intently. He tries to move him away, facing the open sky. The son does not budge, watches his father's face with curious eyes.

The play of colours continue. He is mesmerised. Wants his son to be part. but he is completely immobile now. Watching his father's face with a stunned and awed silence. The father ignores him now that he is not responding and enjoyes the sunrise all by himself.

He says to his son "you need to grow up a bit to understand all this and enjoy it".

The son does not respond. He is busy trying to search all the colours of the morning that danced on his father's face, scratching behind the golden rays of early morning.

control of life

Aru, get up now. You wanted to get up by 5.30 to finish your homework" -- one of the parents.

I try to hide in the Rajaai, curl up pulling my knees near my chin. Then the aforementioned parent pats on my shoulder, first slowly and then shakes me firmly. I, with the sleep from my eyes, get up obediently. run the required errand. And my day starts.


Years pass and now this!! I am snoring softly, enjoying my early-morning sleep. A tiny hand exlpores my mouth and nose. Fingers somehow trying to find the source of the snores. Half awake, I try to see, behing the prying hands, a very inquisitive face peeps. He is lying on his side, unbalanced. both arms extended, uncontrollably trying to scratch my nose and mouth with them. His own mouth half open,forgetful. I smile at him and that stops him. He smiles first and then pulls his arms back. His smile suddenly turns shy and he pulls to the other side.

I go back to sleep. After some time, I see him again, on his side, aiming his left kick on my tummy. He takes his own time, lands the blow, moves a bit to gain balance and again pull the leg back to take aim once again. This has a very beautiful slow rythm. But it keeps on increasing. I,with sleep in my eyes, get up obediently. Pick him up, he is happy with the achievement OR almost to tears (depending on the time it takes for me to get up). And we both are now up and running :)

हसीन कातिल

हाती धनुष्य ज्याचा त्याला कसे कळावे
ह्रुदयी बाण ज्याच्या त्यालाच दु:ख ठावे

अशीच एक "कट्यार" नुकतीच माझ्या काळजात घुसली. तीचाच हा (पंच) नामा.

गेल्या पूणे-वारी मध्ये श्वसुरगृह जवळ करण्यासाठी बस पकडण्यासाठी मी मुख्यरस्त्याशी आलो. मुख्यरस्त्याचा मुखडा पूर्णपणे बदलला होता. पूण्यातील खड्डे नाहीत अश्या खूप कमी रस्त्यांपैकी एक असणारा रस्ता अचानक भारत-पाकिस्तानची फ़ाळणी झाल्यासारखा तीन तुकड्यांमध्ये विभागला गेला होता. दोन्ही बाजुना धन-धान्यानी भरलेली तटे सांभाळत एखादी नदी वाहात आहे असे वाटत होते. फ़क्त या नदीची दोन्ही तटे धान्याऐवजी ट्राफ़िक मध्ये अडकलेल्या वहानांनी गच्च भरली होती.

नदीचे पात्र (म्हणजे मधला रस्ता हो!) मोकळाच होता. त्या रस्त्याच्या आजुबाजुला ट्वेंटी-ट्वेंटी म्याच मध्ये खेळाडुना बसवतात तशी अर्ध्या कापलेल्या इग्लू सारखी झोपडी वजा जागा होती. थोडे वेळ निरक्षण केल्यानंतर असे जाणवले की ती तर नवी बस स्टॊपची शेड आहे.

त्या शेड्पर्यंत पोचता-पोचताच accident मध्ये लोक टपकावेत अशा उदात्त हेतूनी तो तिथे रोड्च्या मध्यभागी बांधलेला दिसत होता. आपले माणसे मारण्याचे काम पी यम टी ने असे private sector ला outsource केलेले पाहुन गदगदुन आले. झेब्रा क्रॊसिंग व इतर प्रवाश्यांच्या सहाय्याने आम्ही शेड्पर्यंत पोचलो. मावळ्यांच्या व घॊरपडीच्या सहाय्याने बालेकिल्ल्यापर्यंत पोचल्यानंतर तानाजीच्या आवेशात आम्ही त्या शेड मध्ये शिरलो. फ़क्त "हर हर महादेव" वगैरेच बाकी होते.

स्टोप आहे पण रस्त्याच्या कडेला नाही, मध्यावर आहे पण ट्राफ़िक दिसत नाही, सीट्स आहेत पण बसता येत नाही (या सीट्स कोणाच्या पार्श्वभागाच्या मापानी बनवतात काय ठावूक?), शेड आहे पण उभे रहाता येत नाही अश्या त्या ठिकाणी आम्ही हिरण्यकश्यपू जसा नरसींहाच्या मांडीवर अवघडल्यासारखा झोपला असावा तसे आम्ही त्या सीट्स वर बसून राहिलो.

