Yikes!
I am getting dry eyes, watery eyes, itchy eyes - you name it I've got it in the last three days.
ok.
back to work on 'blind love'
Friday, March 03, 2006
Thursday, March 02, 2006
K's last strike
I know, I was supposed to post a different story (guy loves girl's eyes, she goes blind) but I got writing about Cricket instead.
So here goes..
:: K's Last Strike::
When the Swingin Yorkers took on the Mad Maxers in the Plate final in '97, it was a dull, cloudy
day which promised lots of rain. At a green pitch where the ball swung in a vicious curve 'like Arabian swords' (so said the lad running the tea-stall in the grand-stands), the captain of the
Mad Maxers chose to play three off-spinners. And created history.
I was visiting my uncle in the princely city of G, taking a respite from my corporate life. I had
picked up a cricket bat after ages, and my uncle had been caring enough to allow me to make ample use of his largish lawns for my rendezvous with nostalgia Finally, on my third consecutive
failure to read my nephew's googly, he smiled and said, "Are you really not picking those googols
(sic) or are you pulling off a wise one like K did in the Plate finals in '97?"
Naturally, I was not pulling a wise one. I earnestly convinced my Uncle of my innocence, and then requested him for the story of Plate finals of '97. He smiled, put down his copy of The Famished Road and said, "It was a brilliant strategic move by the captain of the Mad Maxers. He went into the plate finals knowing that the Swingin Yorkers had reached there due to poor umpiring and even poorer lights. They had lost the Championship after holding it for seven straight years, and they would come at him very hard for Pride."
"A proud man respects another", I remarked, at which my uncle nodded in appreciation. "Yes", he said, "They knew it was his last Championship, and that only a poor talent pool held his team
back from glory. Sort of like you respect Mohammed Rafique when you play Bangladesh. On his day, he can spin you out of the game."
"Or Heath Streak when you play Zimbabwe", I ventured. Uncle frowned, "Streak has been murdered by the ZCU. Cut in Half. I think the Indian board should have invited him over long ago, especially when he had pace. But, getting back to the story - the match was held on a dull cloudy day in August at the Corporation Grounds. Its near the street-vendor we had ice-creams from the night you arrived. Not too many people can be seated, and very few can be seated comfortably. So not many saw it, and not many remember it. Since I was on the field for most of the match, I saw it closer than anybody else, perhaps with the exception of K himself."
My nephew had brought out another chair by then for himself and was listening carefully. He adores his father (which little kid doesn't?) and tries very hard to learn from him. And with Anil Kumble retiring soon, he hopes to find a spot in the Indian team. He's a leggie, you see. Oh, and uncle used to be an off-spinner himself. Played for the Ranji team for a couple of seasons, too. I've heard stories about him being kept at bat-pad for the whole day, because he was good at chatting up the batsmen. He told stories to the wicket-keeper, and of course the batsmen had to toughen up and ignore them, or get upset and make a mistake.
"We were three spinners in the Club at that time. All bowled orthodox off-spin. And usually only one of us got to play. We had two days to prepare for the Plate, after we lost the Championship semi-final, and for some reason K got all three of us to bowl a lot. I had a poor game in the semi, and so I thought maybe I had lost his confidence. Wicketless for thirty-nine runs, in five overs. I would've lost confidence myself, but I kept the three dropped catches in mind. It could've been very different. Captains think differently, though. Especially someone like K. He worked up a strategy that day, and it got all of us surprised. I tell you, when he announced the team on match-day, there was commotion in the dressing room. He'd picked only four bowlers, and all the three off-spinners. K himself could bowl a bit of leg-spin, but surely we needed all of our pace bowlers on that green-top?"
"You mean it was a grassy pitch?", I asked. "Grassy? It was naught but grass. And green, live grass at that, which would make the top soft, and trap the morning dew, and make the ball skid and swerve. On top, it was a cloudy day with a medium breeze."
"Then why did he pick three spinners?"
"None of us knew at that time. All of us tried to convince him against it. He stuck to his point. So we packed our kits and climbed into the Club jeeps shaking our heads. If that's the way he wanted to go out, so be it."
"K lost the toss, and we were put in to bat. You can trust me that the opening batsmen cursed K as they walked out. And cursed him some more when they were both back within the first over, their defense cut open by the prodigious swing. I was sent in at number four, and that's when we started getting some idea of K's tactics"
______________________
Yes, I'm sorry. It's incomplete. If you have any comment about what K's strategy could be, do post in.
