I try to say a lot while saying very little. Get used to it.
Posts tagged felt
sachinism, the current religion of the indi-net
Feb 24th
Posted by SEV in staying.thoughts
Stuff that struck me while reading about Sachin Tendulkar’s nearly unbelievable* feat, most of which will be repeated everywhere I look over the next few days/weeks:
- On this day 21 years ago He completed a 664-run partnership with Kambli. Twenty-f*ckin-one.
- His 200 contained 25 boundaries (the most by a single batsman in an ODI till date) and 3 sixes. The entire RSA team innings (in reply) had 30 boundaries and 3 sixes.
- He has scored 93 international centuries (combining test and ODI cricket) until today. There was a time when He decimated an Australian team for a whole summer (yes, the great Sharjah innings), which was when I started believing that He would score over a 100 centuries before He retired. That day is nigh.
- His closest competitors today (in terms of statistics) have to currently make
- Tests: 1588 runs to catch up His total of 13447, 8 centuries to catch up His total of 47.
- ODIs: 4170 runs to catch up with 17598, 17 centuries to catch up with 46.
- He made an impeccable, near-perfect 175 while chasing Australia in Hyderabad last year.. only to have the Indian team let Him down and choke once He was out. I remember defending him when people said that the innings was typical Tendulkar – the century was great, but no use if He never finishes what He starts. I wonder if.. somehow.. RSA had successfully chased 400 (they’ve done it before), how sweet would this 200 be for the ungrateful Indian cricket fan?
- The fact that He does not make the ICC list of the best players of all-time in either Tests or ODIs has to now rank as one of the biggest egg-on-your-face (or idiotic) statements until date for the ICC. For a man who is redefining every batting record there is every time He takes guard, a man who has surpassed His contemporaries in both longevity and performance… I guess He doesn’t need the ranking to make His mark in cricket history.
I ask you, does He really have to worry about never lifting a World Cup on India’s behalf? Can we quit wondering aloud about His performance every time He doesn’t make a century?
Will we ever get over Him?
Side note: I noticed that the statistically top batsmen who are still playing cricket today are all 34+ (age in brackets): Jayasuriya (40), Ponting (35), Tendulkar (37), Gibbs (36), Kallis (34). This is to be expected, given the amount of cricket these people have played in their lifetime… but it appears the old guard is never going to make way for a new one.
*I say “nearly unbelievable”, because it is Sachin after all. One can believe that He can pull it off.**
**Yes, the capitalization of ‘H’ is intentional. God, after all.
my event of a lifetime
Feb 8th
Posted by SEV in staying.in.my.head
It’s been too, too long.
Wish I had a good excuse.
Maybe this one: “Marriage does that to you.” Or even: “Things change like this after marriage.”
At the very least, marriage gives you a scapegoat that most married men will commiserate with. “Yes, yes.. I know what you mean.” Its either commiseration or a devilish satisfaction (as I saw on more than one recently married face that was turned to greet me). “Yes, yes… now you shall know what I mean! Muahahahahaha!”
I have enough things to write about that I might be able to post more often. However, the future looms close with promise of having to wait on the Mrs hand-and-foot.. so no promises.
To begin at the beginning… so much has happened that I can, at best, barely give a glimpse of the highlights as they remain with me only three weeks later. There was the preparation I had to undergo, such as going to a beauty parlor for a facial, manicure, pedicure and a haircut. (Quit laughing, you.) Its all required regulations. Have to look pretty on the day. Even if no-one ever pays attention to the groom (the video has proof of how much clamoring I had to do to get people to notice me enter). A certain amount of respect has welled for women who undergo such processes on a regular basis (along with waxing and tweezing) as the Mrs has helpfully reminded me.
More frustrating for me was not being allowed to go out. ‘House arrest’ about sums it up. They gave me some cock-and-bull story about it not being good, and took some names and so on.. but I complied. To an extent, it paid off as it meant I got to glory in the attention of the amazing number of relatives who hung around for the whole event. Until, of course, they were each called away on various other tasks they had to finish so that I could get married.