व्ही आर एलच्या मालकीची वाटावी अशी एक लाल बस समोर येउन उभी राहिली. कितितरी दशकांची धुळीची पुटे ही पी यम टी ओळखण्याची पहीली खुण न जुळल्यामुळे मी त्या बसकडे दुर्लक्ष केले. पण आजुबाजुच्या प्रवाश्यानी त्या बसच्या दरवाज्याजवळ झुंबड केली. मी देखील त्यांबरोबर गेलो. हे सर्व थोडे विचीत्रच होते. एक तर बसला दरवाजा होता आणि तो बंद होता. कुणीही हात न लावता तो हळू हळू उघडला. मला तर दरदरून घामच फ़ुटला. काही तरी बाहेरचा प्रकार आहे अशी शंका मनाला ग्रासून गेली. जीप मुठीत धरून मी आत पाउल टाकले समोर कंड्क्टर उभा होता. तीकीट देण्यासाठी तो जवळ आला. त्याकडे तिकिटे तर नव्हतीच पण तो calucator सद्रृश्य ठोकळा घेउन आला होता. मी मान वर करून त्याकडे पाहिले. मग मात्र माझीच दातखीळच बसली. मला असा भास झाला की त्यानी मला हळुच smile दिले. मला गरगरून आले. पाच-दहा मिनिटांनंतर डोळ्यांसमोरील अंधारी कुठून तरी आलेल्या थंड हवेच्या झुळूकीनी दूर झाली. मी सहज कुतूहूल म्हणून थंड हवा कुठून येत आहे ते पाहिले. डोळ्यांसमोरील काळोखी आणखी गडद झाली. ती बस चक्क एअर कंडीशंड होती.

थोड्या वेळानी मी सावरलो. मग मी बस्चे निरिक्षण करायला सुरुवात केली. सुपर-बिल्ट्प एरीयामध्ये जसे बील्डर लोक हात सोडून कोमन एरीयासाठी जागा ठेवतात तशी बस च्या मध्यभागी मोकळी जागा होती. मी तिथे थोडेसे बागडून घेतले. बसचा पुढचा अर्धा भाग एकदम खाली होता. तीथे बसल्यानंतर व्हेनीसच्या गोन्डोल्यामध्ये प्रियेचा हात धरुन बसलो आहे असे वाटले (अहो, मी कसला जातोय व्हेनीसला, "दो लब्जोन्की है" मध्ये पाहिलेय तेवढेच) . बसचा मागचा भाग बराच उंचावर होता. तेल वीकून गब्बर झालेल्या कुणा अरबाला जर एअर कंडीशंड उंट करुन हवा असेल तर तो असाच दिसेल. (मी पेटंट करणार ही आइडीया: एअर कंडीशंड उंट).

तर अशा ऐटीत दोन्ही बाजुंच्या ट्र्याफ़िक मधील मारूती - शेवर्ले (ट) - होंडा सीटी वगैरे गाड्यांवर धुळ उडवत माझी यात्रा सुफ़ळ संपूर्ण झाली. (पूण्यातल्या छोट्या-छोट्या व खड्डे पडलेल्या रस्त्यातुन होंडा-सीटी वगैरे अवाढव्य गाड्या चालकाबद्दल माझे एक निरीक्षण आहे : गेल्या पिढीतील "जीव गेला तरी चालेल पण मी वाडा सोडणार नाही" अश्या पुणेरी बाण्याचे ते या पिढीतले अनुकरण आहे. हा एक वेगळाच मुद्दा होइल. म्हणुन असो. )

पूण्याचा portsmouth झाल्यासारखे वाटले. (कुठे आहे ते मला विचारु नका.). थंड हवा घेत घेत लार्ज साइझच्या खिडकीतुन पाहिले आणि बाकीची ट्र्यफ़िक, तीन तीन तास भार-नियमन, दिवसाआड येणारे पाणी, रस्त्यातील खड्डे वगैरे गोष्टी कद्रू वाटायला लागल्या.

पूण्यनगरीवरून परत एकदा नांगराचे सोनेरी फ़ाळ फ़िरले.

100 things to do before I die

Ok, this is October end and this is public review :)

1. Make sure my son grows up to be an independant, honest and gentle person.
[October 07] He is a very mischievous indivual right now with pretty strong likes and dislikes. And very demanding one also. Can not even tell whether I am on a right track on this one :(

2. Enable him to dream about his career without any restrictions and educate him to make it reality

3. Go on a very long trek alongwith only him and nobody else
[October 07] Long walk, solitary.ha ha. Only dream about it buddy. But managed to go on a long ride with wifey though :)

4. Make sure everybody at home is independant and busy contributing his worth to society and himself. Pallavi gets a job
[October 07] Hmm. Not even trying anything in this direction right now. Does not even know how to start.

5. Dada ia doing something regular out of house
[October 07] Hmm. Not even trying anything in this direction right now. Does not even know how to start.

6. Aai is working (maybe helping dada)
[October 07] Hmm. Not even trying anything in this direction right now. Does not even know how to start.

