of orange!

It's a holiday tomorrow and am really looking forward to a nice session of physical activity outdoors..cycling? running? just a stroll?
it's been ages since i've not been confined to either office, or to classes or to the insides of my helmet..
am longing for some nice sun...the kind that paints everything yellow and orange.

THAT-ZZAT

A game which needs people who can run for a while, take a final, awkwardly scary leap (which is basically a nice run and a good jump spoilt), and while landing rotate their arms quickly and ‘deliver’.

A game which needs people who can rotate their arms and back while shuffling forwards or backwards or sideways, and while also tiptoeing or bending from the knees.

A game which needs people who can run occasionally, generally stand (somewhat attentively) and clap for a long time patiently, catching the ball as safely as possible, and sometimes diving to prevent the only people who are getting some exercise from doing so.

It’s the game which needs the one odd guy who can keep sitting down, squatting and standing up continuously, every minute or so. He should be patient and stupid enough to keep tightening his gloves, strangely every time before he begins his squatting business. (why not get gloves which fit?) Further he has to keep shouting, to the ‘category-1’ guy and the patiently standing attentive gentlemen (‘category 3’), words of encouragement. Some gentlemen of this category, though it’s not restricted to them, try to distract and de-motivate the ‘category-2’ people

Finally there’s the most important man, the one who must be quick enough to take split-hour decisions. Of course, he is also involved in the press conferences. If his team has won, he has to say that ‘the boys played well’ and if he loses then something like ‘we got complacent” or “the pitch slowed down” or “maybe the better team won” or something else. Who cares anyway? Being second is to be the first of the ones to lose.

No points for guessing, the game n question is the gentleman’s game.

I fail to understand a great, great deal about this game. Where else would the sport be so cruel as to force a bowler (people of category 1) to bowl again, when it was he who couldn’t bowl within a meter of the stumps in the first place? Or when he was unable to control and stop his weird run-jump-land-swing arms routine before a highly visible white line?

There is even a method of dismissal called ‘timed out’ where the next/new batsman has to come out to the crease within 3 minutes; else he is dismissed as ‘Out’. How hard can it be for any kind of sportsmen to be able to walk 100 odd meters in 3 minutes? How unfit would he need to be?

Then there are matches which are inconclusive even after 5 days. These encounters are real tests of endurance, and are rightly called test matches.

The act of ‘walking’ – declaring oneself out when the umpire or other players may not have appealed – although honorable and full of sportsmanship (or maybe an euphemism about the ineptitude of the umpires?), might just well be a good excuse to rest in the pavilion, and enjoy the view of the green field.

While the discussion is fresh, let’s try and put things in perspective via a quick comparo, with unarguably the fastest and most technical sport, Formula 1 motor-racing.

Talking about participants, most of the formula 1 drivers lose more than a couple of kilos of weight during the average race day. That sport is that demanding on the body. I am pretty convinced that some of our ‘gentlemen’ might actually be coming out weighing a bit more, what with lunch and tea and the relatively mild expenditure of energy in activities like spitting-on-ball-or-hand-followed-by-rubbing ball-on-pants-in-areas-where-it-is-not-gentlemanly-to-scratch and clapping-words-of-support or sledging. Of course, for batsmen, swinging their arms and backs while shuffling around might get tiring, but they can always call for a runner. I clearly remember when an Indian batsman, batting in India, made some 93 runs and got dehydrated and had admitted to the hospital. Why did he not ask for a runner and some drinks? I guess he was just too tired. Collapsing on the field was easier and harmless. Ever heard of the F1 driver who asked someone else to race instead of him midway through the race, or passed out on the steering wheel, just because he had been racing a while now and had just set some fastest laps?

For that matter, ever heard of the driver who stopped by and changed his gloves since his hands were sweaty or removed his helmet during the race since his head was itchy? “I am sorry to ask you to stop, fellow drivers, but hey Alonso, could you tie my shoelaces? I don’t want to bend down. We’ll stop the race for a few seconds”. Heard that before?

How many times has the batsman suddenly walked off the pitch, just when the bowler was about to leap scarily and awkwardly, citing a reason that there was ‘movement’ near the sight-screen? Reminds me of the Monte Carlo (Monaco) Grand prix, where drivers exit a dark tunnel right into bright sunlight at about 280 kmph and immediately have to find out the braking zone and turn to avoid a barrier. All of this, while their pupils are shrinking to adjust to the light. I guess, they would appreciate a sight screen too.