The greatest beauty by far, was the smooth syncing between everyone around. Things just happened as they should on the day. Yes, everyone involved had been planning for months in advance and so on.. and I had to live with being the guy who gets to enjoy it all happening for his sake.. but still. There is a
certain beauty to see people turn up out of nowhere to get the job done. Accommodation, food, transport, luggage.. a virtual well-oiled machine cannot be a better description. Even before I could think, “What about this?”, it was already being prepared for and underway. I only wish I could appreciate such people more.
The actual event is a near-blur. Some stand out moments include the ‘kaashi yatrai‘ , the ‘thirumangalya dharanam‘ and the ‘saptapathi‘ (decent precis of everything in a Tam Bram wedding here). In the ‘kaashi yatrai‘, I finally felt like a groom. The vadhyar had done an awesome job of tying my ‘panchakatcham’ – which also has to be the most comfortable male dress ever. I really didn’t want to take it off. Back to the point, at that point it felt as though I was king of the world (I guess in terms of the ritual, I sorta was too — they had to offer me the Mrs. to stop me from walking away
)
Tying the knot around her neck (‘thirumangalya dharanam‘) really felt like the culmination of a long, long journey. I could reminisce here about the first time of the many things that make up a relationship, and so on and on… but those are details that shall remain shrouded in the mists of time. The Mrs was looking like a dream at that point – one I won’t forget – the feeling of first taking her hands in mine and then being guided to tie the knot suddenly made me realize the responsibility I was so naturally able to take in my hands. As I attempted to make hazy sense of ancient Sanskrit during the ‘saptapathi‘, (something struck me about the part of only holding hands with each other until the ‘saptapathi‘ was completed), so many thoughts, feelings and words were jumbling up inside me… its hard to elucidate. There was elation, there was some part of me that wanted to yell out to each one present what I was doing… there was also some vague realization of how there were so many people there – all so happy to see me (and her) go to this next phase of our lives… there were memories of days past, there were flashes of what might happen in days to come.
Right. Back to the more warmly sarcastic tone of this blog.
Or the gloating one in which I tell you that I spent my birthday in conjunction with my honeymoon.
Most. Awesome. Birthday. Ever
‘Nuff said.
More generic India observations next time.
i just got married
Jan 17th
Posted by SEV in staying.in.my.head
Need I say more?
I can’t quite believe it myself.
Thanks for the wishes, all.
my big event of the year is nearly here
Jan 8th
Posted by SEV in staying.in.my.head
The time has come.
Back to India.
Madness. All centered around me. And the missus. But me too!
There will probably be no posts for a bit here. I’m not live-blogging my own wedding, or even live-tweeting my honeymoon
Speaking of which, that is probably going to be the best birthday ever
It has taken its time to sink in, people have been asking me ‘How do you feel about you getting married?’ for weeks now.. and I haven’t really had an answer. Half the “wedding feeling” is in the atmosphere around you. Yes, I have great friends and a great missus who are all insanely excited about what is going to happen… but its not quite the same, is it? Having 20 billion people around you (or at least what feels like 20 billion people) all abuzz, all running around, ragging, laughing, managing, noise, shouting – this is what really makes that feeling really hit you.
A little bit of that feeling is striking me now. I’m not sure if it is my usual trip-anticipation jitters, but it does feel different somehow. Feels like a lot of preparation is coming together at long last. A big huge deal is about to happen, and I’m right in the center of it all. I want to hug myself and hold onto all the anticipation, save it for the big day.
The missus becomes more than just fiancée. She already is, but will now more officially be an SWMBO. I wonder how much she will like me as her PWOM (inverse of SWMBO).
I can’t wait.
what is my super-power?
Aug 11th
Posted by SEV in staying.thoughts
I’ve spoken more than once about my games while growing up. The cape on my shoulders: the flight, the jumping of buildings in a single bound. The vines: the jungles, the swinging and leaping through dense trees galore. The battle(s) with evil foes: the multiple times each one had to be beaten into submission. To the extent, the next time they returned I even had to show how the villains had came back. Detail was important. Swords, guns, bows/arrows, super-strength, death-defying stunts – they were enacted elaborately in my head.