7. Make sure there is always love, work against all the prejudices/people which comes in the way.
[October 07] Honestly tried this seldom. When I am actually into all this, this is too murky. And like a lot of other thing, there is no end to it. So a very bad commitment to write in all.

8. Maintain nutrality without being aloof and disinterested.
[October 07]Ditto. A tight rope walk indeed.

9. Adopt a cute girl.
[October 07] Need to get motivated and really serious about this. This thing is not going to work by consensus.

10. Be part of kernel development team.
[October 07] Ok.TS, pretty near to the kernel team. Slow but on right track.

11. Involve in Apple kernel developement somewhere down the line.
[October 07] Dream on.

12. Contribute to *bsd source code whenever it becomes legally possible.
[October 07] Dream on.

13. Visit Himalays (Nepal)
[October 07] Not a hugh thing. Will do it anytime.

14. Read complete Victor Hugo /Ernst Hemingway/Dostovesky
[October 07] Losing the habit of reading and hence writing. Such a simple thing but going backwords on this one :(

15. visit all the places mentioned in the above works
[October 07] Dream on.

16. Act in at least one shakespeare drama
[October 07] Dream on.

17. Learn to play tennis,football
[October 07] 1/3 done already. But again depends on the definition of " learn".

18. Bowl with speed more than 80miles per hour.
[October 07] Dream on. Seious long running injuries preventing from doing so.

19. Own a beautiful house
[October 07] Dream on. Will hand it down to my son most proibably.

20. Own a four wheeler
[October 07] Wiithin next two years.

21. Go on a holiday for more than a month at least once in two years
[October 07] Will do :)

22. Change company/groups at least once in three years.
[October 07] Group changed by default.

23. Learn any of the skills which take you off the ground (flying/gliding/paragliding)
[October 07] Dream on. Not anywhere related

24. Donate minimum 3% of earnings annually
[October 07] Dream on. Should do. One of the most doable thing which is not done.

25. Talk to minimum 20 people in a week.
[October 07] Dream on. Totally forgot about this one. Should start a private talk meter :)

26. Make new friends, give them more than you take from them.
[October 07] Dream on. Forgot about this one.

27. Learn to drive a four wheeler.
[October 07] If I buy, I will learn :)

28. Everyday see the moon and the stars.
[October 07] Did for the period of 2 weeks. Restart.


29. Reduce and maintain weight less than 70 kg always
[October 07] Dream on. Second most doable thing which is not done.

30. Learn how to play the flute
[October 07] Dream on. Not tried anything in this direction at all.

31. Learn how to cook and try to cook your own food at least twice a week
[October 07] Dream on. Start from this week.

32. Wash and iron your own clothes at least thrice a week.
[October 07] Dream on. Start from this week.

33. Study and teach physics and maths
[October 07] Dream on. Trying for MS in CS. Can be called a good start.

34. Pursue further education in s/w
[October 07] Dream on. Trying for MS in CS. Can be called a good start.

35. Learn at least one foreign language completely (french/japanese)
[October 07] Dream on.

36. Learn Telugu
[October 07] Dream on. Can be started at any point of time.

37. Take everybody (Pallavi, Ojas, aai and dada) on a foreign trip
[October 07] Will do.

38. Walk more than50 kms per week
[October 07] Ran more than 50 kms for two weeks before heels gave up. Earned me a lifelong injury most probably.

39. Spend more than 1000 rs every two months on buying new books
[October 07] Doing so till now.

One addition:

40. Masters before 35 years of age, doctorate before 40 :)

reargard action .. slow and steady does it again ...

Just had the honour of watching part of Inzi's and complete Hussy's innings played during the last two days. They were very different from each other in terms of strategies.

Hussy, on one hand, definitely believed in the tailender at the other end to somhow survive the short balls (and did Flintoff batter Lee with hailstorm of them!! nad Lee not for the first time in his career, hung on with his nails, first winced and then smiled at the blows, jumped on anything with width, what a charactor, what a charactor). Hussy at the other end, scratched and fidgeted, nudged singles around, ran like hell to make some of them twos, shelved all the risky shots and looked like he somehow will drag the dead australian horse across the winning line if he is lucky. But actually he was just patiently waiting for his time to come. He first blunted the English attack, tamed them and then ruled them. Then came out the gorgeous cover drives. If there ever will be an book called "Idiot's guide to tame the ballers and win a lost one day game", Bevan-Hussy will write it. I seriously think such a book is in private circulation: Yuvraj and Kaif seemed to have read a chaptor of it on that astounding day at Lord's ages ago. But they promptly forgot the lesson.


Inzy on the other hand was not so gifted in his friends. Paki tail did wag a lot in the first test but history, even if it repeats itself, does not do so so frequently. He lorded over five balls per over. Finding boundaries and denying himself any singles. This is the alternative way to the Idiot's guide, it took out the weak point, i.e. the tail-ender out of the equation and hence the position was strengthened.