So here goes..
:: K's Last Strike::
When the Swingin Yorkers took on the Mad Maxers in the Plate final in '97, it was a dull, cloudy
day which promised lots of rain. At a green pitch where the ball swung in a vicious curve 'like Arabian swords' (so said the lad running the tea-stall in the grand-stands), the captain of the
Mad Maxers chose to play three off-spinners. And created history.
I was visiting my uncle in the princely city of G, taking a respite from my corporate life. I had
picked up a cricket bat after ages, and my uncle had been caring enough to allow me to make ample use of his largish lawns for my rendezvous with nostalgia Finally, on my third consecutive
failure to read my nephew's googly, he smiled and said, "Are you really not picking those googols
(sic) or are you pulling off a wise one like K did in the Plate finals in '97?"
Naturally, I was not pulling a wise one. I earnestly convinced my Uncle of my innocence, and then requested him for the story of Plate finals of '97. He smiled, put down his copy of The Famished Road and said, "It was a brilliant strategic move by the captain of the Mad Maxers. He went into the plate finals knowing that the Swingin Yorkers had reached there due to poor umpiring and even poorer lights. They had lost the Championship after holding it for seven straight years, and they would come at him very hard for Pride."
"A proud man respects another", I remarked, at which my uncle nodded in appreciation. "Yes", he said, "They knew it was his last Championship, and that only a poor talent pool held his team
back from glory. Sort of like you respect Mohammed Rafique when you play Bangladesh. On his day, he can spin you out of the game."
"Or Heath Streak when you play Zimbabwe", I ventured. Uncle frowned, "Streak has been murdered by the ZCU. Cut in Half. I think the Indian board should have invited him over long ago, especially when he had pace. But, getting back to the story - the match was held on a dull cloudy day in August at the Corporation Grounds. Its near the street-vendor we had ice-creams from the night you arrived. Not too many people can be seated, and very few can be seated comfortably. So not many saw it, and not many remember it. Since I was on the field for most of the match, I saw it closer than anybody else, perhaps with the exception of K himself."
My nephew had brought out another chair by then for himself and was listening carefully. He adores his father (which little kid doesn't?) and tries very hard to learn from him. And with Anil Kumble retiring soon, he hopes to find a spot in the Indian team. He's a leggie, you see. Oh, and uncle used to be an off-spinner himself. Played for the Ranji team for a couple of seasons, too. I've heard stories about him being kept at bat-pad for the whole day, because he was good at chatting up the batsmen. He told stories to the wicket-keeper, and of course the batsmen had to toughen up and ignore them, or get upset and make a mistake.
"We were three spinners in the Club at that time. All bowled orthodox off-spin. And usually only one of us got to play. We had two days to prepare for the Plate, after we lost the Championship semi-final, and for some reason K got all three of us to bowl a lot. I had a poor game in the semi, and so I thought maybe I had lost his confidence. Wicketless for thirty-nine runs, in five overs. I would've lost confidence myself, but I kept the three dropped catches in mind. It could've been very different. Captains think differently, though. Especially someone like K. He worked up a strategy that day, and it got all of us surprised. I tell you, when he announced the team on match-day, there was commotion in the dressing room. He'd picked only four bowlers, and all the three off-spinners. K himself could bowl a bit of leg-spin, but surely we needed all of our pace bowlers on that green-top?"
"You mean it was a grassy pitch?", I asked. "Grassy? It was naught but grass. And green, live grass at that, which would make the top soft, and trap the morning dew, and make the ball skid and swerve. On top, it was a cloudy day with a medium breeze."
"Then why did he pick three spinners?"
"None of us knew at that time. All of us tried to convince him against it. He stuck to his point. So we packed our kits and climbed into the Club jeeps shaking our heads. If that's the way he wanted to go out, so be it."
"K lost the toss, and we were put in to bat. You can trust me that the opening batsmen cursed K as they walked out. And cursed him some more when they were both back within the first over, their defense cut open by the prodigious swing. I was sent in at number four, and that's when we started getting some idea of K's tactics"
______________________
Yes, I'm sorry. It's incomplete. If you have any comment about what K's strategy could be, do post in.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
love leads to crazy things
that's the story coming up in some time folks..
got the plot while driving my truck back home. and while the plot steers like my truck (no power steering), the idea is to try to work on the WAY I tell the story..
yeah..
got the plot while driving my truck back home. and while the plot steers like my truck (no power steering), the idea is to try to work on the WAY I tell the story..
yeah..