Until someone entered the room.
Today I read comics. I follow multiple adventures at once: I resent the alien invasion of Earth, I remain on tenterhooks as Spidey figures out the dire plans of the next super-villain, I applaud the triumph of Batman over Darkseid (after a fashion anyway). I can live out my childhood fantasies in this world; I can hold onto ever-fading memories of a childhood game that always seem golden.
Until I close the book.
The struggle of a man to believe he matters, to believe he has super-powers and is therefore Special seems almost too real to be a movie. How many times must I have wished for one power? Forget the 40 that Superman has, or even the multitude of talent in Batman. I wanted one ability to mark me as Special. Super-speed, agility, brilliance, super-strength.. something. Funnily enough, that dream still remains. Deep, deep down inside. I want to believe I am amazingly different, amazingly gifted, unique in a way never seen before. We all probably do.
The truth is, with so many billions and billions of people on the planet, most of us can’t be unique or important in any meaningful way...We don’t have any magical powers, we don’t have any great battles to fight…We just have reality. – Les, Special (2006)
I still dream that I will do a crap-load of things that will make me really Special. They have less to do with super-strength and more to do with possibly achievable things – learn languages galore, learn martial arts, magic tricks, mastering esoteric subjects and so on. Some of these are mere approximations to what I have seen my “heroes” do in my own head, others motivated by more practical reasons, or even just because they are ‘cool’. Is that really what I should be aiming for?
Or should I ground myself in hard reality?
Maybe the ability to face reality is the only super-power we need.
It certainly seems to be the most difficult to acquire.
Based on watching ‘Special‘
alma mater
Jul 29th
Posted by SEV in staying.in.my.head
Looking out the window, I recognized familiar landmarks. The things you see every day, that become part of a routine; and then one day you see them no more. I was dropped at the corner as I had been all those years ago. I started a walk I had done every day for nearly 4 years. The rubbish dump on one side was still just that – a dump. The other had transformed into an upscale building. I craned my neck to try and see any changes down the road – the eventual destination. I could see some new signs, the rest was obscured by the trees – the trees still remained there. A couple of raindrops fell. And for a minute I was a 12 year old treading carefully around puddles, and heading towards school.
Flashforward. I was here. I stood at the gates, gates that had seemed imposing once. The school building looked about the same, the hall.. everything. Some things had changed. The few shops near school seemed to have improved from their once tiny appearance. St. Andrews College opposite seemed to have cleaned up a bit too. I remember warnings from school teachers about how we had to be “careful” – college students were wild people who smoked, drank and were not good company to have. They obviously automatically became people to observe clandestinely.
The watchman would not let me in at first, eventually, good sense prevailed. A side entrance remained the same, I entered. The first difference came to light as girls..girls! came running past me. We had been boys, boys and more boys. Thus the existence of girls at St. Andrews was one of the reasons for heightened allure. I stepped into the office, rewarded by a smile of slight recognition by an office staff member. Smalltalk ensued while a teacher who might know me a little better was sent for. I looked about the office – the stacks of paper, the files, the running in and out of peons.. all of it seemed about the same. And then Jayanthi miss appeared. It is amazing how even after so many years, the ‘miss’ is tacked on automatically. Her smile at seeing me…
Flashback. First day of computers class. We had chosen our electives for the 10th standard exams, while actually being in the 8th. And started playing with BASIC on computers that had probably come into use about 10 years before we touched them. XTs. The sole Pentium was for special occasions. You could even access the internet on it! Everyday was a day of how we had managed to figure out some other amazing thing to do on our machines at home. Flowcharts & programs, tests. Jayanthi miss critiquing my nascent programming skills: “Satish, this is way too complicated. How are you expecting anyone to follow this in the boards?” I had stood up for my program, and shown that it did work, minus 1 mark for mucking up a variable declaration. Late hours at school working on our projects. Helping each other out of the maze of variables and logic that characterized our projects. Being amazed by the inventiveness people managed with even BASIC (e.g. an entire stock exchange manipulation system).