Coming back to our Lord's(and Maharaja's?) of dead pitches, Our confidence is suddenly buoyed by the media jumboree. I am not saying we will lose badly. We may still beat the hell out of the Windies. Our Master Blasters,Maharajas and Dhonis may still butcher the ballers, take them to the washers. But I would like our boys to fight in minimum one readgard, dig deep, prowl in trenches and slowly push back the marauders, dethrone the pretenders. Ek baar yaar, sirf ek baar Lords ho jaaye aur ek baar ...

Aai Is Retiring ...

Imagine something you have been doing for thirty five years at a stretch. First thing that comes to mind is that it requires lot of patience and concentration. Now add to it continuous separation from your family for extended periods of time, sometimes hostile and most of the times uninteresting working conditions. The work itself is unrewardingly thankless. Pay just enough for bare survival and feeding of the family of five. Add to this again three demanding children, bright in some ways. Life would definitely be easier if they just meant to be fed and brought up. But it definitely requires a lot of willpower to believe that they are meant for something special, can do better than the average. This belief and will power is one of the things that get the desired effect. It is like the egg and chicken problem. Are kids bright by birth, or the hardwork and belief of their parents make them so. This is a different debate, but I belong to the side which says the way parents bring them up matters a lot. They mean expenditure, emotional, time wise and financial. Life would really be easier if it were not so. But it is a choice you make.


And make a choice he did, fast forward twenty years or so and here are the results. One engineer and two doctors are the most visible things. But they are just trophies at the twilight of two dedicated lives. Behind it lies a barren landscape of hurt tears, numerous sacrifices each one big like Himalayas. The world threw all its problems and it was replied by a sacrifice bigger than the problem. The problem finally was shamed into submission and the day won. Just to sleep for a few hours before next day brings a bigger problem. I know that this is not extra-ordinary. It may be rare but not definitely a never done thing.But this one was for us, hence it matters a lot.

A typical day used to start at 4.30 in the morning, waking up and getting ready for 5.00 am tuition of mathematics and physics. It will go on till 6.30. By then food and lunch box will be ready. The kids will wake up and the only family meals together . We preferred to eat at 6.30 early mornings just to feel together. This was followed by a 19 KM ride on a bicycle to the school where he used to teach. Teach maths which is his own subject as well as science because the teacher is not there. You would expect certain looseness after the ordeal of getting up at the godforsaken hours and running private tuitions of your own. But the results speak for themselves. Before he joined that school in Nalgir, there was not a single SSC passout in ten years. But within 7-10 years of working, maths and science, the bane of rural students, used to get 80%-100% of results.

Even if those days were hard, we were really happy together. We never missed our visits to nearby theatres,twice a week. Very few of our wishes were denied. I still remember borrowing money on 100% monthly interest rate for my school-trip to forts in Maharashtra. This was how important money was to us then. Dada one day nearly drowned in a sudden flash-flood while cycling the 19KMs from Nalgir. Aai and he, both were drying the 50 RS notes whole night, around 900 Rs, his salary then which he was carrying . This was how important money was to us then. None of the needy relatives went away without some help. Moreover we never ever spread our hands in front of our wealthy relatives. We enjoyed those days to the fullest, worked as hard as we could and more than that and was prudent like hell. He used to correct SSC state examination papers for the additional income it used to provide in summer vacations. We used to have unwanted visitors almost on daily basis who wanted to increase the marks of their wards and used to offer sizeable amount of money for doing so. None of them was successful but more importantly, none of them was turned away before they were offered a cold glass of Ruh-Afza OR Rasna. This was how much money was important to us then.

Worse was the time when he used to be posted away and used to visit us weekly once or twice. He was torn between the urge to be with us and do duty and earn money. They had decided that he will concentrate on earning for the family and Aai will look after us. There were lot of easy way out: such as we leaving Udgir/Latur to join him in the school he was teaching in OR Aai taking up a job so that the expenses are balanced. But they took some decisions and stuck to them through thick and thin. Those may not be the only right decisions that could be made, maybe too strict and dangerous sometimes, but those were the right ones, at least for us.

Now that he is finished with his jobs and has retired, he is back to the things he loved most and cared about the most. Back with his family, back with his grandson. I know that he will get everything he sacrificed and he will get double the amount. I will be very glad and blindly entrust my son to his care. I think some values,even if they feel old-fashined are universal and do not change with time.