Monday, February 27, 2006
Second Post - First Roast
Warning: Sometimes I do crazy rhymes like that because my fingers fly too fast on the keyboard and I don't like boring stuff like 'Second Post - First Story' anyways.
Here is ::The World Is A Small Place, Melissa::
Hi. I am Spot.
I am here to tell you a story. I feel a bit morose due to personal reasons right now, but this story is actually quite funny. At least it was funny when it happenned. The narrator has chosen me to tell the story as I am the 'bridge' between all the characters here. So thanks dude, I love your stuff always, hope you write more. And hey, don't make me reveal more than I should.
I'd just come back home. I'm working about 2000 km away from where I grew up, and my parents are left behind in that old town. So when I get particularly crazy with my work, and I start feeling like kissing random girls on the streets or kicking each dog that I meet, well then I book my ticket home.
You have a friend who'll die for you? I have a friend who'll come to the railway station for me. Heh. He's the first character. Character, meet people. Comb your hair first. Heh. People, meet Giles. Read Alistair Maclean's HMS Ulysses for the reference.
So that night, after running around town and catching up with people, taking Ma for shopping, and taking friends out for coffee, we ended up in bed together. No, we are not gay. Heh. We had so much to talk about, and the bed was the most comfortable place. Girls will understand. Guys might. So picture us, all sleepy, talking about our dreams and what's been happening with you-know-who and do you remember what's-his-name -- that kind of usual crap when you meet after an year, when Giles comes up with 'Have you ever had a dream, which felt real? I mean, uh, have you ever kissed a girl in a dream?'
Now, Giles falls in love every 2nd Tuesday. He loves the whole world, I think. And covers it up by calling it 'Christian Love'. Heh. So I ignored him by default, about the girl bit. However, the kiss was something else. You see, it had been exactly (exactly!) 37 days and 15 hours since I'd last been kissing my girl. I mean, there she was, her head on my shoulder, crying softly because I was going away and I was a dumb dude who didn't know she was. And I was kidding around about being able to 'flirt with the girls down South'... so when I lifted her chin up to make sure she was getting angry, I got SO devastated by those wet eyes. Sheer poetry. Wish I had a camera at that time. Sometimes I think in two tracks like that. I am wiping her face, kissing her
eyes, her nose (getting closer to her honey-sweet lips) and I am (crazy) thinking I should have had a camera now.
Giles hears me out about the day I spent on the beach with her, the hours I spent making out with her, how sweet her kisses are and then starts cribbing. Which led to the funny bit which brought this zero-pay narration role to me. So to get on with it. Heh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Giles: Quit telling me about how you kissed your girl. Your graphics are getting me all hard and
ready and there's no action in sight.
Spot: Yeah? You're the one dreaming of girls so hard it feels real, and here I am, 37 days 15 hours since I kissed her mmmmmm...at least let me relive the moment while I am awake.
Giles: Listen man. You gotta hear me out. Its freaky. I have been dreaming of this girl for the last two-three weeks. Her name is on my lips.. man I am actually humming her name like.. and I thought it would pass away, it would get over. But it doesn't. And I am too old for this kind of an infatuation now. Right?
Spot: First tell me, where did you find a girl in your wilderness? I thought you only found dacoits out there. Heh.
Giles: Na. This is a junior from college. I mean, I've always liked her a lot. Intelligent. Ambitious. Pretty. But now, suddenly, I've started feeling a lot more fond of her.
Spot: Just 'fond'?
Giles: Man, it's tough. I mean, I am stuck here. I have to complete what I set out to do. It will take at least an year to get things on track. And then, I don't know what I want to do after that. You know me..
Spot: Yeah. I've been amazed you've stuck at this for so long...