Flashforward. Jyothi miss had come out of a meeting on hearing it was me. I was coming back after more than 10 years. I was pleasantly shocked.. I was really that important? There was a genuine happiness on seeing me on all their faces. Something special to see a teacher from way back when you were someone who had been transplanted to a place that had seemed familiar, but yet alien. They sat and talked me about old time. I was doing a PhD? Wow. I’m engaged? All growing up! Teachers from my time? All gone. Retired, moved, left. Just the two of them. Changes in the school? Good results. New things here and there. My parents? They called and spoke to Mom. Such a fine woman. Computer lab? We have better machines now (laughter). The new ICSE-SSC rule would really make things hard for the students. Jyothi miss gently said the word I was stammering to say: “Screwed. You can say the students are screwed.” I can’t say it in front of a teacher still.
Flashback. English class. Jyothi miss reading out Shakespeare to us. She had taken over from Ms Alves – a teacher who lived English as a religion. I sat taking copious notes in the textbook, notes that were expanded onto pages of a file that would eventually find its way to a bunch of classmates, as well as future ICSE-ites. I remember being bored by the time short stories were done in class – I had probably read them 20 times over in my quest for reading material in school. Both teachers in their own trying their very best to awaken latent literary talent in any of us. Getting noticed for having good essays even in exams. Having a magazine article published based on an exam essay.
Flashforward. Leaving the office, I entered the hall. Morning assembly. Havan. Prayer. Walking out for felicitation after the 10th standard results were announced. Way too many people on stage for the Science and Math awards. It was being prepared for another such Day, which Jyothi miss had invited me to. I remembered being pointed out former students during our assemblies, was I really one of them?
I followed an inbuilt map into and out of stairwells and stairways from there. Second floor, the library. The library peon, Maruti, was still the same. And knew me the moment he saw me. How many kids actually checked out 100 books within a term? How many had checked out the biggest books on offer at the library? How many actually spent most lunch breaks in it? Who had spent an entire voluntary service week as library assistant? Sadly, the librarian was different. Mine had shooed me away during my 10th standard, worried I would read books and not study. The library itself had actually been improved. Some new books. The structure was the same. The books that had introduced me to MacClean MacLean (ah crap, did not think it possible I would misspell that name!) and Asimov were still there.
4th floor, the science lab. My spot at the very back, where the teacher knew I was the last person to make trouble. I remember the number of times we had discussed our pretty science teacher. Yes, yours truly too. My 10th standard classroom. My 7th standard classroom. My memory of being shocked during my first week in school that people actually stood on benches and jumped each other for fun. 10th standard mass-bunks, except for yours truly, who saw the advantages of coming to an empty classroom, and then spending the rest of the day in the library – partly studying, partly reading.
The canteen. Unrecognizable from the dingy memories I had of it – now all granite-y and shiny. No carrot sabzi (don’t ask). Pav bhaji day meant the canteen was crap-full. Energee, the best thing on the planet. I preferred the canteen from back then. Now it looks impersonal. Or have I been away too long? The tiny basketball court,
on which basketball mostly degenerated into football. The playground out back has lost all the monkey bars and slides, and is barren. We used to prefer playing at a much larger ground a little further away, especially since you could actually play football. Or actually hit something close to a six. Not that I was any good at either. The havan mandap, where we had a special one before the board exams, to make sure we did well.
Current students look at me out the corner of their eye, some pose for photos that I take, I walk around a little bit longer.. somehow the more I stand, the more memories awaken in me. A bell rings and I watch kids rush back into class, I remember being one of them all too well now. The watchman now salaams me as I step out, I smile and want to tell him that I liked it better when he didn’t let me in. Reminded me of a time when the rules existed and I could not think of breaking them.
I step out, and I know that going to school is just.. going to school. You always miss it, and nothing can quite bring it back.