This is the part of the story everybody knows and appreciates. I am not here to tell that part, I am here to underline the role played by the other wheel. It is my Aai. She suffered and toiled twice as hard. Sacrificed inifinite times more. Studied with us. She had just her SSC degree when she got married. Studied and got BA and double MA. She used to study with us. One of the thing that amazes me about both of them is that they were never short on time. As we never missed our twice-a-week movies, she never missed her 6.30 AM lunch. Somehow it used be ready before the tuitions are over. She studied hard and passed all the exams, made sure she is in a position to get a job. And sacrificed it to concentrate on bringing us up. She was the backbone of our family in all the senses of the word. She provided stability by filling in where she thought she will fit the best. Used to take over the decision making role of Dada when he used to be posted away and like a backbone she was prudent and straight. I have a lot of shocking anecdotes about that. I sometimes remember them and feel really proud.

Dada had retirement celebration and got a send-off also. I am just taking this opportunity to congratulate Aai also on her retirement. She has her husband all for herself, maybe for the first time after her marriage. I know that this is going to increase the work for her. But I am sure she will not enjoy anything else more.

Happy retired life Aai.

आई रिटायर होतेय

कल्पना करा की तुम्ही एक गोष्ट पस्तिस वर्षे करताय. सर्वात महत्त्वाच म्हणजे यासाठी खुप जास्त धीर आणि एकाग्रता लागते. आता जर ती गोष्ट साध्य करण्यासाठी तुम्हाला कुटुम्बापासून नेहेमी दूर रहावे लागत असेल्, हाता-तोन्डाची गाठ होइल इतकाच तुटपुन्जा पगार मिळत असेल, तुम्ही केलेल्या उत्क्रूष्ट कामगीरीबद्दल जर कोणि तुमची पाठ थोपटण्याचीही तसदी घेत नसेल्, कुठेतरी सुदुर आदिवासी भागात आणि खेडेगावात काम करायला लागत असेल, जिथे मन लावून काम करणे अशक्य तर असतेच पण धोकादायक सुद्दा असते, तर ती गोष्ट हळु हळु खुपच अवघड होत जाते. पुन्हा त्यात तीन चुणुकदार वाटणारया मुलान्ची जबाबदारी म्हण्जे सर्व बाजुनी कोन्डमारा होत जातो. कारण आपण त्यान्च्या सन्गोपानामध्ये काही चुक तर करत नाहिये ना, त्याना सर्व सन्धी मिळतायात ना अशी टोचणी नेहमी मनाला लागलेली असते. खरेतर तो प्रत्येक कुटुम्बाचा निर्णय असतो, की महत्त्व कशाला द्यायचे. त्याच वेळी जर सुखसोयी हव्या असतील, हातात जास्त पैसा हवा असेल्, कुटुम्ब जवळ हवे असेल तर कुठेना कुठे याबाबतीत तडजोड करायला लागते. ही तड्जोड कधी करायची आणि कधी नाकारायची हा प्रत्येक कुटुम्बाचा निर्णय असतो.


दादानी देखील याबाबतीत निर्णय घेतला. आणि जर आपण चीत्रफीत विस वर्षे पुढे सरकावली तर आपल्याला त्या निर्णयाचा निकाल सुध्धा कळेल. दोन डाक्टर आणि एक इन्जिनीयर हा त्या निर्णयाचा निकाल आहे. पण या तीन बक्षिसान्मागे दोन जिवान्च्या उमेदिच्या काळातिल त्याग आहे. पूर्ण आयुष्यभर खतपाणी घालून वाढवलेल्या आणि जपलेल्या रोपाला आलेली तीन फळे आहेत्. सर्व बाजुनी अवाढव्य सन्कटे आली आणि त्यागाच्या अचल खडकावर आदळुन मातीमोल झाली. सन्कटे लाजुन दूसर्या दिवशी परत येण्यासाठी गेली. अशी पुष्कळ कुटुम्बे असतात जी अशा सन्कटान्चा सामना करतात. आमचे कुटुम्ब ही त्यापैकीच एक.


जेव्हा त्यान्ची नेमनूक जवळच्या गावी असायची अशा वेळी दादान्चा दिवस सकाळी साडेचार ला सुरु व्हायचा. पाच वाजता ते गणित आणि विज्ञानची शीकवणी घ्यायचे. ती साडे सहा पर्यन्त चालायची. तोपर्यन्त जेवण आणि डबा तयार असायचा. मुले उठायची आणि सगळे मिळुन सकाळी साडेसहा वाजता जेवायचो. मग दादा एकोन्विस किलोमिटर सायकल चालवत त्यान्च्या शाळेकडे जायचे. तिथे ते गणित शिकवायचे आणि विज्ञानाचा शीक्षक नसायचा म्हणून विज्ञान देखिल. नळ्गीर्, जीथून दहा वर्षात कोणीही दहावी पास झाले नव्हते तिथला गणित आणि विज्ञानाचा निकाल ८० ते १००% लागायला लागला.