What about wet weather and dew on the outfield? Oops, we can’t play now. The ball is also slippery now, you see?

I also wonder why the aerodynamics team don’t spit and polish their F1 cars with their pants till they shine, so that they could also be slippery and turn corners better.

And then there’s the technique and the (mostly contradictory) volumes spoken on technique. A batsman can use (at least) one of the following to boast about his run making ability – technique, power, timing, footwork, balance. The funny part is that when a batsman is actually scoring runs, the lack of one of the above may be overlooked. But the minute he fails, there is a full blown debate about why he failed. One’s reason for failure could very well be another’s strong point. “So what if he does not have footwork? He has timing.” Or “His placement is good”. Why define field positions elaborately if the batsmen have ‘evolved’ and are finding the gaps using their superior placement?

On the other hand, the stopwatch does not lie. One may have a smooth, aggressive, defensive, conservatory etc. driving style, but one is either the fastest, or the 2’nd fastest, or so on. At the end of the day, only the clock speaks. What about wrong footwork in F1? It can only spell a--b-i-g--c-r-a-s-h.

Also, I’ve never heard of the rival driver who’s bitten the tires off a Ferrari, thinking that the red/scarlet car was a berry/apple.

Cricketers and cricketlovers (and that is not a swear word, I promise), you better keep ‘playing’ your self-confessed funny game in your separate grounds, or on your dedicated media/TV channels.

Do not interfere with us, normal people, on the basketball court/football field/on the roads and, equally importantly, particularly during a formula 1 broadcast.

In a rut?

I think (and even feel) that I’m neither left brained nor right brained.
I probably lie in the fissure, the crack, of my brain.
Perfectly balanced? Good for nothing? Or equally adept?

A change of seasons

I remember the first 4-5 showers of the average monsoon season in Baroda. While the season’s 1st rains came and washed down all the dust and pollution out of the air and diluted the tag of acid rain, we were actually waiting for the 2nd rain. The 2nd shower would give us a chance to bathe in it, to get rid of the seasonal ‘prickly heat’ boils, to smell the earth, and permit us to wait for the next couple of sessions of rainfall. The subsequent rainfalls would mean a lot of fresh groundnuts and a hot plate of bhajjiyas/pakodas (definition, (courtesy Google): a small, spicy fritter containing pieces of vegetables or meat, made usually with a batter of chickpea flour and deep-fried) cooked by my granny. Everyone used to be so happy, happy knowing that the 4th, 5th and 6th showers were not just some passing thunder showers, but were instrumental in cementing the monsoon in place. All of Baroda could be seen on the terrace, bathing. The cyclists used to wear the blue polythene bags on their heads to keep themselves dry. Kids used to jump around and cycle wildly, aiming to hit the middle of the puddles, while another bunch of kids would be sailing boats and yet another would be playing football or cricket. My elder bro and I used to wash the car while it rains, thinking we would be reducing water usage by doing so.

I used to be playing and ini (grand-mom) used to be cooking bhajjiyas, since deriving joy by cooking and feeding others came naturally to her and was one of the things that she enjoyed doing. Then, we would sit outside together and eat them with ketchup, while still piping hot. More than any of the other things, this is what I associated monsoons with, along with having her around.

5 monsoons later (since she’s moved on), the seasons have changed significantly.

What is it about grand moms and granddads that makes them so endearing? Is it their tens of wrinkles which underline and frame their emotions when they smile? Or is it their laugh lines which etch them in my permanent memory?

The end of the road for Science?

Man has achieved a lot – beginning with the rubbing of stones and producing a fire, inventing simple stone and metal tools, to inventing the wheel and so on. Then came the telephone, television, satellites, the internet, orkut and facebook. Everything became controlled through touch and everybody wanted no wires around their devices. They all wanted connectivity throughout the day and everywhere they went. Want preceded need. People did everything on these gadgets, from talking to buying to getting entertained. However, that’s not what I wanted to write about. All publicity is bad publicity when the product is superfluous. Somewhere along the line, a bunch of people departed from the thought of making the wheel rounder, smoother and ‘grippier’, and (wisely, since you asked) began working on medicines and understanding the human body. Now we can go into the brain without opening it, we can change a person’s heart; we can even cut him open and stitch him back, without him knowing it (at least till he wakes up). Specialists have become so specialized that no one understands them anymore. I am sure that within the next decade there will be people specializing in such minute and detailed parts of the human body, that to talk about/cure an ailing organ would need (at least) the same number of doctors as the number of cells in that organ. So, a brain infection would need, umm, how many, 1 million billion doctors? They might probably even be enacting functionalities! I guess they could also share and tweet about it. By now, you mustbe wondering as to the source and the reason for this rambling.