Giles: Well I just can't quit after so much has been invested into the whole thing. And well she's got a career of her own. She's got dreams of her own. I don't even know if she likes me, how can I think of asking her to come here and sacrifice all that? I mean, (pause..) there are so many "If"s in this. All I know is that I like her a lot. And she likes me, but I don't know if she likes me at all. Or if she likes someone else. And I don't know if she likes what's she's doing or if she may like the life I can offer her..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stop Press. Time for a break. You can assume Giles continues rambling about her and him and blah and nah - take it from me. You have to let it out. No point butting in before that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Giles: ... and so, basically, it's just a case of hopeless infatuation. I guess I will get lost in my work come March so everything will cool down. Till then.. man you know I call her up just to hear her voice? It's magical. Her voice, it's like the Bullet motorcycle man, it envelops you and captures you and then...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now there's so much you can hear. When the man starts to blabber, you gotta take control. Here goes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spot: She's going away? Where to? (Which shows I pay attention in between the lines)
Giles: Oh, that's another story. That's how all this started. She's going to the
studies. Had doubts about things, called me up for advice, I gave enough gyan. We started talking again, we had lost track after college a bit, then boom! it hit me. Yeah.
Spot: She's got a call from any insti yet?
Giles: Not yet man. You know, everyone was telling me not to tell her I feeling this way towards her. Like, get the mood right, go there, woo her a bit. Then, over a cup of coffee maybe, when she's feeling comfortable with you, gently break it to her.
Spot: And you told her over the phone! ( I know my friends a bit, heh)
Giles: Yeah. She's pretty cool about it though. I mean, we're still talking.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You know people - I have no idea how people get so lucky. I mean if I had tried a stunt like this the girl would have never picked up my phone call again. And I have no idea why other people can't be half as plucky as Giles. Take my friend Mustard. He works in a technology company. To distinguish from those 'software' tailor-shops. For the last four months he has been telling me about this girl, Melissa. How he just adores her black brilliant shining eyes. How he loves her toughness in standing to her point. And since they're on the same team, he's even friendly with her. Currently, he's trying the 'gentle sage' approach where you win the trust of the concerned person by giving gracious gyan. Which leads to a shoulder you can cry upon. By which time you are intimate and comfortable with each other so other more amorous things are possible.
That approach never works. It's just not genuine. But the dude just doesn't know it. He's even been consulting with me about the gyan he should give her. Heh. Like, she got a perfect score on
her GRE (I got that info on SMS!). Then she got confused about how tough it would be to come back to
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Giles: Spot? Are you listening?
Spot: Oh yeah. I gather that you (a) like the girl (b) dream of her (c) are friendly and talk often (d) are in no position to settle down in life personally (e) are too far away to generally walk around with her (f) have no hopes of winning her heart, have no dreams of it in a very logical way, and (g) she's about to go away to the US
Giles: Yeah. Something like that..
Spot: Give up. Close your eyes and go to sleep man. Dream of her. Be happy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes this 'fatalistic' approach to a problem helps you escape. Giles, on the other hand, knows my tricks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Giles: Oye! Stop fucking with me. I know all that. I just want to tell you. It's difficult to get someone to talk to. I am talking to you, fuckin-A. You wanna talk or not?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Giles uses the F-word, 'it's the time to disco'. I love teasing him. Heh. Soul-brother, man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spot: Shh... come upstairs to the terrace. I will beat you up there. Man, why do all you zombies climb unto me for these desperate prayers? I mean, there's this friend of mine from college named Mustard who's working with this company called Zungair, and he's frooling on this girl called Melissa who's got a perfect score in GRE and is going away - but he'll never tell her in his life. And here's you..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now at this moment I looked at Giles. He's usually very cool about things. Like, once he went to sleep right before an exam and then woke up after, and all he did was to say to himself - 'Cool, you missed your Basic Statistics exam'. And that's when he knew exactly how much shit was gonna land on him. Flunking a basic course in your MBA is not funny, especially when you are in a top B-school. You get raped thereafter. So, now when I saw his eyes carry a smile and a frown AND a shout, I stopped.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Giles: (even voice) Say the name again.
Spot: Melissa.
Giles: Melissa Brandes? Zungair Corp? 1600 out of 1600 GRE score?
Spot: Yeah. At the
Giles: (turning over and beating the pillow with a clenched fist) Same girl (muffled sounds of laughter)
Spot: What? (slaps forehead, turns Giles over, starts laughing himself)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Heh. So 'Hey' to Melissa. Congo Rats on your GRE Score, and here's wishing a good quick Grant and a Student Visa to you. Now you know why two different people have been giving you similar gyan -- because the other has been consulting the one's soul-brother.
And thanks for the story. The world, as they say, is a small place.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
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