ते दिवस अवघड असले तरीही आम्ही एकत्र असल्यामुळे सुखी होतो. आम्ही कधिही आठवड्याचे दोन चित्रपट चुकलो नाही. आमच्या कोणत्याही इछ्छा नाकारल्या गेल्या नाहीत. मला अजुन आठवते, मला महाराष्ट्राच्या सहलीला जाण्यासाठी पैसे नव्हते तर दादानी १००% महीना दरानी व्याज काढून मला सहलिस पाठवले. दादा एकदा नळ्गीर हून परत येताना ओढ्याला पूर आला आणि खिशातले ९०० रु., दादान्चा तेव्हाचा पगार्, भिजले. आई आणि दादा मिळून त्या पन्नासच्या नोटा रात्रभर स्टोव वर शेकवत होते. आम्हाला तेव्हा पैश्यान्ची इतकी चणचण होती.

पण आम्ही कधीही कोणाकडे आर्थीक मदत मागितली नाही. दादानी प्रत्येक दिवशी आनन्दात घालवला , खुप जास्त मेहेनत केली आणि कधीही कोणापुढे झुकले नाहीत. दादा उन्हाळ्याच्या सुट्टीत दहावीचे पेपर्स तपासायचे. आपल्या मुलान्चे मार्क्स वाढवण्यासाठी खुप लोक पैसे घेउन यायचे. त्यापैकी कुणाचे ही प्रयत्न सफळ झाले नाहीत्, पण कोणिही थन्ड शर्बत पिल्याशिवाय परतही गेले नाही.


पण सगळ्यात जास्त त्रास दादा लाम्बच्या गावी जायचे तेव्हा व्हायचा. ते आठवड्यातुन एक दोनदाच येवु शकायचे. आई व दादानी निर्णय घेतला होता की आई नोकरी न करता आम्हाकडे लक्ष देईल. आम्ही दादान्च्या नोकरिच्या गावी सुध्धा जाउन राहू शकलो असतो, किन्वा आईनी नोकरी केली असती तरीही त्या दोघान्चे कष्ट ही कमी झाले असते. पण दोघानी एक निर्णय घेतला आणि तो पूर्णपणे तडीस नेला.

आता दादा रिटायर झालेले आहेत आणि त्यान्साठी सगळ्यात महत्त्वाची गोष्ट म्हन्जे त्यान्चे कुटुम्ब त्यान्जवळ आहे. त्यान्चा नातु त्यान्जवळ आहे, मला खात्री आहे की आयुष्यभराच्या कष्टाला आता फळ येते आहे. मी माझ्या मुलाच्या भवितव्याबद्दल निश्चिन्त राहू शकतो कारण त्याला वळण लावण्यासाठी आईदादा आम्हासोबत आहेत.

आतापर्यन्त सान्गितलेले जवळपास बर्याच जनान्ना माहिती आहे. आणि हे ही माहिती आहे की या गाड्याचे दुसरे चाक सुध्धा इतकेच खम्बीर होते म्हणून हा गाडा इथेपर्यन्त पोचु शकला. दादान्च्या निव्रुत्तीमद्ये तिचा ही खुप मोठा विजय लपलेला आहे.तिने सुद्धा खुप कष्ट सहन केलेले आहेत. लग्न झाले तेव्हा ती फक्त दहावी पास होती. ती बी.ए. झाली, एम्.ए. झाली. तीनी आम्हासोबत अभ्यास केला व परिक्षा पास झाली. एका गोष्टीचे मला खुप नवल वाटते. आई व दादा दोघान्कडे देखील कधिही वेळेची कमी नसायची. दादा नळगीर हून सायकलवर यायचे तरीही सीनेमा पाहाण्यासाठी आम्हाला नेहेमी वेळ असायचा. आईचा सुद्धा परिक्षा अस्ताना सुद्धा सकाळी साडेसहा वाजता स्वयम्पाक तयार असायचा.

नोकरी मिळणे शक्य असून देखील आईनी नोकरी केली नाही. ती आमच्या कुटुम्बाचा पाठीचा कणा आहे. मग कण्याचे सर्व गुणधर्म तिच्यात आहेत. दादा जेव्हा आठवडाभर बाहेर असायचे तेव्हा तीच कुटुम्ब प्रमुखाचे स्थान घ्यायची. कण्यासारखिच ती कडक आणि न वाकणारी आहे. तिच्या स्वाभिमानाचे काही मासले मला आठवतात आणि मग मला थोडेसे हसायला ही येते आणि आदरानी श्वास भरून सुद्धा येतो.

दादाना तर पुष्कळ लोकान्नी सेन्ड्-ओफ दिला. कार्यक्रम केला, आम्ही तिघे मिळुन आता आईलाही तिच्या रिटायर्मेन्ट बददल शुभेच्छा देतोय्. लग्नानन्तर आता प्रथमच आईला एकटीसाठी दादा भेटतायत. खरेतर आईचे काम वाढ्णार आहे. पण मला खात्री आहे की हे वाढलेले काम आई आनन्दानी करेल.