Keeping the above referred background in mind, how hard can it be to make a common man’s commonly available tablet for common cold not taste repulsive? My survey shows that the number of tablets which I don’t like exceeds a mouthful. Is it a scientific challenge of medical/astronomical proportions to coat tablets (sugar or chocolate, please) such that they could actually taste a little pleasant? While at it, a separate survey conducted over several cuisines and over a large number of years in several cities, indicates that my taste buds are generally in agreement with the ones belonging to mass public, so it’s proven to not be a question of bad taste. Well, pardon the tasteful pun, but, it is and it is not when one bad tablet is enough to spoil the breed.
Further research and deep diving into the topic reveals that I might have some scope for improvement left in the procedure I follow for swallowing a tablet, but then, science surely can work around it too now, can’t it? Why, where I work, a whole lot of interdisciplinary science allows one to compensate for the generally-and-thankfully-found-in-males-heavy-right-foot disorder and for the slow-closed-loop-control exhibited by the automobile driver, to say the minimum.
If science fails to make a better tasting tablet by the next time the season ‘changes’ (since that is the cause of at least the common cold), and a tastier tablet irrespective of swallowing procedure, it is the end of Science’s road, as far as I am concerned.
Not the peak, nor the pinnacle kind of end, but the dead end of a road or a broken bridge on a swollen river.

The death and murder of a language.

The past few years, according to me, have seen the slow, constant and agonizing death of English (at least English, as far as right now is concerned). It is dying, one language structure at a time.
Take verb conjugations. We have been taught several, the rules for which have been taught to us. The fact that we have forgotten the rules of conjugation is something else. But, that should not be an excuse for using what we are seeing/hearing/texting nowadays – I likes (when you like something), I wants, ‘you wanna hang out?’ and so on. We were not taught wrong grammar; we just learnt/use it incorrectly. Then, all those spelling dictations that your primary-school language-teacher took have gone down the drain. This becomes dis, that-dat, why-y, my-mah, awesome - ossum, with –wid and the heart pains to write more. Then there are new and horrible onomatopoeic words like – muaah (shudder). The noise in question is apparently made by the murderers when they distribute their (OMG, chho chweet) kiss of death. Terrible abbreviations like – LOL, ROFL, ROTFL, LMAO, LMFAO, ROTFLMFAO, etc. have been invented and disseminated. This enables the murderers to save time so they can do what they do best better – murdering. What about the misplaced sense of addressing people – dude, dawg, waddup, guys (ever heard a girl calling out to a bunch of her girlfriends using the word? “you guys?” Bell ringing?). Of course, the next challenge was to use bad verb conjugations to form bad questions like – you likes?
I have realized that most of these mistakes have, along with the grammar, all their vowels missing.
If one has to use this ‘language’, why don’t we actually use it in someplace useful (perhaps cell phone texting is fine), like, maybe the print media and save precious paper and ink and all that, while dropping vowels and bits of grammar? (OMG, I might have created a monster. The murderers might use “going green” as an excuse now).
There are times when going through these social networking sites just irritates the hell out of me. Being on these and surfing them was intended by me to be a small session of distraction, but it often is turning out to be a stressful experience.

My only message to all these murderers is dat IMHO, y’all shud STFU. You gets?

That smiling face at the beach.

Toiling in a sea of labour,

Seeking a beach on the horizon,

In a world with never ending horizons

And ever-increasing seas.

Marooned in the sea,

Paddling and flapping,

Running out of breath,

And, time.

Paddling and flapping

Out of duty and concern,

And out of compulsion.

Rescuing and guiding my fellows

Cross their choppy patches/currents,

Neglecting their slaps on my boat.

Want to dig a bed in the beach-sand,

And smile at the waters just crossed,

I fear by staying out at sea for too long,

Unknown appears the beach.