Inner Ring Road

It is cold and eerie; it had rained some time back most probably during the day lending bite to the air putrid with stillness. It is not the comforting ticklish cold enjoyable in front of a TV set with a steamy cup of milk; neither a memorable cold cherished with a group of friends spent in a rickety bus heading nowhere.It is a sort of cold which makes you pity yourselves. It is the cold you feel when you wait for somebody you are sure is not going to come and the only person you are waiting for is yourself to come to senses. It is the cold which tells you to brake all of a sudden and dive headlong under the next tempo passing by roaring. It is that bone shattering / teeth chattering cold.But he has to endure it; like Ashwathama bears the wound on his forehead. At least Ashwatthama did not have a choice. In his case, this wound is given by himself. Has he ever wondered when the shining diamond of his being was taken away from him and replaced by the curse of immortality till death? Most probably he is too much engrossed in living the curse to evaluate. One more day of fighting somebody else's battles is over. It is very easy to fight others' battles once you have lost your own. He thinks about this and gives a little chuckle. Grips the dew-wet handlebar and pedals on.


The still air suddenly feels alive, biting with thousands of needles. Suddenly it is the only kin he has; causing pain ; helping to forget deeper wounds. The wet road sliently slips under the tyres. Blood starts pumping through tired legs; red eyes are actually enjoying the biting cold after the strain in front of the monitor. Head is clear of all the feelings; feet push pedals and the ever obliging cycle responds. It creaks because of no maintainance;but has not lost the speed. He is the knight in the shining armour; he is Alexander leading his forces across Hindukush; He is Columbus coaxing his men through unknown seas; dreaming about pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; he is Horatio Nelson; writing his own Trafalgar; taking on the world. A secret world of his own.


A truck speeds by blowing horn but suddenly the horn also does not seem loud; its sound suddenly freezing in the cold air; hanging like a mist; caught in the frame of time for eternity.It distrots the stillness a bit;making the picture more beautiful; it shakes for a while like the still water of the pond shakes by mild summer breeze only to settle in its old harmony and he pedels on.

He pedels for eternity; thinking about the good deeds he did. Thinking about the diamond on his forehead. In this case he is not like Ashwatthama; he has not lost the diamond; actually the wound is there only because the diamond is there.That is the advantage of having an invisible diamond; the disadvantage is that you have to carry both; diamond as well as the wound; together. It hurts more. You do not lose it for good as Ashwatthama did; you do not live forever with the festering wound either. Something deep within knows this truth and breathes life into him even if he himself does not know.This is the life force that drives him and many; most probably all; even them who cause the festering of his wound.


And then there it starts. He has reached his most favourite road. A mad grin suddenly appears across his lips.Surprisingly all the lights are on. The moon is hiding behind dark hideous clouds. Lights seem to be losing the eternal battle between them and the darkness. They are somehow holding on some yellow frozen cones; barely trickling till the ground. It looks like twenty frozen yellow gulmohors hung in mid-air. The darkness is incandescent with the arrogance of the victor. But he does not miss the mischivious light shining sometimes on top of a cold improptu pond; sometimes onthe dark emerald of the tree leaves; mocking the darkness. Only this city can have a forest in the middle of it. The breeze in now moving as he moves away from the buildings, freezing or evaportaing the beads of comforting sweat he is proudly holding across his forehead and the back of his neck. The vegetation is pretty thick. Suddenly something jumps in the nearby pond. It must be a tortoise. He was really fond of the one he'd caught long time back.Curous animals; there tortoises; he thinks and gaily pedals on.


There is a stable nearby and some horse changes its standing position in sleep.tawk,tawk; the noise surprises everybody ; him; the cold night; the steady breeze ; the pond and the lights seem to be shocked for a second; oh, but of course!! and everything gets on with their own business of pedaling, being cold, stinging and so on. The black road offers a nice slope and suddenly there is a big turn. The road is banked and he pedals till the road is just a blur under the wheels. It keeps slipping behind the tyres and he could not watch it as it somehow hurts the eyes.



The speed keeps increasing and it suddenly frightens him. The wind is pretty cold and his ears are almost about to fall off due to it.Even the comforting sweat is not ready to appear again. He wants to slow down but could not and pedals on. The road keeps unfurling heavy with expectancy; not ready for the events that any way are not going to happen. It is not a single turn like a shock but it is a contineous curve of surprises. There are no edges so there is no beginning or end; it unwinds at its own pace but it is now pretty steep and it causes one or two butterflies in his stomach. He wants to move with the curving of the road;being one with it.But he has his own pace which carries him faster. He regrets nothing more;he'd've surely liked to go with the road but like many others animate/inanimate things; has his own tuning frequency and does not rhyme well with the road; but still creates ever enduring notes etched in the fabric of time. What a pity these notes are not contineous; OR are they there because they are not contineous ?? Are they more beautiful because they are not supposed to last; neither are supposed to be reproduced with any sort of familarity with the original??Does the fallibility of life makes it more enduring ?? Do things are liked more because they are to be lost?? Do people are liked more because they are to be lost ??


But he cares no more and pedals on. The dawn smiles innocently like an infant on the east side nearly in front front of him.Smiling and again rhyming with the darkness before blasting it into oblivion.He has to sleep for sometime before he gets up and back in his favourite chair to fix his favourite problems; some more time pass to be done for the next day. Some more skirmishes awaiting eagerly almost making the sleep impossible.

There she goes ....

"There she goes
There she goes again
Racing through my brain
And I just can't contain,
this feeling that remains"

The road is awash with the early september rain. Morning sun is slanting its rays on brown murky puddles. I and bhagu are immaculately dressed up,resolute we solemnly hang by our father's index fingers. Our hair neatly combed and brushed back. Our faces powdered by the fashion of the day, wet gandh on our foreheads and a dot of black onthe cheeks, taai has made sure that we are dressed for the occasion.I in my favourite dark blue satin T-shirt and bhagu in his yellow.Oil on top of a puddle distracts me and I let go of the finger. It moves like a then-psychedelic color changing amoeba. A breeze makes the water ripple.I forget everything and watch this extravaganza with open mouthed awestruck ecstacy.

I suddenly feel I'm alone and run with all the might. I do not want to be left back. I want to be the first one to hold the bundle of joy. A nurse in white is standing on top of the steps leading to the clinic. We try to look at her but the morning sun shines directly in our eyes. She cracks some joke about not letting us get the baby cos it was never ours in the first place and an eagle/stork dropped it near our mom yesterday and she will anyway take it as my mom has two already. Me and bhagu are just through with daily reading session where the eagle-and-stork-dropped babies grow up and leave their families to search for their royal roots and glory. We do not want that to happen with this baby. My eyes suddenly well up with tears. I jump the nurse, use tooth and nails to scratch and bite,bhagu follows suit. We drag this so far that the look of pride in father's and spent and tired mom's face changes to minor irritation to an explosion of anger which sends us into the grasp of one of his arms and we return home with him balancing two of us on one hand and holding the baby and supporting my mom with another. This balance becomes a feature of us fivesome.We manage to balance and fit everywhere. On a bicycle, in only one machhardaanee, on two tickets in our twice-a-week visits to the nearest theatres, on the same bench on the ferris wheels.

We share things. books, school, classrooms, teachers, scholarships, speakers' dias, speech-scripts. Most of them hand-me-downs. She is the last user and the best. She outshines us two every time.I think; bhagu listens and she works hard.She is the quiet one, the last ugly duckling. But always most liked and appreciated by every body. Parents, relatives and teachers.She is the bottom of the protection-chain. She is the perpetual vamp in our three charactor plays. I'm the self proclaimed king of the kingdom of three. She is my most devoted subject. The look of admiration and devotion remains even when I fall flat on my face and becomes a laughing stock. My word is the final one, I'm the supreme authority on everything. I make mistakes, sometimes behave snotty, selfish, insensitive, brutal. She forgives without asking, understands, controls by suffering. The ownership slowly changes hands.Shw listens to us but we say what she wants. The servant becomes the master through serving.

We spend years together, sharing everything, fighting tooth and nail,understanding and misunderstanding, loving and hating. She is always there on the fringes of thoughts. Calming, influencing, supporting, understanding.

She never suggests but makes changes all the same. She is the spoilsport, the regular sqeaker. Many a adventures reach untimely end because of her in the childhood, many a love stories nipped in the bud in the youth.But she never allows anything to be too wrong or too dangerous. She is normally analytical and timid, but when she dedicates to something she can be as intense as anybody. She learns karate and lathi.We change roles and I become the punching bag. All the throws are practised on me. I, without any formal training know now how to fall, how to escape lathimar even how to grab a female without getting your kneecaps kicked in, eyes punctured, nose bleeding, teeth knocked in.

when you own and are owned so much it is so difficult to part. It is more difficult than tearing away parts of your body. I spend the whole day in the brand new dhoti and turban bought specially for the occasion.Whole day I have been flirting with the camera. But now I cower from the glares of the halogen bulb.I decide not to cry. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. She is going around touching feet of all her elders. I do not want her to see me cry. It becomes unbearable and uncontrollable. She reaches me,I donot allow her to touch my feet. Mumble something meaningless and nod her on her way on.

She does not go, just wants to steal some more time together. Something breaks within. She tries to console me,her inlaws join her, but my grief knows no bounds. We push their car out for some distance, everybody is alone and so lonely for sometime, maybe lonely for a long time.

There she goes with the pieces from my heart
There she goes and now my teardrops start
And `ere I go once again
Through these lonely heartaches and pain
That`s all remain
all remain
There she goes again
Chasing down my lane
And no-one else can heal my pain
and I just can't contain,
this feeling that remains
There she goes
There she goes
There she goes"